Blessings and Raindrops

seeking joy in the midst of the ordinary

You are deeply loved.

After praying over a really hard situation a friend is walking through this morning, I was led to the tenth chapter of the book of Daniel and a couple of verses jumped off the page. There were no highlights or notes or underlined words to make these particular verses stand out, it was simply God pointing out words my heart needed. Following that uneasy feeling of “share this” … I sent the verses to my friend because I believe God had them for her this morning as she sits in a sterile hospital waiting room, anxiously awaiting word of the outcome of her husband’s surgery.

Then, I felt like maybe someone else needs them as well today. So, I’m sharing here. Because, God’s word is alive and active and is as much a promise to you and I as it was to Daniel centuries ago.

“…your request has been heard in Heaven.” (Daniel 10:12b)

Seven powerful words. So clear and so important. God hears our prayers. He hears our prayers just as He heard Daniels’. What a beautiful reminder this was as I pled for my friend this morning. God heard every word. And, then I read this…

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, “for you are deeply loved by God. Be at peace: take heart and be strong!” (Daniel 10:19 NLT; emphasis mine)

Because I tend toward anxiousness and fear, I personally love that ‘Do not fear’ is the most frequent command issued in the Bible. I’m reassured because it is a command of God but also because I’m not the only one who has dealt with this – even the great heroes of our faith had hearts bent toward fear. At least I’m in good company. 🙂

And while all of the commands to not be afraid are powerful, this particular verse from Daniel struck me. He was told not to be afraid because he is deeply loved by God.

We can rest in the same promise. We can be at peace, we can take heart, and we can be strong because God deeply loves us.

He is right there in the waiting room with my precious friend, holding her and whispering peace over her because He deeply loves her. He is surrounding my dear friend with a beautiful community of tangible support in the midst of her husband’s job loss because He deeply loves her. He is comforting one of my closest friends today as she grieves and misses her momma on her earthly birthday because He deeply loves her.

He doesn’t promise there won’t be pain or hard times, in fact, he clearly warns us of the trials and heartaches we will face in this life. Yet, in the hard, in the dark, in the pain, He is right there as a bright, trustworthy light. Because of love. Because of a deep, unmeasurable, unending love. We can rest in that love. We can face hard things because of that love. We can resist fear because of that love. We can go wherever He calls because of that love.

May we feel extra doses of His abundant love today. And, more importantly, may we share that love with everyone in our path. This whole, messy, broken world could certainly use that kind of life-changing love.

Fresh Perspective for the second week of December.

1 am found me tossing and turning. As the clock ticked, I wrestled with sleep. As it always goes, the more I tossed and tried to will myself back to dreamland, the more elusive sleep became. My mind wouldn’t shut off. This weekend finds us busy and I knew this morning would be packed with all-the-things. We have out of town guests arriving, parties to host, projects near finishing (and last minute details to be covered), decor to hang (this year, Christmas decorating has been a progressive thing), cards to address and send, gifts to buy, gifts to wrap, food to prepare, on and on….

This morning, equipped with caffeine in my mug, I sat for a quick read and prayer time before tackling the to-do’s. Rather than the few minutes I had planned for, I still find myself in my favorite chair by the warmth of the fire an hour later processing. Jesus stopped my swirling thoughts and met me here.

Assuming I’m not the only one who needs these words today, I had to share this brief-yet-poignant thought from IF: Emmauel Advent Study:

If the second week of December has you feeling frantic, a little behind, and weighed down, be spurred on by the words Moses had for the Israelites when they too felt truly overwhelmed: “Do not be afraid…the Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still” (Exodus 14:13-14 NIV). The words Jesus spoke to His disciples hours before his death were, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid” (John 14:27). Peace won’t magically wrap the presents, it’s true, but it will set the tone for the encounters others have with Jesus through you, which is the very best gift you can give.”

Filled with fresh perspective (it really doesn’t matter if the garland is lying in a pile on the porch rather than draped over the door frame and my guests don’t care if the dryer is full of laundry yet to be refluffed – always refluffed – and folded), I am ready to tackle the necessary tasks before me. Yes, there are things that must be done today, but rather than frantically trying to do it all with a resentful heart, I can rest in the peace He gives abundantly. I can view the list of to-do’s from an eternal perspective and determine which items can fall to the wayside.

I recently read this quote and it resonates so deeply with my desire for our home this holiday season (and always):

“Hospitality is when someone leaves your home feeling better about themselves, not better about you.” 

May this second week of December find us all worrying less about perfection and more about creating a warm and safe place for others to feel loved.

Trust Him.

As I sit by the glow of the tree, steaming coffee in hand, reading about hope and fear and faith… I glance up, right into these eyes.

My Sylvie girl… the ornament we hung five years ago, with aching, hopeful, anxious, longing hearts. Our first Christmas with a daughter across an ocean. We didn’t know of the fight in front of us. We didn’t know the days of waiting would turn to months and the months would turn to years. We only knew God called us to say yes to this little girl, yes to an unknown path, yes to hurting and pain and loss and boundless love. He also continually whispered the words I read again just this morning before looking up to the tree and this ornament, “Don’t be afraid. Just trust me.” (Mark 5:36b)

Don’t be afraid.

Just trust me.

I don’t know what you’re facing today, as we enter the season of Advent and walk toward Christmas Day. But I know when you are grieving or longing for healing or waiting for your baby or hurting deeply, this season can be harder than most. It can be a reminder, not of the Hope we look to, but of the one miracle or unanswered prayer just out of reach. If you’re in the pain, desperate for Hope, hear His words again: “Don’t be afraid. Just trust me.”

He is faithful and trustworthy. His story for us is never our story for us but it is always good. He has a plan and a purpose and every tear and every moment of waiting and hurting will someday be redeemed. Maybe this side of eternity, maybe not. But someday, it will all be made new. That is the Hope we can cling to.

a gathering place.

We’ve been busy preparing for an event we are hosting a month from today in the barn at The Berry Farm. The evening will benefit the work of Help One Now and there will be another event the next day specifically benefitting our partnership in Zimbabwe and the agricultural training program for the boys at Musha WeVana. The program is about to get underway there and we are SO excited to see years of hard work start to come to fruition. We are planning another trip this spring to visit Pastor John and the kiddos at Musha WeVana Village and can’t wait to see the new training program and farm up and running in Marondera!

We are expecting 300 guests next month at the farm and we have been having so much fun renovating our run-down, working barn to host this special evening. I’ve wanted to renovate the barn since day one so I couldn’t be more excited to get this underway.

When we first started the berry farm planting three years ago, we had no idea how God would use that little slice of land. We simply knew this was a part of His plan for our family and we kept our heads down and got to work. We trusted Him with the details and have been honestly been BLOWN AWAY by His good plans.

I never would have imagined we would be working in Zimbabwe or that our little farm would help pave a pathway to a better future for teenage boys there. Older, orphaned and at-risk boys are big on our hearts and we have always had a desire to give these boys a chance – to learn a skill, to build confidence, to lead, to restore communities – we know of (and ADORE) many programs for young girls or mommas looking to care for their babies (LOVE SO MUCH) but there are very few programs that come alongside young boys who are at risk. These boys will grow to be daddies and leaders of their families and in their communities and we want to empower them to lead well. What a joy it has been to watch this program’s idea form and begin to be realized. I am truly in awe of God’s goodness and the fact that He lets me and Dave and our family be a part of this work.

To be honest, this little berry farm felt like a bit of a failure during our first harvest. We were taken completely off guard when we lost a good portion of our blueberries to birds and storms. I couldn’t understand why God would have us commit to starting the agriculture program in Zimbabwe THIS year when He knew we wouldn’t even come close to our fundraising goal (let’s just say we were about 80% short). Why? Why would our crop be destroyed this first year when the kids needed this money right now? It made no sense to any of us.

I’ve been studying the sixth chapter of John this week, the story of the five loaves and the two fish. I loved how Jesus tested Philip by asking him where they would buy bread for the large crowd to eat. Philip solemnly responded with the fact that a years wages wouldn’t be enough to buy bread to feed everyone. I can only imagine Philip felt pretty defeated in that moment. {John 6:5-7}

I love what Jennie Allen says about this story in her Proven study:

“In these verses we see Jesus state the impossible task before Philip, testing him. It seems Jesus went out of his way to show Philip and the rest of the disciples it could not be done in their power… Jesus fully trusted in the exceeding abundance of His Father, God {and modeled this for the disciples}.”

SO good. So good.

Jesus certainly modeled this for our family with this farm of ours.

No way could we do this in our power. We couldn’t get the program off the ground in Zimbabwe this year with the small crop during our harvest. It seemed impossible. Until this event came along. And, we remembered, He doesn’t need us for this work. Yet, He graciously gives us a chance to come along for the ride. We simply need to trust in the exceeding abundance of our Father.

Just a little glimpse of the work being done. I cannot wait to show you guys the final renovated barn!!

The other really fun part of the farm that I’m loving see come together is the fact that God had whispered a phrase to me early on, before the fields were even planted:

A gathering place. 

I knew this farm of ours (did I mention we have ZERO farming experience? This whole thing felt a little bit out of left field at first) was meant to be a gathering place of some sort but I didn’t fully understand what that would look like.

My human vision is so finite and short-sighted. I assumed this meant we would gather families to harvest berries. That only made sense and seemed reasonable. I tucked the phrase in the back of my mind and forgot all about it.

Until very recently. As we started the initial planning for this upcoming fundraiser, the phrase came to mind again.

A gathering place. 

God made the farm a gathering place like I never would have anticipated. We have found ourselves gathering here on Sunday mornings. With a growing number of likeminded families. Families looking for a place where everything else is stripped away but the goodness of our Savior. We meet in a barn, kids often run amuck outside – slipping in for a song or to listen to the sermon and then running back out until we share communion together – dogs and lambs stop in for a visit, we have a little speaker for songs to be played off a phone – no worship team, no AC. Yet, God’s presence is so palpable and we have the most raw, authentic community of broken people who admittedly have zero answers and are learning to simply lean on the One who does. It’s beautiful and precious. And completely and wholly unexpected.

And, soon, we will gather in that same barn to celebrate good work being done around the globe and to raise money for continued community empowerment and family preservation and education and food and clean water.

