Glimpses

Okay. This will be really long. Am posting some pictures to give a glimpse into our family life, but don't know how to make one of those very practical, very cute window-thingies where your pictures can be scrolled through, all in one window. I only know how to post them one-by-one.

There's several pictures because I'm starting with some September ones. I have to wait for someone else to get our pics off the camera and put them on our hard drive so I can upload them. Yes, I've asked for the tutorial. I've received the tutorial. But my brain is just full, and I can't remember how to get the pics off the camera. (But I CAN remember my husband's SSN and my library card number [FOURTEEN characters long, oh, yes it is!] and my best-friend-in-9th-grade's birthday and my high school locker combination [yes, that's weird, but it's because we use the same lock on a door on our house] and... digressing, digressing...)

ANYway, here's some shots. Hope you enjoy!


Here's what we like to do in the fall, on any-given cool weather evening. We love to do this in the early spring, as well. We live out in the country a bit, so we get a great view of tons of stars while we listen to crickets and frogs and owls.

Here's our 7-year-old with Dad, roasting either a hot dog or marshmallow. That's all we do at this point. Nothing fancy.

One of the highlights for Jake is getting to explore with the flashlight. He loves these things and keeps Energizer in business (batteries don't stand a chance against this boy).

Me? You think I'm gonna turn down S'mores?


Two best yard dogs. Ever. Old momma dog Meg is the chocolate Lab. She's 12, been with us since she was barely weaned. Hunted ducks all her life, best duck dog Dad ever knew. She's in relatively good health, except for a heart valve issue. Don't know how much longer she'll be here. We try not to think about it. And we never discuss it around our 7-year-old.

The black pup is Cole. I call him Coleslaw to tease Dad a bit (no self-respectin' duck dog would ever answer to "Coleslaw" -- but he'll answer to anything as long as you'll throw his rope toy!). He's just now a year old and will probably be an even better retriever than Meg. (We don't mention that around her.) I never wanted a male Lab. They tend to be a bit air-headed. Cole, however, has wrapped my heart around his big black paw. He has the softest ears and the biggest brown eyes. I don't care how silly or foggy he acts; he's a sweet baby!


We just celebrated 21 years of marriage! We had a great dinner in town, and my sweet husband gave me the best gift: a day off from work! I got to leave for town early that next morning, have lunch with my best friend, then coffee with her, had cash to go shopping, then a gift certificate to get a massage from another dear friend. THIS man certainly knows what energizes me! I am so thankful for him.


Thanksgiving at Mamaw's! Every year, we switch off with where we celebrate Thanksgiving. This year, we visited at my mother-in-law's home. Here she's playing jacks with the youngest two.

Mamaw and our oldest discussing life while the potatoes get peeled.


This is me with my sister-in-law's-son's-daughter's FERRET!!! ohmyword... I was terrified of this rodent-creature the minute I saw it. I've heard about the viciousness of these things and wanted no part of it. But the kids were haulin' it around like a baby and it just laid there. So I MADE MYSELF PICK IT UP AND HOLD IT. For at least 6 minutes. And then we took a picture to document THAT I PICKED IT UP AND HELD IT. Close to my face. For about 6 minutes. Then I put it down. I was through. (And until I can figure out how to rotate this picture, you'll have to lay on your side to see this. But this was unbelievable, so I had to post this pic!!)


A little checker-playin' going on. And I pinkie-swear that I didn't set this picture up! They actually chose to do this. Together. And played several rounds. Wow...


Time to start decorating the tree! We love doing this as a family. This is the first night we drink egg nog (it is taboo for even a sip of nog to pass the lips until the tree is in the house!) while we listen to Johnny Mathis sing the old traditional carols. Weird? Yes, but these were my traditions while I grew up. I kept them going with my kids, and they insist that we do it the same way each year.

And don't ask why Jake is half-naked. Around here, clean underwear is all that counts. Well, that and brushed teeth and no blood.





Jake is singing with his choir at church for Christmas! He LOVES to sing! Poor kid can't carry a tune in a bucket right now to save his life, but I bet that changes! I know I couldn't sing on key if I was still trying to learn a second language, get through a grieving process, and focus on standing still while singing some song I didn't know!

Do you see him? He's the handsome little guy with the gorgeous head of jet-black hair, the boy with the big(gest) brown eyes (as though you could miss him).


Gingerbread houses? Yes, we did those this year (yea, Momma!! earned the gold star sticker!). This particular house was decorated by my daughter. She did an incredible job! And Christmas has come with many other traditions, as well. I'll probably post some Christmas pictures later. This has taken a while, and I bet you're completely done with these random shots of us.

I hope your Christmas was good, full of peace and contentment and joy. And thankfulness.

Beautiful Truth

Every time I hear this beautiful poem read, I find myself in tears. If you haven't heard this yet, you must read this (actually, you'll be listening to it). These beautiful truths are for the times when you hurt, when you question, when you fear... when you find yourself groping with the boundaries of your humanness and looking for Guidance, for Light, for Comfort.

These incredibly encouraging words (ah! to be reminded again and again that my God never sleeps!) are read by Kristyn Getty (The Gettys). If you don't know of their music, you will never find anything more beautiful to listen to. They are an Irish couple who've been blessed with incredible song-writing and musical gifts that they use for the glory of God.

For you, with love!

Documentation

Just wanted to document proof. For me, and for you, since I use this space to sometimes lament and vent and whine (many apologies...).

But look! There is no blood! There are no punches! There are no pouting faces! No tears!

Yes, there are truly times, usually even each day (!!), where there is peace with the younger two of this family. And honestly, I have yet to completely lose hope. Some days are harder than others, but there is always hope. Because there is always God! The Great Heart-Changer and Builder of Relationships. Something tells me that someday these guys might even fight for one another rather than against each other. Wow...

“Behold, I am the Lord,

the God of all flesh.

Is anything too hard for Me?"

Jeremiah 32:27

Battling Unbelief

I've really wrestled with putting this post out there: do I write and then post tomorrow? Three posts in one day. Hhhmmm... That's weird. I don't do that. I think there's probably a ton of pride smeared up in all of this (okay, I know there is: "I have something to say that's important to me and I just gotta get it posted!"). But sometimes my brain just won't stop and I need to get it down. For me, for later, because the same issues cycle and I need to remember what I learned before. But there's also a sense that God has done great things for me and I want to say it "out loud."

Psalm 66:16 says, "Come and hear, all you who fear God,

and I will tell what He has done for my soul."

So that's wrapped up in the motive, as well.

And sometimes I think that maybe I'll connect with someone who struggles with the same thing or who has discovered the same truth or something. There's something very affirming about that connecting. Some sort of endorphin release, maybe...

