Even the words that are left unsaid...

The room was packed. It was the mid-morning step class with a popular instructor at the gym. I got there early to get a good spot and not be relegated to the back where it is impossible to see what the teacher is doing. She had gotten there even earlier and, as usual, was waiting in the front row for the class to start.

You know the type: full-on 80’s make-up, big, teased hair, very tight top, and incredibly short shorts neither one of which are very flattering with her pear-shaped body type, but that she wears as proudly as a runway model would. The kind of girl that would make good southerners say: “oh, honey” and “bless her heart.”

I had seen her often around the gym because, while I’m not the most consistent of members, she is always there. Always. And for some reason I cannot explain, I just did not like her. She rubbed me the wrong way and I had never even spoken a word to the girl. I don’t know her name, I don’t know her story, and she had never even acknowledged my presence so I had no real reason to dislike her. Other than the shorts. And the make-up. And the hair. Irrationally her appearance annoyed me.

So this particular morning as we began to step to the music, following the instructor’s directions, I started  watching her from behind and thinking about her lack of rhythm and those shorts riding up. And then there was a gentle voice, like a whisper at the top of a mountain, that simply asked in my ear:

-          Why are you being so catty? You don’t even know this girl.

There was no condemnation in that gentle voice, only deep sadness. But my heart was convicted right away. I had no answer so I just listened, ashamed, and willing to hear the rest of the rebuke.

-    How would you feel if someone was saying these ugly things about your daughter?

This gripped my soul with pain for the little girl with the sensitive heart that breaks when a friend is mean to her or when someone laughs in her face. I thought about the times I have held her while she shed tears of embarrassment or hurt over another little girl’s nasty comment. And then came the most difficult words of the whole conversation:

-          That, right there, is my daughter.

And I was found guilty.

And in response to the gentle voice that does not accuse but definitely convicts, with tender tones and loving reminders, all I could do was repent. And express deep regret and apology. I had been ugly and I had been hurtful.

That the girl never heard my words is irrelevant.

Just as hate is like murder and lust is like adultery, so is judging like insulting.

What is hidden in our heart is to God the fountain out of which our thoughts, our words, and our actions flow. My nastiness towards that girl came out of a bitter heart, so the work would begin right there, at the core.  I thanked God for his faithful guidance and for the Holy Spirit’s convicting work and went back to the prayer of David, with whom I always identify:

“May the words of my mouth AND the meditation of my heart, be pleasing to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.” Psalm 19:14 (emphasis mine)

To Sara With Love

Sara died ten years ago this June.

She was barely 23 and she was newly pregnant. She was killed in her own apartment by a man whose name she never knew, and who was arrested 24 hours later for the murder of another woman a few months before. Sara’s husband found her. Her mother called me.

Sara was my best friend. We met as 16-year-olds. I was new to this country, I knew nobody, and spoke little English. I sat confused and alone in a math class that first day of our junior year of high school. This little blonde sitting in front of me turned around and said: “Hi, my name is Sara. Here is my phone number.” And that was that. We became inseparable. We had sleepovers, dated best friends, and shared secrets. I lived with her and her mom for a summer after high school and we stood by each other as we married our sweethearts. The last time I talked to Sara was a couple of weeks before she died. We talked about our marriages and the possibilities of children in the near future. She told me she was sure next month would be THE month. Her baby would have been nine-years-old this year.

After Sara died I went through a period of spiritual darkness that threatened to destroy my faith. But Sara loved Jesus and the hope of seeing her again was monumental in pushing me forward. Over the years I have dedicated to her all the milestones I have experienced that should have also been hers to enjoy. Holding my children for the first time, turning 30, wedding anniversaries, Christmases and new gray hairs. There is not a big moment of my life that I don’t feel her absence and that I am not painfully aware that Sara will not live through it as well.

As I stood before her casket the hot afternoon of her burial, unable to walk away, her brother took a rose off the spray that sat above the box and handed it to me. It was a simple gesture he has probably forgotten but I have kept that rose all these years. It is not much, but it is all I have this side of heaven.

