Stumbling Around in The Light

My Little Girl

She steps out of the dressing room, deep-blue denim shrink-wrapped to every curve of her bottom. 

I wrinkle my nose in disapproval, "Too tight."

"But Mommy! They're the only ones that fit me up here...all the others gap out at the top!"

"No way." I shake my head decisively, "They're painted on your hiney, and your backside is way too curvy to be flaunting it that way.  You look like a hooker."

I said it lightly, with a laugh; teasing my too-gorgeous-for-her-own-good 16 year-old.

Not a second later, my heart felt pinched. 
Soul-stricken, suddenly thinking of so many little girls,
other mother's daughters,
driven or forced into the very thing I so easily made fun of. 

I think of beautiful Reenah, with her engagingly-dimpled smile, and glossy raven hair.  She stole our hearts, from the moment we met her at the Manuelito Navajo Children's Home.  Abandoned so many times, neglected, abused - she is finally safe & secure.  But her tender teenage years are marked by a sensuality far beyond her age.  Sexually abused as a child, then tossed away and rejected by everyone who should love & protect her, Reenah wears the only identity that earns her the attention she craves.

Then there's innocent Nancy, just 8 years-old, in Tanzania; our Compassion sponsored child.  She draws us pictures of elephants and birds, and her childish scrawl writes of feasting on rice & beans at her Auntie's house.  What's to keep Nancy from being devoured by poverty-oppressed humanity, from the enemy who prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking to snatch her innocence and girlhood away?

And I think of Annie in southeast Asia - coerced into sexual slavery.  She's only fifteen, dancing erotically to the beat of J.Lo., trapped by the desperate need to pay off the impossibly-growing loan she owes the brothel owner.  Investigators with The Exodus Road covertly reach out to her - is she open to rescue?  "Help me!" she writes back, horrified with the pain of hoping for release from the grotesque prison of her life.

My soul aches for these little girls, for women.  And why not? I can't help but view the world thru the lens of my gender.  As a woman, even in this enlightened Western society, without the indwelling strength of Jesus Christ, I will be objectified, minimalized, squashed into the margins of my potential glory.  Or perhaps conversely, I'll be dominating, angry, condescending...staunchly wearing the false-identity pants of feminism.

My very genetic make-up, Eve-cursed and grasping for control, fights to keep me imprisoned by fear, performance, insecurity.  Only as I learn to breath the inhale and exhale of His name - "Jesus...Jesus..." - can I begin to walk worthy of my calling as a woman. 
Only in the presence of Jesus can I find the courage to be who He made me to be.

My little girl huffs dejectedly behind the dressing room door, pulling on another pair of jeans.  I press fingertips to my eyes, willing the tears to stay put. How do I explain this heartwrenching grief, amidst the Burlington clearance racks?

I can't save them all.  Most days it feels like I can hardly do right by the 3 girls who grew in my belly.  It all feels so overwhelming, and I don't have a superwoman cape.  So I only do what I can. 

I can trade vacations for trips to the Children's Home, pulling Reenah into a hug like the little girl she still is underneath all that mascara and charcoal eyeliner.  I can spend days laughing & talking with her, gingerly inching closer, till we can begin the tentative work of discipleship.  I can help her navigate the terrifying waters of transition, when she graduates from high school, leaves the cocooning safety of the Children's Home behind, and steps into womanhood.

I can make sure Nancy gets our monthly financial support; only $38 to help provide food & education & the empowering truth of Jesus Christ, thru her weekly visits to the Compassion center near her African home.  I can send her letters, brimming with the hope of my heart; "God has great things for you, Nancy! You are filled with the glory of Jesus Himself!"

And I can support the work of The Exodus Road, doing my small part to help free little girls like Annie.  Perhaps my words will reach the ears of another who is called to rescue; with monthly financial support for investigative work, or travel to southeast Asia where the battle rages, or spreading the word of such desperate need.

