He Inclines His Ear

The last several days have been intense.  I'm going to be processing all that happened for a while, but there are some things that are so real and precious to me right now.  I'm bound to forget some of these things so I want to give testimony to what God has done while it is still fresh on my heart and mind.

Last Friday evening we were just planning to fire up the barbecue grill and have some family time.  The weather was gorgeous, Jeff's parents were in town for the night, the kids were in a good mood, and I was breathing deep of God's kindness.  I treasure gifts like these.  I was standing in the kitchen when I heard my phone go off.  I couldn't get to it in time and I heard Jeff's ring next.  I missed that one too.  I knew who the calls came from and I called back immediately.  Our weekend plans were suddenly about to change.  We held a brief family meeting to prepare everyone for what was about to happen.  Jeff's parents handled it beautifully.  The kids were excited.  Thirty minutes later a petite, blonde headed little girl came through the door of our home with a caseworker.  No bags, no extra clothes.  Just a little girl entering a stranger's house with the clothes on her back.  Although every little girl is just as precious, I couldn't believe I was getting to lay my eyes on this one.  She is close family to L.  I thought we would probably never meet her, and there she stood in our house.  She sucked her thumb and twirled her hair, and kept her emotions in check.  I was amazed. The kids didn't waste any time dragging her off to play.

I felt a lot of things over the next 2 1/2 days.  Emotions are not always helpful in my life when I let them sit in the driver's seat, but they are also good and God given.  The emotions and the peace that carried me along while she was here could only have come from God.  I felt Him.  You know those moments when you say yes to something He is asking you to do that seems outside of your capability, and you feel His presence in a powerful way.  His nearness was undeniable.  I felt His love for her, His patience, His steadiness, and His heartbreak for her pain.  I feel like I am doing a poor job explaining that with words, but it's the best I can do.  HE WAS HERE.  He is always here, but I was so much more aware of it than I usually am.

Our kids embraced her and wanted her to feel safe.  They were patient and kind.  They picked out a couple of their stuffed animals for her to have in case she wanted to hug something.  Micah even gave her a dollar to spend at Target when she went to a baby shower with me on Saturday.  Oh my heart.  There is hope that he will be generous with his money!  I think she helped all of us forget about ourselves for a little bit.  She helped us realize how blessed we are and how petty we can be.  I know some things that were eating me suddenly went away.  

On Saturday night when she was having a hard time falling asleep, as we were rocking, I just asked her if she knew who Jesus was.  She said no.  I had the honor of all honors in a lifetime to tell her about Him and how much He loves her.  I knew that she may not realize what good news she just received, but I trust God will water that seed in her life.  I am still overwhelmed.  I feel zero pride in it.  I feel undone by the privilege to get to be the first person to utter the name of Jesus to her.  The kindness of God amazes me.

We said goodbye to her on Monday afternoon.  I had 30 minutes to prepare for that transition.  I knew we wouldn't have her long, but I loved her like it would be forever.  I want her to be safe and cared for.  I cried like I haven't cried in a long time when she pulled away.  Goodbyes are hard.  Even with tears running down my cheeks I can say I would rather know the sweetness of loving a little girl and feel the sting of saying goodbye than to miss out on knowing her all together though.  I don't know if she will remember being here.  I doubt she will, honestly.  It will always be a precious memory for us though.   I have priceless pictures that I never dreamed we'd have for L someday too. 

God used her presence to awaken my heart to the darkness children are exposed to all of the time that I don't acknowledge or feel enough about.  I'm reminded again that it's okay to let our hearts get broken for them.  We'll be okay.  God will bind us up.  It would probably be good for everyone if we shed more tears over war, persecution, trafficking, abuse, oppression, orphans, and widows...and then did something about it.  She reminded me that there are more kids that need us to care and act on their behalf.  Whether it's long term foster care, emergency placements, respite care, advocating with lawmakers, social work, or prayer...they NEED us.  They can't get themselves out of unsafe situations.  They cannot make the abuse stop.  They can't take care of themselves.  That's a grown up's job...and guess what, I'm a grown up.  As Jeff and I sat in a training on Friday afternoon  he showed me these verses he had just read that morning.

O LORD, you hear the desire of the afflicted; you will strengthen their heart; 

you will incline your ear to do justice to the fatherless and the oppressed, 

so that man who is of the earth may strike terror no more.  

Psalm 10:17-18

We are naturally left with the question of "how" God will do justice to the fatherless and the oppressed.  The answer has to be us, doesn't it?  I just can't find another viable option.  If His Spirit lives in us then we are His ambassadors.  We are His hands and feet in the world.  I don't think the question we should ask ourselves is "if" we should be involved, but "how" we should be involved. 