I miss my friend.

I miss her goofy sense of humor, her beautiful singing voice, and her gentle heart. That we will see each other again is a great comfort and I praise God for that. But oh, what I would give to spend one more afternoon sharing giggles and comparing struggles with the girl who befriended me just when I needed it the most.

Who do you miss every day?

A Proper Welcome!

Linking up with Lisa-Jo for her Five Minutes Friday.

How do you welcome a dream? How do you express the long wait, the deep longing, the desperation of thinking this day would never come? How do you show the deep gratitude and appreciation for the gift you were just given and the way it changed your life?

With the help of your friends and with seven different baby showers, of course!

The phone rang on a Tuesday. She was two months old, healthy, and in need of a family. Were we ready? We asked for a day to seek His wisdom; He said Of Course! We said Yes, yes, yes!

But we had nothing. We were ready but not prepared. So the community of our loved ones and friends rallied around us. They had been walking this journey with us. They had been praying and hoping and waiting just as long. They had been expecting this call with us and, when it finally  came, they rejoiced and celebrated with us. But they did more than just declare Congratulations!

They moved to action. So…

Baby shower #1: from my work.

Baby shower #2: from my students

Baby shower #3: from my department

Baby shower #4: from another group of students

Baby shower #5: from our church

Baby shower #6: from my family

Baby shower #7: from Matt’s family

By the time we were done our house looked like this:

This was everyone’s baby. Impatiently expected by a mob, dearly loved by a crowd, warmly welcomed by a community.

It really does take a village to raise and to welcome a child. And we never forgot the blessings of this homecoming that surrounded us with such generosity.

Burnout and guest posting

Today, I am honored to be a guest at Amy's place. She asked me to talk about the burnout that can happen in ministry to pastoral families, from the perspective of the pastor's wife. Here is a little preview:

The last year in the first church Matt pastored brought to a head all the rookie mistakes we had made as a new pastoral family, and we almost did not walk away whole. The church was small and the needs were many so we stretched ourselves thin serving, working, and giving without taking the time to replenish ourselves spiritually or emotionally as individuals and as a couple. By the time we realized it, we were in trouble, with a new baby and a shaky marriage.

Won't you click here to read the rest? And leave me a comment if you have a minute so I know you stopped by!

Dreaming at Held

If you have been reading this blog from the beginning you may recognize this post. It was one of my earlier ones and one that is dear to my heart. Today I am honored to be guest blogger at Held, a Hannah's Prayer Ministry. Won't you click over to read the rest and be in community with some amazing women? And, if you have a minute, I would love for you to leave a comment over there so I know you stopped by!

We were made to procreate. God placed in each living being an instinctual desire to re-create and continue the species. Humans being were further given the opportunity to make choices about procreation. We can choose to do so or not to do so. We are not just driven by instincts. We can logically and personally decide if we want to bring forth children or remain child-free.

Except when you can’t. What most take for granted for some of us is unattainable. You don’t really understand the power of that choice until you don’t have it. Infertility is cruel and random. You mostly don’t think about it until it invades your life, turns it upside down, and takes over your dreams.

Click here to keep reading...

Does God go camping?

So I did it. I gave in and went camping with Matt and the kids. In a tent. At the beach. In the summer. In what I, a city girl, consider the wilderness while Matt sees a very civilized campground with bathhouses and electricity. And you know what? I didn’t hate it! I am not sold on Matt’s idea of making this a yearly event but I might do it again for a few reasons.

There were lots of first for me this last weekend. First time to see live raccoons and feed wild deer (I told you it was the wilderness). First time to take a private port-a-potty on a trip (although, mercifully, I did not have to use it). First time to sleep in a tent with my family and the dog. First time to sleep outdoors near the ocean.