While this world feels like it’s spinning faster and the chasm of division and hatred grows wider, what a joy it is to have this gathering place where we can step away from the chaos and rest in His mercy and graciousness and compassion. A place where we can collectively lift our eyes and see light still shining brightly into the darkness.

Love pours forth.

I grew up in central Florida – shielded from the coast by a mere 40 or so miles. My childhood memories of hurricane season include board games and stocked pantries while storms raged outside our living room window. Simple rainy day fun in my young mind. Yet, I distinctly remember the devastation to our neighbors in the south from Hurricane Andrew. I was thirteen years old. Old enough to join my parents and older sister, huddled around our television, watching the images in horror as the news anchors reported from the rubble. Fear rose inside my spirit and light-hearted rainy day board games were replaced with anxiety and an understanding of the devastating power of these massive storms.

As Beth Moore eloquently states in her recent Christianity Today article, “Every coastal city knows it could be next. We have to have our neighbors to survive.”

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I’ve been EXHAUSTED from social media in the past year (or couple of years, really). The tension and the viciousness are too much to take some days.

I want to shut it all down. I want to sign off and ignore everyone’s opinions and soapboxes. Even though a lot of the information shared is GOOD and knowledge is power… the responses are often laced with anger and hostility. (This may sound harsh but I wonder if I’m not the only one who has felt this way lately.)

But, oh my heart. I have been absolutely astounded by the posts these past few days.

Hurricane Harvey hit Houston with intense force and the aftermath has been absolutely horrific. I can barely look at photos or videos of the flooding and the victims without becoming teary.  YET. My social media feeds are turning to feeds of hope and love and support and a posture of humility and “how can I help?” responses are pouring forth.

Click on photo for source link.

From my sideline perspective, I’ve watched as the enemy tried his damnedest to divide us as a nation. He has shouted hatred and lies and had many of us believing we would never find our way back. We would be divided and downtrodden and fear would reign on our streets and in our homes. But, today, when suffering is rampant and hope should be dead and buried, light is pouring in. The stories of good, kind, selfless deeds are endless.

Please don’t hear me saying this storm was a good thing, no. It is horrific and the pain of loss and destruction and death is intense and real. Yet, I see us rising up.

Thank you, people of Houston. For inspiring us and reminding us that we can do better. We can go out into the storm and love recklessly. We can reach a hand out to our neighbors, and complete strangers; even the ones who look differently than us and believe differently than us. We can just pour out love.

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If you’re looking to help the victims of Hurricane Harvey and don’t know where to turn, I wanted to share that our dear friends and partners at Help One Now will be working as a conduit to channel funds to those doing direct impact work on the ground. They will give away 100% of what is raised.  They will be partnering with local organizations in Houston and the surrounding areas who will be effectively serving their own people on the long road to recovery.

So, IF you want to give, there are 2 ways to do it … mail in a check or give online.

If you want to mail in a check, just make your check out to “Help One Now” and make sure to write “Texas Hurricane Relief” in the memo.  Then mail the check to:

Help One Now

P.O. Box 26716

Raleigh, NC 27611

If you prefer to give online, just FOLLOW THIS LINK, and once you are there:

  1. Enter your donation amount in the box on the left that says One-time Donation, and select General Donation in the drop-down box.
  2. Fill in your name, email and credit card info.
  3. Type “Texas Hurricane Relief” in the Notes section.  Make sure to do this, so that we know how to allocate the funds.  And then we will make sure that 100% of your donation makes a direct impact in southeast Texas!

blessed are the peacemakers.

This week, I’ve shuffled all four of my little loves off to a new school, full of new people and new routines and new places. They have been so very brave – not without slight trembling and butterflies – but, brave nonetheless.

After school, pick-up has been full of laughter and escalating voices as each little attempts to interject with their own tale from the day. New friends, new teachers, new schedules, new reward systems…the cause of tummy aches and sleepless nights are now fun and exciting in the light of day.

I watch the trepidation turn into joy and I find my heart full of peace.

And, I feel a gentle nudge. A reminder. A sweet whisper in the wind.

I will never leave or forsake you. In all things. I am here. 

I often find myself in mama-bear mode, questioning decisions like where to send my little people to school and how to protect them in this fallen world. I watch the news and read my social media feeds and feel overwhelmed. I am weary and exhausted from the strife and division and constant streaming negativity at every turn. I edge toward hopelessness. I wonder how any of us can possibly make a dent in the darkness. I want to move my people to a private island inside of a magical bubble and disconnect from it all.

That whisper.

In all things. 

He is here. God is not a distant, condemning figurehead, watching from afar as we mess up over and over again. He doesn’t wring his mighty hands, anxiously awaiting the next news story or Facebook post or rally or protest or terrorist attack. He is here. Among us. With us. Moving. Working. Breathing life. 

He is active. Even when this whole world threatens to move closer to the edge of darkness, He shines LIGHT. He works in and through us. His Kingdom is alive and well. Jesus taught us to pray for the Kingdom on earth as it is in Heaven. We don’t have to sit here, stewing, helplessly waiting for the Kingdom of Heaven. We can go right ahead and bring the Kingdom to earth. We can shine light and love and peace right here, right where we are. Because, He is right here with us. Shining right through us.

I have to remember the words I proclaim over my children in the morning. The words I say to remind them who they are. The words to remind them they have nothing to fear. The words I prayed and prayed that first day as they walked into the new building, nerves and fear building and rumbling and threatening to overwhelm their precious souls.

You are daughters and sons of the King of kings. 

When you’re missing home or momma, you can close your eyes and take a deep breath and remember:

God is right here. 

When this whole world threatens to overwhelm and the fear and terror seep in through the night, we can remember: He is right here with us. We can do this. We can love abundantly. We can hope relentlessly. We can listen quietly. We can be peacemakers.

the berry farm.

I’ve written before about simply focusing on the one thing before you. And, how the next thing is often a small, seemingly insignificant, step of obedience.

Till the soil.

Install irrigation lines.

Build a barn.

Plant the berries.

When your head is down, and you are focused intently on the task at hand, you aren’t yet able to see the full picture. You can’t yet connect the dots to realize how this small step will carry you to the next step and then the next and then the next.

When we planted these fields, we knew God had something planned for this soil. We thought we knew what would unfold in the years to come, but, of course, we had no idea.

Planting day, April 2015

Originally, we assumed the proceeds from the farm would benefit our feeding program in Congo. As the season approached for the farm to open, we learned the Hope Center work we hoped to initiate had halted due to instability in the country. Last summer, we spent much time in prayer. We were at a crossroads and, if I’m honest, I was feeling untethered and confused. I couldn’t understand why God had brought us this far, why He had allowed the partnership with Help One Now and sent Dave and a team back to Congo to plan for the next phase of development work only to have it all stop in an instant.

God was silent. And, I was angry. We had poured so much into this work. Last year, I wrote about my confusion and frustration and my hazy glimpse of new plans being forged:

“I didn’t realize that somewhere along the way, my identity had become tied to what I did, rather than who I am. I didn’t know then that God would need pry my fingers from the white-knuckled grasp I had on this work. I had no clue that the ground beneath me would go from solid and strong to unstable and disorienting or that everything needed to be stripped away in order to be built again.

I’m learning that it’s okay to not have all of the answers. {Hallelujah! Since I very rarely ever have any of the answers}. Instead, I need to simply do the one thing right in front of me.”

This past week, while studying the book of Ruth, I was struck by the truth tucked into the fourth chapter. I love the commentary of Nicki Koziarz:

“Our physical sight has limitations. We can only see so far and so wide. And often our physical sight transfers to our spiritual sight.

But God is full of mystery with a perspective beyond anything we can comprehend. So when we allow Him to write the endings to our stories they often end up being something more than we could ever ask or imagine. (Ephesians 3:20)”

I now know that, in partnership with Help One Now and their local leaders in Marondera, Zimbabwe, our farm will provide resources to train and empower teenagers and young adults to transition into adulthood with the skills that they need to succeed. I now know that, each year, we will help provide training and mentorship in agriculture & livestock, wood & metal working, business management, textiles, cooking and even technology to over 80 orphaned and vulnerable children at Musha WeVana Village in Zimbabwe. (!!!)

This plan was never on my radar. I only saw the smallest fraction of the big picture. And, I still do. I have no idea how this farm of ours will impact lives across the globe or even families who visit our little stretch of soil and learn about the work being done by Pastor John and his team in Zimbabwe.

Now, as we wrap up our first harvest, I’m realizing that I will always have limitations – I will always only see so far and so wide. Yet, I can trust God to use this work for His purpose and I can fully surrender all control to Him. I simply need to do the work in front of me. Most days, the work is incredibly mundane and the fruit of the labor feels puny and small. But, every so often, I get a little glimpse of the bigger picture and it is absolutely more beautiful than I can comprehend.

You can learn more about the work of The Berry Farm HERE. 

who do i think i am?

Every so often, I find myself reading articulate, powerful, soul-stirring words written by others and I think, “Who Do I Think I Am?!” Who would want to read my paltry words? Surely the world has no lack of words and opinions and expressed thoughts, it’s best I stay silent and live my life quietly; tending to my little people and my busy, sweet, blessed little life. So, I stop writing and toy with the idea of shutting down social media entirely.

Life then moves along just peachy for days, or weeks or even months. Until something happens that shakes my silence and makes me want to write again. Sometimes, it’s simply a need for a creative outlet. Other times, I have an experience like I had today. This morning, I shared the story of a tender moment with a stranger on my Facebook page – a story I was very hesitant to write about because I was worried someone reading would think, “who does she think she is?!?” or think I was trying to make myself sound holier than thou (trust me on this – I am far from holier than the least of the thou’s). Yet, I felt compelled to share. The response has been so beautiful and encouraging and uplifting.

When we share our stories, we stir others to share their own. We learn how to put aside the fear of “who does she think she is?” and pick up the courageous, authentic, truth-telling selves we were made to be.

I’m currently in the midst of a scenario in my life where I am battling the “Who Do I Think I Am?!” mentality on a daily (more accurately – hourly) basis. I hate being secretive but I can’t yet share what I’m up to. I will say this: it’s completely outside of my comfort zone. Yet, it has been a ton of fun and I’m loving walking alongside my better half on this crazy ride.