If something is important to our God, it needs to be important to us.  

If it breaks His heart, it should break ours.  

If He inclines His ear to the fatherless and the oppressed, we need to incline our ears as well.   

 I know we're all unique and so we will wave banners for different things.  We have different burdens and passions.  We are part of a Body and all of us have different gifts and callings.   When we are all surrendered to God and let Him use our gifts for the common good and His glory...it's breathtaking.  Maybe you have been following the last few blog posts about foster care and God is stirring your heart.  Maybe last weekend wasn't just for that sweet little girl or our family.  Maybe He is calling one of you to join Him in caring for the vulnerable among us.  It's a battlefield.  There is warfare when you engage in it, but we have been given everything we need to overcome the devil's schemes.  God is stronger.  You are engaging in something so close to His heart.  He will not let you go.  Say yes and hold on to Him.

I Would Still Say Yes to Foster Care- Part 2

Today, I am honored again to have a good friend here to share her story of how foster care became part of their family's journey.  It's honest and powerful.  Their vulnerability is so challenging because they allowed themselves to love when it was incredibly risky...and when it hurt.  God's healing is real and He never leaves us alone in the valley.  What a reminder..  Please meet, Danielle Kuntz.

This is how we roll. :)

 I believe that the decision to become a foster parent is just as unique as the actual foster care placement, but they all usually begin with uncomfortable and scary yeses. For us, there were several but here are just a few I will share: there was a yes to less one-on-one time with our biological children, there was a yes to having to stretch our mostly one income family of 4 to a family of 6, there was a yes to added tears and heartbreak, there was a yes to fighting for the rights of parents who most people were highly against, and there was a yes to knowing that this wouldn’t be easy. Even though those “yeses” were enough to cause us to run as far away as possible from foster care, our big “YES” was the one that proved to be our anchor during even the most heartbreaking and trying days- the “YES” to God’s big picture plan. 

Our journey began with a desperate call to accept a 7 and 14 year old sibling set before our licensing was even finished. Our oldest biological child was 6 then and we felt very nervous about agreeing to these siblings but somehow we had tremendous trust and peace about it as well. After praying about it for the 20 minutes that we had to decide in, the feelings of peace won out and  just like that, the next morning we were about to have two more girls added to our home- one being a teenager! Like I said before, this was a placement that needed a home as soon as possible but our licensing was not quite complete so they rushed it forward and managed to get it complete before the girls were to arrive.

The next morning was filled with a couple of sweet friends coming over and helping us with the last minute bedroom details to make our house a home for these girls. While I was running a quick errand, we received a call from our caseworker saying that there was a change and the emergency placement decided to keep the girls. For some reason hearing that hurt so badly. I knew very little about these girls but the moment we said yes, my heart began the beautiful yet grueling process of deeply loving strangers in only a way that comes from God. It’s grueling because this profound love opens you up for deep pain and disappointment but yet it’s beautiful because it truly is a super natural gift to love someone in their distress.  There were a lot of very confusing and surprising tears that day but we knew it was just a part of our journey.

A few days later, we got another phone call. This time it was for another sibling set: a 2 year old little boy and a 4 month old little girl, but both with possible severe medical needs. We were told that the little girl had a stroke in utero resulting in an uncertain amount of brain damage and the little boy had a blood clotting disorder that could perhaps be a sign of leukemia. If you thought saying yes to a teenager for us was a tough call, this one far outweighed that intensity. Once again we went to our knees and had a decision made within minutes of the call. We knew that it had to be a yes and felt that our rushed licensing was meant for these kids. 

I look back at those very emotional first days with such a grateful heart. Even though it was chaos, it ended up reminding us of the unwavering faithfulness of God that would catapult us into our new normal.

The next months were hard and brought more tears than I wanted. It was as if I was treading water in an unending sea. I truly understood the song by Hillsong,“Oceans” where it says, “Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders.” Singing those words are so much easier than actually going through it. Who really wants to have their faith be tried that hard. It is one thing to make a decision to engage in someone’s mess but it is so very different to invite that mess actually into your home, your safe place every single moment. But as much as we struggled, God sustained us.  He sustained us through every sleepless night, every rage of anger, every slap and kick, and every tear from our biological children asking for their old life back. He sustained all of us. He even gave us a heart to love our foster kid’s mom well. I made her cookies and sent her letters. We vowed to show her honor and respect in any way we could. I wanted to be on her team. And then one day we received a call that changed everything; she had unexpectedly died. I sobbed and sobbed like she was a close friend. During the weeks to follow, we explained as best as we could to our little man about his mama and he cried in my arms. I still remember how he would just stare at her picture for minutes without a single word. He began asking for her all the time and he insisted that even though she wasn’t breathing anymore her eyes where still open. It was one of the hardest things to watch his little mind try to understand. We felt helpless and heartbroken.

