Not My Steps

Crying Out

2011-12-27T19:29:00.001-08:00

I was so mad.

All I wanted was a picture to capture the sixth birthday of my oldest child.

All I wanted was for everyone to just cooperate. Sit still. Smile. Please just at least pretend that we are all having a good time.

He wouldn't listen to me. He didn't want to sit still; he wanted his mommy.

I was so mad.

Looking at this picture now... with the perspective of eight years, an understanding of autism, and episodes of his life and struggles that play randomly through my mind...all I want to do is go back in time.

I want to tell my old self to put the camera down. To tell all the kids to go have fun playing with the new toys. I want to tell Joseph that one day soon I will know how hard it was for him to have so many kids around him...to deal with the noise and the commotion. I want to scoop my two year old baby up in my arms and tell him that I will never, ever, leave him.

I think of all the times, after this party and after the diagnosis, when I layed next to him on the floor as he screamed for me to help him with something I couldn't understand. To fix something I couldn't see...crying with him because I felt so helpless.

This is the saddest photo I own. He needed me, and I didn't care. I just wanted the pretty picture. The fact that he was crying out for me was just a huge nuisance.

As much as I hate this picture, as much as it reminds me of my failures, I am also reminded of the One who always hears us.

Each time I look at it, I think to myself that there are times in my life where this is what I must have looked like to God. Crying out to Him...reaching for Him...needing Him to pick me up and carry me because everything was just too much.

Except He always listens to our cries.

"Hear my cry, O God;
listen to my prayer.

From the ends of the earth I call to you,
I call as my heart grows faint;
lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
For you have been my refuge,
a strong tower against the foe." (Psalm 61:1-2 NIV)

"Cast all your anxiety on him because He cares for you." (1 Peter 5:7 NIV)

“Even if my father and mother abandon me, the Lord will hold me close.” (Psalm 27:10 NLT)

It's too late for me to change the choices I made and the feelings I had in 2003. I could only allow it to change me as a person going forward.

And on the days where it seems like the past or the present wants to drag me into despair, I remember that I can always cry out to my Father. (Deut. 31:6a)

It's About the Cross

2011-12-25T09:57:00.000-08:00

I'll never forget the feeling that washed over me as I sat in the health office of my college. It was January of 1996 and I was a sophomore at SUNY Cortland, living up college life as a somewhat reclusive 19 year old. (Right, Holly? ;) ) What many didn't know was that I was also in the tenacious grip of anorexia...a horrible attempt to control something when my life felt like it was slipping from my hands. My health had gotten pretty bad, and I finally reached the point where going to a doctor was more necessary than hiding my secret.

Within moments of arriving, a ketone test betrayed me. "What have you been eating?" the nurse asked.
"Carrots." (One) "A Sandwich..." (Lie) "I am eating fine, just maybe a touch of the flu or something." (Lie)
"We're going to run a pregnancy test, just as a precaution," the nurse said, patting my hand.
"I'm not pregnant. There's no way I could be." (Lies...more lies)

And that test betrayed me, too. I sat there waiting for forever. When the nurse returned, she brought two women with her. Apparently it's hard to tell a teenager that her life as she knew it is over.

"What are you going to do?" they asked me, as if I should have any idea.

I can imagine what I must have looked like. Twisting my fingers in my lap, I threw up a wall and smiled. "It will be fine." (Lie) "I just have to tell my boyfriend."

Two thousand years before I received the news that would change my life forever, another girl was told the same:

"Now in the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the descendants of David; and the virgin’s name was Mary.

"The angel said to her, 'Do not be afraid, Mary; for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall name Him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High; and the Lord God will give Him the throne of His father David; and He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and His kingdom will have no end.'

"Mary said to the angel, 'How can this be, since I am a virgin?'

"The angel answered and said to her, 'The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; and for that reason the holy Child shall be called the Son of God.'" (Luke 1:26-27, 30-35)

Immaculate Conception. (Truth)
Her life changed in an instant...and I can imagine, Mary might have said, "It will be fine." (Truth)

She just had to tell her boyfriend.

Mary committed no sin and was chosen by God to carry His Son. It took an angel visiting Joseph to convince him that she had not been unfaithful.

"And Joseph her husband, being a righteous man and not wanting to disgrace her, planned to send her away secretly. But when he had considered this, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, 'Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife; for the Child who has been conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit. She will bear a Son; and you shall call His name Jesus, for He will save His people from their sins.'" (Matthew 1:19-21)

I reaped the consequences of my sin. My life changed. My world, for a while, grew smaller. I conquered anorexia after being told my baby was not growing as she should be. I walked down the wedding aisle five months pregnant and Steve and I launched into the dance of trying to grow up while trying to raise a child. There were days when I didn't think our marriage would make it. There were even days when I wondered how I could keep going.

But being born wasn't the most amazing thing that Jesus did. Performing miracles, healing, calming the storm...it all pales in comparison to what He did when He offered up His sinless life on the cross so that our sins would be covered.

"For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten son, that whosoever believe in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life." (John 3:16)

One year after my baby was born, I was saved through the grace of Mary's Son. My life didn't suddenly become perfect, but I was filled with a Hope and the knowledge that God loved me.

By His love, we are connected.

Christmas is about the cross.

Called

2011-10-18T06:32:00.000-07:00

A couple of my best friends arrived in Texas yesterday. It is the beginning of the end of one phase of their lives, and the end of the beginning of a journey that many people really don't understand. In fact, as supportive as I have been of them (because I love them) and as hard as I tried to understand (because I love Christ), it wasn't until recently that I really GOT it.

My friends are in Texas with their two small children because they need to buy a house. They need to buy a house because they have sold or given away most of what they own here in Wisconsin in order to follow the calling that God has clearly placed on them to go and share the gospel with the people in and near Monterrey, Mexico.

God called them, and they went.

It hasn't been easy. There have been many tears shed...their friends are here, their families are here. But God so clearly called them that they knew their only choice was complete obedience.

They go to join my friend's cousin, who is a pastor in a church that he has built with missions teams near Monterrey. I spent some time with him this weekend, as he is in the states for a few weeks. He is an amazing man. His wife stayed in Mexico, and twice when we were visiting with him, he got a phone call from her detailing an abduction near their church...it is dangerous territory.

My flesh says, "Leave! Go be safe somewhere....anywhere!" But where would that leave the people of these towns? How would that fulfill the commandment that God has give for us to go and make disciples of all the nations? (Matthew 28:19)

More than anything else, what sought me to look for answers was the overwhelming peace I see within my friends and my pastor friend. Are there concerns? Yes. Worries? Sinfully....sometimes. But peace....the underlying peace...the peace that surpasses all understanding...the peace is there. (Phil. 4:4-8)

Then I read this quote from an amazing book that is changing my life. I encourage everyone to read it. The name of the book is Radical: Taking Back your Faith from the American Dream by David Platt.

Your life is free to be radical when you see death as reward. This is the essence of what Jesus taught in Matthew 10, and I believe it is the key to taking back your faith from the American dream.
The key is realizing-and believing-that this world is not your home. If you and I ever hope to free our lives from worldly desires, worldly thinking, worldly pleasures, worldly dreams, worldly ideals, worldly values, worldly ambitions, and worldly acclaim, them we must focus our lives on another world. Though you and I live in the United States of America now, we must fix our attention on "a better country-a heavenly one." Though you and I find ourselves surrounded by the lure of temporary pleasure, we must fasten our affections on the one who promises eternal treasure that will never spoil or fade. If your life or my life is going to count on earth, we must start by concentrating on heaven. For then, and only then, will you and I be free to take radical risk, knowing that what awaits us is radical reward. (pg 179)

This speaks to me on so many levels. It makes me realize that I have spent the majority of my Christian life focusing on the benefits of my earthly life...and fearing death because it ends what I have here. But if, instead, I focus my eyes heavenward...not looking for death, but ceasing to be afraid of it...if I trust that my Heavenly Father will bring me home only in His perfect timing...what good can I do here for Him?

It is a scary thing, to truly say...."Here am I, send me." (Isaiah 6:8) To MEAN it when we say it. He might call us to our community. He might call us within our country. He might call us to give up everything and be a light to His people in a country we barely know exists. He might call us to die for His names sake.

My friends are called, and are being blessed because of their obedience. My prayer for myself and my family is that we are open to God's calling in our lives.

Radical seems to be the new "buzz word." But truly, Christ has been radical since the day He was conceived. Maybe what is actually "radical" is our obedience to His teachings.

Dear Heavenly Father, I pray that you would make your will clear in our lives. I pray for the missionaries who have followed your calling, that you would place a hedge of protection around them as they seek to minister to others. Lord, I specifically pray for my friends and for the ministry in Mexico...I pray that you will use them mightily. Thank you, Lord, that we live in a country where we are free to pray and worship openly. Thank you for the countless blessings bestowed on us here...help us to see the needs elsewhere. Amen.

Ripples

2011-10-12T12:04:00.001-07:00

"Dear Lord," I prayed, "help them to see that if they are feeling bitterness and anger, it isn't from You. For the fruits of the spirit are love, peace, gentleness..."

What about you?

"Huh? What about me? I'm praying about other people's problems, I'm not talking about myself! I don't have problems with bitterness and anger, look how forgiving I've been. See?"

What about this?

"Oh. That. Well. Yeah."

Why do you look at the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ and behold, the log is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye. (Matthew 7:3-5)

Sometimes I hate those verses.

But I have learned to take notice when God taps me on the shoulder.

It's hard to pray for an end to bitterness when I'm the problem. Bitterness is the love child of hurt and anger. You can't get rid of it without getting at the parents...and hurt and anger are stubborn tenants.

I'm a hypocrite if I pray for others to forgive if I won't.

So I prayed again, "Lord, I can't do this on my own. I shut myself down because rejection hurts so badly. But hiding the pain from myself and justifying the bitterness is still sin. I'm sorry, God. Help me love this person who has wounded me. Open my heart. I give my anger and bitterness to you, and I forgive this person for hurting me. Forgive me for waiting so long. Amen."

I opened one eye first as if the world was going to look a little different. Everything was still the same...no earth shattering result to a prayer I should have prayed years ago. But, deep inside, I felt it...a small sprout from the seed of peace.

It's going to take a while to heal. I might get wounded again. But my heart is clean and I am right with my Father. That's what matters.

So I reached out to the person who I'd crafted a bitter fortress around. "I care about you."

She responded. "Thank you."

Two hours later, I got a phone call from another friend who also had a fractured relationship with this person. This fracture was the subject of many of my most fervent prayers over the last couple months.

"I heard from her," my friend said. "Out of the blue she called and told me she cares about me."

Tears.

It's what grace does. It's what God does. Just like a stone thrown in the water causes ripples across the surface...touching areas you would never assume would be affected. God used my obedience in forgiving and reaching out to the person who hurt me to help her see who she needed to reach out to. And in doing so, one of my prayers was answered. Ripples.

Ripples of forgiveness; a circle of healing that started with a prayer and grew.

"Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, this he will also reap." (Galatians 6:7)

"Be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving each other, just as God in Christ also has forgiven you." (Ephesians 4:32)

Fostering Butterflies

2011-09-18T19:19:00.000-07:00

Often it is the teachers that are taught.

My friend Linda appeared randomly at my front door almost two months ago. This, in and of itself, is not unusual. The randomness with which my good friend comes and goes through the pages of my story is one of the things I love about her.

What was unusual about this particular instance, is that she did not come alone. She came bearing two Monarch butterfly friends.

"I have caterpillars at home," she whispered. "Want to? It would be so much fun for your kids to watch them go through their stages."

I don't know that I was necessarily jumping up and down with excitement, but I was game.

And so Little Bob and Jewel entered our lives. Little Bob was a few days ahead in his development compared to Jewel, who was probably only two centimeters long.

So these little creatures became the focus of our kitchen. We fed them milkweed, made sure their leaves didn't dry out too quickly, and even took care of their little-caterpillar-droppings. And every day, they grew.

It was fascinating to watch their transformation. One morning Little Bob was hanging upside down from the top of the jar, curled into a shape like a J. Three days later, Jewel joined him.

And then they were gone...all that remained of them were two green acorn-shaped tubes.

Days passed...days and days.

Until...

Little Bob emerged, leaving Jewel to finish her own journey...

And soon, we awoke to her re-birth:

It was amazing what I learned from these butterflies. Sure, my children learned, too...science-type lessons that I assumed they would learn when Linda brought those tiny caterpillars to my door. But I learned so much more...as my friend knew I would, and as God knew I needed.

Because the season of caterpillars and butterflies just happened to coincide with six weeks of unending chronic pain for me. Pain that led to anxiety and panic unlike anything I had experienced since 2001.

God chose butterflies to teach me...

patience...
perseverance...
trust...
how to hang on...
and ultimately, that the best way to have control is to let go and let God take over.

The worry went away first. Thank you, God, that you made the pain last longer than I let the anxiety reign. Getting rid of the anxiety after the pain would have been easy...living with pain without anxiety takes faith.

Fostering butterflies taught me faith.

Reconnect

2011-09-12T18:59:00.000-07:00

I heard from an old friend a few days ago. It had been more than a decade since we had last communicated; many of those years saw moments where I looked for him, searching for clues about the life and happiness of a boy-turned-man who had helped me through difficult moments in my young adult years.