Even still, I’m feeling rather inadequate and keep wondering why anyone would think it was a good idea to actually think I could pull this thing off. Some really smart people are standing behind me and telling me I can (the question is – are these empty words or do they really believe this?). See! There is this whole “Who Do You Think You Are” thing that keeps banging around in my brain. I lay in bed and imagine the many, many ways people will criticize and tear down. I wonder why I would put myself out there because, when you are out there, people can say some really mean things. The only way to silence the “Who Do I Think I Am?!” noise is to stay hidden and say no to ridiculous ideas.

Gracious, how boring would that be?!?

Saying yes to ridiculous ideas is my MO. I may do a terrible job of staying quiet and keeping my thoughts to myself but maybe, just maybe, that’s not what God wants of me. Maybe He places me in outlandish scenarios simply so that I can lean into Him and constantly feel inadequate in my own meager strength. After all, “Our purpose is to please God, not people” {1 Thessalonians 2:4}.

So, I’m shutting down the silly “Who Do I Think I Am” soundtrack and turning up the “I Am A Daughter of the King of Kings” anthem.

Care to join me?

the attentiveness of our Savior.

Two days ago, I read right past a sentence inconspicuously tucked into a larger story in scripture. This morning, I was drawn back to that seemingly insignificant line. I glanced at the words and half-heartedly read them, prepared to move on. Then, feeling a stirring, I paused and read them again slowly and then again once more, letting the words seep in.

I sat in the stillness of the morning – listening to the rain softly fall outside of my window, grateful for the quiet of little ones still asleep. I focused on the pitter patter of the rain and prayed for discernment over the words.

Gently, a name came to  mind.

A friend in an intense season of waiting for her adopted daughter to come home. A season of weariness and heaviness, a season I am intimately acquainted with.

I texted her the words, along with an earnest prayer for rest for her weary heart.

She immediately responded with gratitude – this morning had brought fresh grief and anger and frustration. These ancient, Spirit-breathed words were like a balm to her anxious soul.

In no way am I telling this story to somehow lift myself up. I tell this story because I think someone else needs these words, as well. I tell this story because I am once again in awe of the attentiveness of our Savior. He sees us, He meets us, He sends words for us – through scripture, through friends, through music, in unlikely places – He reminds us we are never alone. Even in our exhaustion and weariness, He is there.

For they said, “You must all be very hungry and tired and thirsty after your long march through the wilderness.”

{2 Samuel 17:29 NLT, emphasis mine}

In 2 Samuel 17, we find David and his men fleeing Jerusalem after his son, Absalom, had begun a rebellion to overtake the throne. They have been traveling through a literal wilderness and were physically exhausted. When they arrive at the town of Mahanaim, they are shown warm hospitably and are generously supplied with food and water and beds for rest.

May we be like the people of Mahanaim, may we be gracious and generous and kind-hearted to weary souls.

And, may those currently in the midst of their own long walk through the arid, scorching wilderness find comfort in knowing God sees you. He knows you are weary, He knows you are exhausted and parched. I pray you receive a fresh spring of living water this morning, a gentle nudge toward rest. May He abundantly bless you with sustenance today, and tomorrow, and the day after. Until this long march is over, may you find your rest in Him.

the raging storm.

The storm raged under the cover of night. We awoke to hail battering the glass window panes, gusts of wind howling and the violent clapping of thunder. Dave leapt out of bed and turned on the porch light, surveying the storm. I reached for my phone on the nightstand and flipped through my tornado warning and weather apps – eyes peeled for tornado threats. The radar was clear of any turbulent activity, other than the raucous storm outside. No tornado watches or warnings. No sirens.

We said a prayer for protection and drifted back to sleep under the illusion of safety.

I was awoken again an hour or so later to the sound of a baby crying out. A baby lamb, mind you. Dora, our lab, had managed to open the garage door where Trixie was tucked away from the storm and let her inside the house. Trixie must have followed Dora upstairs once she came in. I found her at the top of the staircase, crying loudly. She was stuck, unable to descend the stairs. After moving her safely back to her improvised bed in the garage and checking the radar once more, I dozed off again.

The storm continued to rage outside.

We awoke to find dozens of huge trees ripped, twisted, and uprooted. The fence around the cow pasture, destroyed. Debris, wet leaves, pots, fallen limbs scattered everywhere we looked. Dazed, we walked the property as the steady patter of rain continued.

The path of the storm was clear cut – a straight line of torn down trees and ripped apart branches. Although we received no warning, we are fairly certain a tornado hit our property. We praised our Father for His protective covering over our home, and most importantly, our four precious treasures inside.

If the cyclone had moved a mere 25-30 feet to the left, it would have passed right over our home. We have no doubt that it would’ve ripped the roof off. The roof covering our babies, sleeping soundly in their beds on the second story.

“What if.” I’ve grappled with this for nine hours now and my breath still catches when I go there. I can hardly praise God enough for the way He protected my loves. I have no doubt His hand was over our family last night.

I’m reminded of the story of Elisha. Of the mountainside full of horses and chariots of fire, of angelic hosts surrounding and protecting the city.

Early in the morning a servant of the Holy Man got up and went out. Surprise! Horses and chariots surrounding the city! The young man exclaimed, “Oh, master! What shall we do?”

He said, “Don’t worry about it—there are more on our side than on their side.”

Then Elisha prayed, “O God, open his eyes and let him see.”

The eyes of the young man were opened and he saw. A wonder! The whole mountainside full of horses and chariots of fire surrounding Elisha!  {2 Kings 6:15-17, MSG}

As the storm raged and winds shrieked outside in the wee morning hours, angelic hosts surrounded and protected our family.

I am not light-heartedly sharing these words, I realize many reading are walking seasons of grief and hurting or are in the valley of waiting. Waiting for healing, waiting for a child, waiting for redemption.

I know that bad things happen all the time. Scrolling my newsfeed, I am continually assaulted with the reality of evil as well as stories of horrific tragedies happening to good people. God’s own. I don’t understand why bad things happen or why we were tucked safely under the hedge of protection last night. I only know God is mysterious and only good.  And all I can offer in response, is my humble, wholehearted, ‘Thank you, Jesus.’

meet Trixie.

I have a history of visiting our neighbor’s sheep and bottle feeding the babies. I think he finally tired of my littles and I dropping by every time babies were born and asked yesterday if we would care for one of the orphaned lambs.

In a moment of temporary delusion, I quickly, enthusiastically said YES! — I’m now bottle feeding this sweet thing every few hours, forgoing sleep and holding her in my lap while she sleeps {otherwise, she cries and cries…}. I’m trying to determine how strange it would be to bring a lamb on a leash to the boy’s soccer game tonight. Otherwise, we’ll miss a feeding. I’m seriously considering this, you guys. Bless.

What a sweet, tangible visual ‘Trixie’ will be for our family this Holy Week.

Your God is coming! Yes, the Sovereign LORD is coming in all his glorious power. He will rule with awesome strength. See, he brings his reward with him as he comes. He will feed his flock like a shepherd. He will carry the lambs in his arms, holding them close to his heart. He will gently lead the mother sheep with their young. {Isaiah 40: 10-11}

Come, let us worship and bow down. 

Let us kneel before the Lord our maker,

for he is our God.

We are the people he watches over,

the sheep under his care. 

{Psalm 95: 6-7}


“‘God, the Master, says: From now on, I myself am the shepherd. I’m going looking for them. As shepherds go after their flocks when they get scattered, I’m going after my sheep. I’ll rescue them from all the places they’ve been scattered to in the storms. I’ll bring them back from foreign peoples, gather them from foreign countries, and bring them back to their home country. I’ll feed them on the mountains of Israel, along the streams, among their own people. I’ll lead them into lush pasture so they can roam the mountain pastures of Israel, graze at leisure, feed in the rich pastures on the mountains of Israel. And I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep. I myself will make sure they get plenty of rest. I’ll go after the lost, I’ll collect the strays, I’ll doctor the injured, I’ll build up the weak ones and oversee the strong ones so they’re not exploited. {Ezekiel 34:11-16 MSG}

“Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. {Luke 12:32 ESV}


“I am the Good Shepherd. I know my own sheep and my own sheep know me. In the same way, the Father knows me and I know the Father. I put the sheep before myself, sacrificing myself if necessary. You need to know that I have other sheep in addition to those in this pen. I need to gather and bring them, too. They’ll also recognize my voice. Then it will be one flock, one Shepherd. This is why the Father loves me: because I freely lay down my life. And so I am free to take it up again. No one takes it from me. I lay it down of my own free will. I have the right to lay it down; I also have the right to take it up again. I received this authority personally from my Father.”. {John 10:14-18, MSG}

As I care for this innocent, fragile little lamb, I’m reminded of words I wrote three years ago after a weekend sitting under the rich teaching of Beth Guckenberger:

“God will always provide. Strength. Peace. Joy. One moment, one step, one day at a time.

Like a Good Shepherd leading his sheep, we can trust that He will guide us to green pastures. We can keep our ears tilted toward Him, listening for the next place to place our feet. The next stop. The next fork in the road. Ours is meant to be a position of dependance on Him.”

Time to Linger.

 “In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.”
– Margaret Atwood. 

Rather unexpectedly, I am now proudly wearing the battle-worn badge of homeschooling momma.

After our month away in January, the boys lost their spots at their public elementary school. We were faced with a choice: an overflow school for the last four months of the year or I could homeschool them. I decided to suck it up and do it. How hard could it be to teach first grade? (Sarcasm, people. That is sarcasm).

For the sake of remembering this wild season of life, let’s review the highs and lows of homeschooling first graders for the past two months with zero curriculum pre-planning, or, let’s be honest here, the faintest clue of what I am doing.

The obvious takeaway: This is Hard. 

Mornings are slow, which I adore, yet, they tend to be flanked with whining, groaning, and debating the need to do anything involving a pen, workbook or, goodness forbid, the empty-paged journal. {The horror!}

I begin patiently, resolved to approach the day with gentle words and a calm demeanor.

I pour my coffee.

Resolute, I encourage my offspring to open their journals. In a sweet Mother Teresa-esque voice, I gently remind my pupils of the importance of proper sentence structure. “Poop” may inspire laughter from your brother, however, it is not a complete sentence.

I pour more coffee.

