In Which Babies Remind Me

I've spent the past few days with this new little family of four. I am so madly in love with these boys sometimes I can't even stand it.

I think this weekend has kept me locked up behind the gates of solitude as I find myself staring off into the distance and craving time in the quiet more then normal. This year, I just can't quite seem to wrap my little mind around Easter, around this thing called the resurrection.

My ears flood with sounds of my uselessness, my lack of belonging here. I feel something ugly when menial tasks are tossed my way, as if I am entitled to something greater then unpacking the car or manning the washing machine in the basement. I love to serve and I miss my friend even while she is sitting right net to me, two boys feeding off of her, and I just can't control my thoughts these days.

And as crazy as my brain as been as of late, I have never in my life heard grace sung so sweet as these past weeks. You know, it just keeps getting louder. 

I think the message I hear is such:  without the ressuresction, there would be no Christianity. No grace. No Truth to replace the lies. No after the before. No hope in the pain. No sacrifice in the death. It all hinges on the rock removed giving way to emptiness. It all comes back to the risen Son.

The one that dwells deep and hums to words otherwise mostly forgotten in the noise.

I watch this new Mamma and Daddy love bigger then I ever knew possible and it leaves me hungrier. Give me some a that, I think to myself. While I reflect on how things have changed and how I miss something that isn't even lost, just different.

I've seen God's provision lately in such unreal ways. And what I deserve is death.

There is something to be reconciled this year, some understanding I simply don't understand.

Understanding aside, I know it to be true so why do I still search here, within the constraints of clothes that hide shame and walls that conceal sin? What is it about saftey and belonging that is so appealing in our nakedness?

It's in us from birth, I'm learning. Something programmed deep, something beyond the passing the of genes. The kicking and flailing of complete unrestraint seen against the comfort of a tight swaddling blanket or two. The way their little muscles relax when they are scrunched up tight chest to chest. The unrest that comes in diaper changes contrasted with the peace of nakedness undone. The glory of a mamma nursing that makes every tear trickle away.

We all want to loved, protected, important-we all want to feel safe. 

When I watch this new daddy lock eyes with his boys, I feel goose bumps chase up my arms. I hear him whisper to his son and I remember this glimpse of right relationship, of justice. It leaves me teary-eyed and hungrier. When mamma nurses, her love made flesh really does quiet them. I continually think of the way God rejoices over them with singing, the way watching her calm her little sweet peas reminds me He thinks of me like that too?

Even though my mom is still learning how to love me. In spite of my dad robbing me of safety.

He still quiets me with His love. He calls me beloved. No matter how tight my pants feel today or how I just barely swung a passing grade on that last test or how my bible was altogether forgotten on this little trip or how I have spent a few weeks engulfed in a thick fog, it seems.

I still long to hear Him singing, you know. I need it.

They cry for no reason sometimes. These two precious boys. Completely senseless and sleep-robbing tears, and yet her love waivers not, of course. I hear her voice--Oh my lil sweet pea. You know your mamma loves you? As she quiets them. And I know she would give herself for these little guys because I watch it happening, the way her life is belonging less and less to her.

Lord, is that not what you desire for me too? That as a new mamma of two is somewhat supernaturally empowered to function on far less sleep then should be humanly possible, I also should also feel the sting of something lost so that something else might be gained?

There is something powerful about these early days, something I hope to remember. The way the womb contracts and boys burst forth and there is much rejoicing and much sacrifice.

For me or you, it might not be sleep or a daily shower He is requiring for the taking. Perhaps it is shame. Or fear. Maybe failure. Or hurt of not being protected. Maybe even your love of other things.

Like these precious babies scream over a bit of nakedness, we too must remember that is us. We are completely deserving, you know? We are the naked and guilty, apart from the One who chose in His grace to clothe us--with the righteousness of a risen Savior!

Death that we might have life. Risen that He might live in us. Nakedness undone. Quieting us with His love. Do you hear the song yet?

The LORD your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.  [Zephaniah 3:17]

In Which I Wrestle & Wait

A week ago life started singing outside my window so I slept with it open all night. I don't think I've slept quite like that in months. The sun kissed my face red after a day outside in the country with my adopted fam finishing my little [turned big] chicken house project from last year. It's almost done now and it was a project far to large for my own undertaking, joke's on me evidently!

Today rain and gloom linger and I feel a chill in the air. It's my dad's birthday and I don't quite know what to do with that. Oddly, all I can think about is wanting to hug him tight and for him to tell me it's all gunna be okay. I took a three hour nap and have no motivation to leave this bed. Nonetheless, the grass is gaining color and I am thankful for a resurrection glimpse.

Isn't it good news that the story doesn't end with the crucifixion?