So, whatever, here's post #3. I was putting away laundry, thinking back over the last post, on depression. Remembering past stops in the Journey where darkness descended and laid me low and took the reason away. And I was remembering my sweet husband and all his ministerings to me when those times erupt. He's so good at recalling the Words of Truth and remembering what Piper said and what Spurgeon taught. Sweet words that break through the clouds and shore up the crumbling spirit.

I struggle greatly (at times) with whether or not I love the LORD. At times there is just no evidence. A few years ago, this same battle began anew. My husband went through the questions again, one of them being, "Do you love the people of God?" As in, do I love them and want to spend time with them and want to serve them?

I was so entrenched, couldn't figure that one out. "I think I just want to be around them because they're so good. What they do is good, they are kind, and I want to be around those kind of people. I don't think I really love them, though." When you're in that pit, you just lose all ability to discern. Satan is having a field day.

Then the healing comes from his words: "Honey, you want to be around those people because they have CHRIST in them. They are just like you, sinful and fallen and weak. But they belong to Him and He is coming out in their lives and you are drawn to them because you are His and you want to be near. You love them because you love Him and are drawn to His people!"

And that is so true! I am so weak, and I want the tangible. I want Jesus in the flesh, sitting at my table and talking to me in waves that vibrate my ear drums, touching me with perfected hands that hold me close when the terror strikes. I want Himself by my side so I can cling to feet. I want to lay my ear against a chest that thumps with heart-pulses.

And I've asked, several times. Pleaded with God to just come down, because He can, and I demanded to have proof that I belong to Him, because I was wild with the (un)belief that I was not known by Him, and that I had no hope for saving myself.

But God requires my faith. And my faith requires the necessarily brutal soul-work that comes with the absence of the seen. The silence of the physical stillness. And so He kindly waits for my thinking to clear and my faith to grow under His tender, skilled tending. And I "see" Him near and get back up and continue on toward Home.

And through all of this, He continues to see my unbelief, and my weakness for the tangible. And He ministers to me the balm of assurance that I do love Him. In my terrible, fallen, and ever-shifting ways, I do love Him. And He surrounds me with His people, who are my true family, bought with Blood that is thicker and stronger than earthly bonds. These eternal relationships that are full of Him. Pieces of Him that I can fellowship with and cling to and taste.

The LORD is kind to me. More than I can see, and more than I can articulate.

"Why does He love me so?"

Scattering Some Darkness

Sometimes I find myself in very dark places. Embarrassingly dark. Terrifyingly black. Bewildered, wondering which path brought me down to that level.

I have friends who encounter the dark, as well. And we talk in hushed tones, reaching out to comfort and guide, survivors with maps that point to the Light. Voices are muted, though, because the ones who overhear probably won't understand. Or will be quick to label our dark as "sin," which isn't very helpful because we're already repenting for everything that comes to mind and yet the darkness still won't budge. Which causes so much fear because we can't quite seem to move beyond it. And we won't be able to until He's ready to move us on, equipped with stronger faith and more knowledge of the great Healer.

That's one of the reasons I love Charles Spurgeon so much. He was so transparent about the dark times he walked through. And his God-given wisdom that rings through the halls of time continues to bolster my flagging faith and encourage me to hang on, that I'm not losing my mind, that I'm just one who has to get in the dark so that my weak eyes can see more of the Light.

Here's a great post from one of my favorite blogs about what Spurgeon said. Wanted to share, in case anybody happens across this post and is struggling. Hoping to pass on the comfort that I've been given by the Comforter.

Help Me to Smile...

Because it's a crazy time of year and I'm finding myself more stressed than normal and there remains so much to do and I'm hormonal right this minute and I'm introverted and needing to breathe and I'm tired of everyone asking so many questions and everyone needs to be everywhere but where I'm going and the days are flying by and I know I'm barely redeeming the time and it's definitely not enough and because we all (most especially me... most especially me) continue to battle indwelling sin and so we fuss and irritate each other and forget to love and walk gently and serve and I lose my patience because no one is acting like Christ, for crying out loud, and I am weary with the weight of days gone by where much has been lost and am tired of all that remains in front of me...

God brings my self-centered, calloused-heart, discontent self to sweet truth that squeezes my heart into soft readiness to slow down and see and serve with love and be thankful.

Once again, thank You, Father God, for not being the parent that I am.

And for not being short-suffering with me. For never leaving me.

Here is where God led me this morning (from Ann Voskamp at Holy Experience). And I am thinking that I will remember to smile today. And hopefully tomorrow and the next day, as well.

Kiss your husband and your babies!

Fruit of the Trial

It came out of nowhere. My day started as usual. Sat down to eat at noon. Within a 10-minute span, I was mute with pain and headed up to my bed. Feeling poorly doesn't usually send me to bed. I'm a homeschooling, middle-aged mom; nothing much is accomplished if I sit down just because I'm weary or don't feel so well. But this wasn't your typical "feeling poorly."

By 1:30, I knew I had fever. It lasted until around 8:00 that night. The body aches kept me on the bed. It hurt too much to even read the paper.

My daughter was at classes away from home. My oldest son kept the younger ones quiet. I rested.

4:00 brought Dad home. He checked on me, which gave the younger boys the opportunity to come into the sick ward, as well. And then, I began to see...

The younger two kept coming to the bed, checking on Momma. "How ya doin', Mom? Are you feelin' better?"

"I don't want to go to AWANA tonight. I want to stay home with you. I want to help you."

No hugs for the contaminated face of Mom could be extended, so concerned arms wrapped my knees and feet. The blankets that covered my legs got the offered kisses.

Mom was down for the count. And Mom was captive.

There was no strength to be schooling, no strength to be preparing the group for Wednesday night church, no strength to prepare dinner. There was nothing I thought I should be running to do. And so I laid there. And received.

I had more one-on-one time with all of my kids than I've had in way too long of a time. We talked so much, about so many things. All of us. My 2nd-grader made me a get-well card that brought tears. Jake asked for my Christmas wishes and wrote them all down. My daughter came home after church and talked for a long time about her day and about things that were on her mind. My oldest son kept coming in to give kisses from his fingers. All of us sat. Still. And talked and talked and talked. About nothing but about everything that came to mind.

I realized the existence of a desert inside; one I'd allowed to grow as my busyness pushed the fertile ground out. I was forced to be still... and be available.

I'm reading a book right now that has an interesting line, something like: "He was working so hard at being good that he forgot how to be kind." And I see me:

I've been working so hard at being MOM that I've forgotten to be momma. I've forgotten how to stop for long, extended periods of time. I think that all of my scheduled times of Bible reading, library-book reading, meal-fixing, laundry-doing, school-teaching ~ that all of this is ministering to my children in adequate ways. Laying on my bed reminded me that I need to slow down ~ way, way down ~ and be ready to stop and engage and listen, for longer times, all throughout my day. To connect, to truly minister to the tender hearts of my children.