And, thus, our daily rhythm ensues. Groans and dramatic full body flails, followed closely by excitement over a new skill mastered (!), then, more complaints and utter despair when confronted with yet another subject matter – it appears thirty minutes should suffice for a full day of learning.

I pour more coffee.

In the midst of all of the coffee and the complaints and the surprisingly sweet moments interwoven throughout the morning, I’m also wiping my newly potty-trained toddler’s bum {isn’t bum the cutest word? Note to self: use it more often}, washing dishes {apparently sitting at the kitchen table produces ravenous little people all.morning.long}, never-ending piles of laundry and mopping up the dog water spills and all the things.

Unavoidably, I am no longer speaking in a Mother Teresa-esque tone by the end of the day.

The other obvious takeaway: I cannot do it all. 

Alas, the balls I am attempting to precariously balance in the air are dropping left and right. Rapidly. I am behind on returning phone calls, paying bills, responding to emails, writing deadlines, photo organization {my favorite photo album printer – MyPublisher – is closing it’s doors at the beginning of May and I have two years worth of photo books to organize, upload and print. The clock is ticking, people}, event planning {we had to cancel an event tonight, in fact. Not actually my fault but I still feel like I let a whole slew of people down with my inability to manage small details at the moment}.

I’ve had a cathartic ugly cry and am accepting my limitations.

I don’t like feeling inept.

Yet, I’m leaning into the crazy idea Jesus presented that in my weakness, His strength is magnified. I am trusting that, somehow, He will use my inability, my unpreparedness, my lack for His glory. 

The not-so-obvious takeaway: Lingering is a lost art.

Because we have temporarily stepped off the treadmill and checked ourselves out of the race for a season, we have this glorious opportunity to create whitespace in our days. Unplanned, unhurried, unscheduled minutes and hours set aside simply to linger.

To stoop down and scoop up a handful of freshly sprouted spring flowers. To roam freely outdoors – awakening imaginations and senses gone dormant under academic and time-constrained pressure.

To linger over a new book from the library, saying yes to the enthusiastic request for one more chapter.

To linger after dinner, on a long walk, without the incessant pull to rush back home and complete the bedtime routine in preparation for another early morning.

To indulge the endless stream of  “why”… to pause our schedule for an impromptu shoe-tying lesson… to play games and dump piggy bank contents onto the table for a math lesson…to build forts and plan out April Fool’s tricks {per our plan, Nate hid all of the spoons this morning and CRACKED UP when Dave opened the drawer in search of a cereal spoon}…

In my exhaustion and inaptitude, I’ve been given the chance to step back and evaluate what matters most to me as a mother. If I imagine my grown children in twenty years, sitting around a table with their friends, how do I want them to describe their childhood?

I know I want them to have warm, fond memories of long days outside. I want them to remember dirt under their fingernails and laughter on their lips. I want them to remember the sensation of sunshine on their faces. I want them to remember the affection and responsibility they gleaned from caring for animals. I want them to remember a home with vases full of handpicked wildflowers on every surface and refrigerator doors covered in homemade Picasso’s. I want them to remember a childhood framed with sweet, content moments of lingering…

Mercy.

Yesterday, I wrote a few words from a place of brokenness. I wanted to record my commitment to release expectations and renew hope in my heart. And, wouldn’t you know, God met me right then and there. After I closed my computer and got on with my day, He gently pulled my eyes upward.

Through one of the sweetest evenings Sylvie and I have shared together in a long time, my Abba reminded me that Hope is most assuredly alive. No matter how many times I have tried to bury it, Hope will always remain. My declaration to search for it, to unveil the light in every dark place, simply opened my eyes to see it once again.

My girl hugged me tightly last night, completely unprompted, and said, “I love you, mommy!” as we snuggled together and read our bedtime story. It was a small, quiet, far-from-flashy, moment. A simple treasure for my heart, tucked away, a reminder of His mercy, His healing hand, His redeeming nature.

Then, for the fourth time in the past week and a half, the boys invited Sylvie to sleep on the mattress they made for her on the floor in their room. This, my friends, is monumental. They invited her into their space; willingly, lovingly.

My tender-hearted boys have a bond stronger than words could ever describe and their worlds were absolutely wrecked when Sylvie came home. They were only four and they had just become big brothers to baby Charlotte eight weeks earlier. They were still adjusting to their new roles, when, with only 48 hours notice, their toddler sister arrived on a plane and walked into our home, disrupting everything and everyone with her terrified, unpredictable behavior. Our home went from a place of security and love to one of chaos. For months, we felt like we were walking in a mine field, never knowing which step would inadvertently set off a land mine buried in the sand.

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Celebrating daddy’s birthday this past weekend. 🙂

Ever so slowly, healing has occurred in all of our hearts. We saw so much healing and bonding occur during our time in South Africa for the boys and Sylvie. Oh, how that trip was worth taking, if only for the deep bond the three of our kids now share. There is genuine love and affection where I once questioned if it could ever be so.

And, that my friends, is Mercy.

So, as Lent begins tomorrow, I’m going to keep on releasing my expectations and my frustrations and my disappointments. I’m going to keep on digging up Hope and focusing on where the light shines, no matter how dimly. I’ll keep on seeking out that light and exposing it. That little light will disperse and keep on spreading and spreading until all of our dark corners are lit up with bright, beautiful, shining light.

a season of release.

I spent the weekend purging unwanted items and unworn clothes from my closet shelves and bathroom drawers. I filled seven (seven!) trash bags and three giant totes with “things.” Things that caused me stress and frustration whenever I entered the small, cluttered space. Why have I held onto pants that no longer fit and heels I’ll never wear?  Now, the space is a little more barren and I feel a lot less frazzled upon entering. I feel physically lighter after releasing the things that have gone unused for so long.

As Lent approaches, I find myself drawn to this concept of release.

My soul longs for a season devoted to the release of rushing and anger and frustration and comparison. How I desire to fill that space in my life with intentionality and white space open for spontaneity and gentleness and loving words of affirmation.

A season of contentment.  

Rising fastest to the surface of this murky pool of release: expectations.

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I continually find myself striving to find a way to fix my relationship with my daughter. A relationship rooted in brokenness and loss, a foundation in desperate need of security and trust. I’ve read the books and watched the seminars, I’ve attended conferences, and logged hours upon hours in a therapist’s office working on attachment. Yet, still, I feel the shaky ground beneath my feet, ready to give way at any moment.

My expectations for where we should be by now, nearing three years home, are unmet. My expectations for how I should feel, always fall short. My expectations for her behavior, rarely become reality. My expectations for affection and response to strangers and learning … missing the mark.

I’m fed up with the brokenness and the hurting and the mess. I know, I agreed to step into the pain and the hurting, but enough already. I want my comfortable, predictable life back.

Ahh.

The crux of laying down our lives and picking up our cross daily is that we actually have to lay down our life and pick up our cross. We have to release our own expectations based on earthly, temporary things and seek His. Jesus never promised this life would be easy and, in my humanity, I often forget that important detail. I want to read the verses promising good things and light burdens and rest for my weary soul and overlook the ones that remind me that I will face many hardships in this life.

He drew me out of my comfortable, predictable life for a purpose. A purpose He had planned for me long, long ago. A purpose bigger than me and my silly expectations and smily instagram-worthy photos. His healing hand is always at work. He is the author of life and redemption is His finest display of glory. Yet, redemption doesn’t come swiftly or easily.

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We want God to do a big thing, while God is planning to do a small thing. We are impressed by the big and loud. God is not. We are in a hurry. God is not. We want God to act fast, but Godspeed is almost always slow.  — Brian Zahnd

This season of Lent will find me daily releasing my expectations (more than likely, this will be a moment by moment release). I’ll spend these forty days digging up hope from the hardened soil where I’ve been slowly burying it, one shovel-full at a time. I will believe God for the impossible once again. I will trust in the abundance of God’s loving kindness. And I will remain absolutely convinced that God can heal and redeem every single bit of brokenness. Not in my time, but in His: slowly, gently, purposefully; Godspeed.

Do the next thing.

I’ve been reading the story of Gideon this week and, I have to say, I really like the guy.

When first meet Gideon in Judges 6, we find him hiding out, in a wine press, threshing wheat. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he is approached by the angel of the Lord.

{Now, I obviously like the fact that he chose a winepress as a hiding place from the Midianites – well done, Gideon. You see, threshing wheat would normally be done in a large area, often on a hill, where the wind could blow away the useless outer shell of the wheat, called the chaff. Chaff blowing in the wind would have been a beacon leading right to Gideon for the bands of Midianite raiders who would steal crops, thus leaving him no choice but to hide in a pit hidden from view}.

The messenger says to Gideon, “Mighty hero, the Lord is with you!”

Now, based on Gideon’s response, and his current circumstance, we can conclude that he sure doesn’t feel like the Lord is with him. He is living in a time of calamity in Israel, long after the Red Sea miracle with Moses and the rest on every side season under the leadership of Joshua. Gideon is living in a time of idol worship and of turning away from the one true God.

Earlier in the book of Judges, we read God’s proclamation to Israel, “I brought you out of Egypt into this land that I swore to give your ancestors, and I said I would never break my covenant with you. For your part, you were not to make any covenants with the people living in this land; instead, you were to destroy their altars. Why, then, have you disobeyed my command? Since you have done this, I will no longer drive out the people living in your land. They will be thorns in your sides, and their gods will be a constant temptation to you.” {Judges 2:1-3, emphasis mine}

The Israelites had begun a series of cycles of sinning, worshiping idols, being punished, crying out for help, being rescued by a judge sent from God, obeying God for a little while, then falling back into idolatry.

Even in the midst of this destructive cycle, God never abandoned his people. Gideon’s life story is proof.

He was doing the work before him, threshing wheat for food, when God called him out of his ordinary, necessary work and identified him as a mighty hero. I’m fairly certain Gideon felt far from mighty or heroic in that moment, seeing as he was hiding out from his enemy in a pit, doing a mundane work.

Gideon’s response to God’s message that he will rescue Israel from the Midianites? He doubted his ability.

“But Lord,” Gideon replied, “how can I rescue Israel? My clan is the weakest in the whole tribe of Manasseh, and I am the least in my entire family!”