Because of the loss of his mama, we have had to look past his difficult behavior and ask God to show us the real little boy under all the pain. Even a 3 year old has layers and natually, he still seeks to control everything that he can. This most often has taken place at night. For him, bedtime is either super great or super horrible and on one particular evening, we got both. When he finally turned the corner and allowed his anger to subside, we just sat in bed and talked. And while we talked, I couldn’t help but think about him as a grown man. Just as he was falling asleep I said, “Buddy, one day you’ll probably be a daddy.” He opened his eyes and looked at me and said,  “And then you’ll be an old lady and I’ll keep you safe.” Then he kissed me on the lips and said, “now we’re married” and fell asleep. 

I’ve found that with God, there is always beauty in the pain; 

glimpses of hope abound when we have eyes to see them.

The journey from our “yes” to today has involved every type of day you can imagine… we have seen failures in our parenting as well as the victories. We have learned a whole new way of life.  We have laughed louder and cried harder.   So here we are, almost one year later after their mama passed away and only a few short months away from our adoption date. There is so much excitement about adding to our family but it has had a great cost. We have walked through all of the health issues and thankfully most of the concerns for both kids have proved to be so much less than they initially feared. We still have some hurdles with Baby A but she’s doing so well. We have had times that we feel very blessed to be used in this way and other times where we feel entitled to get our “easier” life back. I have seen a whole new monster emerge from me when I am pressed too hard and in no way feel like a saint for saying “yes” to foster care and adoption. Any pedestal we shamefully placed ourselves on for all of our good works has crumbled before our eyes. We have learned a whole new level of brokenness and vulnerability that has birthed a gentle and long suffering love for these kids. They have become ours in every way.   

God has been so kind to our family and has shown us the sweetness of Hosea 14:3, “In you the orphan finds mercy.” I was spiritually that orphan and they were physically that orphan; and we both have found mercy during the process of foster care. 

Does anyone really choose the hard just because? Usually not, so to ask if I would do it all over again isn't a question of “is it worth it.” It’s more of a question of am I called to it. I resoundingly would say “yes” all over again. In fact, I don’t know if we are even done fostering. There is a huge need and I just cant help feeling that I have a responsibility to worship God through taking care of the least of these. So my challenge to anyone reading this post is to just ask God if this is for them. That’s how it began with me. It was one small question that God gave me grace to ask and that slowly turned into other questions. And his grace greeted me at each of those doors. 

Oh, and a week ago our little man randomly walked up to me and said, “I want you to be my mommy forever and my old mommy’s eyes are closed.”

Grace upon grace for all of us. 

I Would Still Say Yes To Foster Care- Part 1

As we round the corner to our one year anniversary of becoming foster parents I have been reflecting on how it feels when your vision of something collides with reality.  I have watched friends suffer sleepless nights, behavior issues that were more than they could handle, difficult relationships with bio parents, emotional burnout, and having to say goodbye to kids that they cared about.  A friend we went through training with recently told me, with one of her foster kids by her side, "I'M DONE."  I felt overwhelmed with sadness for her and those precious kids who have been through too much already.  Burned out, emotionally drained, physically exhausted foster parents are everywhere.  It is hard to see someone drowning and feel like you have no life boat to send them.  I want to dedicate some of my posts to help encourage those who are knee deep in this muddy water.  I also want to paint an honest picture for those of you who might be seriously thinking about joining us.  There is always struggle in things that matter.  It always feels like more than we can bear at some point in life.  Whether that comes through foster care or a million other ways, life is just hard sometimes. But some things are worth it, and we're better for it in the end.

Hear the good and the bad, but don't weigh them on a scale.  Please just go to your knees and ask God with eyes wide open if this is what He is asking you to do.  

Over the next couple of days I want to introduce you to some very dear friends of mine, Laurel Becker and Danielle Kuntz.  God crossed our paths over a decade ago when we were all in college or fresh out. Those were the days of doing inner city and international missions over summer break and dreaming big dreams of what the rest of our lives would look like.  We all got married within a year of each other.  We were spring chickens just trying to figure out how to be adults.  There is too much to tell, but believe me, it hasn't been all rainbows and unicorns along the way.  We had no children when our friendships began.  Now there are 12 kids (7 and under) between our three families.  We have not yet attempted a reunion with this wild bunch.  We're all waiting for someone else to be brave enough to risk their house being set on fire.  And although all of us hoped adoption would be a part of our stories at some point in life, I do not recall any of us dreaming about doing foster care.  For me, it was at the bottom of the list of possible routes toward adoption.  BUT GOD.  He has a way of changing our hearts over the course of time.  Sometimes it happens in an instant and sometimes it is a very slow process.  However it happened for each of us living hours apart from each other, we all ended up sitting through our nine weeks of foster care training and getting licensed to become foster parents within a year of each other.  We didn't plan it that way, but God clearly did.

