Blessings and Raindrops

September 12, 2016

new plans.

Dave and Pastor John dreaming together in Zimbabwe. {September 2015}.

One year ago, after a very teary goodbye, Dave boarded a plane to visit our team in Congo and discern what God had in store for our new partnership with Help One Now. We truly had no idea what would come from this trip. Yet, we could feel the Spirit moving and we knew God was up to something. We sensed a new season on the horizon. This trip felt like a step over an uncertain threshold.

Gosh, you guys. It’s funny how God prepares you for what’s around the next bend, yet, when you actually round that new corner, you still end up shell-shocked. Is it just me? I mean, I knew then that things were going to change. I knew that God was doing a new thing. But from this vantage point I can now see: I had no idea what was really coming.

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.

One of the toughest parts of walking blindly into a new season is saying goodbye to the previous one. We had a sweet reprieve of confidently walking in the center of God’s will. We felt His guidance and assurance as we pressed forward. Plans fell into place, doors opened, energy and excitement ran high.

Suddenly, things changed and I was left feeling disoriented and confused. I haven’t shared about all of the changes here because the details aren’t really important. The truth is: this is all for good but change is always hard and sometimes it doesn’t look so good when you’re right smack in the middle of it.

So here I am. In the midst of this season of change, peeking through the swirling fog of confusion, and catching sight of new plans. Once again, I don’t know where God will take any of this. I just know my role. I know I am asked to keep my hands open and to lay down my plans and expectations. The beauty of it all is that my plans and expectations are never, ever as grand as God’s.

Because of a small seed planted a year ago, I’ll be the one boarding a plane headed to Africa next month. Yet, this time, I won’t be returning to our beloved Congo. I will be stepping foot on a new soil. I’ll visit a place that captured Dave’s heart and meet a man who gained his respect. Dave couldn’t stop talking about Pastor John or Zimbabwe after he returned home last fall. He had stopped there after visiting Congo and listened to, learned from and dreamt with Pastor John. We both knew this was the beginning of something new yet neither of us knew exactly what that meant.

Now, I sorta-kinda know.

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. For me, right now, that one thing involves conquering a real (very, very real) fear and boarding an airplane. That’s it. I just have to get on the plane. I have to, as my friend Lindsy, says: Do the brave thing scared. God will meet me there and then he’ll show me the next thing.

I can’t wait to share these new plans as they unfold with you all. Have I told you lately that you’re the most supportive and encouraging and big-hearted-justice-loving readers in all the world? Really and truly. Thank you for being so very awesome, friends. <3

September 1, 2016

when you just want to protect your little chicks…

I’m sitting here, on the hard floor of our mudroom, wrapping her in warm damp cloths and carefully administering enough warm water to prevent the egg’s membrane from drying out with a medicine dropper. I’m watching the baby chick struggle to hatch from the protective shell that has kept her safe and warm. Her beak is free and she is chirping. Yet, her movement has slowed and I’m worried she won’t break free from that outer shell.

Earlier this week, momma hen had another baby and left the roost where this egg remained to care for and protect the new chick. As Dave gathered the eggs from the coop last night, he heard the soft sound of chirping coming from inside this egg. {We may or may not have panicked a little bit. We were not expecting to find any other fertilized eggs in the coop}! The egg had been left alone and didn’t stand a chance on it’s own. We quickly brought it inside to the mudroom and set up a pseudo incubator with a rubbermaid tote, pine shavings and a heat lamp.

Still, we felt helpless. We didn’t know if the chick could survive without it’s momma. We went to bed not knowing what we would find in the morning.

To our surprise, we woke to chirping! The chick had broken free of the shell with it’s itty bitty beak and was breathing on it’s own. I have never seen anything like it! This little chick was so teeny and so fragile. We all stood around waiting for it to push through the entire shell and emerge into the world.

We waited.

And waited.

And, waited.

I’m still waiting. The boys are in school and Dave is at work. Meanwhile, I’m scouring the internet (thank you, Facebook friends for all of the helpful tips) trying to discern when to help and how to do so. For now, I’m keeping a wet, warm cloth around the egg’s membrane (I couldn’t help it, I had to intervene, and carefully picked away the outer shell… I’m a chicken surgeon now) to help keep moisture in and make it soft enough for the chick to push through.

