The Truest Example

Dear Isabel,

Time has never sped by as it has since you came into our lives and there are still so many lessons for you to learn from me before you go out into the world, all on your own. They are important ones, and I worry that all the years you will spend under our roof will not be time enough for you to understand just how crucial some of them are for your life.

This is one of them.

You asked your daddy just the other night, at only six years old, who you should marry. I know you wanted a name, and baby, one day you will know it. But for now here is what I want to bury deep in your heart so you keep this lesson close by as you search for him and wait for him to find you too.

Marry a man who loves God more than he loves you. Only by knowing his first love will he be able to love you when you are most unlovable. And you will be, often.

Marry a man who understands how deeply he has been forgiven. Only that understanding will allow him to forgive you big and small. And you will need it, over and over.

Marry a man who is truly humbled by his faults and keenly aware of his virtues but who is keenly aware of your faults and truly humbled by your virtues. Only then will he understand how you complement each other. And you will both need the reminder, many times over.

Marry a man who is your equal in intellect but who is not threatened by yours. Only then will he push you to think and grow and to challenge yourself and him. And you will become his best sounding board and he, yours.

Marry a man who understands your dearest passions and supports you as you pursue them. Only then will you feel encouraged to fulfill the calling God placed in your life. And you will need him to cheer you on when you are ready to give up, for you will.

Marry a man who thinks you are beautiful and who will tell it to you often. Only then will he see your beauty when your hair turns gray and your skin sags and the lines plague your eyes. And you will crave those words from him more than you can imagine now.

Marry a man who knows his True Citizenship. Only then will he see as countrymen and women all fellow humans, and work for the good of everyone regardless of race, nationality or creed. And together you will extend your love for your neighbor far beyond what you can see from your backyard.

Marry a man who does not “help” you with the chores or “babysits” the children but rather shares on the chores and spends time with his children. Only then will you be true partners in the journey, even if you stay at home and do most of the chores and spend the most time with the children. And you may.

Marry a man who thinks the role of a father is crucial in a child’s life. Only then will he work his hardest to be the daddy your children deserve. And you will never feel alone in the overwhelming task that it is parenthood.

Oh, baby, there is so much more I want to tell you about the man I dream for you that words fail me. But words are not the strongest tool in my hands and so I’ll leave you with this: keep your eyes open, baby girl.

Keep your eyes open and your ears ready.

Because nothing I can tell you will show you what a godly man looks like, acts like, sounds like, prays like, and loves like better than living in this house. 

Because you see, Isabel, I practice what I preach…

Happy birthday, Matt. You are a precious gift to me and to your children.

Brownie...

We walked hand in hand into the Goodwill looking for nothing in particular, as we often did. Me, the lover of books, would peruse the paperbacks and find some treasures for a quarter. Matt would spend his time in the house wares finding salvageable oddities. But we always avoided the children’s section. Too painful. Too pointless.

Except that day. I don’t remember if we had already started the process of adoption or not but as we looked through the store we found ourselves walking down the last isle, next to the wall covered in broken toys and teddy bears. Up on the top shelf I saw it. It was a brown, fuzzy, child-size bear with a blue scarf around his neck. It caught my eye because it looked expensive and new. It was a Gund bear. The kind you find in fancy toy stores but at Goodwill discount. We took it down, inspected it, and carried it away.

And I named him Brownie.

On the way home I dared to dream a little of a time when Brownie may accompany a child into the land of dreams and protect him or her from the bad ones. It was the perfect bear for a little one: soft and friendly, seeing the world from the same eye-level, a relatable companion.

A couple of years went by. Isabel came and filled our lives with joy. Still Brownie was relegated to live on the guest bedroom bed. When Isabel went through a phase of dressing animals as people I held a silent hope for Brownie, who could wear her clothes easily. But Brownie was overlooked and left alone on his bed in favor of smaller Pooh.

 A few more years went by and we grew by one more when we brought Noah home. One evening as I prepared the kids for bed, Noah, not quite four-years old, asked to sleep with an animal as was his custom. This time he selected Brownie, who had moved from the guestroom into the large bin of stuffed creatures that now lived in the kids’ shared bedroom. Brownie, who was almost as tall as Noah, never left the bed again.