My past and present collided when his name scrolled across my screen. To reach back...to hear about his life and his children...to open myself and give light to the teenager inside me that wished she'd had another chance to say thank you...I am so grateful.

As I was driving today, I thought about the vast number of people in this world who pray for re-connections. Not just friends, but family members...children, parents, siblings. My breath caught as I thought of the families who lost loved ones during 9/11...the knowledge that earthly connections ended so suddenly caused a rush of sympathy for a type of pain I can only imagine.

Then I thought...what about our Father? He loves us so much that even the hairs on our head are numbered. (Matthew 10:30) He created us and knit us together in our mother's womb. (Psalm 139:13) Yet how many of us have chosen to deny His existence? How many of us curse His name? And how many of us, those who have acknowledged and accepted Him, let days or weeks pass without reaching out to Him?

Are we connected?

“I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing." (John 15:5)

The joy we feel when we reconnect with a friend or loved one pales in comparison to the joy God must feel when we look to Him and say, "Here I am, Lord."

Distance, time, circumstances out of our control, misunderstandings, and even death might separate us from those we love. But Jesus? "I will never leave you nor forsake you." (Joshua 1:5b)

If you need to reconnect....He's only a whisper away.

The Bridge

2011-08-06T14:05:00.000-07:00

I've always been scared of bridges. The small ones that tend to wobble just a bit when you cross them; the old rickety bridges that you just know are going to be replaced or shut down shortly; and especially the long and incredibly high bridges that span large rivers as we drive across the country.

I think that my trepidatious relationship with bridges spawns from my fear of heights, but I think even more so it is born out of my desire for control. Imagine being eight months pregnant and trapped in a traffic jam on a mile long bridge that, in your mind, only has an end because common sense dictates it. Heights and loss of control wrapped into one not-so-pretty package.

So, knowing this about me, you might be surprised to learn that I spent this morning lying in the middle of a wooden bridge. Now, the bridge was approximately twenty feet long, not a mile. And the ground below the bridge was probably eight feet below...and covered in soft grass. But, still. I was lying in the middle of a bridge.

I walked across it first. I jumped a little to test the strength of the wood. I peeked over the edge. I sat down carefully and slowly stretched myself across its crest. And though my initial purpose was solely to "Be", it didn't take very long before God used it to teach me.

I knew the wood was strong. I was sure it would support me. The contruction and very essence of the bridge was solid. But I had to push away the shadow of fear that tickled my mind with doubt..."You could fall."

And, as it often does, suddenly my present situation collided directly with my spiritual weakness.

We know God is strong. "My God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation. He is my stronghold, my refuge and my Savior." (2nd Samuel 22:3)

We know God will support us. "In his kindness God called you to share in his eternal glory by means of Christ Jesus. So after you have suffered a little while, he will restore, support and strengthen you, and he will place you on a firm foundation." (1 Peter 5:10 NLT)

We know God is solid. "Who but our God is a solid rock?" (2nd Samuel 22:32b NLT); "Nevertheless, God's solid foundation stands firm, sealed with this inscription: 'The Lord knows those who are his.'" (2 Timothy 2:19a NLT)

We know all of this. But the fear, disguised as doubt, still winds itself through us. We fight Him for control. We think if we're in charge of the details, we can control the outcome. We remember His promises, but we don't rely on them. That small voice whispers, "What if I fall?"

We aren't going to fall.

As surely as that bridge supported my body, He holds us.

When I finally allowed myself to relax, there was such freedom in the trust. I am learning. One step at a time I am figuring this important lesson out.

"Faith, not fear."

"God is in control."

I am getting there.

So despite the sun that was beating down on me; regardless of my friends who were throwing grapes at me from the balcony above; the lesson was loud and clear:

Trust Him.

aixelsyD

2011-06-29T18:20:00.000-07:00

I took my almost-eleven year old daughter in for testing this week. I don't have enough space on this blog to talk about all the things she has struggled with...mostly revolving around reading and academics. She even repeated the second grade because her reading just wasn't progressing. And recently, as her younger sister Shaylee started learning how to read (and picked it up quickly) we realized that there was Really Something Wrong.

It's so interesting in such a frustrating way. I have thought a lot about the year and a half between when Joseph started acting strangely, provoking the first whispers of "autism", and his diagnosis. A lot of the reason that time passed was because we were in denial. Why? Because we didn't know enough about it. We thought of it as Rain Man, obsessed with numbers and flapping arms. We didn't know about spectrums and regressions, or obsessions and echolalia.

Now we have Aliegha. Of course we know about dyslexia. But to me, dyslexia is about reading and writing words backwards. And Aliegha doesn't do that, she never has. Sure she messes up a "b" and a "d" once in a while, but otherwise the words are completely misspelled in the mostly-correct order.

But the testing shows she DOES have dyslexia. And once again, I am left with the knowledge that it is actually rare for a child with this condition to do the very thing I thought the condition consisted of. Instead they do things like omit letters and sounds when reading, skip over small words like "a, an, the", and read very, very slowly...and painfully. All things that Aliegha has done for years. And there is more...attention lapses, memory lapses, academic "laziness" (How would we look if we couldn't read the directions or the problems on the workbook page???).

It was dyslexia all this time. And I didn't help her. I didn't know.

I feel all those same grief and guilt stages I did with Joseph....denial, anger, shock, bargaining, frustration...I find myself trying to put the blame somewhere so I don't look at the finger pointing at me.

Of course I know there wasn't REALLY anything I could do. But I feel like I should have seen it. I am a warrior for my children with special needs. There isn't a book I won't read or a therapy I won't investigate. And meanwhile, arming myself with alphabet soup knowledge...ASD, PTSD, RAD, SID...I missed the dyslexia, I missed three years of time that I could have fought for her.

But I know now. And God has been with us every step of the way. From choosing homeschooling curriculum weeks ago that "happens" to be one of the best programs for children with dyslexia, to giving a spirit of peace, acceptance and happiness to Aliegha so that I would see not condemnation in my daughter's eyes...but just pure and utter relief.

So I have to try not to look back and examine every disciplinary action and academic decision. I have to try to let go of the guilt and focus that time and energy on moving forward and putting another layer of my mommy-fight gloves on. Because Jeremiah 29:11 promises us a hope and a future....and plans that are known by the One who loves Aliegha more than I ever could imagine.

We might have lost three years....or five...but we have a lifetime ahead of us.

Missing them...

2011-06-28T07:11:00.000-07:00

There are devotions brewing in my head, words jumbling and sorting themselves out when my brain takes more than half a second to relax. But it isn't there....yet.

For the past nine days, Steve and Kahlan have been in Costa Rica for a high school spanish trip. They are having a blast...learning about wild looking creatures like this one...

Kahlan has always loved adventure, and this has been an amazing experience for her. She went ziplining through the rainforest, visited waterfalls like this one...

And generally has done things that she could never have imagined. This experience particularly disturbed her sister Kayanna, who is deathly afraid of birds...

But I think, now that it has been nine days, they are ready to come home. I can't wait to have them here again. Only about 36 hours left...

Hopefully the bugs stay in Costa Rica and don't hitch a ride here!

Living It...

2011-06-15T20:43:00.000-07:00

I am living my next blog entry right now. My mom was hospitalized four days ago with dangerously low sodium levels that caused many problems. It has been an emotional week, and I have learned so much during these days.
She should be discharged tomorrow. I can't wait to share our experience with you.

Careless

2011-06-11T12:02:00.000-07:00

This is the scripture verse that greeted me this morning:

"But I tell you that every careless word that people speak, they shall give an accounting for it in the day of judgment. For by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned." (Matthew 12:36-37)

Yikes.

I've had way too many careless words lately. Careless whispers, careless reprimanding. We are in the adjustment phase of the-kids-are-back-home. I know that every summer starts rough, and by the end of August I wish more than anything that they didn't have to go back to school. But man, the beginning is hard on all of us.

I need to watch my words. I need to think before I speak. I need to remember that not only in my parenting, but in my friendships and my role as a wife, I am accountable for what I say. It's amazing how careless words can hurt.

Being quiet is an art form I haven't quite mastered yet.

Unknown

2011-06-09T07:00:00.000-07:00

I spent yesterday in a clinic about two hours from home. It was time for Joseph to meet again with his pediatric neuropsychologist. It is the appointment that worries me the most...this man having the diagnostic tools to truly tell me where Joseph stands among his peers and, possibly, give me that elusive glimpse into his Future.

The testing took four hours. Joseph was such a trooper, and when he came out for his snack break, he told me, "I'm doing awesome, Mom!"

I met with the doctor after the tests were concluded. He said that Joseph is a rare case. (Those who know him know that, for sure!) He said that a lot of times predictions can be made at around 10 or 11 years old as far as how far a child with autism will typically go. (Autism and Asperger's being decidedly different in that way.)

But Joseph, he said, is more of an unknown. His cognitive skills far outweigh how he tested yesterday academically. He said that they could tell that Joseph was rushing through, so though his skills tested at low-average, he thinks that based on his cognitive testing, the skills are much higher.

How I loved the word, "Unknown." It's like being a child and asking your parents for something, and just hoping that, at the very least, they will say, "Maybe." Maybe is so full of possibilities and hope. It's a possible yes. And that's what we got yesterday. Possibly, yes.

I found a picture of Joseph from During a few weeks ago. If I find it again, I will post it here. The Autism diagnosis hadn't happened yet, but his symptoms were in full force. I was in denial. I tried to put the kids in our extended family on the couch for a picture. Everyone looks happy except my two year old Joseph. He is screaming...reaching for me as if to say, "Please, please, I can't do this!"

I didn't know. And so I made him sit there, and now I have this image captured on film, the very raw center of his struggle.

Back then, I didn't want to hear, "Unknown." I think that is why I was in denial for so long. But now, loving my son for who he is and what he brings to my life, Unknown is pure joy.

Will Joseph be independent? Will he marry and have children? Will he have a job and be happy with his position in life?

Possibly, Yes.

New Format

2011-06-07T14:18:00.000-07:00

It hardly seems possible that I started this blog almost two years ago. I remember still so clearly how God impressed upon my heart the need to come here and write. I remember feeling aghast at the thought of keeping up with my entries for one whole year! And yet here we are.

This blog has turned into something different from what it started as. I meant it to be a blog that chronicled my daily walk with Him, an account of how an insanely busy mom of seven (now ten) says," Yes!" to all that God wants her to be. In time, my perfectionist self took over. It became more of a devotional blog than a conversational blog. Certainly nothing wrong with that, except that my entries became more bi-monthly than daily.

So I am going to try something different. A combining of what it was and what it is.

I am going to try to write daily. When the post is a devotion, I'll label it as such. Also, though I have so far always posted on Facebook when an entry was completed, I will only do that for the devotional posts. So if you want to see the daily entries, you'll have to come here for those.

My daughter Kahlan will also do some guest blogging. She is an amazing writer and has given her life wholeheartedly to Jesus. I am trying to convince her to do her own blog geared toward kids her age, but this will be a stepping stone to that. I will label her devotions or posts specifically, also.

So there we are. Come along and walk with me. I'm going to do my best to share my life with you without agonizing over every word choice and metaphor. We'll save those for When the Mood Strikes. :)

Grieving

2011-05-26T06:51:00.000-07:00

My cell phone rang as we drove down the road. Looking back on it now, the familiar ringtone separated three of my daughters' lives into yet another Before and After.

As the details of the phone call ripped through me, I waved at Steve to pull the van over on the side of the highway so I could talk without our children hearing. I wrenched open the door and jumped into the long grass next to us. "I'm so sorry," I repeated over and over again as I cried with the woman who I have come to love like a sister. "I'm so sorry."

The parallel of my life and the life of my girls' birthparents, in that moment, came crashing together.

Because at two or three o'clock in the morning, as we slept soundly in our beds, my daughters' birthfather climbed out of his bed in the camper he was staying in. Unable to sleep, he turned to drugs for comfort.

At around five o'clock in the morning, as the sun peeked over the horizon and I began to stir, my daughters' birthmother woke to the gentle sound of her husband's snoring. Comforted that he was okay, she drifted off again.

At around seven or eight o'clock in the morning, as we began racing around the house to get ready and out the door to church, my daughters' birthfather stopped breathing and left this world.

At eleven o'clock in the morning, as we left church and chatted with friends, my daughters' birthmother went to wake her husband and discovered that though he still lay next to her, he was no longer there.

Husband. Son. Grandson. Friend. Uncle. Cousin. Nephew. Son-in-Law. Brother. Father.

Heart-wrenching grief.

We drove in shock to a friend's house and then home. Wrestling with how and when to tell the girls, wishing beyond anything that we could protect them from the hurt they would feel.

Steve and I went and sat with the girls' birthmother for two hours and helped her cry. It was a rocky relationship they had, but its foundation was a deep love and loyalty for each other.

Hours later as we sat our girls down and cried with our children, I reflected on this verse:

"Come now, you who say, 'Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, and spend a year there and engage in business and make a profit.' Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away." (James 4:13-14)

His death left a lot of regrets in a lot of people, including myself. We can't go back and change the past, but we can change the choices we make in the future. That letter I meant to write him five months ago when I thought I had forever to write it? That opportunity is gone. But I can take that hurt and weave it into the peace and resolution that will come from future words that I will make sure get written or said when they need to be.