To just be momma.

Psalm 116:7 ~ The LORD Has Dealt Bountifully with Me!

The Ghost-of-Thanksgiving-Past has been trailing me the last week or so.

I really push hard to make Thanksgiving a meaningful celebration for our family. The crass commercialism of THE "Holiday" season makes me all Scroogey. I saw a blow-up yard decoration at Wal-Mart a couple of days ago: Santa, climbing a Christmas tree. His pants had gotten snagged and were down around his knees, showcasing his comical undies. I wanted to scream, right there in the check-out lane. Made me sad.

So... I try to start early with Thanksgiving and then hang on to it as long as I can. Christmas has its rightful place, but not until we've stopped to be thankful for every good and perfect gift we can be reminded of.

Our morning devotionals and Scripture readings are organized around texts that guide us into thankful thoughts. Early November brings an oak limb inside, a Thanksgiving tree in a pot for construction-paper leaves that hold thankful words. Barbara Rainey's Thanksgiving book comes off the shelf for reading. Time is set aside for the church's Thanksgiving service. Thanksgiving Day finds me usually pleased with the efforts that have been made to prepare our hearts to be mindful of our blessings. (Yep, that sounds prideful because it is; yet another battle that rages...)

This year, Thanksgiving has come out of nowhere. I've printed off some helpful tools to use with my kids and lost them before they ever made it to the breakfast table. Barbara's book remains coated in dust on the shelf. Morning devotionals have been hit-and-miss for the past month, and it was just Monday that we started talking about what we're thankful for. We were late to the church service, and I was scolding a grumpy child as we walked into the door.

The Thanksgiving tree? It has 5 leaves. All written by one energetic person at one sitting. The rest of us keep forgetting to stop and write. One of the limbs has broken off and is laying on the floor next to the tree, the attached leaves bent out of shape.

So, I'm limping this Thanksgiving. Wanting to praise, and full of praise, but not redeeming my time very well at all. Wanting to shepherd my kids into mindful gratefulness, but I can't seem to gather the herd.

But we did, in an effort to press on, gather this morning for extended time to focus on the One Who has given us all things and is worthy of our most sincere praise. We listened to Ephesians 1, talked about how God has blessed us spiritually as well as materially. Then we passed a bowl around. Everyone drew out a piece of paper that had a name hidden inside.

The slips were opened to reveal a family member who was to be thanked or applauded for some characteristic. Trying to strengthen the relationships that so often seem so fragile to me. Trying to remind all of us of how to love each other with heart-healing words.

I went first. We continued around the table. Sweet words poured forth. Affections were shored up.

Then we got to Jake. Jake had drawn "Daddy." I assumed he would state some re-version of what he'd already heard. Or struggle to translate into English what was in his heart, working hard to communicate in a second language what remains foreign to him: the still-mysterious familial workings.

So, I asked, not expecting anything deep. And actually a bit nervous for him, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable in this spot. "Jake, what are you thankful for about Daddy?"

Black almond eyes, the same ones that used to stare at us from a referral picture, looked with fearlessness into Daddy's. "That you brought me." Our confused looks registered with him, so he supplied the rest: "That you brought me from Vietnam!!" The head tilted to one side, the smile was hesitant. Did we get it?

The table held its breath. Time stood still while our hearts soaked it in and broke apart, newly tender for this little one.

In those words, so many emotions stirred. No thank-you from the rest of the table held quite so much weight. So much has happened in the almost two years since our family became 6 instead of 5. So much has been learned, so much is being learned. So much sin has been revealed ~ and with that comes eyes that see our great, unending need for the Sin-bearer. A difficult time for all of us? Yes, but the profit in our souls has so far out-weighed any momentary, light affliction.

And now, true gratitude, sweetly expressed, from the newest of us. And the gently-convicting finger of the Spirit:

"Did we get it?"

Lord, help me to be ready to receive the joy of this Thanksgiving-now, ready to acknowledge all that we have. Thank you for filling Jake with thanks. Help him to maintain gratitude for You and what You have done for him in spite of the ways we will fail him along the way. And thank You for the sweet blessing of his expressed thankfulness.

I hope your Thanksgiving is full of joy, full of time with family, full of blessing. And I hope your mind is full all day long, and long after, of how the LORD continually blesses us.

Truly:

"The Lord has done great things for us,

and we are filled with joy."

Psalm 126:3

For I Shall Again Praise Him

Nothing profound will be said here, just something I'm wanting to write for my own reminder. About an area I struggle with often.

Was reading this morning in the Psalms. Psalm 57 was written by David when he was forced to keep running for his life. He was hiding in a cave, being brought low by fatigue and stress and hunger. Wondering, had to be, about how his life had gotten to that point. The anointed one close to death, not one day of reigning under his belt. Where was God in all that mess?

And we hear that in many of David's words:

Where are You?

I have been utterly abandoned.

I am close to death.

Just sheer dejection and desperation.

But one thing that is also consistently found, something I still stumble over almost every single time: David always found his answer when he began to praise. To glorify. To adore and worship and trust.

Praise.

In Psalm 57, we hear the heart break of David. But we see the face of the soul, as well, set like flint and determined to worship:

"My heart is steadfast, O God, my heart is steadfast!

I will sing and make melody!" (v. 7)

He is determined to praise, and this is where David's heart begins to lift and hope again.

Ann at Holy Experience wrote about this today, as well:

http://www.aholyexperience.com/

(October 28, 2009)

She wrote about the need to constantly talk with the Lord, training her tongue to praise instead of murmur. Her words gripped my heart and squeezed with refreshing conviction:

A stilled faith-tongue can steer body and mind

straight to the pit. But if I steer the tongue

towards Christ, the body, the soul, it follows.

I need to post this so I can come back, read it, and be reminded of what I need to do when I find my soul in turmoil. Hoping this is an encouragement to you, as well.

We Did the Mash

This is what happens when you're having fun with the kids...

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

Isn't that a hoot? My best friend sent me the same JibJab with her family in it, and we were inspired!

We stayed up way too late to put this together!

A Bit of Light

I'm sitting in the yellow chair, skimming the Sunday paper. I'm home with the two youngest because the 7-year-old has had the flu.

It's been a hard morning. These two struggle greatly in their relationship. No love is lost between them. And this morning has brought me endless opportunities (ha...) to address the consistent fighting. I'm weary, and it's not even noon.

I'm a bundle of questions. What am I doing wrong? What am I not doing? Will these two ever love each other? Will they ever fear and love God enough to love each other? Could they just pretend for a while?