We finally find the perfect pair; trim at the top, curvy to fit her adorable figure, and with an under-$20 price tag that fits my budget.  Despite my penny-pinching, I know how opulently wealthy we are in wide-world terms.  I'm fully aware of how pampered and protected my little girls are, and I hold them close with trembling and gratitude. 

The implanted Word lodges in my heart -

"Pure and undefiled religion before God and the Father is this; to care for widows and orphans in their time of trouble..."

And I think of innocent Nancy,
beautiful Reenah,
enslaved Annie -
other mother's daughters, and each one also - 

My little girl.

Following Jesus Gives Me Hives

Ten years ago I thought following Jesus meant waking up early to read the Bible. Going to church twice a week. Praying more than just before meals. Not walking away from my marriage even when my bitter heart already had running shoes laced up & ready to go. Carrying the banner of my son's degenerative epilepsy like a martyr's identity.

My little faith took a beating.
I shook my fist at God. And my husband. A lot.

And then we moved out west, and hung onto our marriage, and God surprised us with our 4th child, so we got all weird & had three more. Found a church family that loved beyond the masks, right down to the icky-nitty-gritty. Went further into debt, considered bankruptcy, took a leap of faith & built a crazy-straw-bale house, & paid off all the debt with the equity. Watched God heal my boy.

My faith still took a beating. I shook my fist at God.
And looked at Him in wonder. My husband too, actually.

Isn't that just life, tho? This crazy roller-coaster journey of ups & downs & loop-de-loops. Tearing me down, building me up.

So, you know, still in process. Maybe with a little more faith, a teeny bit more wisdom. Definitely learning to listen more, & speak less, & stifle that fist-shaking thing. Cause it sure wasn't bringing me any kind of hope or joy or righteousness. 

And now Jesus has us veering off down this really bizarre path. 
As if we could get any weirder, right?

So, a couple of weeks ago we finished up the home study, and signed all the paperwork, and got all officially certified for foster-to-adopt.

And the next day I broke out in hives.

At first I attributed it to the sushi we had on Wednesday afternoon with my girl's group.  Maybe too much wasabi? An overexposure allergy to ginger? (love it!!)

But despite taking Benadryl, & Zyrtec, & vowing to never have sushi, wasabi, or ginger ever again...I'm still randomly getting hives.

And all that goes with it.  Generally acting like a raving-lunatic; high-pitched-nagging, rushing-late everywhere, whining, middle-of-the-living-room melt downs complete with the ugly-cry.

It wasn't the ginger.

I think, perhaps, it goes a bit deeper than that.
Like serious anxiety, psychosomatic, Jesus-following-phobia kinda stuff.

I want this Jesus-following path to be strewn with rose petals, and lined with daffodils, covered over with sweet-smelling lilacs... 
But it's not. 
It's just dang hard. 
Somewhere deep inside, there's a little girl, stomping her feet, pitching a fit: "but I don't wanna go dat way!!!!"  And since I'm trying to stifle that gripe-at-God thing...I end up griping at everyone else.  And covered in hives. It's like my true self, that petulant little girl, trying to scratch her way out....

Nope, I don't have a tidy ending for you. This morning was hard. Didn't wanna get outta bed. Cried myself to sleep last night cause I'm so dang mad I can't afford to get on a plane & go to Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo, and rescue little Benie. Her face haunts me.

Yesterday someone mentioned the extra seats in our 11-passenger van, and I choked up, with fury and heartbreak and petulance...thinking of little Daria, wherever she is. Wishing I could fly to Kazakhstan and find her.

And all the while, I fire off complaint after complaint at my husband, yell at my kids, and stare apathetically at the dust-bunnies piling up in the corners of my bathroom.
I mean is this really it? All this waiting, and work, and drudgery?
I thought following Jesus would be full of romantic, book-worthy adventure; epic tales of risk & travel & lives transformed.

Jesus beckons, right up the path, smiling, loving, patient, encouraging. I trudge on.

And the hives rise up on the back of my hands, and cry out, "No, it's too hard! I want the easy way; forget about these briars of patience & endurance! Stop pruning me already! And this path is too steep anyway...and...and..."

Blah, blah, blah. Cry me a river, right?