The pain and regret left in those closest to him will help heal broken relationships. People are coming together that haven't spoken in years. Because Charlie's death has reminded us how fragile life here can be. And no matter how deep the anger, how searing the bitterness, how broken the bridges...nothing is worth living the rest of our lives with the knowledge that we can never go back and make things right.

I pray that as so many of Charlie's family and friends work on just putting one foot in front of the other today, that you may have friendships and relationships that will heal because of our experiences. Ephesians 4:26b says, "Do not let the sun go down on your anger." As we reflect on the good times in his life, as we celebrate who he really was, I pray that you will be reaching out to someone in your life who needs forgiveness, or whom you need to ask forgiveness from. The healing of reconciliation is so much better than the weight of regret.

Thank you for your prayers for my girls and for Charlie's family.

As Dandelions

2011-05-10T21:29:00.000-07:00

"Mommy, look what I got you!"

Wide, blue eyes twinkling beneath a tangle of long, blond hair. Dirt caked on fingers wrapped lovingly, carefully, around three beautiful dandelions.

"I picked them just for you! Here, Mommy, take them..."

She's gone in a flash, my sweet, five year old Aimee. Off to the gorgeous green fields where the dandelion harvest seems limitless.

I tuck the gift in my pocket, sparing a second for a mental notation of water and vases and the perfect spot on the counter.

Time passes, as it does. "Don't climb too high; don't run too fast; be careful, your brother is swinging there; say sorry." The moments that seem to last forever until we look back on them and wonder how they passed so quickly.

Hours later, my hand reaches into my pocket. It's a quiet moment, the stillness reminding me of my treasure.

Pulling them out, I feel a tug of disappointment. I waited too long...the vibrant yellows and greens blending and fading; the flowers' faces curled inward. It isn't the first time I hide dandelions in trash bags.

So many lessons that could be twisted and turned and made to seem like a pretty version of what dandelions taught me today. The truth is ugly to me.

I haven't been plugging in like I need to. I haven't been turning to His Word like I know I should. Like crossing the desert and "not having time" to open the canteen; I'm so thirsty I feel like a shadow of myself. The world just has that funny way of making itself too important. Or maybe I have a funny way of making the world too important.

We need to be connected to the vine. "I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me, and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing." (John 15:5)

He is as necessary to us as water and sunlight are to that field of flowers. He doesn't want to be our 911 operator, or the one we turn to when there isn't any one left. He wants to be our First. He wants to be our Father. And that means our relationship has to be more than good intentions.

It's too late for those dandelions... but thank you, God, for your grace that means it's not too late for me.

Hydrate

2011-03-28T17:33:00.000-07:00

When my leg buckled beneath me, it should have been a sign.

When my brain was screaming, "Enough! Enough! Enough!" I should have listened.

Instead, I kept going. It was my first run of the year, and it felt SO good. What was supposed to be a nice and easy mile quickly turned into three. Finally, at the top of my street, I slowed to a walk.

I almost didn't make it any further.

Buzzing zipped through my head, clouding my vision. My legs felt like rubber and my lips and tongue vibrated eerily. My first thought was, "I'm not going to make it home."

My second was, "God, please help me make it home."

By God's grace, putting one foot in front of another, I made it to my house. I'd tried in vain to call my husband for help, but I couldn't get the phone to work. Nothing made sense in my head.

Steve ushered me inside quickly and gave me water and a stern look. (Not in that order.) Though I started to feel better, dizziness and nausea soon crashed over me. As Steve ushered me into the van to drive to the Emergency Room, I knew I was in trouble.

By the time I reached the ER, my heart rate was 133. My legs were cramped into knots, my body was shaking violently, and I couldn't open my eyes without the room swimming.

"We're going to start an IV, this looks like a pretty bad case of dehydration," the nurse murmured as he connected electrodes to my chest. "That heart rate needs to come down."

So I did the only thing I knew I could do to calm my heart: I prayed. The words came to me effortlessly, "Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, through prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your heart and mind in Christ Jesus." (Phil. 4:6-7)

Over and over again I prayed that verse. As I prayed, my heart slowed down...130, 122, 118, 109...

"Excuse me," another nurse interrupted, preparing me for the IV fluids.

Immediately my heart raced again.

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, through prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your heart and mind in Christ Jesus.

133, 127, 115, 108...

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything...

114, 107, 101...

Be anxious for nothing...

105, 98, 93...

And the peace of God...

96, 92, 85...

I fell asleep in that hospital bed praying that verse. God's peace, the peace He promises us even though it surpasses any understanding, washed over me. When I woke up, I felt so much better.

Apparently, we shouldn't run long distances when we are dehydrated. I learned that lesson the hard way.

We also shouldn't run the roads of life without being hydrated with God's Word. I didn't have time to grab my Bible on the way to the hospital. Even if I'd had it, I couldn't open my eyes to read it. But I didn't need to; I had His Word hidden in my heart.

We need to read it, meditate on it, memorize it. We don't know when something might happen where we need His promises planted within us.

When we hydrate with the Living Water, our thirst will truly be quenched.

Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”

“Sir,” the woman said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his livestock?”

Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” (John 4:10-14)

Belonging

2011-02-27T12:21:00.000-08:00

I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't want to belong.

A person, a family, a club, a sport...if I wasn't welcome, if it didn't exist or it wasn't compatible with my interests, I created it myself.

I didn't have a lot of grace or finesse as a child, so that pretty much left me to my own devices.

The very first record I have of this desire is an autograph book scrawled in my seven-year-old handwriting: "Gretchen - no onions. Vikki - none. Emily - blueberries." (Because apparently, in the course of creating a club of first graders, it is important to know about allergies.) The club never materialized, becoming the first of many failed attempts to have something I could call my own.

After Stephen King's book "IT" came out, I gathered neighborhood children to search the sewers of our development for the creature from the book. I remember so clearly standing on my front porch as a twelve year old girl, a notebook of "plans" in my hand, wishing with every fiber of my being that we would find something...not because of the adventure of it, but because if it was real then the kids would all bind together in the pursuit of conquering evil. I just wanted to belong.

As I became an adolescent, it got crazier. As a junior in high school I formed a team of boys and told them all about the dreams I had: dreams where we populated the planet Kraz and ruled nations together. Except I convinced them (or tried to) that it was real. Maybe they went along with me because they wanted to belong to something as much as I did. Maybe they saw a girl who hurt so badly she couldn't even exist without an alternate reality and didn't have the heart to leave her alone. Whatever the reasons, I will always remember what it felt like to sit at the table in the library and draw maps and make plans for that night's journey.

In addition to my inane fantasies, I tried typical methods: sports, choir, boys. Like flashes of light I would be satisfied for momentary periods and then plunge into darkness when they ended.

I know that the only thing that kept me from ending my life was the thought of my future husband and children. To me, that was permanent. Someday I would never be alone.

I thank God that He brought Steve to me when I was 17. I don't know that I would have made it much longer, my depression and self-loathing at that point being almost unbearable. Steve came in as a rock. He was impressed by my fantasy-world, of stories of spirit guardians and other lives, but his reality stayed strong. He taught me that being in this world could be a good thing; that I could be a good thing in this world. I opened my heart to him, knowing that I was exposing the vulnerable side of me that I had manufactured everything to protect. And he still loved me. And I belonged with him.

We married, and I accepted Christ a year later. The thought that God loved me despite my failures; that He wanted to forgive me for all the things I had done that crushed me with guilt...it was this realization that made me give my life to Him. You would think that it would have struck me then that I belonged to God; the ultimate relationship that would never, ever fail me. But it didn't.

Having the security of my marriage with Steve, having begun the terrifying process of being the real me in the real world, I reached out again. Longing to share my life with friends, I launched myself into best friend after best friend. When I love, I love passionately; when I feel deeply rejected, I plummet just as extremely. And so friendship after friendship blossomed and exploded; a roller coaster of flying and falling. Looking back, I know exactly why: I was wrapping the very essence of my self-worth around how much people wanted to love me.

In 2000 I did it again: feeling hurt over something that was so small in hindsight, I walked away from a good friend and also a group of friends that I had started a book club with. Wounded by the rejection I had fabricated for myself, I withdrew. I spent years without deep friendships, taking that time to explore who I was in Christ and with Steve. When I came out of my "hibernation," I was more grounded. I no longer felt desperate for companionship; I knew that I could stand on my own. I began developing friendships that were meaningful again, experiencing for the first time what healthy friendships felt like.

Last month, I went to a baby shower for the one friend from the 2000 book club I had kept contact with. I knew that the other members had stayed together, and I had followed from afar the close knit group they had become. I was so nervous as I entered the house that I literally shook from it. I prayed, "Dear Lord, help me to remember that I am not the person they last saw anymore. Help them to see that I am no longer as they remember me." And He gave me peace, and I was fine.

Talking to my friend Rebecca later that day, I realized something that I should have understood years before. "I just miss being part of that group," I told her. "I miss the discussion, I miss the in-depth conversations, I miss sharing our lives together."

"But you have all of that," she said. "I thought that I would miss the intellectual conversations and fellowship I used to have in college, but after becoming a Christian I realized that now I have all that and more. Not only do I have fellowship, not only do I have awesome intellectual conversations, but they center around the most important thing in my life: our God. I might not be able to have some big literature conversation with you," she laughed, "but the heart of what you are yearning for is something you already have."

And she was totally right. I wanted friendships? I have sisters. Women who would drop everything to help me if I needed them. Women who tell me what I need to hear even when I don't want to. Women who pray with me when I'm in their presence and for me when I'm not. Women who love me for who I am.

As I stood in an amazing group of friends last night after we had watched a movie together, I soaked in the "belonging" feeling. But now, I put the credit where it is due.

It isn't that I finally took all the right steps to create the perfect "club". Some people who aren't Christians might think that's what it is. But I've tried every human way to manufacture this feeling, and it has never worked. I know it isn't me.

God longs for us to want to belong to Him. And when we throw ourselves at His feet and offer our life to Him, there's a family waiting for us. Brothers and sisters who belong to each other because we share the most important thing there is to share: eternity with a Father who gives us the ultimate belonging.

"He will never leave you nor forsake you." (Deut. 31:6b)

"The Lord Himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you." (Deut. 31:8a)

"I will never leave you nor forsake you." (Joshua 1:5b)

"God has said, 'Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you." (Hebrews 13:5b)

In Her Words

2011-02-17T12:35:00.000-08:00

My oldest daughter was baptized on Sunday.

At thirteen years old, she stood before the congregation and reflected on a difficult time she had last year; about being brought to her knees by the conviction of her actions. She talked about the difference between the knowledge of God she had before and the relationship with Him she has now.

Her faith is maturing every single day. Her commitment to Christ is visible not only in her choices, but in our house. So today, I bring you her words.

(Written by Kahlan and posted on her bedroom wall):

dear Lord,

help me spread Your fragrance wherever I go.

FLOOD my soul with Your Spirit & Life

Penetrate me, posess my whole being so utterly that every soul I come in contact with can FEEL Your presence.

Shine through me so my life can be a reflection of Yours.

Let me preach without preaching; not by words but by example, by the catching force; the sympathetic influence of what I do, the evident fullness of the love my heart bears for You.

Amen.

Saturated

2011-02-08T11:40:00.000-08:00

Imagine, if you will, that I am a sponge.

I think I am sitting in the kitchen sink. Above me looms a huge faucet that is leaking water. Little droplets fall every few minutes right on top of me.

I don't know what it is about the last couple of weeks, but this image keeps coming to my mind. As little irritants that would normally roll off my back keep dropping into my life, I am getting angry.

Now that my sponge-self feels saturated, I am starting to leak the frustration I feel inside to the people around me.

Seeing the look on my children's faces when I snap at them for no reason made me realize that I can't continue like this. So rather than get angry about the fact that I am too angry, I am crying out to God:

Wring me out. Please.

"My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires." (James 1:19-20)

Please.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled..." (John 14:27a)

Letting go of anger is a choice. It doesn't go away on its own, in fact it grows and takes on life when allowed to root within us. Getting rid of it is going to mean granting forgiveness that I don't feel like granting, and it's going to mean accepting that I can't control the actions or hearts of other people.

It's times like these, when I feel so much like a child, that I realize how much I need my Father.

Plan "See"

2011-02-04T10:13:00.001-08:00

I was drowning.

My body was on fire, stabbing pains echoed through my ribcage, an invisible weight was crushing my chest, and I was so weak that I had to consciously gather the energy needed to cough out the fluid that was drowning me. I knew I was in a battle for my life, and bacterial pneumonia wanted the trophy.

But this isn't about pneumonia, and it isn't about the six weeks it took me to recover. It isn't about how my husband single parented ten children, and it isn't about my renewed love for the television show Leave it to Beaver that was my only way to share time with my kids as I chose to take one labored breath after another.

It isn't about anything like that.

It's about where I thought I was supposed to be.

I am a planner. I love plans. I spend time in the shower calculating how many weeks it will take me to lose weight, or save money, or figuring out my schedule for the week for the sixth time. It brings me joy because I love thinking that I have everything under control.

And so, months before I stared pneumonia in the face, I had a plan. My Plan A was to attend the She Speaks conference in North Carolina. It was something I had been excited about for quite a while, and as the date loomed my excitement grew. I even entered a writing contest for a free ticket for that weekend.