Some of it, I handled well. The rest gets a "D-" on the parent report card. I even yelled during one particularly difficult moment. ugh...

So... I'm sitting in the yellow chair. Skimming the paper. The two of them have found a movie to watch: The First Noel. A Christmas movie. In October. Whatever. Maybe the idea of Jesus being born will do them some good in their hearts today. Honestly, I'm just thankful to not hear squabbling.

Out of nowhere, Jake's sweet voice pipes up: "Hey, Mom, dat like me!"

I'm pulled out of my other world: "Huh?"

"Dat like me!"

"What? What are you talkin' about?"

"On da movie -- dat like me! I got picked!"

"Excuse me?"

"I got picked. To come to your house. God picked me."

"You mean, like Mary was picked to be Jesus' mother?"

"Yeah! I got picked!"

Wow... I don't know why that blows me away so much. I mean, we've talked about that some. I'm waiting for the day when Jake will connect those dots & know his Creator and that the Creator has done incredible, marvelous things for Jake.

I just didn't know that it was sticking. And God, in His kindness, showed me today (a day when I have chosen to look down and despair, chosen even to yell in frustration, chosen to believe that God will never change this situation) -- today, God showed me that Jake is starting to get it. Not just that he came here, not just that he was "picked," but that GOD picked him.

A sweet kindness for an undeserving mom. A bit of light when my blind eyes only see dark. The hope that Jake's heart will one day swell with gratitude toward the Chooser. And that Jake is chosen ~ picked ~ for eternal life.

Another Puzzle Piece

I shifted a little, hoping to give him a pocket to breathe in. He shifted back, content to struggle for oxygen as he burrowed his face tighter into the curve of my neck.

The same ritual, every night. I stop for the last hug and kiss, the last bit of conversation, the last of the day. Sometimes a song, sometimes not. That is usually dependent on my mood, which is sad.

But I am often so weary at the end of the day. The two youngest guys wear this middle-aged momma plum out, and I am often battling the desire to rush the evening ritual.

It is helpful, this evening meeting. Most days are hard, full of stress from just life in general and adoption in particular. So this sweet one-on-one is helpful on so many levels. It ends the day on a positive note, for both of us. It pulls to the surface of my consciousness the feelings of love that are there. I experience the filling of patience and strength and hope as Jake and I cuddle. I am hopeful that he experiences the ability to forgive my lack of patience that is seen so often.

Jake grabs my neck in the tightest hug, burying his face into the side, and hangs on. As though his life depends on it. It was uncomfortable at first; not your typical way of hugging. But I knew there was some sort of deep-seated need that he was reaching way out to meet for himself, and I quickly became thankful to be placed by God into that position to fill it for him.

I asked him tonight why he hugged me that way, so tightly and without an end to the burrowing. Not the first time I've asked. Honestly, I just want to hear from him that I'm meeting some need he has! (I am pitiful...)

"I dunno..." was the sleepy reply.

"Why, Jake?" (I really need to hear! I'm reaching out with my own needs...)

"It's warm. You're warm."

I hug him tighter. This skin-to-skin is good for us both.

Then, a new question: "Jake, did you do this with the ladies in Vietnam?" Asking again for info about the orphanage.

"No, never. Just here."

"Well, they hugged you, right?"

"No."

"Not ever? Did they kiss you?"

"No. They not know. They not know how."

Just like that, matter-of-fact. No anger or sadness in those dark almond eyes for what should've been. Not even recognition that his most basic need, the need for affirming love, was ignored, overlooked, untouched. Just stating the fact of how he thought life was supposed to be (empty...). I'm wondering when he just gave up looking for what was supposed to fill his hunger.

Oh, Jake...

If you are reading this, imagine yourself as a five-year-old boy who went to sleep each night with no one to hug or kiss or sing you to sleep. Ever. And you didn't even know that this was supposed to happen.

I am sick to my stomach as I'm once again faced with the void that was his life. And I am sick to my stomach that I am ever impatient with him and thankful that the end of the day has come.

I held him so close, with a much longer time of holding and kissing, and told him how sorry I was.

And that I was so thankful that he was home, so we could catch up.

Renewed Hope

After a weekend that's been full of soul ache and fear and discouragement; full of the priceless but relentless heart-break of the Word, I am dragging and tired of praying. Tired of asking. Tired of the ugly that has become the normal, because it is the normal, I am finding out. Because my definition of beauty has never been right. Beauty isn't the false brightness of the false ease that is the lie of false peace. True peace, which is peace with God, means that hard, difficult work is straight ahead, dead ahead, and the beauty is in the truth that God will not leave me here. That He will leave none of His children alone in their sin, in the wrong thinking of Who He Is, in the wrong thinking of who they are and what life is supposed to be.

As my grief has bloomed over this past month, as I've watched the "what truly IS" come to light, as prayers go (seemingly) unanswered, as I've despaired to the grumbling of oh-never-mind-i-can't-deal-with-this-blackjunk-anymore, as my hope has withered in the heat of the trial, God sweetly, in His always-loving way, in His tenderest care for me, sent me to the thoughts of others who have been shown truths I haven't gotten yet:

Hope is not about what isn't. Hope is always about what isn't yet.

That was from Deidra at jumpingtandem
http://jumpingtandem-ne.blogspot.com/

Again I am wondering why God even shows up to listen. Then I am reminded that I have been bought with a price, the blood of Jesus. That I am clothed in the righteousness of Christ and have been adopted into His family. That I am His... That He is faithful.

I will never leave you nor forsake you...

Father, help me to look up, to look to what You have chosen to do with all of us, in all of Your perfect, good, glorious sovereignty. Forgive me for not trusting You, for wanting to see the answers rather than continue to hope for

what

isn't

yet...

Blessed are Those Who Have Not Seen

Was challenged today by a sermon by Pat Sczebel, a British Columbia pastor who was teaching at the Sovereign Grace Worship Conference that was last month. One (out of many!) things he said has me (blessedly) cornered as I mull over what is true in my own heart:

"The world is so attractive, so seductive to our hearts. There's sights, there's sounds, there's touches, there's tastes. Yet the purpose, the promise, the Presence, the provision of God -- we can't see and we can't hear. And so we gotta get close so we can be (as Peter writes)":

Though you have not seen Him, you love Him. Though you do not now see Him, you believe in Him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory... 1 Peter 1:8

So I have to ask: where have my eyes been today? Am I feasting on What can satisfy, or am I trusting in what the world provides my senses? Am I walking by faith, looking to the hope that is set before me, face radiant as I look to What will fill me at each moment?

Did I get close today?

Am I close now?

What am I choosing to draw near to?

Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you.

Trying to Lay It Down (Again...)