'Scuse me while I go find some sandpaper...

When It's Just Too Much

I sit on the back deck of my dearest Scott & Hermine's log home.
The view before me blurs and trickles; gratitude-tears softening my vision. 

It's just too much.

The sky is crystal-clear, azure blue.  A light breeze cools me from the intense high-altitude, Colorado-mountain sunshine.  Pikes Peak looms in front of me, with poetic grandeur, and home-at-last comfort.

A month ago I watched online from New Mexico as the forest blazed out of control, a mere two miles from here.  I feared there wouldn't be a home to return to.  For many, just over the ridge of Rampart Range, there is no home-at-last comfort to be found.

Yet, by some chance of weather-driven, fallen-earth inheritance, our neck of the woods was spared, even while Colorado Springs was devastated by the Waldo Canyon Fire.

Why, Lord?

And it's just too much to comprehend.

While we were at the Manuelito Navajo Children's Home, I fell in love.  In the 3 weeks since we've been gone, I've been heartsick with missing her.  And her precious sisters.  Three girls, abandoned.  First by their parents, then by an adoptive aunt, finally by a grandmother.  So much loss, neglect, mistrust.

I'm coming to believe more & more, its my calling to step in and offer practical hope for healing.  And I don't think that calling is unique to me.  Seems like God's Word is pretty clear: in one form or another, as Christ-followers, we are all called to love our neighbor, to care for the impoverished, the sick, the needy, the orphan.

But like my sister lamented - the need is so great, so generations-thick, so vastly and deeply rooted.  Can I really make a difference?  What if I love & disciple & cherish & pray for Lyranda...and she still ends up back on the reservation, jobless, purposeless, repeating the same cycles of neglect and abuse? 

O God, no!
I can't let my lovesick heart go there.

The risk of loving, it feels like too much.

Theresa, the oldest of the girls at the Children's Home, hitched a ride with us to visit her sister in Colorado Springs.  Since we had a family reunion to attend in Franklin, TN first...it became a 2-week, fraught-with-adventures-of-epic-proportions, really-get-to-know-ya, cross-country road trip. 

I think it was hard for Theresa in TN.  Watching from the outside, I'm sure she perceived it as the movie-worthy, American-dream kinda extended family gathering.  Glamourously beautiful aunts & uncles & cousins, lounging & laughing on acres of opulent Southern-sprawl landscape.

But we all have our heartache.  A baby lost.  A daughter's tragic death.  The son with chronic illness; the son who goes astray.  Total financial failure.  Depression even in wealth, diabetes, and heart surgery, and living with the lingering ache of loss.

In the comfortable presence of family, thru heartache and abundance, I still saw the calling played out:  with tender touches, words of encouragement, and stories shared of memories, brokenness, new life, hope.  Jared and Ilea have lived that calling in a dramatic way, from creating KEZA out of the dust of Rwanda, to literally changing their name, as they build a life of walking-the-walk discipleship in Kenya.  We were all enamored with their brand-new baby Saoirse...who in just a few short weeks will fly away back home to Mombasa.  Where bee attacks can kill a grown man, and health care is marginal at best, and that tiny baby girl is an ocean away from her grandparents & aunts & uncles...

Answering the call is so risky.
And help me Jesus, but I'm afraid.

It all just seems like too much to bear.

It's afternoon now, and the wind blows thru majestically tall evergreens.  Wispy white clouds linger to the north of the Peak.  A spattering of rain drops accents the black ash, thinly layered over broad pine branches.  Evidence of burning destruction; reminder of fear, and risk, and loss.

Beauty intermingled with Devastation.

Heartache still burning, even as Hope blooms.

And so I ask for ears to hear,
and eyes to see,
wisdom to walk worthy,
strength for the long-suffering;
and I heed the call.

Even when it's just too much.

Hope.
Even
When it's just too much.

 

The Risk of Deep Waters

It was a risk coming here.

I kinda draggggged my family along.
I mean, they were willing and all (…under-their-breath-grumbling).  We all read Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years - so the kids were on board with pursuing a bigger story for our family (…eye-rolling).  And Kevin definitely agreed it was important to put our faith into action (…exhausted sigh).