Then I found out that a Precepts training that I had been planning on attending was that same weekend. This was really hard for me, as I was looking forward to going to the training with a few friends, and I needed to have the training in order to teach a class I wanted to lead for church.

So I came up with Plan B. If I won the contest, I'd go to She Speaks. If I didn't win, I'd go to the training. Seemed perfect to me. That would tell me what God's will was, right? If He wanted me to go to the conference, I'd win. If He wanted me to go to the training, I'd lose. Perfect.

Then I lost, and I was devastated. I allowed for a time for the disappointment to become personal; a personal attack against my writing skills and myself. It took me a few days to come back to the place where I understood that this was God's plan and started to get excited about what God obviously DID intend for me to do: the training.

Two weeks before I was supposed to leave, things started going wrong. I was sleeping all the time, coughing, not eating, and so weak that I had to take a break just walking from one end of a hallway to the other. The pneumonia diagnosis came shortly thereafter.

Guess what I was doing the weekend of the training? It wasn't Plan A, and it certainly wasn't Plan B.

I was doing Plan "See". "See" as in, we can't See what God wants for us. "See" as in, only God can See what our path is. "See" as in, stop putting God in a box and paying lip service to Him by saying that my plans are His plans!

I learned many valuable lessons during those weeks. But the most important one for me was the reminder that I am not the one who is in control. I don't get to give God options and let Him pick which one He likes best. It doesn't mean I don't have free will and the ability to make choices, but ultimately I am not the one who calls the shots. And I don't need to be.

I still have my Plan A and Plan B, but I now know that Plan "See", when it pops up, is a detour instead of a roadblock. And God's detours have some pretty awesome views.

One More Day

2011-02-03T11:21:00.000-08:00

"I'm going to hurt you!" my foster daughter screamed, her six-year old face red with fury.

"What are you talking about?!" I yelled back, failing in my efforts to stay calm in the presence of a little girl who had spent months doing everything she could to make me hate her.

"I don't know, but you're going to be bloody!" she threatened, punching my bed as if to punctuate her intention.

"That's it," I thought as adrenaline pumped through my body. "I'm done." I turned abruptly and walked down the hall into the kitchen. I grabbed the phone and quickly dialed the social worker's phone number. Three rings later, I was uttering the words I'd promised myself I would never say. "Come get her. I can't do this anymore."

Two days from now, I will tell this story. As I stand in front of a classroom of potential and current foster parents, I will talk about the little girl that I wanted to give up on. I will tell them that I thought I had done everything I possibly could do, loved as much as I thought I could love.

As I pass around a family picture of my ten beautiful children, I will recount the rest of that conversation from so long ago:

"Can you do it for three more weeks?" he asked quietly.

"I don't think so. I don't think I can do it one more day." Defeat was so hard for me, but with four children to take care of and my baby daughter growing inside me, I already felt like I had done as much as I could do.

"Well, it is going to take some time. I know that you feel it's impossible, but can you try?"

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. (Phil. 4:13)

"All right," I conceded softly. "I can try."

It won't take me long to tell them what happened next. It's my favorite part of Breanna's story. Because two weeks after I tried to give up, she finally allowed a crack in the hard exterior she had surrounded herself in.

A crack was all I'd wanted. Renewed and hopeful, we blasted her with love. And just a day or two before our three week deadline, she let us into her heart.

"When you feel like you can't do it," I will say on Saturday, "when you feel like there is no hope left...you can do it one more day."

Ten smiling children. Four children we brought into this world by birth. Three girls who we didn't even know back then, who God knew would one day be our daughters. Breanna's brother and sister, who are an integral part of our family even though they don't live with us. And my Breanna... the little girl who I almost gave up on...who I can't imagine my life without.

Holding out the picture, I'll end with this simple statement: "You can do it for this."

I hope that they will listen. I hope they will take my story and remember it when they have a chance to love their own Breanna. Because I don't want to know what my family would look like today if that social worker hadn't had the wisdom to ask me to try one more time.

"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)

Snapshots

2010-10-22T06:12:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-02T20:10:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-02T07:26:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-21T11:52:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-30T11:50:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-13T19:06:00.001-07:00

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

2010-05-10T11:50:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-26T09:39:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-25T09:31:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-24T10:40:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-23T10:36:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-19T12:41:00.000-07:00

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

2010-02-28T15:56:00.000-08:00

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")

2010-02-27T16:33:00.001-08:00

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)

2010-02-11T09:22:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-06T09:34:00.001-08:00

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

2010-01-11T18:52:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-10T19:40:00.000-08:00

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.

Yes in the Morning, No at Night

2009-12-21T18:47:00.000-08:00

For those of you who are still following my journey here, thanks for sticking by me during my recent days of absence. As Christmas nears, my time has been claimed left and right by various activities that the children have. Things will slow down just in time for me to pack our bags and head to Rochester for a week.

I thought I'd give a general update on my say Yes lifestyle.

In some areas, I've been doing really well. I have been in the Word of God almost every day (I think I have only missed one day since starting this blog). I am still studying Judges with the Precept upon Precept study, and I have read Genesis, Exodus, and Leviticus in the last three weeks. I am learning so much and have developed a new appreciation for the gift the Bible is.

I have continued to stay open to the will of God. There haven't been very many "obvious" moments where I know that God wants me to do something, but on the other hand, that means that I haven't had to have the experience of being disobedient.

There are definitely some areas in which I still struggle. Most of them deal with things that involve energy and discipline: housework, healthy lifestyle living (diet and exercise), and having the fortitude to truly do for the children what they deserve (undivided attention being so difficult sometimes with seven).

I find that in the morning, I have firm convictions. I will keep the house picked up as my children tornado through it, I will only eat foods that provide my body nutritional value, I will read to the children individually and keep the television turned off.

But towards the end of the afternoon, everything tends to fall apart. My energy starts to wane, and the children's energy doesn't. So I can't quite keep up as they create their whirlwinds, which makes me feel inadequate so I turn to junk food. The junk food makes me feel sluggish, so I turn on the television so that the children will be occupied while I try to clean up after them. The day ends with me praying for renewed strength the next day to be able to be the mother I know God wants me to be - not perfect, but better.

So this is where I am at. I have made some forward steps, like asking a dear friend to be my accountability partner for my physical health choices. Since the computer just sucks my time away, I made the decision to not use it until my morning chores are done and I have done my daily Bible study. This has helped a little.

My goal also is to post more here. I miss my quiet writing times; the way that God showed me a topic when I was praying for ideas.

I know that God did not give me seven children so that I could find out that I don't have the ability to do it right. He gave me seven children because He knew He would give me the strength to succeed. I just need to keep my eyes on Him.

The Reason

2009-12-16T18:47:00.000-08:00

The craziness of the season has descended.

Between managing more than ten Christmas lists, checking and double checking the calendar every hour, and trying to make sure that everyone is where they need to be when they need to be there with what they are supposed to bring, I hardly have a moment to breathe.

But this year, I have made myself a promise. I promise that in those sacred breathing moments, I will remember the true meaning of Christmas. I will remember that family and friends and church and ministry is important, but that all of those things exist for the glory of God. Without Him, everything else would be meaningless.

He doesn't need to be set apart from all our busyness, either. My prayer is that in all things that we do, we will strive to bring forth the light of Christ. Whether that means saying, "Merry Christmas," to the store clerk that offers, "Happy Holidays," or taking the time to sit and discuss the birth of Christ and God's purpose for His life, we can keep Christ in Christmas.

This is the season that people who don't have Christ as their Savior tend to start searching...questing for something they might not even know they're looking for. But we know. By keeping our focus on Him this season, He may bring before us an opportunity to lead someone to a saving faith.

And we all know that's the best gift they'll ever receive.

Blinded

2009-12-12T18:38:00.000-08:00

I woke up in a great mood this morning. Why? Because I was leaving the house to have breakfast with an amazing friend. Just the two of us, sans screaming and whining children. Complete bliss.

I was so anxious to get to the restaurant that I decided to forgo the "scraping of the windshield" part of going anywhere if you live in Wisconsin. After all, I could technically see. And besides, the beautiful ice crystals that danced across my line of vision were very pretty.

All was well for 75% of my drive. Then I turned left, right into the path of the sun.

Uh oh.

I couldn't see *anything*. Nothing. Just a brilliantly bright light.

Thankfully there was a side road directly to my left. Truly, I wouldn't have been able to go any further if it hadn't been there. I immediately realized why people scrape their windshields before driving. Apparently it only took me 16 years to learn that lesson.

So I made it to my breakfast by parking in the lot adjacent to that side street, in the opposite direction of the morning sun. I hurried to meet my friend and had a fantastic time catching up with her and sharing how God was moving in our lives.

I told her about my morning journey, and she laughed. "There is a parable in there somewhere," she said (proving once again why I just adore her.)

She was totally right. How many times in my life have I allowed myself a thin veil of the world? After all, I can still see God through it, can't I walk that fine line?

No, I can't. Because time after time I've seen that allowing the shadow blinds me to the perfection of His light.

Yes, it takes extra time. I have to make time to read the Bible every day, I have to remind myself to be in prayer. But dedicating those sections of my day to Him keeps my vision clear and my paths straight.

It's so worth it.

"Just Happened"

2009-12-10T17:49:00.000-08:00

It was one of those mornings.

Steve called me to tell me that he had run out of gas while driving to the gas station. Both of us having not followed our typical rule of keeping at least 1/4 tank in the winter, I knew that I was almost out of gas also. Yet it was up to me to drive to the gas station to fill that lovely red container and bring it back to Steve so he could get to work.

As I turned on the van, alarm bells rang. My tires, all four of them, were low on air. Of course. But that "little" detail was going to have to wait for later.

Then it took me ten minutes to pull out of my driveway. Apparently 8:37 is the prime time in the morning for buses to drive down my street on their way to the high school. Finally I was on the road.

The window fogged up on the way down a steep hill. Nothing like driving down a snowy, curving road with no gas and no visibility!

I prayed all the way to the gas station, and moments later I coasted safely to the beautiful gasoline pumps.

After getting gas, I sat for a few minutes to let my windows defrost. I knew Steve was waiting for me, but I couldn't call him because...you guessed it, his cell phone had died. And I had the charger.

Finally I got back up the hill and pulled in next to Steve. He was freezing and very, very happy to see me. He quickly poured the gas in his tank and drove away.

As I pulled into my driveway, the spare key I had taken, since I couldn't find my regular keys, fell into the crack between the steering wheel and the dashboard. I imagined a long stick with a half-chewed sticky piece of gum on the end, but opted instead to just finally walk back into my house.

You would think this would be enough to shatter my day. But guess what? I was elated!

Instead of seeing all the negatives, I reveled in the blessings:

Steve's cell phone is broken and can't make outgoing calls. I "just happened" to call him right as he ran out of gas. Had I not done that, he would have been stuck with no way to let me know.

Steve was supposed to take Kahlan to swimming this morning. I "just happened" to decide at the last minute to give her the morning off, and so we slept until 6:30. Had he run out of gas at 6:15am, I couldn't have helped him until I was finished getting all the children to school.

I had an appointment with the dog groomer this morning that I "just happened" to cancel right before calling Steve. Had I not canceled the appointment, I would have gotten the children ready and headed out the door without ever calling Steve and finding out his predicament.

Scripture "just happened" to pop into my head as I was driving down that winding hill. I wish I could tell you what it was, but I truly have no idea. He gave it to me when I needed it, and it got me through with no anxiety.

After losing my spare key to the cavernous hole and walking back in my house, my regular car keys "just happened" to be sitting right on the counter...in plain sight.

God is so good. This could have been a horrible day, but instead it left me filled with joy and thankfulness.

Idolatry

2009-12-08T19:56:00.000-08:00

I've been reading through the book of Judges, chapters 6-8. I can't say enough about the Precept upon Precept study that I have been doing, the content is just phenomenal.

So this week while looking at these versus, the study had me doing some cross referencing on idolatry. Which was actually really good timing, because Steve had just come home one night and told me that he heard a podcast that talked about the fact that idolatry isn't just worshiping idols made of wood. We make idols for ourselves in other things, like food, money, people, fame, etc.

Now thinking of those things, which certainly have and do tempt me to turn my sight from God, read this verse from Romans:

"And just as they did not see fit to acknowledge God any longer, God gave them over to a depraved mind, to do those things which are not proper,
being filled with all unrighteousness, wickedness, greed, evil; full of envy, murder, strife, deceit, malice; they are gossips, slanderers, haters of God, insolent, arrogant, boastful, inventors of evil, disobedient to parents, without understanding, untrustworthy, unloving, unmerciful; and although they know the ordinance of God, that those who practice such things are worthy of death, they not only do the same, but also give hearty approval to those who practice them. (Romans 1:28-32)

Wow.

Now if that doesn't hit you like a ton of bricks.

And it is SO true. I know these things are wrong. But yet so many times I allow them to creep into my life. When you look at it all listed like that, it really gives you pause, doesn't it?

My prayer is that I will pay more attention to those things that I have set above God in my life, and that I will be conscious of my priorities.

When my perception was that idols were just wooden statues, I thought I had this thing in the bag.

I'm so glad that my eyes were opened to the idols of our world.