Wanted to share some teaching from a sermon that was sent to me from a dear Sister. A sermon by Paul Tripp, an incredible shepherd and communicator. I was layed open by this lesson and am so thankful for what Paul had to say. God has been showing me His kindness in such tangible ways lately. I've heard and read several messages on the purpose of suffering and trials in our lives, and I've needed to be taught and reminded of so many things.

This post will be long. I'm going to share my notes from Paul's sermon. Much of this is verbatim; the rest is my shorthand version of what he said. I'll share the link to the sermon at the end. You would provide your soul with a great feast by listening to the sermon on your own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The text is from 1 Peter 2:18-25:

18 Servants, be subject to your masters with all respect, not only to the good and gentle but also to the unjust. 19 For this is a gracious thing, when, mindful of God, one endures sorrows while suffering unjustly. 20 For what credit is it if, when you sin and are beaten for it, you endure? But if when you do good and suffer for it you endure, this is a gracious thing in the sight of God. 21 For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps. 22 He committed no sin, neither was deceit found in his mouth. 23 When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly. 24 He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed. 25 For you were straying like sheep, but have now returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls.

1. I have been called to suffer. It isn't a failure of the plan. It is the plan, at the center of God's will for me.

2. (v.19) I have been called to (a) suffer for what is good, and (b) suffer for His sake.

3. God uses hard times to work grace into our hearts. To move us beyond what we know and come to rely on Him. That we'd rely on Him for rest and peace and hope, not on what we've leaned on that is of this world.

4. God uses our suffering and the endurance as a witness to a watching world. Am I responding to this suffering in a way that preaches the gospel? When I endure, God is smiling on me. That is a radical miracle of grace, that God would smile on any of us! The trial means that God doesn't want me to remain in my sin. He's pushing me to abandon my wisdom, strength, and self-righteousness; that I would find my rest, hope and peace in Him alone; that I would abandon the idols of everyday life that will NEVER satisfy my heart.

5. (v.21) Jesus is my example in suffering. I make my suffering worse by my reaction to it. I need to, instead, follow Jesus' example. He didn't sin while suffering. Suffering doesn't give me permission to do things that God hasn't called me to do (complain/speak harshly, etc.). My attitude and behavior shouldn't be dictated by the external circumstances pressing in on me. Jesus remained faithful even to the point of death, and I am not dying!!! Jesus was never willing to compromise the truth. He didn't give Himself to vengeance (retaliation). Why? Because He trusted God. He knew that His Father was good, loving, gracious, and all-wise. Do I believe that? What I really believe comes out in my responses to my trials.

Do I live what I say I believe?

6. (v.24) Christ is my substitute. So that I can die to sin. I have a way of healing, through His death.

My deepest struggle is not the suffering; it is my sin! It is my sin that causes me to make such a mess of the difficulty. It is the sin that destroys and complicates my life. But this sin has been dealt with. I can experience grace for my greatest need at the cross, and I have victory because of the cross. Grace to endure!

I must remember my greatest problem is inside of me, not outside. Verse 24 is a reminder that Christ died so that I might die to sin and live to righteousness. These are present tense! I have been given the power to say "No" to sin and "Yes" to God. Will I say "No" to anger and fear? There is hope for me, because "by His wounds (I) have been healed."

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Wow. And I am also reminded that I don't really suffer. I have been brought trials -- trials because of good that I'm trying to do, and trials because of sin I've chosen. But these words apply to trials, as well. I must remember that it is folly to expect this life to be easy. It is sin to be upset that the trials come and interrupt a peaceful, easy life.

Here's the link: http://www.sermonaudio.com/sermoninfo.asp?SID=717091012275

Can't stress this enough: take an hour and go listen!

If You're Wondering...

Please bear with me on this one. I'm printing the entire post from Tonia at "Study in Brown." Another adoptive mom, struggling with the sweet child God brought her. I could've just provided you the link to her blog (and I will at the end), but her post is so good that I wanted to make it easy for you to read it.

These words of hers sum up so well some of what's going on in our family. I cried all the way through it. Her struggles are common in this community, something you don't hear about on the front end.

I'm glad I didn't know how hard it would be; I think I would've done-the-Jonah, ran the other way. And then I would've missed out on all of these lessons. God is so kind, in a way I don't understand. But He knows best, and I am hoping He's squeezing a huge bunch of this indwelling sin out for good!

We, of course, aren't dealing with FAS. Just the plain old hard work of adjusting through the adoption of an older child. And I have high hopes for Jake! I don't expect him to struggle in the same way Tonia's son will. Jake doesn't have those same issues. But I really felt like someone was writing my story as she describes her thoughts of what her life would be like before she adopted, and then how she had to adjust to reality.

Tonia also describes feeling embarrassed. I know that feeling, the one that comes with seeing friends step back a few steps because, suddenly, your family is messy. Different. Hard to be around.

Those aren't angry or bitter words, just a comment on the reality of our life today. I understand that we're different, messy. Hard to be with, at times.

I also completely understand her expectations of God, of what she thought He owed her because she'd been obedient and "cared for the orphan." Ouch. And yet, thank you, God, for exposing my pride.

Okay, I need to stop and let Tonia speak -- for both of us!

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i wanted to dance.

Friday, September 4, 2009 at 06:58AM

i was always a dreamer...one of those people who wanted to change the world. i prayed for it, ached for it, fantasized about living in a hut in Africa and caring for abandoned children. when i was 23, we adopted D. i read in the bible that God wanted us to care for orphans and so we went and found one to care for. i knew what the words Fetal Alcohol Syndrome meant because my parents had done foster care for many years, but still, when the doctor pronounced it over my 1 year old i set my shoulders and laughed it in the face. "we'll see about that!" back then i thought that love was going to change the world and God would never let us fail.

i hadn't taken into account His long view nor how He was going to rip through my romanticized version of world-changing and give me the cold, hard reality.

let's face it, we all want to be katie in one way or the other. we all want to march in and save the world. we love the idea of sacrificing ourselves for the poor, the suffering, the outcast.

what we don't want to do is get up right now and love the drunk in our family. or the brother who can't keep a job. or the self-important right-wing(or left-wing!) jerk we go to church with.

the ever-wise everly said it in the comments yesterday:

I'd rather be holding an orphan, giving her the first taste of comfort, the first love of Christ, her first toys and clean clothes and bath than dealing with a few of our used-to-be-orphans who sometimes seem to make life messy as a goal.

you see, that's the problem. eventually, the orphans become the kids next door, the teenager someone's having a hard time with, the adult who can't hold down a job. then they aren't so lovely. and then i don't really want to save them anymore. i just want them to grow up, get a life, quit taking advantage of people.