These friends have been some of my few out of town confidants over the last year.  They have been faithful prayer warriors and it has been a comfort to have friends in the trenches with us.  Our stories and placements have looked very different.  I have learned a lot from them as they have been a step ahead of us.  I want to introduce them to you because I know and trust their love for God, and their surrender to Him.  I know they are leaning into the pain and choosing to love anyway.  They are obeying the call God placed on their lives to love children not born to them, and to love their broken families.  It's been hard, it's been messy, and it's been exactly what God needed to do to deepen their faith, and ours.

Today, I am honored to have Laurel here on the blog.  This is their story.  Please stick around.  I promise you'll be glad you did.

Even before Dave and I were married, we knew we wanted to adopt.  For a million reasons, adoption was on our hearts, particularly because we love the picture of the Gospel in it, and because my husband doesn’t know his own biological mother.  Seven years into our marriage, we had two biological children and were swimming in the “what next” question of growing our family.  We had explored several adoption services both domestic and international, but none of them ever seemed to be right.  Initially, when Dave suggested foster care I shut down the idea entirely. In many ways fostering seemed like the ugly stepsister of adoption-so painful-so uncertain-so much stigma surrounding it.  Honestly, I was terrified.  Obviously,the Lord had other plans for our family, and my heart softened.  We began our journey through training and received our license almost two years ago now.

Going into the process, I had so many ideas about what fostering would be like, all of them underscored by my desperate attempt not to have any preconceived ideas.  Nine weeks of (often heavy and heartbreaking) training left me feeling like I had at least an inkling of how to encounter and journey through the brokenness of our foster children and their families.

A couple of months after our license officially opened, we met Z.  She was a beautiful blonde-haired, blue eyed two-year old with a huge smile and a half body cast.  We loved her from the beginning.  Over the months she lived with us, we watched Z grow leaps and bounds in communication and development.  However, the more she grew, the more apparent it became that she had been far more broken by her experience than anyone had imagined.

“Atypical.” That’s the word everyone within the system used to describe our situation. “Z is atypical.  Usually when they’re this young they don’t absorb this much trauma.” “Your case is very atypical-most of them aren’t this complicated.” Honestly, for a season, we were drowning. What initially had appeared to be a very straight forward case and child soon became insanely complicated. Z had doctors’ appointments, therapists, visits with her mom, dad, and siblings, weekly phone calls with each of them, and we had FSTs and court appointments to make. Moreover, Z herself became defiant, and was prone to rage fits and even putting herself in danger. We didn’t know what to do because she was too young for therapy to truly benefit her, and we struggled to reach her at home. Moreover, I was pregnant which seemed to be serving as a trigger for Z’s anger and behavior and to be wedging apart my relationship with her.

I felt like a failure.  We were miserable, and I didn’t know what to do.  We didn’t want to disrupt Z’s placement with us, but we were terrified that she would end up hurting herself in one of her fits.  Eventually after much prayer, we met with some friends of ours who also happened to be licensing workers and foster parents for eight years.  Over some wonderful Peruvian food, we poured out our struggle, our heartbreak, and our fears.  After we finished, they lovingly suggested that we contact her caseworker about finding a different home for Z. I’ll never forget what they told us that night, “I know we tell you all the time in training, ‘Never disrupt a child,’ but this is an exception.  No one could have known this, but your home is not a good fit for her.  It’s not your fault; it’s not hers, but she needs to be somewhere else.” It was incredibly freeing and incredibly heartbreaking.

We called her caseworker a few days later and shared our hearts again.  Less than it was about removing Z from our home, it was about getting her into the right one-one where they had behavioral training, access to better therapies than we did, where she was the youngest child. Little did we know that the same week we began praying about disrupting, the family that had her brother began praying about pursuing the possibility of having Z in their home as well.  God is so good.  Z was able to live with her brother, in a home where they had weekly visits from a child therapist in their own living room and where the parents were behaviorally trained. It was such a sweet affirmation of one of the hardest decisions we’ve ever made. Even more exciting, Z was able to reunify with some of her family a few months later. 

When we called our licensing worker to let her know our decision, she assumed that we would want to close our license. Although we were exhausted, we still knew that we were not done in foster care. We left our license open, but took an eight-month break.