Gifted

2009-12-05T18:09:00.000-08:00

It's that time of year again. My parenting message boards are filled with the adventures of moms and dads questing to find and purchase that perfect present. We laugh together, we offer ideas, we sit by the computer waiting for the online toy store to restock its virtual shelves so that we can share with our friends the link to this one coveted toy.

We stand in line on Black Friday. We memorize Walmart's delivery truck arrival times. We trudge through snow and rain and cold, just to place our hands on the item that completes our child's wish list.

Why? Why do we do it all?

We do it because one of the best things about being a parent is being the source of unbridled joy in our children. Our hearts light up with their faces. Their excitement makes every dollar and every harried moment totally worth it.

Tonight as I was making a batch of Christmas cookies, a thought came to me.

God gifts us every day.

His grace. His Word. His promises. His truth. His Son.

Why? Why does He give it all?

Because He loves us. Because He wants to be the source of unbridled joy in His children.

His gifts aren't just available on holidays. They are ours for the taking every single moment.

Our joy is His joy.

Let's delight in the Lord, thanking Him for His gifts.

In My Tent

2009-12-04T21:07:00.000-08:00

For years, I knew them. As if sharing blood, my heart was exposed to theirs. I drew no lines between us, my trust limitless.

The sons of Noah who came out of the ark were Shem, Ham and Japheth. (Ham was the father of Canaan.) These were the three sons of Noah, and from them came the people who were scattered over the earth.

The time came when the world pulled me down, my body falling to the ground as it fought mental battles.

Noah, a man of the soil, proceeded to plant a vineyard. When he drank some of its wine, he became drunk and lay uncovered inside his tent.

And one, for whom I would have done anything, came out from within the dark place I had revealed, speaking my truth unspeakably.

Ham, the father of Canaan, saw his father's nakedness and told his two brothers outside.

Two others, in spite of rumor and gossip's tantalizing temptation, came to me with cloaks of compassion, covering and shielding me when I couldn't.

But Shem and Japheth took a garment and laid it across their shoulders; then they walked in backward and covered their father's nakedness. Their faces were turned the other way so that they would not see their father's nakedness. (Genesis 9:18-23)

Betrayal versus Commitment. Judgment against Unconditional Love.

Forgiveness has long since faded the wound I felt so long ago, but I will never forget those who stood with me.

We can make a lasting impact in someone's life. Whose tent can you enter without judgment? To whom can you offer the warm garment of compassion?

All the Difference

2009-12-02T17:11:00.000-08:00

Branches scratched at my arms, thorns dug into the space between my jeans and my shoes. Every third step saw me grabbing desperately for something to hold on to, my body either falling or swaying dangerously.

Finally I reached the top of my wooded mountain. Standing triumphant, I tipped my face to the sun and soaked in my victory. A moment later, I was back on my journey.

It wasn't long before my feet hit the forest floor. Going up and over the twenty foot mass of fallen trees and brush was my choice; I easily could have entered the woods from the other side. But I relished the adventure, I wanted to do it my own way.

Sitting on an old cement block in a pool of sunlight, I pulled an antique book from my backpack. Opening the familiar pages, I began to read aloud the words of poets who penned their words a hundred years before my time. My own Dead Poets Society.

At seventeen years old, they were some of my gods. My worship was the breath I gave their words, transforming text to life.

But inside, deep within heartache and disappointment, the void I longed to fill remained.

Today I worship a God who is alive, and that void is gone. I no longer feel the need to climb through dangerous obstacles to find that pool of sunshine, because it radiates from within me. The Book I read from doesn't have cracked and faded leather, but its words are timeless.

I think of the Robert Frost poem that ends with these famous lines:

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."

Before Christ, I thought of myself as an adventurous young woman who would do anything to take the road less traveled. But I didn't realize that the path of individualism I thought I was foraging was actually a wide, well traveled highway. Seeking to find my own personal god, I was accompanying billions who quested for the same.

While walking what was really the wide path, I found the narrow one.

"Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it." (Matthew 7:13-14)

"Jesus answered, 'I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.'" (John 14:6)

And that has made all the difference.

Praying for Health

2009-11-28T21:19:00.000-08:00

I won't be writing much tonight, but in the eve of December, I wanted to at least come on and make my daily post. My daughter Aimee grew suddenly sick tonight, and I see a long night ahead of us. I am praying that she feels better soon, it's so hard to see our children suffer.

It's times like these that truly makes me appreciate the magnitude of God's love for us, His children.

I pray for health for all of us and our families tonight.

Standing On Our Own Faith

2009-11-27T21:02:00.000-08:00

My oldest daughter will be baptized on Sunday. She accepted Christ at the tender age of four, and has been strong in her convictions and beliefs every day since. She truly loves God, and her incredible faith has been a witness to many.

My second oldest daughter, Kayanna, accepted Christ as her Savior as a result of hours spent talking to Kahlan about what a saving faith means. She told me that Kahlan showed her how to know when she was ready to make that personal commitment:

"You'll know when you're ready," Kahlan said, "When you know that if everyone you love suddenly told you they no longer trust in God, you'd still believe that He is the truth."

Wow.

There is such a lesson in that one statement. Think of the person who led you to Christ. What if that person told you right now that he/she had changed his/her mind; that the Bible is nothing more than a collection of fictional stories meant to keep society living to a set of moral standards?

Would your faith waver?

Would you, even for a moment, question the existence of God?

Would that be all it would take to plant a seed of doubt?

We can't profess Christ simply because someone told us to. It needs to be personal, it needs to be a commitment made because we truly believe. God wants us to be all in for Him.

If you looked around and suddenly realized you were the only Christian left, would you still raise your hands to Him?

"I will praise You as long as I live, and in Your name I will lift up my hands." (Psalm 63:4)

True Thanks

2009-11-26T19:33:00.000-08:00

There are so many things in my life that I am thankful for: my family, my children, my husband, my friends, the ability to stay home with my kids, my home...truly, there are too many to list.

But then I had a sobering thought. I am guaranteed none of these things tomorrow. They are blessings from God, but I do not have the right to them.

Would I still be thankful if I lost everything?

I think of Job, who lived the reality of the nightmare I can barely allow myself to glance at.

I hope my reaction would be the same as his. I hope that even if everything I am thankful for vanished in front of me, that I would still be thankful to God for His love for me, for His strength, and for His Son through whom I have been given the promise of eternity that will never be taken away.

So today I am thankful not only for everything I have, but for the blessing it is to have it all.

Happy Thanksgiving!

His Rest

2009-11-25T18:26:00.000-08:00

A couple days ago a friend of mine came over to my house to visit. We were talking about how she dedicates an hour or two every morning to God, through Bible study and prayer.

"I know why everything seemed to go wrong for me this morning," she confided. "I wanted to sleep in for just a little bit, just until 6:30. But my bed was warm and comfortable, and though I meant to rest for just a few minutes, soon an hour had passed. By the time I got up, I only had fifteen minutes of Bible study before it was time to wake the kids. I just know that's why my day has been off!"

I've been there so many times before. Though I don't do a morning devotion time, I try to dedicate an hour over lunch after I have put my children to their nap time. Most of the time, this works perfectly. But there are definitely days when time slips away from me and I don't get in as much as I'd like.

It made me think of something, which I shared with her. I think that when we choose to rest in an earthly way, such as stretching out in bed or watching a television show on the couch, or talking with friends on the computer, we are granted rest for those moments. Doing those things is relaxing, and our bodies reap the reward of that rest while we are still. But soon, as life continues and we have to get moving on with our day, that rest fades away.

We need to make sure that our days include quiet time with God, because His rest lasts long after our time with Him. When we take part of our day and devote it solely to God, we get inner rest. Our hearts and bodies are calmed. Our mind is satisfied, and our spirit is refreshed.

A Post

2009-11-24T18:07:00.000-08:00

This is my post. It's really about nothing, and I hate that. It means I am too busy. I did, however, get in a nice solid hour with the Lord this afternoon, studying Judges chapter 5. Excellent stuff, highly recommended.

So that's it. For now. Because I am a perfectionist (working on that, really I am) I will be coming here tomorrow and putting a real post in the place of this one.

For now, I'm off again...out the door for the many-th time. (For fun, this time, though!)

I hope you all have a blessed night. See you tomorrow!

Thankful for Friends

2009-11-23T21:25:00.001-08:00

Tonight I had the rare opportunity to go out with two different friends. One is a close friend with whom I have shared a deep friendship with over the last three years, another a woman who I deeply admire and have gotten more of a chance to sit and talk to over the last few weeks.

God blessed me so much through both of these women tonight. I am so thankful for Christian friends who accompany me on this pre-eternal walk.

For any of my friends, new and old, those I have met and those who I have only "met," I am grateful for you.

All You Need is Love

2009-11-22T19:05:00.000-08:00

I just finished playing a creative card game with my daughter, Aliegha.

The name of the game is Fluxx. It's probably the oddest card game I have ever played, as the rules and the goal of the game change every round. The object is to get to the point where you have the cards that match the current goal.

It's a lot like life, actually. There is a television card, a brain card, and a goal where you have to have the television, but no brain. There is a tank card, a tombstone card, and a goal where both war and death are necessary. Of course you can't forget about the chocolate card and the milk card, I know my life sometimes necessitates that combination.

But I held the secret weapon in my hand. A goal card that read, "All you need is love." And I had the love card.

Within two rounds, that love goal and card won me the game.

In the midst of real life, where temptation, death, war, and endless distractions assault us; love truly is all we need.

Not just love for our family, our children, and our neighbor. We need God's love. He is our strength, and His love and grace offer redemption from the sins of this world.

It was because of His love for us that He sent His Son to die so that we could enter heaven and feel His love eternally. What a perfect gift.

We hold the Love card in our hands. It's already been offered to us. All we have to do is accept Him. That's the only way to win.

"For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life." (John 3:16)

Looking Up

2009-11-21T17:32:00.000-08:00

"I want up."

I looked down at the little boy standing by my feet. He was looking at me earnestly, his arms reaching for mine.

"What do you want?" I asked, only partially paying attention as my eyes roamed around the church nursery to make sure that the chaos was organized.

"I want up," he repeated calmly.

"Oh, okay, sure," I said, picking him up into my arms.

"No, up!" he said as I started walking around the room with him.

"You are up, silly!" I tickled his belly, but he remained stoic.

"Up," he said, looking into my eyes and pointing his finger to the ceiling.

I looked up. There, fastened to the ceiling tiles, was a rainbow colored decoration. "Aha. You want to touch it?"

I smiled as he grinned at me. Lifting him up as high as I could, he stretched his little body and tapped a tiny finger at the design. As it started spinning, he clapped his hands.

Then he led me in the direction of the next one.

I hadn't even seen them. All these times of doing nursery duty, and I didn't even notice those decorations once. Yet this little boy, not even half my size, saw it right away.

Why? Because children are used to looking up.

Somewhere along the way, our world becomes less about what's above us and more about what is at our level.

But God wants us to look up. We are His children, and He wants us to reach our hands up to Him, opening ourselves to things we need His help to reach.

When, through Him, we see or learn something that is new, that child-like excitement comes rushing through us.

Delight in its truest form.

"Delight yourself in the LORD and he will give you the desires of your heart." (Psalm 37:4)

New Moon

2009-11-20T17:50:00.000-08:00

I am going to go see New Moon with a good friend tonight.

The theaters for this movie are almost sold out. Just our small theater was fully packed in all eight screening rooms for the midnight show last night.

Lines of people waiting for hours for tickets to be the first to see this anticipated film.

What if all this passion was for God?

Standing-room-only church services. Lines of people waiting with eager hearts to hear the gospel of Christ.

What a world that would be.

What a world that will be.

Lost

2009-11-19T19:42:00.000-08:00

As I walked out of the courthouse tonight, I patted my back pocket to make sure that my cell phone was still tucked neatly inside.

Imagine my surprise when all I felt was a folded tissue.

Frantically I started searching my coat, looking here and there, my fingers flying through old receipts and spare change with no luck.

"I can't find my phone!" I lamented to my husband.

(Who I was talking to on the phone.)

Oops.

Have you ever had one of those moments/days/seasons where you just feel lost? We look at our life and wonder where God is, because it just doesn't seem like He remembered to show up that day.

How easy it is to forget that no matter how frantic our search is, we're actually sitting right in His hand.

"I will never leave you, nor forsake you." (Hebrews 13:5)

From Paul's Pen to my Eyes

2009-11-18T18:43:00.000-08:00

I've been studying Titus recently with my Precept upon Precept Bible study. What a fascinating book! It's amazing how three chapters of the Bible can have such a profound impact on my life.

My plan was to start school again in the Spring. I thought it made perfect sense to take one or two courses a semester in pursuit of my teaching certification. Surely I was going to be able to raise seven children, take care of my home, be there for my husband, write my daily blog entry, and go to school. Yep, it made perfect sense...until I thought about it.

This is the passage that has been especially convicting me: "So that they [the older women] may encourage the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be sensible, pure, workers at home, kind, being subject to their own husbands, so that the word of God will not be dishonored." (Titus 2:4-5)

Yikes.

Truly, I have struggled many times in each of those areas. Suddenly I realized that becoming busier wasn't going to make any of those things easier.

So, feeling that Say Yes to Me feeling, I called my husband and told him I thought school could wait. He was very, very happy. He would have supported me no matter what, but he was concerned that it was going to be too much. Rightfully concerned, I realized.