The fuzzy bear I dreamed so many years ago as a friend to the children I was yet to know  became more than a sleeping prop. Brownie is now the star of many adventures. He has traveled the world, he has lived in many countries, he has survived eating poison, he can breathe under water, he would put James Bond to shame and yet he has never left our house. He is also the baddest bear in the land. He steals money from Elmo, he lies and disobeys Noah and gets put in time-out a lot. He hits his friends and provides me with many teaching moments, as I explain to Noah why Brownie’s behavior is wrong and smile at Noah’s vicarious living through his unruly bear.

We chuckle to hear our children begin conversations with each other like this: “Remember when Brownie…” and we have to walk away so they don’t see us laugh when the other one replies: “I remember and he also…” filling one more detail of an adventure neither one of them witnessed.

I don’t know why Isabel did not take to Brownie. Maybe she had too many other choices. Or maybe their personalities simply did not “click.” My daughter is nurturing and prefers small creatures she could wrap in blankets and hold as babies in her arms. Brownie is a big bear, more of a pal than an offspring, so his charms did not work on her.

 It took a quirky little boy with mischievous eyes to see the possibilities this bear’s company had to offer. They are best buds. Brownie wears Noah’s clothes and, in exchange, Noah has made Brownie the star of his childhood adventures. It is endearing. And a little nerve-racking. The way this bear acts sometimes I worry he can be a bad influence on Noah…

I would have danced in the middle of that Goodwill with Brownie in my arms if I had known the life he would live and the small friends he would keep.  But the afternoon we met, I cautiously held him by the ear, trying hard not to get too attached and trying not to think about his loneliness and mine, were he never to have playmates.  

Sometimes you have to take a step of faith and buy a bear for an empty home, believing God keeps his promises. Sometimes those promises take you on a journey you did not expect because God’s crafted a different plan than you anticipated. And sometimes the earliest evidence of God’s plan in your life is brown and fuzzy, and wears a blue scarf around its stuffed neck.

IF...

If you dread Mother’s day.

If you think about skipping church on that Sunday.

If you cringe when the pastor says “Would all moms please stand and be recognized?”

If you have to remain seated.

If you pretend you are praying along for those who stood when you are really hiding the tears forming in your eyes.

If what you want most is to belong to such club but the invitation never comes.

If that Sunday only reminds you of the emptiness you carry around in your womb and in your heart.

If you refuse to skip it because you will not let infertility define you.

If you have to skip it because the pain is just too great to bear.

If the innocence of “when the time is right…” is long gone from your life.

If you avoid babyshowers.

If you have to work at being happy for your pregnant friends.

If you circle around the baby section of department stores, going out your way to avoid them.

If you dodge new moms at church so you don’t have to hold their baby.

Please just know…

You are not alone.

We’ve gone before you.

We’ve hurt right with you.

We’ve been there and we’ve done that.

We’ve felt the same emptiness.

We’ve felt the same pains.

And there is One who is always near…

He holds all your tears in a bottle.

He knows you by name.

He sees you.

He hears you.

He loves you.

He created you.

He adopted you.

He is your ABBA.

Reach out to Him for He cares for you…

Cry out.

Pray loudly.

Whisper softly.

Raise a fist.

Raise a question.

Speak your doubt.

Speak your pain.

Give him your sadness.

Receive his peace.

Because the One who cared for…

Sarah.

Rebekah.

Leah.

Michal.

Hannah.

Elizabeth.

Me.

Will also take care of YOU.

We Did Not Choose Transracial Adoption

Here is the latest post for Adoptive Families Circle. If you are not a member you won't be able to comment, but if you would like to comment, please come back here and let me know your thoughts. I love to hear from you all. It makes my day!

"Most adoptive families encounter intrusive questions that biological families don't typically have to deal with. My husband, my children, and I belong to three different races, and our family is always being asked how we came to be together. I have yet to understand why that seems to matter to strangers on the street. I think that many people have a need to "figure out" any situation that looks strange to them.

This need to categorize our family also appears to include understanding why we chose to adopt children of a different race. We have been asked all kind of questions on the subject. We've been asked if we were trying to take a social stand against racism. We've been asked if we preferred black children to white or Hispanic children. We've been asked if we could not "get one" who "looked like you." We've been asked if we thought we would wait less time if we chose a child of color. We've even been asked if our children were "cheaper," which always bothers me."

Will come click over here to continue reading? And if you know anyone who would enjoy reading it, please share it or tweet it. Thanks, y'all!

Let Freedom Ring.

Can I be honest with you?