As I fight against my urge to help it out somehow and wait for the baby chick to push through, I also wait for the end of the school day. I wait to hear how the day went for one of my boys. This is only the third week of school and already I have watched as a dark cloud has shadowed over his exuberant spirit. This has been a very tough year so far for my boy. Without going into details, I will say that he is not in a place right now where he can thrive. The goodness in him is not being called forth and he is drowning under that pressure.

Oh, my momma heart hurts so deeply for my boy. I ache to step in and take away this pain. I don’t want to watch him struggle. Just as I innately want to step in and help this baby chick out of her shell so she no longer has to go through the process of struggling to break free, I want so desperately to shield my boy from this hardship. I am praying constantly for him and for his teacher and for the administrators at his school. I’m praying for discernment and wisdom on how to be an advocate for my boy while also speaking truth and life into him. I’m praying for wisdom on how to use this experience as an opportunity for good. I’m also praying for very specific direction on how to proceed {he is in first grade and the thought of an entire year of tears and tummy aches and spirit-crushing criticism is not okay with me}. I so wish I could find an article for my boy similar to the one that gave me step-by-step instructions on how to help this baby chick hatch. Unfortunately, the manual for this one doesn’t exist.

This job of shepherding little hearts in a broken world is intense. I’m ever grateful for the One who walks with us through the hard seasons and promises to carry us through. I know I can trust Him with the hearts of my children, for He loves them even more than I can comprehend. I will continue to pray and fight for what is best for my boy. I will also step back and allow him this opportunity to push through something hard. I’ll trust that God is working in and through this situation and His plans for my boy are always, always for good.

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?” Matthew 6:25-26 (NIV)

August 17, 2016

so very brave.

This girl.

first day
She walked right in to her very first real classroom with her head held high and smiled for the camera (over and over and over again…I can’t help myself) like a champ.

Because I’m her mom and I know how to read her nonverbal cues, I couldn’t miss the faintest hint of anxiety in her eyes. I picked up on the way she sat motionless in her chair surveying the room with her eyes, keeping her head perfectly still. While the other mommas were hugging their new pre-schoolers and wiping crocodile tears away from cheeks, I was rubbing Sylvie’s back and watching her fingers twirl around the fabric of her shirt – a clear signal of her fear.

first day

Despite the subtlety of these outward signs of her anxiety, my palms sweated as I left the classroom. I wanted desperately to shout the absolute most inappropriate things to everyone within earshot.

YOU GUYS!

LOOK AT HER SITTING THERE AT THE TABLE IN FRONT OF HER LITTLE NAME TAG! DID YOU SEE HER HANG HER BACKPACK? OH MY WORD!

SERIOUSLY! SHE LIVED ON THE DIRT FLOOR OF AN ORPHANAGE! SHE OFTEN DIDN’T EAT FOR DAYS!! EVERYONE LEFT HER. EVERYONE! WHY SHOULD SHE TRUST THAT THIS PLACE IS SAFE OR THAT I’LL BE BACK THIS AFTERNOON LIKE I SAID??!! Your kid is cute and all, BUT LOOK AT HER!!!!!! SHE IS THE MOST BRAVE FOUR YEAR OLD EVER, EVER. I’M SO DARN PROUD OF HER I CAN’T EVEN STAND IT!

I’m the most embarrassing, I know. But y’all, I wanted to explain the research regarding brain development and the effects of trauma. {Dave and I met privately with her teacher – she is very well aware of trauma and attachment and the effects on brain development. I am beyond thankful for her}. I wanted to pass out photos of my girl as an infant. I wanted everyone to see how far she has come. Yes, she is physically taller and stronger but oh my word, she is so much stronger than any visible muscle. This girl is an overcomer and a fighter and she is so full of joy and hope, I can hardly believe it. Despite the crappy things that have happened in her life, she chooses joy instead of bitterness or resentment.