The thing is, having seven children doesn't give me the excuse to not do things the right way. Amazing that this was a new thought to me. God did not place these children in my life so that I would accept less than His standard. Having this many children doesn't allow me to settle for less, it means I have to work harder to be that young woman that Paul is describing to Titus.

So things are changing around here. Amazing how saying Yes to God about one thing tends to shift a whole lot of other things into their rightful places.

Paul's obedience in penning the Word of God in this letter is changing MY life almost 2,000 years later.

Our obedience can have effects that are just as astounding. All we have to do is hand the reins back to the One who has the right to hold them.

False Starts

2009-11-17T20:42:00.000-08:00

I couldn't watch. I've never been able to. My nerves just can't handle it.

I'm always so afraid that she's going to...

SPLASH

There it was. The sound I've always been afraid of hearing. Looking up, my fears were realized as I saw my daughter climbing out of the pool.

The crowd was silent. The coaches and judges walked forward, letting her know that she had the opportunity to try again.

Kahlan got to her feet and walked to the front of her starting block. Her shoulders started to shake, and it was all I could do not to run down to my baby girl and tell her that everything was going to be fine.

Instead, I watched as she allowed herself to cry for just a few seconds. I sat in awed amazement as she physically relaxed her shoulders and took a deep, purposeful breath. She lifted her goggles up (later telling me that she did that so her tears could escape from where they had pooled in her lenses) and nodded to the judges.

She was ready.

Up on the block she climbed. The announcer said, "Take your mark!" and she bent forward, her legs locked in place. The horn sounded and she dove perfectly into the water to begin her race.

She swam hard and took fourth place. The man sitting next to me, the father of two girls on the opposing team, said something to me that I won't forget. He said, "You tell your daughter that she won that race. The way she picked herself up, shook off her mistake, and went for it again...that is a winner."

We all have false starts in life. Times where we make a mistake and find ourselves tumbling into the water. But it isn't the mistake that people remember, it's what we do afterward.

Do we allow ourselves to slink off in embarrassment? Do we get angry and blame someone else? Do we give up entirely?

Getting up, dusting ourselves off, allowing a moment for sadness, then pressing on with resolve and determination; that's what God asks from us.

Let's allow our mistakes to be mistakes.

Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 3:13-14)

Imperfect Heroes

2009-11-16T18:18:00.000-08:00

She was a woman of the night, an immoral outcast.

Living on the very edge of society, she welcomed men into her home and her bed who had no right to be there.

Though she grew up worshiping idols, she heard the whispers of a God who caused mysterious plagues, a God who opened the Red Sea for Israel and then closed it upon Israel's enemies.

Somewhere in the days before she would be called upon to serve Him, she chose to believe in Him.

Two men appeared at her door. She knew they were spies, knew they were the enemy of her king.

In faith, believing that God who sent them was the one true God, she hid them in stalks of flax. Under the cover of darkness, she helped them escape.

Their escape culminated in the destruction of Jericho; a victory for the Lord and His people. Because of her obedience, she and her family were saved.

Later she would marry Salmon and give birth to Boaz, an ancestor of Jesus Christ. (Matthew 1:5)

Rahab, a hero of our faith.

"By faith the prostitute Rahab, because she welcomed the spies, was not killed with those who were disobedient." (Hebrews 11:31)

She was a woman of God, strong in her faith.

The wife of Abraham, she gave up everything to follow her husband, led by God to a land they did not know.

Devastated by the heartache and prejudice of barrenness, desperate for an heir, she led her maidservant into her husband's bed.

Filled with jealousy, she treated with disdain the woman who now carried her husband's child.

She laughed at the angel of the Lord when she overheard him tell Abraham that, at around eighty-nine years old, she would bear her first child one year later. Hearing her laugh, God asked Abraham why.

Fearful, she lied to God, "I did not laugh." (Genesis 18:15)

One year later she gave birth to a son, Isaac, an ancestor of Jesus Christ. (Matthew 1:2)

Sarah, a hero of our faith.

"By faith even Sarah herself received ability to conceive, even beyond the proper time of life, since she considered Him faithful who had promised." (Hebrews 11:11)

Rahab, a prostitute who grew up worshiping idols. Sarah, a woman who walked away from the life she knew to follow her husband and God.

Two women, two different backgrounds.

Rahab, a woman of mistakes, follows God's leading and acts in obedience though it could have cost her her life.

Sarah, a woman who made mistakes, follows God's leading and acts in obedience though she struggled to believe He would provide.

Both women chosen to be in the bloodline of Jesus Christ, who died so our mistakes could be forgiven.

We don't have to be perfect. The sins of our past and the sins of our present don't make us unworthy of God's love.

Imperfect and flawed as we are, our obedience to our Lord and Savior can make any of us heroes of the faith.

Thankful

2009-11-15T20:00:00.000-08:00

I can't believe that Thanksgiving is right around the corner! I thought I should dedicate a blog post to the things that I am thankful for this year.

In no particular order:

I am thankful that the adoption of my three daughters is coming along. I know that it all is happening in God's timing. We hope to be finalized next March, which will be a great way to start 2010. I am thankful that all three girls have chosen to call us Mom and Dad.

I am thankful for my husband. He loves his job, but work is still work, and I am thankful that he provides so well for us. I am thankful that he puts up with my little quirks and loves me because of them. I am thankful for our 12 years of marriage, and that he is a strong believer.

I am thankful for all seven of my children, and my three former foster children who we still get to love like our own. I am grateful for a year where they were healthy and grew in their faith.

I am grateful for my friends, who stand by me no matter what. I am thankful that God has brought me to a place in my life where I have Christian women whom I love.

I am thankful for my grandmother, who has always encouraged me. I know there will come a time when she will no longer be with me on earth, and I am grateful that I will get to see her in heaven.

Finally, I am thankful for my blog readers. God laid this blog on my heart, and I would write for that reason even if no one read a word of it. But you all make it so enjoyable for me, and I truly am thrilled that you keep coming back. You are the blessing for my obedience. Thank you.

I hope everyone has a wonderful night! This would have been a night that I wouldn't have blogged at all, since today was very busy. But I am thankful for NaBloPoMo for making me sit down and write all of this out. I go to bed with a smile in my heart.

Goodnight! :)

High Beams

2009-11-14T19:22:00.000-08:00

There are two things I started having difficulties with after having children: amusement park rides and driving at night.

Thankfully, my sudden inability to stomach riding on large contraptions that spin me haphazardly through the air is easy to avoid.

Driving after sunset, however, creeps up much more often.

And so it was that I found myself on high alert tonight as I drove my oldest daughter home from her swim meet. Forty five miles through winding, pitch black, creature-filled country roads made me more than a little nervous.

After watching two deer run a few meters in front of me and narrowly missing a large raccoon, I finally gave in and turned on my high beams.

The road was instantly lit, and my muscles relaxed. For a minute, anyway. Because as all of us who have used our high beams know, you have to turn them off as soon as headlights appear in front of you.

On, off. Light, dark. Relaxed, tense. Playing the little dance of "can I or can I not see more than a few feet in front of me" was getting to me.

Letting my thoughts drift, I reminisced about times that I had to adjust the brightness of my inner light.

When I first became a Christian, I had my high beams on at all times. Anyone who came in contact with me heard the gospel of Christ. I was passionate and I wanted everyone around me to feel what I felt.

The problem was, high beams sometimes cause people to squint and look away.

I needed to learn how to adjust my light. Matthew 5:14-15 tells us, "You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house."

A city on a hill gives off a bright light from a distance. To me, I think of this as doing things that reflect Christ to many people, things like writing or speaking publicly. I think of people who I don't know well who live their lives for Christ in a way that anyone can see their passion.

A lamp on its stand in the house provides a warm glow. It invites people into its presence. This reminds me of people who I love, family members and friends, who I know that I can turn to if I need Godly counsel. People who I want to be around, because they make me feel the presence of God's love.

Sometimes high beams are necessary. There are times when we need to be bold and bright in our witness. But being able to provide the right light for each situation will help us to show Christ to those who might otherwise have looked away.

When it Goes Untouched

2009-11-13T10:05:00.000-08:00

I think I walked past it three times.

I didn't mean to.

I had every intention of giving it the attention it deserved.

But I got distracted: my daughter was crying, the microwave beeped, the phone rang.

Each time I walked back in the living room it stared at me.

As I turned to grab it, something else caught my attention.

Today it was milk spilled on my hardwood floor. A little puddle that, ten minutes later, I finally wiped up with a washcloth. Left for much longer, I would have been forced to stare at the resulting stain forever. Today it was milk.

Two years ago it was my Bible.

I think I walked past it three times.

I didn't mean to.

I had every intention of giving it the attention it deserved.

But I got distracted: my daughter was crying, the microwave beeped, the phone rang.

Each time I walked back in the living room it stared at me.

As I turned to grab it, something else caught my attention.

But I let the distractions spiral into one another, and soon days had passed and my Bible sat untouched.

Days slid into weeks, weeks into three months.

Finally, I reached for it.

But there was a stain in my life that I will look at forever. Wiped clean by God's grace, but not forgotten by me.

He did not breathe His Word into those who penned the Bible so that it would look pretty on our bookshelves.

He gave us His Word so that we can hide His wisdom in our hearts.
"I have hidden Your word in my heart that I might not sin against You." (Psalm 119:11)
He gave us His Word so we can make choices that honor Him.
"In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight." (Proverbs 3:6)

When we let ourselves get too distracted by the world, we're the ones who suffer. If we allow too much time to pass where He is not our priority, we may find that our choices can't be easily wiped away.

We can make time for Him. Our paths are blessed when we have His road map in our hands.

Rescued

2009-11-12T18:11:00.000-08:00

I had no idea what the sudden sound from the backyard was, but a sudden mothering instinct reared up inside me and I raced to the patio door. I scanned the yard, searching for the source.

The sound came again, a plaintive squeaking that resonated with desperation, so very close to where I was standing.

That's when I saw him. He was clutching to the tree in front of me, a foot or two off the ground, his body trembling with the effort.

A little baby squirrel, calling for his mama.

"Steve!" I yelled, waving my arms wildly so he would notice me. He turned quickly and headed to the house, anxiety suddenly hastening his steps.

"What's the matter?" he called back.

"There's a baby squirrel stuck on the tree!" I replied, pointing at the terrified creature.

My husband stopped in his tracks. "You screamed for me about a squirrel?" he asked, slightly frustrated. But given my track record with animals, he wasn't really surprised. "I thought something was wrong with one of the kids!"

"Sorry about that, dear. The squirrel needs help!" My mind was already racing, planning ahead for what bedding materials to use, mentally choosing key words to enter into search engines for advice on caring for a squirrel who wasn't even old enough to climb a tree.

My husband sighed. He had gone out of his way to save animals before, but not wild animals. He sat looking at me for a long minute before deciding it wasn't worth the argument. "Go get the cat carrier," he instructed, "and some blankets."

I gathered all my materials and headed into the backyard where Steve was now sitting by the tree. He was making soft squirrel-like sounds, which appeared to be working. The squirrel had released its death-grip on the tree and was crouched only a foot or so away from where Steve sat.

"What..?" I began, stopping as Steve raised a finger to his lips.

He talked quietly to the squirrel for no more than thirty seconds before the neatest thing happened: that little baby crawled right up onto his leg.

"Well, he's won me over now," Steve admitted sheepishly, reaching a finger out to touch the squirrel's back.

I opened the cage door, and Steve placed the squirrel on the grass in front of it. Needing no coaxing, he ran right in, burying himself in the soft, white blanket.

I ran inside and started googling for information. Remarkably, there was a Wildlife Rescue Center only fifteen miles away. I called them and they gave me the information I needed to keep the squirrel safe for the night.

We brought our new pet to the Center the next morning. Three weeks later, all healed and ready to scamper among the tallest branches, they returned him with three of his new friends to our yard.

He still lives in that very tree he fell from. Though his distinctive markings help us recognize him, the fact that he loves to sit on the thickest branch and stare in our patio door would identify him anyway.

He added himself to a long list of animals-in-need who have ventured through our lives: a stray cat with a leg wound so deep she wasn't supposed to live, hermit crabs we drove four hours to bring to a suitable home, a toad too big to jump out of his egress window prison, an abused dog who trembled when we put our hand out to touch him.

Maybe we have a heart to help them because we have been where they are. Lost, lonely, hurting. Needing rescue.

But our Savior did so much more than clean our wounds, travel long distances, lift us up, and calm our hearts.

He died to save us. Alone on a cross with nails through His hands, He died for us.

All so that, through His name, we could be rescued.

"Call upon Me in the day of trouble; I shall rescue you, and you will honor Me." (Psalm 50:15)

"For You have rescued my soul from death, my eyes from tears, my feet from stumbling." (Psalm 116:8)

Matched

2009-11-11T18:55:00.000-08:00

I almost never wear matching socks. One will be white and the other might be black. My left foot might dance with bright red hearts, while my right swirls with light blue clouds. Stripes and polka dots, blue and ladybugs, purple heel next to gray heel. Maybe, on a good day, they'll both be white; but on closer inspection you might notice that one is long enough to reach my knee and the other barely covers my ankle.