Seven weeks ago we took our second placement. Our son was born last July, and in February, we brought baby O into our home. He’s four months younger than Ike, and we’re learning about what it’s like to have functional twins. His case brings its own set of difficulties, and although they are totally different, they are still incredibly complicated and new water for us to navigate

Fostering has been an incredibly eye and heart-opening experience for our family. It has been probably the most difficult journey we’ve ever traveled together, but also one of the most blessed. It is painful, one of our friends calls it the ministry of a broken heart, and that is so true. To love a child or children, to make them your own, without knowing for how long, and also while hoping for healing in their own families often feels like more than I can even process let alone live out.

But it is a calling. To love the orphans (even the situational orphans) is so dear to God’s heart, and we have grown so much in following His call.  We have been able to watch our biological children love on the children who have come into our home-to see them struggle through what they want or what is convenient and to defer to each other and to our foster kiddos; it is so incredibly challenging.  The struggle in my own heart has been as well.  So often, I find myself torn between how much I love our foster littles and long to adopt them and my deep desire for healing in their own families.  My flesh wants to keep little O; I love him, and he feels like my own. But I long for his parents to want him, to be able to make the decisions they need to bring him home. He is the youngest of four in our home and his own, and frequently I find myself thinking about all of the moments and smiles and stages that his own family is missing.

I also find myself wrestling the selfish part of my flesh as well.  It was so much easier to only have three children, to not have two infants. This is hard, inconvenient, and noisy. Oh, my flesh is ugly and prone to extremes, and foster care has made that so obviously apparent. It is often a war between my pride in how well O is doing and in my feelings of being so unskilled at parenting four children.  But God. How he is faithful in using my feeble offering to love on these littles and to grow me in Him.  I depend so desperately on Him, and I cannot imagine fostering without knowing Him. It would feel so hopeless.

So why do I still do it? Believe me, it has nothing to do with my own goodness and everything to do with the Lord. When we said yes to bringing O into our home, I was absolutely terrified. I wanted to say no, to close our license, to believe that we aren’t cut out for this, and to give up. Most days I feel so absolutely ill-equipped and under-qualified.  But God. It is His calling, and He is faithful to carry it out in us.  So we journey on in this crazy adventure.  It is a moment by moment obedience, and it is often difficult and gut-wrenching.  But he makes us brave, and we have been so incredibly blessed to get to live out the Gospel day-in and day-out in a very obvious way in our home and with our children.

Foster care is absolutely a calling.  It is not for everyone, but I think it is for many people.  It is scary and many times risky, but isn’t that true of so much of the call of Christ?  It is teaching me about selflessness and about what it means to be a servant to “the least of these.” I have been blessed so much by this journey, and that is not of me, but of watching the Lord work through these moments in kiddos’ lives.  We foster, not for ourselves, but for the kiddos, in hope, that they might see and know that they have always been wanted and loved by us, and much more importantly, by their Creator.

I'm A Summer Mom

I posted on Facebook the other day that I am a much better spring and summer mom.  It's really true.  More accurately, I've decided that I'm a better spring and summer human.

We have been in hibernation mode since last last November.  Cold weather, gray skies, shorter days, and sickness make me want to do one thing...nothing.  I just want to stay home until it's 60 degrees again.  I don't really enjoy getting out in general when it's cold, and I despise it when I have to load and unload a van full of kiddos.  It's so dreadful (and I'm a big baby).  I told Jeff last November that I am kind of tired of celebrating our anniversary in the cold.  We picked November to get married with no thought of this at all.  How shortsighted.  We may need to change our anniversary to July.

I do love the snow though.  I love watching it fall from inside my house while I sip on a hot cup of coffee.  It's so beautiful.  Despite it's beauty I do need to admit something that I've held in since childhood.  Here is my secret: I've never loved sledding, building snowmen, or having snowball fights. Not even as a kid. There you go.  I felt like it was wrong to be a small town Missouri girl and not love all of that.  It's how everyone had fun and survived the cold months in a farming community.  So, I faked it every winter when friends would invite me over to go sledding.  Everyone would be having a great time, squealing with laughter, while I was trying to convince myself not to focus on the snow that got in between my gloves and coat that felt like it was giving me frostbite.  All I could think about on the long walk back up the hill in my marshmallow man gear was, "Are we done yet?"   I even tried my hand at skiing once and snowmobiling on another occasion.  My memories from those experiences consist of people laughing at me and fearing for my life.  What a blast.  Go ahead you cold weather fans.  It's all yours.  I'm just not cut out for it.  