oh friends, that starry-eyed girl i once was has been humbled - laid low, actually - by the reality of the grace of God that sees past the orphan to the person and loves them all the way through. while i was patting myself on the back for adopting a baby, God was looking ahead to the teen who would be crippled by brain-damage, ruled by cravings and impulses and helpless to stop and terrified of the consequences; who would be invisibly handicapped so that when the world demanded his compliance - he could never give it. God loves the man, who may go to jail; who will probably fight addiction; who will most likely be unable to hold down a job or pay his rent. God looked ahead and He loved that man.

the challenge, of course, is will I?

will i read Isaiah 58 and understand that God is commanding me to love - not tolerate - the boy in my house and the drunk in the family and the guy i don't like at church and the migrant workers in town and the children in Africa with no water?

will i realize that sometimes God reaches down and heals someone instantly and we get to dance and sing and say "look how Love has changed the world!" ... but more often He crawls right into the mess and there He spends His time wiping tears and holding broken people and saying "I'll be here when you get back," as they wander off?

i wanted to be a part of the dancing and singing. i wanted God to be so delighted with our adoption that He would fix everything and then i could spend the rest of my life saying "look how Love has changed the world!" and we would all be happy.

but He invited me to crawl into the mess instead.

right down here where disappointment and heartache live.

"Come with Me."

now my clothes are dirty, my hands are filthy; i get tired, i get embarrassed; i hate the dark.

but you know what? i'm rich. i have choices. i don't have to stay here. i could give up on the adoption, send my kid away for someone else to deal with. i could make my life neat and tidy and shut out anyone whom i can't fix with a scripture verse and a pat on the back. i could build a sturdy wall between me and everyone who can't get their act together.

i know a lot of people who do that.

but Jesus is here in the mess.

and i really want to be where He is.

(and by the way, i found out we can dance here too.)

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Here's the link, in case you want to keep up with Tonia:

http://www.studyinbrown.com/

And now you know some of what we're processing through.

And I have to add that bringing Jake home, and all that has gone with that, is not about Jake. Bringing Jake home meant that we would have the opportunity to be tried, to be put to the test as we began to work through being home. The sin that has always been there is coming to the surface, being squeezed out for all of us to see. It cannot remain hidden, shelved away in the dark, undealt with, unknown. We are seeing who we truly are, where we've put our trust, how much we need the complete, once-for-all covering of the LORD Jesus Christ.

Hallelujah!

I Want to Remember...

My brain just can't keep up anymore. I know it, I acknowledge it, I own it. There are lists everywhere. I am no longer embarrassed at having to ask someone to re-introduce themselves after a 5-minute conversation. I don't care that I can't find my glasses or my keys. "I'm a homeschooler. I have four kids. I don't sleep well. I'm middle-aged." (whatever...)

I try to keep current journals for each of my kids. Recording the daily stuff was the original intention. HA! I do well to write once or twice a year. Trying to do better these days. The start of school always brings about these lofty goals that I set for myself. I actually think I'm going to do better this year with the journaling. (double "ha"...)

Both of those reasons are why I sometimes record the things my kids do here, on this blog. I will not remember so much of what they've done, and I do a terrible job with the journaling. There are some things I just never want to forget, and some things I think you will get a laugh out of!

Some Things I Wanted to Share

We're working our way through the winter clothes. Piles of them are everywhere. Trying them on two little guys, seeing what fits and what needs to be passed on.

Had my 7-year old trying on shirts; tossed him a black one, long-sleeved, plain. One he wore last year, loved it. It's well worn, so soft.

He took one look at it and said, "Oh, Mom! I could never wear this!"

"What's wrong with it? You wore it all last year. It was one of your favorites!"

"But Mom, if I wore this, I'd be all... well... goth!!"

I couldn't help laughing, which brought about a hurt response from him. "Are you laughing at me?"

"No, sweetie! I just can't think of what to say! I'm just startled!"

"What? Did you not recognize that I knew that word?" He was laughing at this point. Pointed his finger at his 13-year-old brother as the one who introduced him to that idea.

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A couple of nights ago, I went in to kiss the two little guys goodnight. They'd been in bed for about 10 minutes and were almost asleep. The 7-year-old (again, him!) grabbed my neck and told me over and over how much he loved me (don't get that all the time from him!).

I asked him to please, please, don't ever stop telling me how much he loved me.

He promised he would never, ever quit telling me.

"Even when you're 16?"

"Mom, I'll never, ever stop telling you how much I love you! Ever! Well... except when you're dead. Because, well... then you can't hear anymore." (duh!)

It's so hard not to laugh. He's not trying to be funny, and laughter on my part hurts & will probably dry up the amazing comments!

He continues in a serious tone: "Mom, how come people in Heaven can't hear us?" (We're reading through a book right now where a girl talks to her grandmother in Heaven. Sweet idea, but she doesn't pray to God. She asks her grandmother, instead, for guidance. Trying to keep my boys focused on truth, so we've talked about how it's just a story, that people in Heaven aren't listening to us, that we need to talk to God instead. This has obviously been on his mind!)

My answer: "Honey, I don't know for sure if people in Heaven can hear us or not. I don't think they can. I don't see why they'd want to!"

"But Mom, when you die, how will you hear me telling you I love you?"

I'm no longer laughing. Instead, I just want to roll this little (but so big) guy up into a ball, pack him away with some magical "spell" that keeps him from ever getting any older, just keep him here, at 7 years old. Here with his sweet ways and fun comments and warm kisses and massive hugs, brown eyes and two missing front teeth, lack of self-consciousness and a laugh that causes everyone around him to pause and giggle.

With tears starting to sting my eyes, I tell him that, when I get to Heaven, I will lay on the ground and listen as hard as I can. And I want him to go outside and yell as loud as he can, yell up to the sky, tell me he loves me and say "Hi!"

"And when you get to Heaven, I'll let you know if it worked, okay?"

Sleep is close by. The eyelids are barely staying open. "Okay, Mom."

I hold his sweet face in my hands and make him look at me. "Sweetheart, come to Heaven, okay? Come to Heaven with me."

He smiles, and rolls over.

I go into the bathroom, and the tears begin to flow freely. Because I know that I can plead with him all day and not get him through that narrow gate. I will plead with him, in earnest. Over and over.

But the One Who (alone) can save him is the One I need to talk to right now. He is the One Who will take my tears and my prayers for my sweet little guy and work them for good in my heart. He is the One Who has the power to bring my little one Home. His ears are not deaf, and He has granted me access to His listening presence (amazing!). So I go to Him and plead for my son.

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A week or so ago, we were eating lunch. Out of nowhere, Jake pipes up:

"Mom, do John Wayne love Jesus?"