I call them my wacky socks, and they feel really good on my feet. When I wear them I remind myself that I am fun and unique. I could tell you that I choose to wear different socks as a bold statement of individuality. The reality, though, is that I actually hate folding socks.

I have bags of unmatched socks just waiting for someone to throw a big find-your-mate sock party. But since my mailbox hasn't been graced with such an invitation, I just grab two socks that both meet the "fit on my feet" requirement and push the bag back in my closet.

I would love to wear matching socks every day. They would still be wild and crazy, but it would be nice if they were identically wild and crazy.

Before I was a Christian, I tried to match myself to the world. I wanted to be as pretty, as popular, as funny, as successful. But every potential match I found demanded that I try to be like someone else. Something within me was missing, but nothing I added filled the hole.

The fact is, it's Jesus who completes us. He meets us where we are and He cleanses us from our sin. He doesn't ask us to become perfect in order to receive Him, He perfects us. When we choose to walk on our own, we journey through a mismatched world of individuals. When we accept Him as Lord and Savior of our lives, we join a body of unique believers whose hearts are matched in the most significant way.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life." (John 3:16)

Not a Single Hour

2009-11-10T19:48:00.000-08:00

Last night I sat on my bed talking to myself. Over and over again I practiced my upcoming speech into the empty air of my room. The words were a mess. Ideas tumbled over and through each other, I faltered and stuttered and so many times I dropped my head into my hands and thought, "I can't do this, Lord."

I began to doubt my desire and passion for speaking. If I couldn't form thoughts in the calm privacy of my home, how would I be able to convey them to twenty people the next day?

But thinking back on my life, I couldn't find one example where God gave me the strength to do something before I needed to do it. He promises in Philippians 4:13 that, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me," but He doesn't say that the strength will come beforehand.

When I was pregnant with my third child, I worried a lot about the labor. I had two labors under my belt, and I couldn't kid myself about what I was going to experience. So for the last three months or so, I grew more and more anxious about the pain and my response to it. Having had a severe reaction to medication, I worried that I wouldn't be able to labor without pain relievers. As the due date grew closer, I became frantic. What if I couldn't do it? What if it was too much?

Then one morning I felt a series of contractions that I knew signaled that this was the day. And you know what? I was peaceful. I was serene. I took each contraction as it came, opening my body and my mind to what was happening. The pain came and went, stronger and stronger, and I never had one moment of panic. I just let it happen, knowing God was going to give me the strength to get through it.

All the preparation I did helped me immensely. The studying of natural labor methods and talking to friends who had given birth using different strategies all paid off. But the worry and anxiety was for nothing.

He gives us the strength to do all things when we need the strength to do those things.

And so at 11:00 last night, I closed my binder and turned out the lights. I had done everything I could to prepare. What would three more hours of anxiety give me? Nothing. "Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?" (Matthew 6:27)

And guess what? When the time came to speak, I spoke. I spoke from my heart and everything went just fine.

His timing, not ours.

Ebb and Flow

2009-11-09T18:05:00.000-08:00

While cleaning out the garage a couple days ago, I stumbled on a few diary pages that I had written and torn out of a notebook in 2000.

It was startling to me how much my life has changed since I penned those words, yet at the same time I felt a touch of nostalgia.

I wrote that at that point in my life, I had no one who called me their friend. My phone was silent, there were no outings or girl-time. Instead of giving in to depression, I had decided, I was going to dedicate that period of my life to growing closer to God and realizing who I was in Him.

I didn't know it then, but I know now that it would take me a full year before people I still today have as friends walked into my life. You would think that 365 days of solitude would be unbearable, but I remember those days with fondness. I took the time I would have spent on the phone or out at a restaurant, and I simply walked the path of self-discovery and God-discovery.

I truly don't think I would be where I was today if I had tried to force friendships to fill the void I felt within me.

If I ever find myself at a crossroads like that again, I hope that I will remember that God uses all things for the good of those who love Him. (Paraphrased from Romans 8:28)

Picket Fences and Desperate Housewives

2009-11-08T18:21:00.001-08:00

I hate to admit it, but this would probably be a "no post" day if it were not for accepting the NaBloPoMo challenge. Not because I don't want to write, but because I have written so much today and still have so much left to go.

Almost 5,000 words later, I have written the first part of my "speech" (for lack of a better word) for my teaching time at my favorite Moms group on Tuesday. I am so thrilled to be able to present a message that I have been thinking about for almost a year now. It is exciting and daunting at the same time. I want to make sure that I present the information in a way that is honoring to God, and I don't want to make it about me.

This gets difficult when part of my talk includes my testimony.

So I would just like to ask, in this space where a typical post would have gone, for your prayers as I get ready and deliver my presentation, "Picket Fences and Desperate Housewives" on Tuesday. Please pray that God will give me the words He wants me to say, and that my message will be completely honoring to Him.

Thank You!

Being Still

2009-11-07T16:01:00.000-08:00

Influenza has struck our house and its current victim is my five year old daughter. Anyone who knows the struggles that we have had in re-parenting Shaylee would be surprised to hear me say what an absolute joy the past couple days have been with her. But it's true.

I am not going to go into Shaylee's history here, because that is her story to share or not share someday. Suffice it to say that she has a very severe form of attachment disorder that manifests itself in many difficult ways. Every morning, Steve and I wake to the challenge that is raising a child who fights every attempt at the help that she desperately needs. Constantly watching her to make sure that she is kept safe from herself is tiring at best.

Along with attachment disorder, my daughter also has major sensory regulation issues. A look of praise from us will send her into a frenzy of excitement, a look of disapproval into sullenness or rage. There is not much middle ground with our beautiful girl, and so in the hectic days of trying to take one step forward in her development, it is many times hard to just enjoy her.

Enter the flu. Wracked with fever and exhaustion, all she can do is rest quietly. There are no temper tantrums, no rages. There are no screams from other children and there are no punishments. All there is is a tiny little girl who needs a mother and father to love and care for her.

In the still moments of illness, I get to show her all the good things about a mother's love.

In a few days, she'll be all better. We'll be back to trying to reconnect the dots in the midst of chaos. But she will know for a fact that the words we've been repeating for eighteen months are true, "You can let go, we'll catch you when you do." She doesn't need to be in control anymore. How many times have we said that to her? I couldn't even begin to count. But never was she able to do it...because she was scared that our words were empty promises she's all too familiar with.

Now she knows.

We love Shaylee the same whether she is listening to us or not, but she only is able to make progress when she makes herself stop to hear us.

In the busyness of life, if we forget to stop and open our ears to Our Father, He still loves us. But when something happens that halts us in our tracks and causes us to throw our arms up to Him, He gets the opportunity to fully show us His love and grace. It isn't that He wasn't there before, it's that we weren't looking for Him.

Shaylee doesn't have to get sick to see evidence of our love, and we don't have to go through difficult times to see evidence of God's. When she chooses to reach out to us, we pull her into our arms. When we choose to reach out to Him, He does the same.

Tale of Two Songs

2009-11-06T10:31:00.001-08:00

A few days ago I was listening to music on the radio as I drove home from running errands. Tapping my steering wheel, I sang along to Chris Tomlin's hit, "Holy is the Lord." I have always found the lyrics to be sweetly simple and completely compelling:

"We stand and lift up our hands,
For the joy of the Lord is our strength.
We bow down and worship Him now,
How great, how awesome is He!

And together we sing:

(Chorus)
Holy is the Lord God Almighty
The earth is filled with His glory
Holy is the Lord God Almighty
The earth is filled with His glory
The earth is filled with His glory"

The song ended and a series of commercials began. While scanning to see if my other favorite Christian radio station was currently commercial-less, I stumbled upon a song that had a particularly energizing beat. Listening for a minute, I was struck by how different these lyrics were from the ones I had just finished listening to:

"You change your mind
Like a girl changes clothes

Cause you're hot then you're cold
You're yes then you're no
You're in and you're out
You're up and you're down

You're wrong when it's right
It's black and it's white
We fight, we break up
We kiss, we make up" ("Hot N Cold", by Katy Perry)

The combination of those two songs really made me sit and think about the spiritual battle being waged in our world today.

When we put our hopes in the world, we don't know what we're going to get back. Something or someone we feel we can rely and depend on may be completely different from one day to the next.

But God, in His infinite Holiness, is unchanging. We don't need to depend on our own strength, because He is our strength. We don't need to worry about who will be there for us tomorrow, because He is with us always.

"Every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow." (James 1:17)

"Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today, yes and forever." (Hebrews 13:8)

"The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God stands forever." (Isaiah 40:8)

"But You, O LORD, abide forever, and Your name to all generations. Of old You founded the earth, and the heavens are the work of Your hands. Even they will perish, but You endure; and all of them will wear out like a garment; like clothing You will change them and they will be changed. But You are the same, and Your years will not come to an end." (Psalm 102:12,25-28)

Buried Treasure

2009-11-05T10:58:00.000-08:00

I don't know whose bright idea it was to dig a hole to China in my backyard. I was maybe six years old at the time, and the result of that inspiration was four or five little girls sitting in the back corner of my yard armed with silver spoons and determination.

Somewhere along the line, as days of work yielded a hole about one inch deep, we changed our goal. Instead of China, we thought the ice cream store in our town would be more realistic. Plus, we probably found ice cream much more thrilling than the idea of ending up in a foreign country where we wouldn't have any idea how to even ask for dessert.

We dug for weeks. Summer's sunny days grew shorter, the cooler night air beginning to wear down our enthusiasm.

Then one day we struck gold. I don't remember who found it, but there among the dirt was a gold chain and cross. What's the only thing better than unlimited ice cream to a child? Buried Treasure!

We rode the high of that incredible find for weeks. It was the talk of the neighborhood kids, and we felt so important. The tunnel was forgotten, lost in the excitement of maps and "X marks the spot."

Years later we found out that the gold jewelry wasn't from some pirate of yore. Our parents, their hearts stretching out to their faithful tunnel digging girls, had planted that treasure in the dirt for us to find. In a world that is so full of disappointment, they had the foresight to turn what would have been an unreachable dream into a delightful fantasy.

You might think that I would have been upset when I found out that the truth was much less glamorous than our fiction. But the opposite was true. It meant everything to me that they had done that. It was a tangible touch of love that affected me deeply. Though I was years away from experiencing and understanding the depth of parental adoration, I was old enough to see that it was bigger than I had ever imagined.

Be a Brand New Fuzzy Towel

2009-11-04T10:14:00.000-08:00

I had an interesting experience the other day when I was getting out of the shower. (I know, there are a lot of bath and shower references on my blogs, but I tell you, it's one of the only times that I have uninterrupted thoughts! I can see you nodding your head in commiseration.)

I had brought a brand new towel into the bathroom with me. It was a really soft beach towel that had a thick black border and brown and black horses parading across its center.

I grabbed it and quickly wrapped myself in its warmth. A minute or so later I discarded the towel to the bathroom floor and climbed into my clothes.

But what strange thing had happened to my arms? Why would I be dirtier after a shower than I was before?

It took me seconds longer than I care to admit to realize that what looked like dirt was actually towel fuzz. Lots and lots of towel fuzz.

One minute of contact with that towel and I would be picking off the remnants all day.

We should strive to be brand new fuzzy towels for Christ. God's Word tells us that we are the light of the world. (Matthew 5:14) Can we not, by shining His light through us, touch others and leave those fingerprints of God's love behind?

After seeing the joy of our hearts, might not someone wonder where the "fuzzies" have come from?

It doesn't take much. Just like with my momentary encounter with that towel, a moment is all that is needed to leave the imprint of Christ on someone's heart.

Be a brand new fuzzy towel. You never know what the results might be.

The Color Purple

2009-11-03T10:32:00.000-08:00

I have often referred to my salvation experience as feeling like what Dorothy must have experienced when she walked from her black and white Kansas into the vibrant color of Oz.

Black and White for me was unbearable. At 21 years old I was clinically depressed, suicidal, and devoid of hope. I commented to a therapist at the time that the only reason I was still alive was because I didn't want my one year old daughter to lose her mother. In a world that hadn't yet given birth to the "emo" culture, the scars on my body bore witness to years of self-inflicted injury. I loved my husband and my daughter, but I hated myself.

Hours before I accepted Christ as my Savior, I commented to my mother-in-law that I didn't believe that God did any more than create the earth. "Sure, I believe that God made the world," I remember saying, "but Adam and Eve and all that? It's just nonsense."

Later that day I decided to drive to a friend's house. She was actually the mother of my husband's best friend, but she and I had developed a friendly relationship. I sat at her kitchen table with her and her husband, and "for no reason at all" I brought up Christianity. Through the course of that life-altering conversation, I came to realize that even though I felt unworthy of love, God loved me anyway.

He loved me in spite of all that I had done. I had always believed that He had abandoned me, but the truth was that I had abandoned Him. He had been there with me the whole time. Though I felt ugly and twisted inside, He looked beyond all my failures and gave me what I had needed all along: grace and forgiveness.

In an instant my heart was changed. I prayed right there for God to enter my heart. I apologized for the hurtful things I had done and asked Him to wipe my slate clean. I praised Him for sending His Son to die on the cross so that I could feel the peace that was rushing through my veins.

I opened my eyes to color. So many things from my life suddenly made sense. I knew that I had a road ahead of me; I had hurt many people in my years of desperation, and it would take time to heal those wounds. But for the first time since I could remember, I felt hope.