I am a people-pleaser. And a peace-maker. They sound like a good combination, right? I don’t like to disappoint or hurt the people in my life and when I do, I have no pride in apologizing to make it right and restore the relationship. But I also often speak without thinking, which means I apologize a lot. And I over-analyze conversations and blame myself for saying things that did not really cause strife, so I often apologize without a real reason to do so. Which leaves me feeling like all I do is apologize.

And I’m a pastor’s wife so I feel the burden, real or imagined, of the implications of the role, impossible as they may be to meet and yet impossible to ignore.  And because I want to be helpful and make people happy, I tend to volunteer to do things I really don’t want/have time/feel called/desire to do.

And I worry. I worry that I am not a good wife. I worry that I’m not a good mother. I worry that I am not a good friend/daughter/Christian/person/name-the-role, I worry. And I worry not only for my sake but for the sake of anyone who may possibly be looking at me for advice, example, or leadership.

Do you ever feel this way? Please say I’m not the only one…

Lately God has bombarded me with a theme…a thought that keeps creeping into my readings of Scripture, blogs, and devotionals…a driving force that threatens to shape my year and direct my path for the next twelve months. And as I wrestle with Sharon Jaynes’ challenge to stop asking God “What do you want from me?” and begin asking Him “What do you want for me?” the fuzziness begins to lift and the word begins to take shape. He has given me a WORD.

Would you be surprised that my word for this year is FREEDOM?

FREE…dom.

Freedom from impossible expectations.

Freedom to accept that I am doing the best I can every day. I am prayerfully, carefully, thoughtfully, analytically the best mother/wife/friend/daughter/person/Christian that I know how to be. Freedom to seek to grow, and to learn, and to change but only as He guides, believing that who I am is enough for today and letting go of the worry and the guilt.

Freedom from trying to please everyone.

I have a big heart, a big mouth, and a lot of flaws. I am deeply loyal and deeply selfish all at once. But I was fearfully and wonderfully created as were you. You may like me or love me or not be able to stand me but Christ is giving me the freedom to live to please the only One whose approval matters, believing wholeheartedly that as I do, I will love you, treat you, and commune with you in the ways that He intended.

Freedom from over-extending myself.

Freedom to prayerfully consider opportunities to take on ministries, volunteer for causes, and accept invitations. Freedom to say no without feeling like I’m letting you down, or damaging our relationship.

Freedom from my need to control my world.

Freedom from my own self, from my need to plan, to organize, to make sure everything is in place, to control my environment. Freedom to let go of the fears that affect my relationships and rob me of joy. Freedom to find the beauty in flexibility and the trust that it implies not to always know what will happen next but to know the One who holds my tomorrows.  

Freedom to explore my relationship with Christ on his terms.

It is not a checklist, it is not a set of dos and don’ts. It is a relationship. An intimate, loving, peace-full relationship. Freedom to find out what He has in store for me this year without worrying about doing it “right” or getting it “right.” Freedom to let Him define what "right" means for us.

Freedom to fully explore the question that started it all:

Lord, what do you want FOR me this year?

Has God given you a word this year? If you want to read more about 2012 WORDS read what these four amazing women have to say.

Heather at Every Day Evans has chosen to serve.

Natalie at Mommy on Fire is seeking self-control.

Sarah at The Best Days of My Life is also praying for freedom.

Michelle at Graceful is learning about surrender.

When you are six...

When you are six, you may be a little shy around grown-ups and everyone would understand. When you’re Isabel, you will learn their first names so you can scream at them joyously “Hi, Ms. Rose! Hi, Mr. Peter!” and steal their hearts in the process.

When you are six and you have a play date, your friends may dress up, or play dolls, or draw, or even build a fort. When you’re Isabel a small gathering will surely turn into a wild dance party, conga-line included.

When you are six, you may love to sing the songs you hear on the radio at the top of your lungs. When you’re Isabel you will sing all day long, about all kinds of things, with made up music and made up words. And you will expect everyone else to know and sing along to the newest song you’ve invented. And you will despair and huff because your silly family cannot learn their part quickly enough.

When you are six, you may prefer to go to MacDonald’s for your birthday lunch so you can play in the playground, or to Chuck-E-Cheese to see the giant mouse, or even to a pizza place where they sell your favorite toppings. When you’re Isabel, you will choose to go to the Japanese place, where they cook on the table because there’s fire and volcanoes made out of onions, and the chef likes to scare little children into giggles.