Really, this not my very first camping trip but it was my first camping trip of substance. A little over ten years ago I gladly agreed to spend one night on the floor of a tent on a crisp spring for the chance to glide alone in a canoe for four hours with the boy my heart desired. But that was then and love was young and so was I. So the prospect of two nights at a state park campground with two kids and a dog, cooking food on a campfire, sharing showers and toilets with strangers, being constantly sandy, hot, and sweaty did not appeal to this girl raised in a concrete jungle. But when the boy-my-heart-desired turned into the-man-who-holds-my-heart asked me to go, love could not say no.

And while I was always hot, often sweaty, and forever covered in sand those two days, I took a few mental snapshots that shifted my perspective a little.

I saw Isabel and Noah have a blast the way only children can. Covered in sand and sticky with sea water they soaked up the sun and the fun and their joy was contagious.

I saw my husband and his brother, who came along with his two teenagers, reconnect and talk about their shared hobby of photography and their connection and love was heartwarming.

I saw families, moms and dads, grandparents and pets, getting back to playing board games, riding bicycles, talking together and the future of the family looked hope-full.

And I saw me, away from rugs to vacuum, laundry to fold, papers to grade, e-mail to check, worries to think about and I relaxed.

And as I relaxed I looked around. And as I looked around I was what I was there to see: what God created for us to enjoy.

The ocean, the sunsets and sunrises, the deer, and the raccoons. And in the middle of this gift He made for us I felt closer to Jesus than I had in a while. It was quiet enough to hear the birds, dark enough to see the stars, still enough to let the Holy Spirit’s gentle whisper speaks to my heart.

And I came home renewed.

Who knew? In the middle of a busy campground, on a hot June weekend, in less-than-comfortable accommodations.

Matt grew up camping and has wonderful memories o f those vacations and, while I would still take a nice hotel with soft beds and a pool over camping any day, I may be a little less reluctant to go back next year. I guess we’ll just have to see…

Adoptive Family Circle

So I started blogging for Adoptive Families Circle, the online community of Adoptive Families Magazine, and I am very excited about it.

I am SO excited about it that I wanted to announce it BIG here by placing the AFC logo right here and doing all this fancy linking to the posts, etc. But... being as computer illiterate as I can be, I never did figure out how to put the logo right here and my friend Heather, who is my unofficial IT person, is out of the country on a mission trip to Costa Rica. So...since my second post came out this week and I STILL have not announced my new venture in my own blog, I decided to just do it, even if it is in a boring, non-spectacular and non-flashy way.

I am blogging for Adoptive Families Circle! Yeah!

There. Announced.

Why? you ask.

Well, they have lots of bloggers that have adopted transracially, but none that have a bilingual family so they liked that side of our story (and of course they thought I was adorable. No, they didn't say that but a girl just knows, right?).

Anyway, I will be submitting once a month or so and I guess I will have to let you know in this non-fancy way each time, unless Heather takes pity on me and comes to help me in between saving the world.

The cool part has been being part of a new community and stepping out of my bloggy comfort zone to a wider audience (which is also scary since I have yet to have a nasty comment, but when you blog bigger I guess it will come and then I'll cry). The part that I have not liked at. all. has been the editing process.

Do you remember in school when the teacher gave you a paper back and there was more red than black left in the page? Just.like.that. These editors are ruthless. They don't even like incomplete sentences, which are some of my favorites. But, what can you do? If I want to see my little story posted, I have to submit to the man (or the two women in this case).

Anyway, please click over and read this. Oh, and leave a comment, if you have a minute. This post has been up for two days and all I hear are crickets and I'm starting to get a complex and I'm thinking maybe I should stop and I'm beginning to identify with Sally Fields and that is just worrisome.

So, without further ado...this is the link to my second post (if you really want to read the first one, it will be easier to find it from there).

http://www.adoptivefamiliescircle.com/blogs/post/race_and_children_adoption/

If you have followed my blog for a while you may recognize this one because it is an edited (ugh!) version of one I posted here very early.