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Oh, Gideon. I hear you, brother. How can God expect anything of me? I am just padding around my kitchen, stirring this bubbling over pot of soup, stuffing never-ending dirty dishes into the dishwasher – is it necessary to use 23 different cups in a single day, my little people? – sorting laundry, moving piles of papers out of sight and then forgetting about them and losing important documents or bills that need to be paid. I’m unorganized, a terrible housekeeper, a mediocre cook, pretty lazy and selfish and I’m always afraid. You know how I worry about everything, Lord. My faith is too small, I think it’s sometimes even smaller than a mustard seed.

I can’t possibly do this massive job you’ve set before me.

I can’t possibly be the one to shepherd the hearts of these little souls under my roof. I am massively unqualified, untrained and ill-equipped. Isn’t there a book I can read to them or a bible teacher I can send them to? Maybe a summer camp? What about a weekly service project? Maybe that will instill in them a fierce love for you, Jesus. Maybe then, someone else can tell them about you and how faithful you are. Maybe someone else can point them to you and show them how desperately you love them. What do you say, Lord? You know me too well to actually think I could possibly handle this responsibility. They are too precious and wonderful and they have so much potential. I do not want to screw them up.

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The Lord said to Gideon, “I will be with you.”

Even when Gideon doubts God and asks him for more encouragement and to prove himself, God doesn’t get angry with Gideon. He simply responds in love and answers Gideon’s requests.

He then gives Gideon very specific instructions for the next task before him. He doesn’t send him out immediately to conquer an army and save Israel, He simply asks him to destroy his father’s altar to Baal and his Asherah pole – symbols of idols in their land – and then build an altar to the Lord where he will sacrifice an offering to God. Seems simple, yet, it isn’t. Gideon knows he could be killed by his fellow townsmen for this act. God promises Gideon, “Do not be afraid. You will not die.”

Oh, Gideon. I hear you, friend. I am afraid so often. God is constantly telling me, “Jenny, do not be afraid. Do not fear, I am with you. Do not be afraid.” 

Eventually, Gideon does go on to defeat the Midianite army. He becomes Israel’s fifth judge and he lands himself a spot in the Hebrews 11 Hall of Faith. Despite all of his fear, all of his insecurity, and all of his doubts.

What strikes me most about the life of Gideon is that, despite his limitations and doubts, God worked through him because he was obedient to the task at hand. He didn’t worry about the next task or allow himself to be overwhelmed by the enormity of his assignment, he simply focused on the one thing before him and did that one thing well. Then, he trusted God to prepare him for what would come tomorrow.

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I see this work itself out in my own life time and time again. Most recently, I can point to the one small task I had put off for months and months: booking our flights to South Africa.

I had booked hotel rooms, guest houses, rental cars. I had scheduled a game drive and printed driving directions. Yet, one month before we were scheduled to leave, I had still not booked our flights. If you had asked, I would have told you that I was waiting for more miles to come through so we could book with the reward points, as planned. Yet, deep down, I knew I was avoiding the one seemingly simple task before me: committing to the trip by booking our flights.

The idea of flying in a metal tube above an ocean to an unknown land with my entire family terrified me. I was excited, yes. I was expectant, yes. I was confident God was calling us to this adventure, yes. But, I was petrified. And, booking the flights was the one thing that would ensure we would actually do this. If we didn’t have plane tickets, the trip was just an idea, a fun concept. With plane tickets in hand, we really had to pack our things and board a plane over the sea. We had to be obedient.

The next thing usually is pretty small and simple.

There were no grand gestures or instagram-worthy photos when I sat my butt down in a chair and chose seat assignments. It was a rather ordinary moment. Yet, God knew my heart. He knew my fears and my doubts and He knew that moment was an act of obedient faith.

And, you guys. The blessings that followed were extravagant {long after we took the next step and the next and the next of planning and preparing and actually boarding the plane and flying over the ocean for 16 straight hours with four little people under the age of six}.

We met and held and loved on little ones who taught us new truths about our Abba Father. We marveled at the creativity of our God, the majestic beauty of this earth He created is almost too much to comprehend. We found healing and rest for our weary, overworked selves. We slowed down and found God. We witnessed beauty and pain and redemption’s work. We felt his overwhelming peace. We felt contentment and joy and saw God’s promises in plain sight.

We could have missed all of it. We could have ignored the gentle whisper calling us to adventure. We could have kept on with our busy days and overcommitted calendars. We could have avoided fear and worry and extra vaccines and the unknown. We could have stayed home, in our comfortable, beautiful, messy life. We could have avoided the risk and listened to the voiced fears of others for our safety. We could have missed it all.

Oh, I don’t want to miss the life God has for me. I want to do the one thing before me and trust God for what will come tomorrow. And, then, I want to do that thing and trust God for the next one. And again, and again, and again.

our time away.

Truthfully, I hadn’t realized how deeply I had buried the trauma of leaving my daughter (in a place that absolutely terrified me) to fly home without her in my arms over three years ago. I hadn’t realized how scarred I was from the exhausting and defeating-at-times battles to get her home. I hadn’t realized how weary I had become from the ministry work we started several years ago, the work that has ebbed and flowed and changed and grown in miraculous ways, the work that has opened our eyes and our hearts and expanded our lives so incredulously. I hadn’t realized how this same work began to creep in and shape my identity. I didn’t see how I began to place value in the work, in the doing and the striving.

I hadn’t realized any of these things until God asked me to step onto an airplane with my husband and my four small children and fly over the sea.

I hadn’t realized the strength and magnitude of fear until I had to relinquish my comfort and my control and go where He led. Until I could step away from the distractions of life, I couldn’t really see how bound I was by my fears. I didn’t see the direct connection to one place – the country of my daughter’s birth. When God asked us to go and spend time in other African nations, I couldn’t quite understand. I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t see the way He was redeeming and healing and providing renewed hope and a refreshed spirit. I couldn’t see the starting place, the place where new work would begin for our family. Even now, as we settle in back home, I know more is to come. I know the nations of South Africa and Zimbabwe are forever tethered to our family.

The time away was full. Healing began, connections deepened, quiet moments ushered in a new pace: a slower, less frantic and frazzled pace.

When I think back on our time away, I think of a few really beautiful words: Intentionality. Laughter. Calm. Contentment. & Joy.

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As I continue to settle back in and start sleeping at normal times again, I imagine my brain will start functioning again:). So I promise to share some more lessons learned from our time in Africa, as well as specifics about the cities we visited and the places we stayed. Stay tuned and happy Tuesday, friends!

The kids of Musha Wevana

I’m typing these words from the front patio of our “family cottage” here at Mongena Game Lodge near Pretoria, South Africa. The thatch roof effectively shielding me from the blazing African sun, the gentle breeze keeping me cool. Charlotte is inside napping while the big kids watch a movie, all four snuggled together on our fluffy king-sized bed. Dave is beside me, quietly reading. Every so often, I glance up from the screen to watch a momma and baby zebra slowly trot past or a herd of Nyala leap through the brush. If I close my eyes, I can hear only the rhythm of my own breath, coupled with the whistles and peaceful melodies of dozens of bird species nestled in the trees surrounding our cottage.

The contrast of this moment with the ones I have experienced over the past week is not lost on me. This serene, surreal setting feels other-worldly, not unlike a Hollywood movie set. All the while, the hardships, suffering, and extreme poverty I’ve witnessed still loom closely at the forefront of my consciousness.

I’ve yet to fully process my time in Zimbabwe and even our visit to the poverty-stricken townships here in South Africa.

For whatever reason, my brain is wired to process through the written word. So, I apologize in advance for the lack of tidiness and eloquence in this post. I’m just writing and processing as I go. I feel such an urge to get these moments, these memories, these stories, recorded. I know the stories will continue to roll around in my mind and heart in the days and months and years to come. For now, I thought I would simply share a few of the moments that struck me most profoundly while in Zimbabwe…

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Pastor John and his wife, Orpah, exude love. I can’t recall ever meeting a more God-fearing, joyful-despite-circumstance, and humble husband and wife team. They are truly living in the center of God’s will and call on their lives. Their smiles, warm embraces and genuine compassion are contagious. Staying in their home and feeling like a part of their extended family was an honor and a privilege.

The children living at Musha WeVana Children’s Home, served by Pastor John and his church, Family Life Fellowship, are absolutely, positively precious. The needs there are great, yet the community of people caring for these 80 orphaned children make up for lack of resources in selfless and generous love. I was so impressed by the way the kids are so beautifully integrated into the community there in Marondera. What stood out to me most were the bright eyes of the children. Eyes holding life and hope and laughter. 

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I was able to meet, laugh with and be throughly entertained by our family’s sponsored child at Musha, a little boy named Blessing. His name could not be more appropriate for the impact he has had on my own life. He is hilarious and ornery and made all of us girls laugh so hard! I know my boys would get a kick out of his hysterical personality.

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I spent the better part of a day listening to each child share his or her dreams with me as I recorded video footage to be shown to new sponsors and at our City Sessions shows. DREAMS! Big, beautiful dreams! I heard from future pilots and teachers and doctors and nurses and a lawyer and a judge and a psychologist and, a boy who absolutely captured my heart, a future pastor. These children are not without hope, they have bright goals for their futures – this is such a huge testament to the good work being done in this place.

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We visited the children on the afternoon before the start of a new year of school and were able to help distribute new school uniforms, shoes and backpacks (all covered by child sponsorship fees)! I was on backpack distribution duty and I LOVED watching the children beam as they received their brand-new backpack. One little boy hugged and kissed it all over. 🙂 We listened as the caregivers explained the impact of these school uniforms – not only are they required for school attendance, but they allow the children of Musha to fit in with the other kids at school, rather than standing out as an “orphan.”  *I know how hard we have worked with our own daughter to overcome her previous identity of orphan – the stigma, shame and lies of the enemy are deeply rooted in these children. Fitting in with “regular” kids from the community is HUGE and so, so beautiful.

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We had the awesome privilege of attending church at Family Praise Fellowship on Sunday. I can say without reservation that it was the most powerful, pure and holy worship I have ever experienced. Members of the congregation prayed and sang as the Spirit led. At one point, Dr. Ferrerai (I’m 99% sure I’m spelling that incorrectly, so sorry, Dr. Ferrerai) recounted hardships they have endured as a community and as a nation, then he turned it all into praise. The community praised God for their blessings despite their hardships and sufferings, singing “Blessed be the Name of the Lord” in harmonious response.