And so eleven years passed. What so many people thought would be a "passing fancy" grew and blossomed into a strong faith that affected my entire family.

But even in the happy moments of my born-again life, I knew something was missing. I wasn't growing like I wanted to be. My heart yearned for a closer relationship with God, but days would pass and I would suddenly realize that it was Sunday again and my Bible was still in the van from the week before. Why couldn't I put God first when He was so important to me?

I realized that I needed to actively participate in my relationship with Him. Out of discipline, desire was born. When I started listening to Him, reading His Word, and devoting my quiet moments to prayer, that pure joy that I had been questing for blossomed.

This morning I was talking to a dear friend after my Bible study. I was relating all of this to her, and describing my Black and White to Color analogy. I then told her how exciting my life had become since making the commitment to say Yes to God.

"It's like finding the color purple," I said. My post-Black-and-White life was wonderful, but finding that next shade has made it even better.

As I was walking away, something struck me. I may have picked that color randomly, but it just happens to be the one that completes the rainbow.

"But you, beloved, building yourselves up on your most holy faith, praying in the Holy Spirit, keep yourselves in the love of God, waiting anxiously for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ to eternal life." (Jude 1:20-21 NASB)

Fighting for Joseph (Part Three: Saved)

2009-11-02T10:24:00.000-08:00

This is the last of three blog entries that will focus on my 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.

When I walked into the doctor's office with Joseph, I wasn't looking for reassurances. I was done with, "Everything is fine." Something was wrong and I wanted to know what it was and what we could do about it.

It's amazing how far we have come in diagnosing autism in the last six years. Now there are screenings and evaluations that take place right within well-baby checkups starting as early as fifteen months. Back then, there was just the hunch of parents and the hope that the doctor believed them.

Our doctor believed us. Walking in her office I felt like I had stumbled into the eye of the storm. I didn't have to convince her that there was something wrong. She didn't try to tell me a hundred reasons why my observations were ridiculous. It was such a change from what I had gone through with almost every person who cared about Joseph.

Smiling sweetly, she watched as I lifted him on the table. He was still clutching a bead toy from the waiting room floor because I had known better than to try to pry it from his fingers. "Hello, Joseph," the doctor said.

There was no response. Joseph continued to spin the beads along their wires as if neither of us were in the room.

The doctor tried several more times before turning to face me. "There is definitely a problem," she said.

How odd that her words made me want to shout with joy. It hadn't all been in my head, it wasn't me trying to make something out of nothing. And where there's a problem, there's a solution.

She set us up with Birth to Three services, which transitioned quickly to Early Childhood. Joseph had turned three shortly after the appointment, and as we waited for further testing from the doctor, I met with the special education teachers that had come to our home to evaluate him.

At some point in the weeks of testing, I had confided in a friend. Expecting the usual response, I was surprised when she nodded her head in agreement. "Have you ever thought it might be autism?" she asked.

Autism? Sure, I had considered it. But just as quickly I had discarded the possibility. Joseph did so much more than sit in a corner and rock mindlessly, and that was the face of autism to me by that point. Plus, autism was a lifelong disorder. Our doctor was going to find the people who would make Joseph better. It couldn't be that.

So when one of the teachers took a deep breath and told me that they had decided that Joseph fell under the educational category of autism, I bristled.

"Okay, then tell me this," I said, "Isn't it true that if a child with autism was given the ability to speak perfectly, that he would still have it?"

"Yes," they all responded.

"Then you tell me what it is about my son besides his speech delay that makes you think he has autism," I challenged.

It was to be the last sentence I would utter in the world of darkness I had been in for over a year. As papers flew around the table, they pulled out a list of criteria for the diagnosis. Speech was only one of five sections. Joseph qualified under every single one.

"Oh." That was all that I uttered for over a minute. The clouds were parting for me. Everything they had showed me: repetitive behaviors, social delays, obsessions and preoccupations, meltdowns, meaningless speech repetitions; they all fit together to form what my life had been for more than a year. Autism went from being a stereotype to a complete world that definitely included my son.

I cried all the way home from the meeting, but the tears were not from sadness. I was so relieved to have an answer, and so grateful for the team that showed me that there was a plan to help bring Joseph out of himself.

I won't tell you that there was never any grief, because there was. Sometimes there still is, even though my son today is nothing like he was back then. But for that night, I only felt incredibly grateful that God had brought me through the forest and back into the light of hope.

There have been many times in my life where I have felt God's arms carrying me, but that period was the longest. In the nights when I couldn't imagine waking to go through one more day, He was always there.

That day began a long series of testing, therapy, and appointments that would take much longer to write about than I have here. We began an intense regimen of Greenspan's Floor Time therapy that included 8 to 10 twenty minute sessions of encouraged social interaction a day. When we started, Joseph could only sustain seconds of contact. Today he will talk to you for hours.

God's hand was all over our journey. A pediatric neurologist chose Joseph for her long term case study, giving us coveted one on one time with her as she trained me to enter Joseph's world. We had the opportunity to bring a team of therapists into our home thirty hours a week for three years. An amazing lady stepped forward when she heard that we couldn't attend church because Joseph's needs were too immense for the Sunday school program, and she personally watched him every Sunday for many years. An entire Special Needs Sunday School program was then developed to help other families in similar situations, where a team of people faithfully donate their time so that my family and others can worship together. Joseph was blessed in school by two teachers who not only worked with him intensely, but also loved him personally. In a world where people sometimes struggle to see God's influence, we watched as one of those teachers chose to move with him from Kindergarten to First grade, and then a year later, to Third.

Probably the biggest lesson I learned came when Joseph was seven. We were sitting in the parking lot of the school that Kahlan attended, waiting for her to be done with her day. At that point Joseph was getting better with talking with us, but it still came in short bursts and in his own timing.

Out of the blue, Joseph asked me why Jesus died and what it meant to be a Christian. The words that formed that question were a miracle in themselves! As I answered his questions, he asked more. For a full twenty minutes we talked as I explained the answers to questions like, "What happens when we die," "What happens to animals when they die?" "Will I see you there, Mommy, if you die first?" He also asked if there would be a time when the people who had died and gone to heaven would return to earth.

My little boy who still struggled with communicating his basic needs was asking complex questions that most typically developing children his age hadn't yet wrestled with.

He gave his life to Christ that day in the van. As he prayed, I apologized to God. Even with everything He had done for us, I had decided that Joseph becoming a Christian was too big for my little boy. How could he ever understand?

Somehow in thinking that Joseph's ability was small, I forgot how big God is.

Today, as Joseph turns nine years old, all I have is gratitude. My son has been blessed with a vocabulary that now tests above grade level. He can read well, devouring Garfield books in hours. His faith continues to grow, and his sense of humor keeps all of us laughing. Most amazing of all, he can explain to me what autism feels like. He has told me all about the "movies" that make him sometimes struggle to respond to us.

He asked me one day if I have autism. When I told him that I didn't, he looked sad. "You mean you can't see movies in your head?" he asked with disappointment in his voice. "I'm so sorry for you, Mom."

Sometimes I forget the intensity of the pain and bleakness of those first couple years. Never have I forgotten that God carried us through them.

----------------------------------------------------------------
Thank you so much for reading through Joseph's story. For those of you who are interested and haven't already seen the videos, please feel free to watch a fifteen minute video that I prepared back in 2004 to thank Joseph's Early Childhood teachers. The movie contains text, pictures, and video that documents Joseph's regression and our journey through autism. It works best in Internet Explorer, and can be found here: Fighting for Joseph Movie

A five minute update movie was made in 2006 to show his further progress. There is a short "interview" with him at the end. :) Joseph's Update Movie

Fighting for Joseph (Part Two: The Battle)

2009-11-01T17:39:00.000-08:00

This is the second 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.

Though I can look back now and see the date in pictures, I didn't know at the time that our lives had changed. At 22 months you don't pay attention to every glance (or lack of) or word (or lack of) from your child. What we saw when he started spending hours studying the wheels on his cars and the balls in his ball popper was a future in engineering. Why would we be concerned when he seemed more interested in "things" than he was in his family? To us, he was just our sweet baby boy who was questing to understand this big world he'd been born into.

That Christmas Joseph loved bringing me presents. He would drag each box over to me, crawling on my lap as I bent to pick it up. Sitting together on the couch he'd put his hand on mine and guide it to the striped wrapping paper. Over and over again he would move my hand over the present as I counted the stripes.

"My son is so smart," I marveled. Why would I know to think otherwise? (How I wish I had known to think otherwise.)

There was one concern that grew within me in those days. Could Joseph be losing his hearing? My baby who had always turned to my voice no longer responded when I called his name. I whispered, I screamed, I clapped my hands, I banged on the table. The only way he would look at me was if I touched him.

Somewhere during the days when tests revealed that there was no hearing loss, he stopped responding to my touch.

I caressed his cheek, I tickled his belly, I pulled gently on his shirt. Nothing in our world enticed him out of his.

Then one day I turned on the radio. Kahlan wanted to practice her dance steps, so I put in a CD that the kids had always loved listening to. As Kahlan danced, Joseph walked into the room. With a definite intent that I hadn't seen in weeks, he walked over to the speakers and started to dance.

I hadn't believed that the hearing tests results were right. But how could a little boy who didn't hear his mom dance to music?

The words that he had before were gone. There was no more "dada", "mama", "ball", or "cup". There were no more peek-a-boo games. The sounds he did make were repetitive and meaningless.

As our concerns grew, other people's excuses multiplied. "He doesn't need to talk, Kahlan talks for him," and "He's a boy, they develop slower," were only a couple of the many reassurances we were given from family and friends. Every time I got close to looking for help, I remembered what others had said and tried to stop overreacting. Some even went so far as to insinuate that I was trying to get attention for myself by making problems in my son.

One day I had both children in the van. I can't remember where we were supposed to go, but I will never forget what happened when I placed that favorite CD in our new CD player.

Joseph began to sing. He knew every word to every song.

I had forgotten what his voice sounded like. Babbling is sound, but words is voice. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. We drove for over an hour, the CD repeating as my tears fell.

The signs scream at me in hindsight. Having devoured countless books on autism, I now see that Joseph could have been a poster child for the syndrome. But back then, I had no idea. And if I thought I had it rough that day as I parked my van in the driveway and carried my once-again-silent son into the house, I had no idea what was coming.

The meltdowns started. A meltdown in a child with autism is very, very different than a temper tantrum in a typically developing child. If a child is having a temper tantrum because they can't have a piece of cake, and you give that child a piece of cake, the tantrum stops. If a child with autism is having a meltdown because they want juice and you, having no clue what he wants, give him milk, you can give that child juice all you want and it will do nothing to stop the rage. It isn't about milk or juice anymore. It's about living in a body that you have absolutely no control over.

He screamed, he threw himself on the floor. He banged his head into walls while howling in frustration. There was nothing we could do to help him.

I took him bowling one day. I should have known better. I may not have known he had autism, but I knew that chaos brought on meltdowns. He was so excited when we walked in. He bounced up and down in my arms, repeating the sounds he made when he was happy. But when it was his turn, and he let go of the ball, it didn't come right back to him. And that's all it took.

I had him in one arm, twisting and yelling and banging his head against my face. I was trying to get my bowling shoes off and my other shoes on while holding my keys and keeping him from falling to the floor. Everyone in the building stopped what they were doing. The people whose birthday party I was attending formed a circle around me about two feet away. I remember screaming in my head, "Please help me!" but I didn't say a word. This was my life. And no matter what it looked like to everyone else, I knew that Joseph was in much more agony than I was.

As I walked out of the building, a man at the bar muttered, "Spoiled brat."

Joseph and I walked to the van, both of us crying. As I buckled him into his carseat, I said, "I'm so sorry," over and over again. I truly was. Sorry that I had brought him into that building, sorry for the man who so carelessly judged him. Sorry that I couldn't do anything to break my son out of his terrifying prison.

My body was bruised and my heart was broken, but I loved him so much.

Somewhere around this time, the straw broke the camel's back. Steve and I were downstairs one evening when we heard an odd sound. We had tucked the kids in bed an hour before, but it sounded as if one of them was up. Seconds passed, but no one came down the stairs. The sound continued.

I walked to the bottom of the stairs. I will never forget what I saw. Joseph was walking back and forth in the small hallway above the stairway, muttering nonsense to himself. Back and forth, back and forth. Once in a while a strange giggle escaped, but he never looked at me. Back and forth he paced.

I turned to Steve. "I'm calling the doctor in the morning," I said.

Enough was enough.

Fighting for Joseph (Part One: Before)

2009-10-31T19:04:00.001-07:00

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

2009-10-30T17:28:00.001-07:00

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

2009-10-29T10:25:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-28T10:11:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-26T05:21:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-24T17:38:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-23T18:56:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-22T17:59:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-21T10:31:00.000-07:00

"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

2009-10-20T10:39:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-19T10:37:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-18T10:47:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-16T20:27:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-15T17:51:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-14T17:35:00.000-07:00

"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

2009-10-13T18:17:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-12T17:46:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-11T21:25:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-10T18:58:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-08T18:19:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-07T13:03:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-06T19:11:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-05T20:18:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-04T19:34:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-02T20:28:00.000-07:00

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?