When you are six you may be glad to see visitors come to your door, especially if they bring little children to play with you. When you’re Isabel you will assign a theme song to each person that darkens our door to show them just how glad you are to see them.

When you are six you may be compassionate and sensitive and tender-hearted. When you’re Isabel you will cry at the thought of one day leaving your family and growing up, you will pray every night for God to give your birthmother everything she needs and worry that she may be sad because she does not get to live with you, and you will ask the Lord to help your friend be a better sister to her siblings.

When you are six you may know about God and you may know the stories of the Bible. When you’re Isabel you will devour the tales of Jesus, you will thank him for going to the cross for you in your prayers, and you will remind the rest of your family of how He taught us to live when you witness the ugly that we can be.

When you are six you may be the most wonderful, wild, crazy, sweet, amazing little girl to your mom and dad as every child should be. When you are Isabel you are all that and you were also hoped for, prayed for, waited for, longed for, years before we had ever seen your face.

Happy birthday to my little girl who turns six today. May this year be full of wonder, happiness, and learning for you. We, your parents, love you more than you can imagine and we thank the Lord each and every day for the joy your presence brings to our lives. 

Life in A Glass House in 2011: A Year in Review

Dear friends,

This is a year in review, a virtual Christmas letter if you will, to look back at the best of 2011 in our family's life, as recorded in this blog. I'm linking with Mama Kat this week, who provided the prompt for her Writer's Workshop.

Isabel was born in January. Her birthday always stirs in me a mixture of joy, pain, and gratitude. Perhaps because of the monumental decision her birthmother made, I felt compelled to write on a topic I would rather leave to better writers, or deeper thinkers. I prefer encouragement to discord but January saw me a little braver and able to take a stand. So in honor of my children, I wrote this.  

At Christmas I was given one of my favorite gifts of all time: my first sewing machine (or musheen, as Isabel calls them). I loved it so much I named her. Sally Maria Brother. 

Had I known the grief and frustration she would cause me as I tried to learn to sew, I would have named her Child of Satan. I wrote this in February after completing my most challenging project yet: a quick-sew-but-nothing-quick-about-it, make-in-two-hours-but-it-will-really-take-you-weeks fleece jacket for Noah. 

March brought me a crisis of discontent. We had gone through yet another infertility treatment, against our will, by doctor's orders, and, as usual, it failed. So I lost all perspective and, like a whinny child, began to complain about the things I lack. Patient as always, the Lord reminded me gently of his love and provision. This is what came out of my heart that day.  

On my birthday, in April, I experienced an overwhelming feeling of being loved, thanks to the magic of Facebook which allowed so many happy wishes from so many people in such a short time. It inspired me to think about the impact I can have in someone’s day by just taking one minute out of mine and I wrote this.  

Isabel started her first season of YMCA soccer in May. She was unsure and scared but she was blessed with the most wonderful coach we’ve ever known. This gentle man deserved his own ode here.    

In June my husband and brother in-law talked me into going camping for the first time in my life. On the beach. In a tent. But the experience began on the way there with a stubborn fly inside our van. Read about it here.  

I learned a hard lesson in July. One that I needed to learn and one that was embarrassing to admit, but one that is foundational to loving my neighbor as I’ve been commanded.  

In August we joyfully announced our new paperwork pregnancy like this. I have not updated much yet for the process is boring to tell, but when we have exciting news I will shout it to the four winds (and the blog world!).

I got my feelings hurt like a silly child in September, and, after crying and pouting, I turned to the Lord for help. Here is what I learned about his compassion.  

After eight months without a working stove, in October we finally bought a new one; only to have a frustrating and scary encounter with the Sears’ collection department. But we learned about God’s mercy for us in spite of our mistakes and because of our obedience, when He intervened here.  

Half-way through the first year of officially homeschooling my children, the constant questioning about homeschooled children’s social skills finally got under my skin enough to prompt me to write this in November. You be the judge!  

After a wonderful and full year, December brought our eleventh wedding anniversary. While this has been an amazing decade as Matt’s wife, as I looked back on it, I realized our life has not become what we thought it would be. Yet, it is so much more than we ever imagined: we embody a Proverb! This one.  

Have a happy new year and may your 2012 be filled with the love of family and friends, and many blessings. Above all, may you grow deeper in your relationship with Christ and, if you don't yet know him, may you come to know him and love him as He loves you. 

The Johnson clan.