I didn’t embarrass her or myself by yelling these things or showing old photos or videos but man, I wanted to. The thing is, everyone just sees this adorable, confident little girl smiling and hanging her new Paw Patrol backpack on the hook under her name. They have no idea how freaking brave she is. They don’t know the tension she wrestles through every single day. They don’t know how much that backpack and lunchbox represent. They represent a beloved daughter who has fought fiery arrows straight from the pit of hell and come out victorious. The enemy prowled at the door of her heart, ready to pounce at any moment. SO many of you reading these words prayed and fought this fight with us in the heavenlies. We went to battle for this girl. Absolutely bloody and bruised and broken at times. But we fought. And, she fought. It has been the messiest, most fractured and broken fight. But we have the most powerful and good God on our side. He never left us alone in the battle. This girl is tangible, real-life proof of a Abba Father who loves and restores and redeems everything for good. Everything.

The enemy messed with the wrong girl. She is a daughter of the King of Kings and she is clothed in dignity and strength. The light of His endearing love shines so brightly through this one.

Go conquer PreK, my girl. The rest will come later. For now, you have a year of growing and learning more about this good, good Father of yours. Soak it up and thrive, my love.

August 3, 2016

tucked away.

Our crew made a last-minute escape from the scorching summer sun last week after Dave’s aunt and uncle graciously lent our family their adorable (seriously too cute for words) little cabin in the woods. We happily piled into the van and made the ten hour trek deep into the mountains of Colorado.

I cannot even tell you how much we needed to get away together. I know I’ve said it before, but raising a kiddo with immense trauma and hurt in her past is H.A.R.D. I had so hoped this summer would be one of healing and rest and this little getaway was like a perfectly packaged gift from a loving Father at exactly the right moment. She and I needed to step away from our current reality to laugh and have fun together. Actually, all of my littles needed this. They needed Dave and I present and focused on nothing more than memory-making for a few days. The cabin didn’t have electricity, much less internet or cell phone service. There weren’t distractions or noise from this wild world (doesn’t the noise feel intensely louder these days??) to pull us away from the absolute most important thing: time together.

Our days were fairly consistent, keeping to a routine of rising early to fish (for the boys) while the girls read and worked on puzzles inside. Then, a mid-morning hike and lunch followed by more fishing and swimming and paddling around in the canoe. Next up, dinner and an evening hike. We always rounded the day off with another puzzle or board game and a read-aloud chapter of The BFG (we are trying to finish the book so we can all go see the movie together).

The whole outside world felt really far away. Political campaigns and conventions and facebook debates fell entirely off of our radar. I felt humbled and small as I walked beneath towering pine trees and took in breath-taking sunsets. My boys were beside themselves excitedly panning for flakes of gold at the water’s edge. Dave released seemingly ever-present tension as he turned off his phone and left the demands of work behind.

The littles were outside from early in the morning until the very last rays of sun tucked themselves beneath the mountains. They invented games involving wild bears and homemade bows and arrows. They “cooked” on the deck with wild rosemary and dandelions. They cheered one another on as they worked to catch a big fish and would collectively shout for joy as each fish was reeled in to shore.

My oldest friend and her family drove over from Denver to visit. Our friendship spanning three decades, we watched our little ones play sweetly together and marveled over the fact that we were actually the grown-ups in this scenario. We laughed at the ways we have each turned into our own mothers {even though we swore as teenagers to never let that happen}. Old memories and new ones collided as the days unfolded. We wished for more unstructured days like this for our kids. Carefree days full of active imaginations and fresh outdoor air.

These few days away reminded me how we were all created with a deep, unrelenting desire to seek stillness. Often, time tucked away from the clanging cymbals of this world result in an intimate encounter with our Creator. He gently reminds us of his love through the beauty of creation. When we are still before him, we are able to lean into the quiet whispers of truth. No matter how unsteady this world feels, He is sovereign and steadfast.

I want to teach my children to seek adventure and abundant life. I want them to know that this Jesus we serve is wholly good and full of gracious love. I want them to remember weekends like this one and know that joy and laughter are signs of life and light and are desperately needed in this aching world. I want them to pour forth love in every encounter with others and to seek beauty at every turn.

And, I want them to know that an escape to the mountains on a whim with four small kiddos is far from easy. Yet, the memories we made together are absolutely worth every ounce of effort.