We sang in church today and I wept like a baby. I tried to fight it, but by the time the offering song launched I was a goner. I think it was deep rooted in this weariness I've felt and the way I've depended on the idol too much in this trial. And then there is the trial itself. My applied for job count has topped out in the late twenties this week and my interviews thus far cap out at a whopping zero. It hasn't been the darkness of before, but it's lingered and weeks later I still haven't run the other way.

Why is that sometimes our wounds feel better oozing then they do all stitched up?

These days I look in the mirror and find disappointment in the faded blonde staring back at me. I haven't felt it in months and months but it feeds something of old. I find myself reaching into the back of the closet for the hoodies that cover up a few times too many and I wake up to the hum of relentless failure flowing ear to ear. There is something to be said for getting dressed up for work each day and with that gone--maybe I just need to pretend I have somewhere important to be?

I find myself making excuses to be places and moving my life to the week after next because I am just a little fragile right now and, well I don't even know why. Maybe something will click by then, though. I hope so. Surely I am not bound to a life of sweatpants just yet.

I hear the enemy loud. I open my Bible and the words just look a little blurry. I think it's a season we all know and the timing of it makes sense--tomorrow sums up my forty days of prayer and this last week I've felt the resistance.

But, God is speaking and I am dependent on hearing His voice.

Community around here really has sustained me. From random (rather large) checks taped to my windshield to people meeting me for the fist time only to discover I'm that one their whole family has been praying for these past weeks (which has happened more times then I can count on these fingers). All of my "adopted parents" both local and back home have been a constant flood of grace and wisdom in my life. My bible study friends have loved me well. Sweet ladies from church far more aged and faithful then I have come in close and looked me in the eyes while His words sunk deep. This is the testimony of His bride who have relentlessly pointed me back to He who is able.

And I think I forget it, when I don't see Him doing the abundantly more. I forget He is able. I forget faith is not seeing. I forget His ways are better too. Because let's face it, I have it all figured out stored away, just in case anyhow. 

"...the righteousness from God that depends on faith—that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead." [Phil. 3:10-11]

I think He is letting some parts of me crumble off. Hammering away.

The fire is thick and blazing these days, and this whole dying thing is a dreadful process. But as I watch this tulip fan open into yellow budded bliss, I remember abundant life such as this requires a cost so great as death itself.

In this case, undeserved death on a cross which burst forth an impossible stone that He who is able might attain resurrection. And here He dwells in the fire with you and me, His spirit sustaining.

I'm not sure what this season is to result in, what He is trying to carve outa me.

So all I can say is such--by any means possible, Lord, by any means possible. 

Easter in the Country

He has Risen! He has Risen indeed!!

This Easter I was blessed to have my adopted family host six of my international friends and an American friend for lunch and some time in the country. It was one of the sweetest things to watch this family welcome my friends into their home just like they have so graciously welcomed me.

The girls congregated in the kitchen hosting while the guys settled in the living room in deep conversation. The leader of the home did not hesitate in beginning gospel-centered conversation with the guys from Egypt. It was a moment I will never forget...walking back and forth from the kitchen to the living room drinks in hand, just hearing Him speak Truth over these boys...and of course they loved him instantly. He really has a way with internationals--it's something I really admire.

All eighteen of us gathered around the table to feast and talk. Michelle did an incredible job preparing the food and making everyone feel so welcome. I love her desire to open up her home and welcome anyone and everyone. she has a true gift. At the end of the lunch, I got to offer Easter baskets to my friends, filled with chocolate and some gospel-minded additions too. Then we headed outside for a bit, racing around on four-wheelers and getting a big group picture to remember this day, this day which we celebrate our Risen Savior.

I know God moves in powerful ways and I continue to pray that my international friends will know Him intimately in the month to come before they leave. Regardless of the timing, I am continually seeing the Spirit move in my time with them, and I am trusting Him more and more to do the work, instead of being so dependent upon myself. Sometimes I wish I could just shake them until they "got it"--I wish I could be the Holy Spirit. Then I realize I defiantly don't want that job. So if I can't do it, then all that's left is it remaining faithful to the One who can--and HE REALLY CAN!! Trusting that even if I never see the fruit, perhaps a seed is planted.

I know that Resurrection Sunday was a powerful testimony to a gracious God who loves each of us so much that He gave His Son to die on a cross, but He didn't stay there. He rose again that we might know He is Lord, that we might know the same resurrection from death to new life with Him. I know my friends listened to that message and I pray that they would have ears to hear.

Mummy and daughters

My little sisters :)

Both of my daughters learned how to drive the 4-wheelers!!

Boys vs. Girls



I never get tired of looking at this beauty.



Being goofy.

Kevin and Mike going out for a ride!

The little boys absolutely adored the older boys.

Daughter and I making goofy faces.

So thankful for this family...these friends...and our Risen Savior.