Then kids who love playing in the snow came along.  Without any discussion between Jeff and I, somehow I managed to assume the role of "All Time Picture Taker and Hot Cocoa Maker."  You cannot hold a camera well with gloves and it's an event that needs to be documented.  Also, someone has to get the hot cocoa ready for when everyone comes back in.  It's a tradition and traditions are the stuff childhood memories are made of.  I also help them get their layers of clothes on, endure the whining in that process, and clean up the wet sloppy mess that they bring back in after their adventures.  It seems like a fair trade in my opinion.

The real problem with winter is being in the house too much, because I tend to lose my focus on some things.  I am overly bothered by the clutter, dust, dirty bathrooms, and my kids (I know one of these things is not like the others).  I have such a hard time focusing on playing and being present with my kiddos when we're stuck inside.  I cannot tell you what an inward battle it is for me to lay down my to do list and just play.  When we can get outside I forget about it and they don't drag out every toy they own.  It's not even the toys that bother me, but the deal we go through when it's time to clean up.  Life sucking.  I know some of it would be solved by having a better system in place, but the work to get a system in place takes tenacity that I seem to lack.  Maybe someday.

But, oh sweet deliverance.  Just like every year, God in His faithfulness brings spring once again.  We have had a stretch of warm days since the end of last week and I feel like a new person.  You guys, we went to the park 3 times in four days.  Jeff took them to the library (which we apparently deem a warm weather activity.)  We remembered that we have an actual yard and we have had 3 picnics.  I can't keep this pace but our kids are loving it.  Their hope for a happy life has returned.   If it's warm outside I say yes about 90% more than I do in the winter.  They fall in love with me again and think to themselves, "She's really not that bad, I guess."  It's legit.  This weather makes us want summer to be here tomorrow.  I love taking them to the pool, going to the park, or dragging out the sprinkler in the yard.  Summer brings out my fun side.  I have a terrible imagination when it comes to pretending, but I'll take you to do fun things when it's hot outside.  I'm a summer mom.  Bring on the pool, the park, and our annual momentary brain lapse when we decide the zoo is a good idea again.  I'm so ready.

For the Grandparents

Before the day is done I wanted to present a total amateur Valentine's Day photo shoot I did with the girls.  I have zero editing capabilities so just appreciate them for what they are.  Cute little girls sending some love to their grandparents.  Mimi, Papa, Grandma, Grandpa, Great Grandma Bernardine, Great Grandma Helen, and Great Grandma Marianne...these are for you! 

 

What If Valentine's Day Was Different

On the eve of Valentine's Day I'm thinking about the myriad of emotions people feel as this holiday approaches.  Some people love it and some people hate it.  Some people hate Hallmark for creating another reason for us to spend money on cards and frill...the pressure.  Some feel anticipation and the hope of romance while others feel dread and the sting of loneliness.  I can see legitimate reasons for feeling all of those things on a day where there is built up expectation of love and romance.

I've also done a little reading about the history of this holiday.   There is more than one version of the story but all of them agree that this day was named after a Roman Catholic bishop named Valentine (there were three Catholic saints during this time period named Valentine but one who seems to be most commonly associated with the holiday).  He refused to comply with an unjust edict of Roman emperor Claudius II that said no soldier was allowed to marry.  He performed marriages in secret until he was found out.  He felt the edict was unfair and helped others at the cost of imprisonment.  When told he must deny his faith in God he refused at the cost of his life.   His life ended as a martyr.  How should we celebrate that?   Flowers and chocolate obviously.  Like all holidays it has morphed into something different.

Please know that I enjoy any excuse for Jeff to tell me how much he loves me and to take me on a date.  I'm not recommending we boycott Valentine's Day or lecture everyone we meet about the history of the holiday.  I am challenging myself and anyone reading to just think about it in a different light this year.  Instead of thinking about whether or not our romantic expectations will be met or kill ourselves finding the perfect card for someone, why don't we think about how we can demonstrate God's love to someone tomorrow?  What if we focused on that?  

What if we used some or all of the money we would usually spend on a date to give someone else a meal?

What if we take flowers to a widow who may feel the sting of loss on Valentine's Day?

What if we invite someone to spend time with us who could use a friend?

What if we finally, in the spirit of St. Valentine's courage, said yes to something God has been telling us to do?   Even in the face of our fears.

What if we really thought more about how we could love the poor, the slave, the orphan, or the widow...above and beyond our normal caring...instead of ourselves.  