What? I mean, excuse me?

"Do John Wayne love JE-sus??" (as in, "Come on, Mom, simple question here!")

This was funny, profound and startling. And reassuring on some basic, organic gut-level. My son from Vietnam is "getting it" to some degree. There's John Wayne (window into our family life), and there's Jesus. John Wayne is obviously some important guy, and Jake knows that loving Jesus is important. He's hoping for the best.

I mumble-stumble through you-can-never-judge-another-person's-heart, don't know for sure about John Wayne. On top of that, John Wayne is dead.

Sorry, Buddy -- don't have your answer! But I am so thankful that you're connecting dots. That your wheels are spinning.

I'm trusting whatever it is that God is doing, having faith in what I don't yet see.

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Thank you for reading what I don't want to forget. Now if I could just keep up with my keys...

Someone Stop Me, Please...

Okay, so my daughter and I got sucked into the whirlpool of Youtube-video-Land. But we have had so much fun laughing and wanted to share these with you -- one of our favorite comedians, Tim Hawkins!

Here's his "famous" Chik-Fil-A song!



And here's a funny one about praying!




Okay, confession time with this one. I was worried about my 7-year-old. A lot. He's had this part-time fascination with squishing certain bugs that really bothered me. Now I'm thinking he's not so unusual. Well... okay, so maybe not in Tim Hawkins' world?



Okay, yeah... I know. It's sick.

You Gotta See This!

Ran across this video, and it is a hoot! Never heard of any of these people but am going to look for more of these! And I'll start you off with a little help: this is a song about David and Goliath (I didn't get it until about 2 minutes into the song, so I had to go back and start over -- some of us are slow...)

Enjoy!

A Star is Born

The Breakfast Song

Kristi | Myspace Video

Keep forgetting to post this.

The family went to a newsboys concert early last month. Had a blast, as always. The newsboys will always, always, be our favorite group! We are thankful to have so many family memories built around enjoying this group.

While we were at this particular concert (Jake's first encounter with them!), we were in the middle of belting out "The Breakfast Song" when Peter Furler stuck the microphone in our 1st-grader's face. Our little guy just kept waving his Captain Crunch box & singing like a pro. A gal behind us caught it on tape, and we got the footage to enjoy for years! We couldn't believe it! We were laughing & screaming our heads off!

The video is short, and our "star" is in the green hat. Listen closely, and you'll hear the voice of one who is near & dear to my heart. Peter thought he was pretty amazing, as well!

Learning to See

The LORD is always right on time.

I lay in bed last night, unable to sleep. Early morning hours, actually. So much is overwhelming to me right now. So many heavy, heavy things on my heart. Some of it I can't share with anyone, which makes the load heavier. No one to come along side & bear up under this with me (Gal. 6:2).

So I laid in bed and just spread it out before the LORD. Weary and hurting and anxious. Weepy and deflated. Focused on the load and just crying out to the only One Who can fix anything.

This morning, God brought before my eyes words He'd given to Spurgeon (thanks to the Grace Gems people). The verse was Psalm 25:18: "Consider my affliction and my trouble, and forgive all my sins." Here's what Spurgeon saw in those words:

"The special lesson of the text is this -- that we are to go to the Lord with sorrows and with sins in the right frame of heart. Note that all David asks concerning his sorrow is, 'Look upon my affliction and my pain.' But the next petition is vastly more express, definite, decided and plain, 'Forgive all my sins!'

Many sufferers would have put it, 'Remove my affliction and my pain -- and look at my sins.' But David does not say so; he cried, 'Lord, as for my affliction and my pain, I will not dictate to Your wisdom. Lord, look at them; I will leave them to You. I would be glad to have my pain removed -- but do as You will. But as for my sins, Lord, I know what I want with them -- I must have them forgiven! I cannot endure to lie under their curse for a moment!'

A Christian counts his sorrow lighter in the scale than his sin. He can bear that his troubles should continue; but he cannot support the burden of his transgressions."

Ouch...

I know I prayed about my attitude regarding all that is burdening me, but the main thing I wanted the LORD to hear last night was how lonely & miserable I felt ("remove my troubles"). My heaviest burden should have been my questioning, my fear & mistrust, my focus on me.

The LORD is so kind to show us our blind spots. My prayer is that He will strengthen my sight, and that He will continue to lift my eyes to Him.

I am so thankful for Spurgeon. Can't wait to meet him in Heaven and give him a big hug! (Jacob shares a middle name with him!) Truly a dear brother in the Lord.

Wrestling with the Mysterious

It's always interesting to watch your kids grapple with the mysteries of the great I AM. They always think they've got Him figured out, and they're wondering why the adults don't get it.

Jacob is learning much about God -- at least, I think he is. We talk often about Him, and questions from Jake come up regularly. At dinner tonight, he announced (yet another) concept he "got" about the Lord.

"Momma, you know what? When I sleepin', God sees me. You know how? He lookin' in the window."

"Well, no, Jake, actually God doesn't need to look in the window. He just sees you. All the time. He isn't blocked by our roof or walls. He can just see, even in the dark!"

"How He do that?"

"I don't know, Bud, He just can! He's God! He's everywhere all the time and sees everyone all the time!"

"He in our house?"

"Well... yeah. Pretty much..." (God, are You IN my house? or just hovering? I mean, I know You're just there, everywhere, not hemmed in by walls... How do I explain the mind-blowingness of You?)

"OH!! I KNOW how He get in our house!!"

"How, Buddy?"

"He got him KEY!!" (giggles from the 12-year-old)

I don't want to paint a picture of the Lord being bound by human constraints, so I insist: "No, Jacob, He doesn't need a key!"

"OH! I get it now. You leave the door open?"

Omnipresence. Even I don't get it.

Later, at bed time, I was singing to Jacob, a song requested by him: "Great is our Lord, and mighty in power; great is our Lord, and mighty in strength. Great is our Lord, I lift up my voice, I lift up my voice..."

Climbed to the top bunk to kiss my 7-year-old. He announced that he's just composed (yet another) song. Did I have time to listen? Absolutely!

"Well, Mom, it's sorta like that song you were singing, but different. It goes..."

[And here's where I wish I'd had a camcorder around. You gotta imagine this sleepy little guy, singing in his tough guy monotone... had this sorta Bob Dylan thing going... And I can't remember all of the lyrics that went to this VERY long song, but most of them were sorta like this:]

"My Lord is so strong, He is so powerful. He ca-a-a-n ke-e-e-i-illl you if He wants to. He can just knock you offa this planet if you live on it... If He wants to... Because you are a si-i-i-i-nneeerrr... We are all si-i-i-nnneeerrsss... So shout it out loud!! Sing it real loud! Praise Him!... Yeah... yeah.... yeah...."