But it was, after all, my idea. I'm the one who heard the call - and followed God's dot-to-dots, till they landed us here at the Manuelito Navajo Children's Home.

As my friend Scott Stearman said, our family tends to jump right into the deep end of the pool.  I like to blame most of our risk-taking on my husband, but the truth of it is, I don't color in the lines so well either.

Over the years, some of our risk-taking hasn't quiiiiite paid off. Ahem. Like to the tune of $50,000 business loans & all that. 
But then again, sometimes it has.  Like the knock-our-socks-off equity in the straw-bale house we built with our blood, sweat, & tears.

I wish I could say the failures were from missing the Lord...and the successes were from following the Lord.  But it's just not so clear-cut.  Seems like we were always striving to hear; seeking wisdom, in faith.

Maybe, like Caleb writes, its more about the journey than the destination.  Maybe what I thought were risk-fractured failures, were actually an important part of the journey. 

We're two weeks into our journey here at the Children's Home.  Today Lyranda came to our little 'apartment' and babysat our four youngest ones while we went on a hike with the big kids.  Lyranda is 15, the oldest of 3 sisters here, and my assistant for the pre-school program.  I'm wondering more & more if she is the reason I'm here...more than teaching little Monica about phonics.  I'm helping Lyranda find a hope and a future, as she discovers a tender gifting, working with & teaching little ones.

It's a risk.  Encouraging her in that hope, I mean.  Might send her off into the deep end of the pool, where she'll need college tuition funds, and meet with challenges & hardships, where there's equal chance for sink or swim.  Just like the last couple of kids to graduate from the Children's Home...one ended up with work & life & wife in North Texas; one ended up back on the reservation, jobless, purposeless, hopeless.

Autumn sits & laughs & talks with the other teen girls here this afternoon, during Kevin's 'Purpose & Calling' class.  Her strength-of-convictions and strong opinions surprise some of them, and inspire others.  Theresa matches her word for word, while Julia cracks jokes, and Lyranda looks on, wide brown eyes taking it all in.

As I'm watching God at work here, I'm starting to understand...the risk of jumping into the deep end of the pool is almost always worth it.  Despite the fear and hardships, splashing and floundering, I can see beautiful evidence of swimming going on here in these deep waters.

Linking up with The Gypsy Mama for Five-Minute-Fridays.
(And yeah, I'm such a rule-breaker.  Took me more like an hour.)

Got any deep waters you need to risk a dive into?

I Don't Need My Cape After All

Sometimes the answer to the call isn't quite what we think it will be.

We've been here at the Manuelito Navajo Children's Home for over a week now.  It's been incredible so far.  And hard.
Hot.
Heartbreaking.
Humbling.

I'm learning alot about myself.  And God.

Like for one thing -
I am not superwoman after all.  Trying to do everything for everyone and not disappoint, and please, and connect, and serve...
Well, it's just not sustainable. 
Cause I'm failing at every turn, and dropping balls (and dishes) all over the place.
Which is probably exactly where God wants me to be.  Recognizing my lame-ness, that is.  Recognizing my need for help; for strength & endurance beyond what I can muster in this un-air-conditioned, teeny-apartment-above-the-gym, baking-hot desert-heat.

So, seriously - when we first got here?  I actually thought I was some kinda superwoman force.  I kept it up for about a week.  The superwoman-dream-state pretense, that is.  But by yesterday, my spandex supersuit felt way too tight, and my dang cape was in shreds from catching in all the fans (to blow that baking-hot desert-heat around a bit), and my superwoman crown was long since knocked askew and blown off across the sandy landscape.

By this morning it was meltdown time.
Full-blown fury and crying and self-pity and accusations against my husband & kids & everyone here & pretty much the whole wide world.

So blah, blah, blah; pity-party, poor me, right?
The thing is, I come to this place again & again, where I've got my head so far up my own donkey, all I can smell is my own stink...and I completely lose sight of the bigger picture.