Maybe if you run in the same circles as I do you can get a little numb.  It could be that we know too much and are involved too little.  The internet has made us aware of so much brokenness that we don't even feel shocked anymore.  We can't let that happen.  While there is still breath in our lungs we cannot stop caring.  We have to make ourselves look their way.  We have to make ourselves stop and listen.  It's easy to ignore the voices of the vulnerable because they are so drowned out by louder ones.  The screaming voices of consumerism, entitlement, politics, petty arguments, and the always obnoxious white noise of our busyness just never seem to go away.  It's so easy to pander to these voices because of their volume.  The vulnerable whisper if they can even speak at all.  They are overlooked and ignored most of the time.  They don't get to come to the microphone make a motion at the meeting.  They can't pay someone to lobby for their interests.  They can't start a movement via social media.  They are at the mercy of the rich, the law makers, and their oppressors.  They wait on someone to come to them.  They cannot get to our well insulated lives to ask for what they really need.  They may not even know how to put words to it.  I am well acquainted with one segment of the population who are dying to be loved but they have no idea how to ask for that.  You guys, they shouldn't even have to.

If we really look around us or spend time with someone who is in such a vulnerable place I think we will find ourselves having to answer these questions...even if they're never uttered out loud.


Will you really love me?

Will you love me even if it's inconvenient?

Will you love me if it threatens your comfort?

Will you love me enough to sacrifice some things you want?

Will you love me enough to change your schedule...or your lifestyle?


Will you love me if I don't know how to love you back?

Will you love me enough to fight for me and speak for me?

I hear the voice of Someone else echoing through those questions too.  Someone who loves them just as much as He loves you and me (and I hope you know how much He does).  I hear the voice of Jesus through pages of scripture telling me that loving Him means loving others.  It means obeying Him, even when it's scary and hard.  It means putting others before myself, even when it's not convenient.  It means losing my life so that I can really find it in Him.  It means surrender and sacrifice.   It means real freedom and joy.  So, when I hear Jesus ask, "Will you really love me?" I know He is asking a loaded question.  He isn't asking for my words of affirmation or a sentimental card.  He is asking for my everything so that He can be my EVERYTHING.  He wants to give me grace and love that I cannot comprehend.  He intends to give His love to others through me...and not just to the people who already love me back.

I pray that we will absorb the deep love that God has for us and demonstrated through Jesus tomorrow.  YOU ARE SO LOVED.  I pray that we will also find a way to tell someone else the same thing.  To remind them that they are not forgotten and unseen.

Someone needs to hear, "You are precious, and important, and deeply cared for.  God loves you and so do I."

Let's celebrate that kind of Love this time around.  Happy Valentine's Day (eve).

When You Don't Know What You're Doing

Avery and Ella are currently the ripe old age of 3 and 4.   Since I quit "working" a year ago in December we have spent almost every blessed minute together.  I really am thankful for this time.  I feel like I spent more time just enjoying Micah as a baby/toddler than I did with them.  It's because I did.  He loves to snuggle up and reminisce about the good ole days when it was just him getting all of our attention.  He remembers a crazy amount of things from his first two and half years of life.  It's kind of creepy.  The girls came along in rapid succession so I just couldn't give them the same amount of attention.  It's just how it goes.  Please believe me when I say Micah needed his little sisters.  I tell him this frequently.  He would have been spoiled rotten and I would have whole heartedly contributed to it.  It would have been bad.  Very bad.

The girls have changed the landscape of "play" at our house too.  The baby dolls, dress up clothes, and kitchen toys are slowly outnumbering the hot wheels and super heroes.  The Legos though...they are more numerous than the stars in the sky.  I love them for their magical powers to quiet Micah for hours, to rescue me from having to play pretend (I'm awful at it.  It's an absolute labor of love and I wish it weren't so.) and they don't take one single battery.  God bless Legos.

So, when Jeff and Micah are gone, and it's just us girls, the days look different.  I steer the ship most of the time but if they had their druthers the day would go mostly like this.

- Wake up

-Eat breakfast

- Watch Mary Poppins or Sound of Music (We need to remind Mom of how awesome she could be.)

- Ask mom for a snack because we didn't get full 30 minutes ago.  (We can't tell time so I wish she would stop saying "We'll have a snack at 9:30 just like we do EVERY SINGLE DAY."  It's a waste of breath.)

- Dress up (Make sure we get them ALL out so we can see each of them on the floor for our next wardrobe change.)

- Change into another dress up and add accessories  (Don't forget the loud shoes this time.)

- Have school time (We know that's a crap shoot.)

- Eat Lunch (Ella may or may not.)

- Put on lots of lip gloss and sing karaoke...loudly

- Ask Mom for a snack

- Change into another dress up

- Nag Mom for another snack

- Change into another dress up

You get the picture.  They love to eat and be fancy.  They get the former from me but not the latter.  I'm yoga pants and t-shirts.  They're itchy dresses and plastic shoes.  I don't know where they came from.  I was there when they were born though, so it must be God's sense of humor.