We had the opportunity to meet for a long lunch, hosted by Pastor John and Orpah in their home, with the members of the Musha WeVana leadership committee. Each person in that room exudes love and kindness toward the children at Musha. They sincerely spend their days pouring themselves out on behalf of these kids.

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I left with such a strong sense of hope and purpose and determination. I know God brought Dave to this place over a year ago for a purpose. And, I know He did the same for me. We also have big dreams for these children. We have renewed enthusiasm to go home and work hard, advocating for these precious ones. I honestly don’t know all that God has in store for our family in connection with this beautiful land and these beautiful, warm-hearted people, yet I know there is something in the works. He went before us many years ago preparing us for this work. Our connection to this country and these children runs deep… starting originally with our first child sponsored at Musha through Help One Now about 7 years ago. Seeds have been planted in our hearts along the way, tethering us to this continent in profound and deep ways.

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*If you would like to join the tribe supporting this incredible work in Zimbabwe, you can become a child sponsor for one of the 80 children living at Musha WeVana Children’s home. Help One Now’s model for child sponsorship is innovative, in that every child is sponsored 5 times in order to ensure their life-changing, 24/7 care, education, food, clothing and medical needs are consistently met, and to support their local leaders and allow them to improve the living situations for all of the children in their care. Learn more about child sponsorship HERE.

Currently, there are 302 open sponsorships in this community. You guys, if we could even cover a third of these sponsorships, we could fund so many immediate needs at the home!! Needs including vocational training for the older children, a social worker to be hired, after-school tutoring to help the children who are struggling in the large government operated schools, a vehicle to be used for reunification (#1 goal for any abandoned child!) and family visits with reunified children. The vehicle could also be used to drive the children to and from school – as they currently walk. We saw the need firsthand when the children attended church on Sunday during a rainstorm. They were soaking wet, yet continued to worship alongside us.

I’ve seen the impact of our donations here and I’ve also seen the potential. The leaders of this community are good stewards of the funds given and the money directly impacts these children. Please, please pray about joining Help One Now and Pastor John in this work. I can assure you, although it feels as though our meager offering of $40/month feels insignificant, it is NOT. It is powerful and life-changing for these children!

Dave and I are fully committed to the work Help One Now is doing around the globe. We originally decided to partner with this team because of the integrity of the leaders here. As we’ve learned more and more about the organization, visited communities around the world, and seen the impact of their work, we are absolutely confident we made the right decision. God began a work in us through Feed Their Tummies and He has expanded our heart and our vision through the partnership with Help One Now. While the feeding program in Congo continues, we know God is asking us to come alongside Pastor John in Zimbabwe and resource him and his team to be able to do the life-changing work of empowerment for these children. We would love for you to join us!

***Please let me know if you choose a Musha WeVana child to sponsor, I have videos and photos and a little surprise I would like to send your way!!!

 

Read more from my friends Vicki and Jenny – they each shared their unique perspectives from the trip. I know you will be blessed by their words! Check out Vicki’s post HERE, and Jenny’s post HERE.

Walking in Faith {first days as a family in Africa}

If you’ve seen my photos on instagram (sporadicly shared photos – internet connection hasn’t been reliable so far), you know our family has arrived in Africa! The LONG flight (15 hours from Atlanta to Johannesburg) went really well. I can’t help myself, I have to brag for a moment – our kids were rockstars throughout the two long days of travel. They all slept great on the plane and loved the unlimited access to movies and iPad game time.

Our first couple of days here were slow and full of resting and downtime. We grocery shopped, swam and spent a day with friends in the area – our kids immediately hit it off and played as though they’ve known one another for years. The adaptability of kiddos and their innate curiosity makes them naturals for traveling to new places.

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We decided to travel as a family to South Africa after I committed to a trip with Help One Now to Zimbabwe. Dave and I both strongly feel God calling us to this place. We don’t know what our role will be here but we know Pastor John, his wife Orpah, their local church and Help One Now are doing incredible, Kingdom-building work here and we want to come alongside them in some way. I knew God was asking me to come meet the leaders and the children and to learn about the work being done.

This trip was also about being obedient when God calls. As much as I wanted to ignore the call, as much as I wanted to stay home where it is safe and comfortable, I knew I had to go. Dave and I figured we might as well make the trip a once-in-a-lifetime experience for our whole family. They have stayed behind in South Africa, while I’m here in Zim for the week. After I arrive back in Johannesburg, we will go on together to serve with our friends who run a ministry just outside of Pretoria, spend a few days on a game reserve, travel to the eastern coast and then to Cape Town in order relax and unwind before going back home to the freezing temperatures and demands of regular life.

**

As we prepared for this trip, God gave me a couple of visions. The first: a starting line, with our family standing at the start of a freshly paved path.

“You’ve been wandering around this hill country long enough; turn northward.” Deuteronomy 2:3

In the other, I could see our family standing together with heavy bags on our backs and shoulders. Slowly, we each heaved the bags to the floor. While doing so, we exhaled deeply and audibly.

I think God is inviting us into a season of restoration, asking us to lay down the burdens and pain of the past few years. I have seen this trip as a very specific opportunity for healing. A time to redeem what the locusts have stolen from my daughter and our family. My hope is that seeing some place new, on the same continent as Sylvie’s birth country, will add to her (and my own) memories of Africa with ones of wholeness. Memories that include our entire family together, witnessing beauty and experiencing peacefulness.

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I won’t pretend I was brave boarding that flight to Zimbabwe, leaving Dave and my babies behind in a foreign country. I woke up at midnight the night before I left, gripped with fear. I couldn’t shake my worries and found myself texting a few close friends who are praying for our family. I re-listened to a voicemail another friend left before we traveled, reminding me that fear is a spirit from the enemy. I have the power and authority through Christ to capture and bind fear. For God does not give us a spirit of fear – He casts out all fear with His perfect love. As I prayed and friends on the other side of the ocean prayed with me, I felt peace descend.

The next morning, before leaving for the airport, I opened my Bible and was led to Deuteronomy 4:40:

“If you obey all the laws and commands that I will give you today, all will be well with you and your children. Then you will enjoy a long life in the land the Lord your God is giving you for all time.”

It wasn’t until I read the note I had written in the margins that I realized what God was showing me. I had written, “Obedience brings blessing and life.”

God knows me. He knows the last place I want to be is in a metal tube in the sky away from my family. So, with five words, He reminded me that my going to this unknown place for an unknown purpose is an act of obedience. I’m walking not of my own power but through faith alone.

***

When Dave and the kids dropped me off at the airport, I was a blubbering mess. My sweet Ben looked at me and said, “Momma, I’m proud of you.” That did it. I was undone and filled up in the same moment.

Teary goodbyes were said, multiple hugs were given, and then I slowly made my way into the airport. I checked in and found myself standing at the entrance to the security line for what seemed like hours, paralyzed in fear. I wanted to turn around and run back to my family. I didn’t want to face unknowns. I didn’t want to step into any more pain. Images from my time in Congo replayed in my mind again and again. Other than the couple of days I had just spent in South Africa, Congo was my only reference point for what life is like in Africa. As much as I love the country and the people there, my experiences there were painful and really hard.

Then, we landed here in Zimbabwe and walked into an airport not unlike millions of others around the globe. There were no machine guns or shouting. No chaos. Instead, orderly, calm lines waiting to receive entrance visas. The customs officer joked with me as he stamped my passport. Armed guards didn’t stand at the exit, searching through my bag only to take whatever items suited them. We simply exited the airport peacefully. God whispered to my heart, See. It is going to be different this time. 

Greeting us, Pastor John Chinyowa.

Dave met Pastor John when he traveled here a little over a year ago and has been telling me ever since that I had to come and meet him for myself. Now, I see why. This is a man of God. He absolutely exudes joy.

As we drove to lunch and then on to Pastor John’s warm and welcoming home, I was struck by the beauty of this place. The lushness of the land, the vivid green grass and trees, the bright blue of the clear sky. After arriving to his home, we walked to the end of the road in order to see the sunset. By this time, dark clouds had rolled in, covering the glow of the setting sun. Regardless, the dark clouds could not conceal the awe-inspiring beauty before us.

I think that is the lesson for my first day here in Zimbabwe: No matter how dark the clouds, beauty remains.

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The heavens tell of the glory of God. 

The skies display his marvelous craftsmanship. 

Psalm 19:1

here.

Christmas is two days away.

Life hasn’t exactly slowed. Demands continue to assault my desire for peace and stillness. Chaos replaces calm. Noise so often permeates our home.

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Jesus replied, “The Kingdom of God isn’t ushered in with visible signs. You won’t be able to say, ‘Here it is!’ or ‘It’s over there!’ For the Kingdom of God is among you.” {Luke 17: 20-21, emphasis mine}

The Kingdom of God, here.

Here, in the midst of imperfection and ordinary.

Here, among piles of dishes and laundry and papers.

Here, among less-than-ideal moments and angry words.

Here, among messes and clutter and frustration.

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Here, in voices lifted, sharing joy through Christmas carols.

Here, in anticipation and excitement of counting down the days until the celebration of Jesus’ birth.

Here, regardless of external circumstances.

Here.

Always at work. Before me. With me. Behind me.

Here.

a farmhouse Christmas.

I desire a simple and holy Christmas this year.

A release of excess and rushing.

White space on our calendar and in our home.

Many things about this season may demand significant time and emotional energy, but we don’t do ourselves or anyone else any good by burning out… Resist the cultural call to Do More! Buy More! Go More! Fight back with purposeful times of rest. Imagine getting to the end of Advent refreshed and recharged.” – John Ray

I desire joy.

Joy found in Jesus Storybook Bibles and handmade ornaments.

Joyful laughter during Santa visits and Christmas parades.

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Joy sparked by quiet moments before dawn, steaming mug in hand, watching the glow from the Christmas tree lights.

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Joy in a new perspective, joy in the innocent awe of the season as seen through the eyes of my four little people.

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The joy of the collective viewing of classic Christmas movies in front of the fire with a giant bowl of popcorn in hand.

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Joy caught within the magical gleam in little eyes as we drive through town in search of the best Christmas light display.