Like little Monica, dropped off here the morning before her 2nd birthday.  Sitting next to me every day, working on phonics and writing and basic math concepts.  Struggling to sort thru pains of abuse and abandonment she doesn't even fathom.  She calls me "teacher!" and wraps her little brown arms around my neck every morning.  Her house parents are 'Mommy' and 'Daddy' to her, all that she knows; they are quiet heroes, giving their lives to care for orphans in their distress.

Monica's 'Daddy' also grew up here at the Children's Home.  Norman was rescued from acute neglect when he was two, and his house parents became 'Mommy' and 'Daddy' to him.  And now, with grown kids of their own, Norman & his wife answered God's call to return to this barren reservation land, and give back.  In a beautiful, heart-wrenching twist, little Monica brings Norman's story full-circle.

Yesterday she left my little pre-school classroom, clutching her coloring pages and vowels-worksheet, and ran across the hall to Norman, yelling with the glee of a typical 5-year old, "Daddddeeeee!"

The only Daddy she will ever know.  And yet, Norman and Cathy can't even adopt little Monica.  When these kids are dropped off - it is voluntary - a private affair, with no termination of parental rights.  And yet in most cases, with no further connection from the parent.  Utter abandonment.  With no hope of adoption.  Orphans, in the most hopeless sense.  Cathy cried, with frustration & fear, when she told me about it.  Fear of pressing into adoption, pressing to terminate parental rights, only to have Monica's parents or relatives possessively yank her back onto the reservation.  It happens.  And so Cathy cherishes each day, and tries not to live in fear.  She holds on tightly, but she's knows it's ultimately not in her control.  She's no superwoman.

Strikingly beautiful, grasping-for-affirmation, quietly-fierce Jessica...she's been here since she was two.  She's fifteen now.  Her house parents are 'Mom' and 'Dad' to her too.  When the other teens aren't around, that is.  Annette & Merle take it in stride when she calls them by name.  She's still their little girl, and they're in it for the long haul, talking with her about future plans, and hopes for college.  They've been here for almost two decades, quietly loving and caring and giving their lives for God's call.  Annette runs a tight ship, and keeps a beautiful home.  Tiny flowers strain to bloom in the desert sun, carefully watered & protected in landscaping barrels.  Many of the blossoms end up looking scorched and withered, and Annette shrugs her shoulders, "well, I just do what I can!"  She's not superwoman either.

Ian and Canyon beg every afternoon to go play with their new friend Xavier.  He's got an impish grin, huge brown eyes, and a surprisingly tender streak.  The three of them are becoming fast friends, along with Xavier's older brother Dylan, and housemate AJ.  Most of the boys live together, with the newest house parents, Jim & Jennifer.  Jennifer has been a wellspring of comfort & encouragement to me, with her sincerity and down-to-earth hospitality.  She confessed this afternoon that they still feel new...and struggle with wondering if they are doing things wrong, or messing it all up.  After raising daughters, she's walking a new journey with a houseful of boys to love and care for.  I can see her wince at their rough-housing play, yet with her naturally laid-back attitude, she's learning to take it in stride.  She's passionate about trying to feed them healthy fare, cut back on sugar, and limit processed food.  But when the food donations come in, she just throws her arms in the air, grins her endearing grin, and sets out the plates for the inevitable white-bread sandwiches.  No, she's not superwoman after all.

They're just regular people.  Doing hard, extraordinary things.  Loving well, sometimes cranky, struggling to pay the bills, not enough time to connect with their husbands...success and failure intermingled, just like the rest of us.

So I guess I'm learning -

I don't have to be superwoman after all.

I see now that God doesn't expect me to be superwoman, not even a bit.  And honestly, even more of a tangible relief, no one else expects it of me either. 

Seems like the most important thing I can do is just show up; be willing to step into the hard work of His calling, with all my successes and failures intermingled, flaws and gifts and sins and good-intent, all in the mix.

And let God take it from there.

Trying to be superwoman lately?  How's that going? 
And seriously - any helpful ideas on how to ditch the cape???