The dressing up process got even more involved recently.  To their delight they got play make up for Christmas.   Yay!!!  I actually say no to it most of the time because I just don't have the inner strength to deal with the mess or the comments we would get in public.  I get enough as it is when I go to the store with any number larger than 2.

A few days ago I decided to let them just go for it.  It's the only way this stuff is going to disappear.  It turned into the best laugh I'd had in a while.  Avery, being a whole 16 months older, was clearly more qualified in make up application.  She convinced Ella to let her put it on for her.  I have tried to convey the "less is more" concept to Avery, but she's four and the color pallet she's working with contains dark blue and bright pink.  What do you think she'll pick?  Soft or bright?  Basically, her motto is, more is more.  I watched, listened, and took pictures because I'll definitely want to use this as an example later in life.  "You totally know what you're doing, huh?  Like this?  That turned out pretty well didn't it!"  These pictures will only get more precious with time.  The commentary was just as great.  Please enjoy.

Three times I heard her say, "You are NOT going to look like a clown."  Maybe she was trying to will it so or convince Ella before she saw herself in the mirror.  I don't know.  She also said, "I am so proud of myself!  You look adorable!"  So, what do you think?  A future in cosmetology?  For the record, this is way better than when she puts it on herself without a mirror.

Ella looks like she's having the time of her life doesn't she?  Then the moment when Avery handed her the mirror...

"Ew."  That was her response.  I was laughing out loud now.  She followed that very succinct feedback with, "Did I get too much?" Without any offense taken, Avery said, "No, I did."  I was proud of her.  She was willing to admit that maybe it wasn't as awesome as she thought.  Even better?  She went right to the sink and grabbed a wash cloth.

It was purely entertainment for me in the moment, but there is a lesson here.  I can't help how I'm wired you guys.  I'm sorry I can't leave it there. It annoys me too.

On the one hand, sometimes we'd do well to ask someone for help.  We just need to admit "I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING."  There is probably someone around us that could help.  I make all sorts of excuses for myself in these situations.  Mainly, I'm too busy and I bet they are too.  I don't want to bother them.  The truth is, they may actually be encouraged by our asking them for help though.  Pride and busyness keep us spinning our wheels when we could be miles down the road if we would just ask for help.  I'm the chief of sinners here.

On the other hand, it's so refreshing when someone isn't too proud to see something from someone else's perspective and go, "You know, I can see where you're coming from.  I want to make it right.  What can I do to help?"  Kids can be the best teachers.  At a play date with some of Micah's friends a mom was telling me about the food allergy struggles that her youngest son deals with.  There was a big debacle at Thanksgiving when he had a reaction to something on his plate.  Stories differed as to what went on his plate that day and reasons for his reaction.  They went round and round.  She was really frustrated and didn't feel like they were working as a team.  I asked her, "would a simple 'I'm sorry' have been enough for you?"  Her answer was YES.   She would have been happy to move on if they could have just said, in effect, "You know, we may have put gravy on his potatoes.  We honestly can't remember. We sure didn't mean to put him in danger.  We are so sorry.  We'll do our best to not let that happen again."  Done.  Trust restored.  In each job I've had working in retail or ministry event coordinating I have observed this.  It would be over something as silly as how someone ordered their coffee or messing up meeting space for an event.  I think that we fear we might be giving someone ammunition for a lifetime or permission to take advantage of us when we say those dangerously humble words.  I'm sorry.  I messed up.  It's just our pride again.  It makes us want to defend ourselves constantly.  It's to our own harm in the end.  I'm not saying that every time someone accuses you it's healthy to validate their accusation.  There are those who will forever be right in their own eyes, and everyone else wrong.  They're horribly unhappy people.  I'm just saying, don't be that person.  To have good relationships we have to come in with a willingness to see when we have messed up.  Generally speaking, if we mess up, no one is going to die (unless you're a surgeon).  Our whole life will not crumble if we have screwed up.  We have to remember:  Everyone on earth screws up...a lot.  A humble apology and willingness to see from someone else's perspective would actually set us free and heal more than we can imagine.  Repentance.  Forgiveness.  Restoration.  Unity.

Thanks to Avery for the fresh lesson on asking for help, saying I'm sorry, and making it right.

Grace is always there.  God never uses our repentance as ammunition to shame us.  Out of His unfailing love He forgives us every single time we come humbly before Him with a heart of repentance.  Freely we have received and freely let us give.

Repentance.  Forgiveness.  Restoration.  Unity.

Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.  Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.  And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.  - Colossians 3:12-14