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I want to slow down enough to really be present. I want to live generously. I want to pay attention. I don’t want to miss the Spirit’s promptings or the miracles unfolding right before my eyes.

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I want to find beauty right in the midst of the mess and imperfections.

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I want to approach the manger quietly, gently and humbly.

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I want to joyfully read our Advent devotionals and punch out little windows revealing tiny chocolates. I want to worship together, joyful voices lifted around the glow of the tree.

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This old weary world is certainly awaiting a Savior. The pain and suffering around the globe and close to home is real and heavy. I want my heart to reflect the Hope and joy found only in Jesus.

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{My favorite Christmas gift this year is already displayed in my kitchen. A foil print of Grandma Marrs’ Strawberry Shortcake recipe (in her own handwriting) from Minted.com. This was supposed to be waiting under the tree for Dave to open on Christmas morning but I couldn’t help myself. I had to display it right away. It brings joy. At a time of year when Grandma’s presence is so dearly missed, this little piece of her is with us in the kitchen, right where she would’ve been.}

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May these next ten days be filled with joy and reverent awe as we soak in the lavish gift of grace given tenderly in the form of a swaddled babe in a manger.

 

**I’m joining The Nester’s Christmas Tour of Homes today. Please take a moment to read her full post HERE… she does a beautiful job detailing how we can live generously by helping families fleeing Aleppo by supporting the work of the Preemptive Love Coalition. <3

the tree.

 

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The Christmas tree hunt was a tradition started in my childhood, always held on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. No exceptions. 

This year, we were somewhere on a highway in the middle of Kansas on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, headed home from Colorado. Then, a friend was visiting the following Saturday and I was stuck in bed with the most horrible feels-like-someone-is-pouring-poisonous-acid-directly-onto-my-tonsils illness on Sunday. The evil throat poison illness relentlessly kept me down through Thursday morning.

As of December 8th, we still did not have a Christmas Tree. 

Do you hear what I’m saying? The halls were not decked. Advent readings fell behind. Because I was sick, yes, but partially due to the fact that there weren’t any sparkly, magical, hope-casting lights to sit beneath while we read the stories of our faith.

This is nonsense, I realize this. Yet, the finding of the tree and the hanging of the lights and the ornaments is a whole thing.

The Christmas tree held some of my favorite memories as a child. Our entire extended family would go to dinner at the same restaurant every year (I can’t remember the name of the place… clearly, an unimportant detail). After dinner, we were focused and ready to find our perfect tree at the same Christmas Tree lot each year. My Aunt Donna would break out the gigantic camcorder and she and I would act as “reporters.” Imaginary microphones in hand, we would walk around the lot, camera trailing behind, to interview each family member using our best “newscaster voice.” We would break into fits of laughter as we asked complete strangers to share their own tree hunt experience with our “viewers.” After trees were selected, they were stacked in my uncle’s truck. He would make the rounds to each house to deliver our prized Douglas Firs. While decorating, I was in charge of the tinsel. I loved the tinsel. Our tree was always overly decked out in the shiny, straggly, multi-colored product of the 80’s. Apparently, the tree wasn’t complete without heaps of tinsel.

So, you see, the tree is important. It just doesn’t feel like Christmas without a tree.

This year, I was forced to be still for four days. It doesn’t seem like much time, yet, I woke yesterday with a sense of urgency. Our lights haven’t been hung, the wrapping paper hasn’t even been purchased, much less the gifts. The cards are in a stack on the counter, unaddressed. The stockings lie sadly in a pile, they have yet to be hung by the chimney with care.

Yet, a sense of peace slowly settled as I surveyed the mess and the un-doneness of it all.

Jesus didn’t leave his Majestic throne in Heaven to slip on skin and enter into humanity in order to pat us on our backs and say, “well done. Ooh, beautiful mantle vignette. The monogrammed, hand-stitched stockings are a lovely touch. You guys have this whole thing figured out and you’re doing it beautifully.”

He came to us in the midst of our suffering. He stepped right into our mess. He wasn’t deterred by our disappointments or our unmet expectations.

Stephen Miller’s words pierced me as I read yesterday {emphasis mine}…

I don’t want to sound like the Grinch, but it has all begun to feel a bit hollow. It often seems we are looking for happiness and hope where it was never meant to be found—in facades and fake smiles. This has robbed an entire season of the meaning and beauty it inherently has; not one of an over-realized eschatology where everything is already perfect, but a realistic hope that though things are broken now, Jesus is making the world right again—and He’s on His way back to finish the job.

We shouldn’t ignore the fact that we are in the middle of the mess, but we can celebrate the fact that we have a God who is above all the mess, sovereign and wise.

This is the hope of Advent. We shouldn’t ignore the fact that we are in the middle of the mess, but we can celebrate the fact that we have a God who is above all the mess, sovereign and wise. He is in control. And He is coming to make all things right.

The hope of Advent indeed. Even in our messes, we can pause to seek His face. We can rest in the assurance of God with us.

So we were a few days delayed in getting our tree. Although I had wanted to go back to the tree farm where we could cut down our own, we ended up at Lowe’s after an impromptu dinner out because I didn’t feel well enough to cook yet (or do dishes, you understand). The pickings were slim as we were clearly among the last of the tree purchases this season. My little merry crew didn’t see slim pickings, they only saw the tree. They cheered (literally, cheered) when Dave stood the first tree we came across up for inspection. Shrieks of delight filled that home improvement warehouse last night.

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The tree is sitting in the middle of the living room as I type, awaiting it’s proper place in front of the window to be cleared. It’s lopsided and the tag still hangs from a branch. Pine needles cover the floor. It’s a mess.

But, it smells divine. And this tree is a reminder for me this year: traditions are lovely, yet, the moments here and now are to be savored. Make time for the unexpected, embrace the mess, lay the brokenness at His feet, and soak up the joy.

when the lies creep in.

I wanted to write a post about our little family’s Advent traditions this morning. I wanted to share something light and straightforward.

Yet, here I sit, my hands hovering above the keyboard. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I refill my coffee.

I check my Facebook notifications one more time.

I start a load of laundry.

I’m avoiding the words I need to write.

The words pulsing through my head. The ones I can’t quite grasp, the ones just out of reach. I know I need to find them and they need to find their way through these tapping keys. I know because of the long discussions with fellow mommas and the text messages and the email steeped in sorrow I received this very morning.

The thing is, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to share the hard while still protecting my girl. And, honestly, I wonder why I need to share any of this. No, no…that’s not entirely true.

God keeps whispering, you’re not the only one. 

And, maybe, just maybe, there is one who needs to read these words today and rest in the simple truth that she isn’t alone either.

when the lies rush in.

So, how do I say this? How do I say that my daughter, the one who has been here under my roof and in my care for two and a half years now, still doesn’t understand that I’m her momma?

Yes, she knows the words. Yet, she doesn’t know.

In adoption circles, this term is called attachment. A strong, secure attachment is the pinnacle of achievement for us adoptive mommas. It’s the measuring stick we use to determine our ability to implement “connected parenting.” The style of parenting we studied about at the workshops we’ve attended and in the videos we’ve watched (repeatedly) and in the stacks and stacks of books we’ve read.

A faulty attachment is the equivalent of a faulty parent. <<– You see the lie, of course. It’s clear when typed out in black and white. Yet, when you are living in the lie, you slowly start to believe the whispers of the enemy. You start to believe you aren’t good enough. You start to believe you really and truly cannot do this. You start to believe you heard God wrong. You start to believe that all of the people who have loved and prayed and advocated and donated and sent gifts and cheered at the airport will see through the veneer and find out that you are a fraud.

They’ll see you as you are: a momma who desperately wants her baby to love her back. A momma who tries and tries and tries. A momma who shuffles schedules and bills in order to get her girl the professional help she needs. And, a momma who eventually closes off bits and pieces of her aching, rejected heart. A momma who lets resentment and anger and fear and frustration and heaps of guilt creep in as the days pass into weeks and into months and into years.

I’ve been walking through a process called Chavurah with a small group of dear friends. Chavurah is a Jewish tradition, translated from Hebrew meaning Fellowship. Chavurah is traditionally a small group of like-minded Jews who assemble for the purpose of facilitating prayer services, sharing communal experiences and Jewish learning. In our case, we aren’t Jewish but we are applying the practice of gathering each week to focus intently on the gospel and the working out of the Kingdom come on earth as it is in Heaven in our daily lives.

This week’s practice has us shifting our mindset to one of a rejoice prayer. According to A Guidebook to Prayer: “Rejoice prayer is a prayer of thanksgiving and gratitude. It lifts our eyes to the hills from where our strength comes. It reconnects us with God who delights in our praise. By praying with gratitude we are lifted in spirit and we are given a broader perspective. The Holy Spirit comforts us and reminds us of Jesus’ love. The Holy Spirit gives us wisdom to see beyond trials to the power of the cross to turn on the light in every place of darkness.”

As in life, this post will not have a tidy bow holding it together. I don’t have the answers, I know the brokenness in this world and in our little love’s past is abundant. I also know love is greater than fear. And, I know each day is a new opportunity to practice love and to pray for healing. And, certainly, I know the Holy Spirit gives me wisdom to see beyond these current hard days straight to the power of the cross. I absolutely know He alone can turn on the light in every single dark, desolate corner of her heart and mine.

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. {Lamentations 3:22-23}

There is no one like the God of Israel. He rides across the heavens to help you, across the skies in majestic splendor. The eternal God is your refuge, and his everlasting arms are under you. {Deuteronomy 33:26-27}

Because of God’s tender mercy, the light from Heaven is about to break upon us, to give light to the those who sit in darkness and to in the shadow of death, and to guide us to the path of peace. {Luke 1:78-79}

#shineyourlight

shine your light

This weekend, I piled all four kiddos plus our little dog, Chiquita, and drove a couple of hours to nearby Springfield, MO to meet with Pastor Loma from Congo. He flew to the US at the last minute in order to escort an adopted child home to his family. Even though Dave was out of town, I really wanted to meet Pastor Loma and learn more about the work he is doing to care for the orphaned and abandoned children of his country.

While we met, along with two other families, a friend of the host watched our (combined, eleven) kids. She volunteered her time and energy in order to ensure we could listen intently and have uninterrupted discussion. And, our kids could have fun playing and not being asked to simple sit quietly while the adults met.

She selflessly loved in a very tangible way.

The next morning, I rounded up all of my little people + Chiquita + luggage + cooler + floaties from the pool + the case of markers Ben insisted on packing + blankets and pillows and stuffed animals. We made our way to the front door of the hotel, ready to head home. Then, we faced the spinning turnstile (I’m not even sure that’s what it’s called, but you get the idea) door.

Y’all. I’m not even kidding when I say we were a SPECTACLE. My “bigs” went into the turnstile and started making their way around. They couldn’t figure out how to actually exit and just kept going ’round and ’round. Meanwhile, Charlotte insisted on holding Chiquita’s leash (which seemed like a good idea since my hands were full). Charlotte entered the turnstile beside me, yet Chiquita panicked and ran in the other direction. Charlotte then turned to exit. I was out of reach of the doorway and unable to stop the door from continuing to spin. Her arm was going to be smashed.

Out of nowhere, a lady came running and threw herself into the spinning door while another woman lodged her body under her in order to stop the door. Charlotte escaped and Chiquita ran into the hotel lobby. Another stranger picked Chiquita up and carried her over to me.

The ladies all helped my other three exit the spinning door (they were still in there, unsure of what to do) and held the door for us all to exit safely.

This may seem incredibly insignificant and quite hilarious, yet, I saw it. I saw the way three strangers came to the rescue of a frazzled momma. They could have stood by and done nothing to help. They could have shrugged and lamented, “she chose to have that many kids, she can deal with them.” They could have laughed and turned the other way. But, they didn’t. They helped me. They were selfless. They ran across a hotel lobby and threw themselves into a revolving door for a stranger.

Do you see it too? Do you see the goodness?

Maybe you, like me, need the reminder right now that people are still good. 

I certainly need extra helpings of goodness.

I certainly need less hatred and anger and judgement.

I certainly need more compassion and kindness and mercy.

I certainly need less shouting and pointing fingers and bitterness.

I certainly need more love, tangible sacrifice and intentional goodness.

Let’s start a revolution, friends.

In the face of hate and fear and dread, let’s rise up and be peacemakers. This is our time to stand against evil and combat it with good. We are not here by chance, my friends. We were created, placed in this time in history, in this country for a purpose. For such a time as this. This is our time. To shine light into the darkness.

God gave me the word LIGHT at the start of 2016. I wasn’t fully aware of what He meant with that word. I’d heard it whispered and brought it to mind many times over the past several years. On January 1, 2016, I couldn’t see how desperately my little corner of the world would need light right here, right now.

Let’s be light.

My amazing friends are already out there doing it. They’re shining so brightly and I’m so darn proud of each and every one of them.

Like Ashley, who listened to that still, small voice and did the one thing right before her. She simply purchased hot coffee and donuts. And, with each delivery, she spread LIGHT.

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Like Lindsy and William, who are fighting systemic injustice by linking arms with their neighbors. William is sleeping in a tent. Every night. Away from his family and his warm bed. On the hard ground, he is taking a stand. Their entire family are bright LIGHTS, shining through the darkness and casting a glow throughout their neighborhood.

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Like Jennifer and Ashley, advocating for children in Foster Care and women in Women’s Shelters. Tangibly loving in the most simple of ways: a stocking this Christmas, a blessing bag. These girls are reaching out to their communities and gathering gifts for precious ones who may otherwise feel alone this Christmas. Simple. Beautiful. LIGHT.

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Like Nina, who in the face of hatred, spoke up. Rather than simply lamenting and wringing her hands in despair, she had an idea. A simple idea to send a card or letter of encouragement to a family targeted by hate speech. Others joined in, from around the community and the nation, and one momma from India is now able to replace that one horrid hate-filled letter with tons of letters offering LIGHT and love instead.

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Like Olivia, who started the movement “Repaint Hate.”

In her words, “I came across hate filled graffiti had been tagged on City Hospital, adjacent to our beautiful public library. I flew out of bed, loaded my car and covered that hate speech as fast as I could. As people responded positively, I realized this was something everyone can do. I encourage you to Repaint Hate no matter where you find it and find ways to combat bigotry whenever and however you can. Together we can push back against hate.”

LIGHT.

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Bright, bold, beautiful LIGHT. Let’s all find a way to shine today. Every single flicker is important. Every single one. So, go out there and shine, my friends.

*If you feel so inclined, take a photo of LIGHT shining today and share with the #shineyourlight hashtag. We can make light trend instead of hate. 

He met me there.

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A bright light flashed out of the corner of my eye. No time to ponder the cause, my breath caught in my throat as the plane dropped in altitude suddenly and overhead lights flickered off and on. Two visibly concerned flight attendants raced to the back of the plane and quickly answered the phone, intently awaiting instruction.

To my right, an elderly lady whom I had reassured earlier when she expressed her fear of flying, grasped my hand as we both started to pray the Lord’s Prayer aloud  – the prayer of my childhood, the one planted in my heart long ago, the only words coming to mind.

The flight attendant’s voiced boomed through the overhead speaker: “Brace for impact. Assume the crash position. Cross your arms and hold onto the seat in front of you. Rest your head between your arms.”

My eyes closed. Time felt suspended.

Shouts from the rear of the plane, “BRACE! BRACE! BRACE” over and over.

He met me there.

Relief washed over me as the familiar thud of tires landing on the runway drowned out the flight attendants’ shouts. Ambulances and fire engines lined the runway, surrounding our plane. The pilot relayed what had happened as we waited to be towed to a gate. An engine had caught fire, explaining the bright flash.

My body shivered. My mind reeled. Shock prevented the tears on the verge of escape. I wouldn’t know the full emotional impact of that day until many years later.

***

Somewhere above the Atlantic, I huddled beneath the poly-blend blue airline blanket, shivering. Teeth chattering and plump, wet tears falling freely, I gulped for air in between deep sobs. Anxiety and fear cascading upon me in pounding waves.

He met me there. 

Right there, in seat 36B, Jesus placed his hands gently, yet securely, on either side of my face and said the only word I needed to hear.

“Jenny.”

I immediately felt His peace descend.

Like Mary, I hadn’t recognized Him there. I had been shrouded in fear, until He spoke my name.

***

Somewhere over the Atlantic, as we journeyed to meet our daughter for the first time, the familiar duo of paranoia and fear crept in. I closed my eyes, picturing His face before me. Soon enough, I see His outstretched hand, beckoning me to grab hold.

He met me there. 

The song, “I Trust in Jesus” became my mantra on that trip. As the plane shuddered under turbulence, I repeated,

I trust in Jesus

My great Deliverer

My strong Defender

The Son of God

When the armed guards populated the confined, crowded baggage claim, I sang silently,

I trust in Jesus

Blessed Redeemer 

My Lord forever

the Holy One

When the daughter of my heart glanced my direction and wailed, her brokenness, confusion and fear evident and overwhelming, I repeated,

I trust in Jesus 

My great Deliverer

My strong Defender

The Son of God

***

On planes, in dirt-floor orphanages, in hospital rooms – in these places where humanity feels most fragile, He steps in and bends low.

He hears my whispered plea in the dark of night, “I’m tired of being afraid.”

The intensity of my anxiety and fear hasn’t diminished. Yet, the strength of my Savior has become magnified. 

I hope to someday walk in the light of absolute freedom, delivered from paralyzing fear. Even if this stronghold is never released, I know the One who holds me with His right hand is ever pursuing, ever loving, ever guiding.

He won’t give up on me.

He will continue to whisper His love.

He will continue to guide my gaze toward Him alone.

As broken and frail as I am, He will continue to call me out into the deep.

He calls me to walk with Him, not because I am brave or strong or capable.

He asks me to trust, not because I am in control.

He does so because He is. He is enough. 

“I don’t want to miss what you have for me because I’m too afraid.”

Every hesitant, shaky, tattered “yes” is a step toward knowing Him more fully.

His heart. His boundless love. His unending compassion. His trustworthy steadiness. His strong, firm hand. His loving arms ready to embrace my weary frame. His Holiness.

His Majesty.

Love God. Love People.

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This has been a heavy week.

Ones that I love, my real life people, are hurting deeply. Friends who are afar, adoptive families, are struggling with the aftermath of brokenness. And, the internet. Oh, the internet. It’s too much sometimes. Words are flung carelessly and recklessly across screens. It’s as though we forget real people are receiving our words, not hashtags or soapboxes. Our own brothers and sisters bearing the Imago Dei – the very image of God – are the recipients of callous remarks and venomous comments.

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Love.

Gracious, it sounds so simple. Just go and love one another. How have we managed to complicate and twist this straightforward command so much so that love is barely recognizable in our words and actions?

Jesus made it as clear as day when he said the two greatest commandments are to Love God and Love One Another. {Matthew 22: 34-40}

I’ve been studying the old testament lately. I’m slowly, intentionally seeking to understand the foundations of my faith. Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers … Throughout these books, God hands down an elaborate set of Laws which the Israelites are to observe. And, now, I’m working through, and captivated by, Deuteronomy. An entire book essentially dedicated to Moses restating the law as the Israelites stand on the precipice of the Promised Land. He needs to ensure they do not forget the law or sway from the commands of God once they have left their desert wanderings and taken up residence in the land flowing with milk and honey.

All of these laws… given to the Israelites to guide and protect and maintain holiness…yet, Jesus tells us that not a single one compares to the command to love.

I realize I’m oversimplifying what could be an intense Theological debate. However, I would argue that is exactly the point. The enemy loves nothing more than to complicate straightforward commands in order to create confusion and chaos.

If we cannot disagree respectfully and point to Truth in love, let’s simply keep our mouths and our computers closed.

Let’s seek understanding rather than delivering self-righteous judgement.

Let’s lean in to hard conversations and set aside our desire to prove a point above listening to the heart’s cry of another.

Let’s sit together on porches and front stoops and living room sofas and bear with one another in love. 

In no way am I saying we need to coddle and condone sin or stay silent when we disagree with someone. Yet, we absolutely are commanded to speak in love, listen with grace, and pray earnestly for one another.

Regardless of the loud, clanging cymbals of the world, let us be known as people who love well.

Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.          {Ephesians 4:2}