Well... I thanked him for sharing. Told him it was powerful, full of truth. Made a mental note to self: "teach more on the merciful, kind, compassionate nature of God at breakfast."

God is big. He alone illumines our minds to know what we can about Him. And it is exciting beyond description to know that we see but a tiny glimpse of Him -- and that we will know Him fully when we stand before His throne! How will our brains not explode?

In the meantime, I continue to ask for wisdom in how to teach my kids about this mysterious, eternal Lord.

A Theory

I've found myself struggling more and more over the past two or three years with a brain disease. Don't know what it's called, haven't seen a doctor. I just know it's there. I call it "brain rot," and it's aggravated by lack of sleep, too many tests piled up for grading, too many questions directed at me in a short span of time, hormonal fluctuations, and... well, age.

I've wondered over time, though, where it started. What caused this decline in mental functioning? Why is it that I can only remember my husband's SSN but not my own? Why can I only remember last names but not first ones? Why do I remember my 9th grade best friend's birthday but have to stop and think about all of my children's? How do I remember my 14-digit library code but wonder if I'm giving my telephone number correctly to the doctor's office? Why can I no longer speak intelligently, with long words that are hard to spell, and am reduced to struggling to come up with two-syllable words?

Today, my answer came. It's called "The Homeschooling Brain Drain." Here's what clued me in.

My first grader was sitting at the breakfast table (or was it lunch? can't remember... SEE???). Anyway, I don't even remember what we were talking about, but he used the word "reciprocate" as he talked to me. Used it correctly. I'd forgotten about that word. Where'd he get that? (Not from me, the "brain-rot" mom.)

Then he came in after lunch, talking to me about this flower he'd picked. Told me he'd taken it over to some other flowers "where the bees were doing their pollinating." "Pollinating"? We don't do science. 1st-grade science is, for me, reminding my young ones that Mr. Rogers always shows us how things are made. GREAT show to watch!!!

The light bulb went off. I see it so plainly now: as we teach our kids, the ability to think clearly and use intelligent words correctly is transferred from our brains to theirs. They learn from us, but we don't get to keep that part of our brain. It just gets sucked right out. Gone forever.

I can't tell you how relieved I am to know that I can't help the feebleness of my thinking. And I'm not blaming my kids at all. This is just one of the costs of homeschooling. (There's a T-shirt slogan in here somewhere... if only I could think of one...)

I can rest now.

Looking Back

I can't believe it's already been a year. As of this past Saturday, the 14th. One year ago that we stood in a government office, nervous that we'd offend someone, cross some unknown line. Overly optimistic about the future. Blind to the unknown and the conditions of our own hearts. Confident instead of clinging to Him. Prepared for a road we wouldn't travel.

One year ago, we signed on the dotted line, thanked the communist government of Vietnam, and welcomed our Jake into our family. Wow.

This has been quite a year for our family. Very difficult in so many ways, and most especially for our little Jacob. If we'd known how hard, I don't know that we'd have had the courage to trust God and move forward. Not because it hasn't been worth it, and not because God isn't able to provide exceedingly abundant more than we need. But because our sin-soaked hearts want the easy, the peaceful, the known.

We've learned so much this past year. I say that with much hope that it is indeed true of us. And we have so far to go.

But the Lord has kindly provided us, consistently, with hope. With the resolve to start each day with new thoughts, new strength. And He has kindly provided, as well, sweet gifts along the way.

Flowers from Jake pulled from the backyard:

"For Momma...";

M & M's saved for his six-year-old brother, the one

he's fought so much with;

Bedtime bear hugs & pleas, "Momma, please sing ABCs to me"

while the tummy is lightly tickled, chocolate almond eyes

closing slowly in sleep;

An AWANA vest won after three learned verses,

now fully part of "the club";

So many times of unexpected apologies, unsolicited gifts from his heart:

"Momma, I sorry I didn't obey you. I sorry I speak

mean to you."

So many more, too many to list. Sweet gifts that point to light at the end of the tunnel.

Jake's coming has done so much good. I see how unwilling I am to die to myself, and I am humiliated before the Lord (even though it is still not enough) that He would love me at all. I am clinging to the cross as never before, squeezing out the assurance that my sins are forgiven, even mine. That God is at work in me to teach me to love as He does, and to be full of gratitude for His love for me. I am seeing more clearly the things that matter and the things that don't. That I don't have any answers and must constantly be pressed close to the chest of my Father and wait for Him to move, to show, to guide. Jake's coming has been good.

Ran across this verse, don't remember ever reading it:

"I will lead the blind by ways they have not known,

along unfamiliar paths I will guide them;

I will turn the darkness into light before them

and make the rough places smooth.

These are the things I will do;
I will not forsake them."
~Isa. 42:16

The Lord has certainly been faithful to keep His promises to us! And we can't wait to see what His plans are for Jacob. He has already done so much for him! We remain so very thankful that God has brought us into being a family of six, and that His perfect plan was to complete us with our Jake!

Some pictures from the past year, some of our favorites:

Jake's first birthday party at our house, here with friends. Another one is just around the corner. Is he already nearing 6 years old?


Hiking on a nearby mountain last fall. Jake loved this day. It was hard to keep him out of the poison ivy!


Jake and our 6-year-old with "Mrs. B". This precious Sister, a Sunday school and AWANA teacher for both of my little guys, has loved them both so well! Her kindness to our family and her love for my sons overwhelms me. I cannot praise or thank her enough. The Lord is so kind.


Hangin' together, hot and sweaty from being outside. Moments like this have become more frequent, and we rejoice.

This is Mamaw, my husband's mom, enjoying her grandkids this past Christmas.


And God has been good to provide us with Mimi (my mom!), as well!


Christmas cookies, in January, because this first Christmas would not be given up until the cookies were made. I owed him that. We had so much fun!



We celebrated this past year with our "Forever Family" day. A lot of people celebrate "Gotcha" days, and we love that idea! But we took the advice of our social worker and, instead of celebrating that day by focusing only on Jacob, we knew that we needed to celebrate our family as a whole. March 14th, 2008, was the day God made our family what it was meant to be from before time began. So on March 14th of this year, we spent the day focusing on having fun together. Ate at a local Vietnamese restaurant and went bowling. Had a blast! What a sweet day together!

This next year? We are hopeful! We are learning to be much more thankful. To love each other better. And to cling tighter, so much tighter, to the feet of the One Who, in His infinitely loving and kind foreknowledge, chose to bring us together as a family.

You Know You're a Homeschooler If...

You know those lists: "You know you're a redneck if..." "You know you're an '09-er' if..." (one of my personal favorites, pertinent only to those who were blessed to have grown up in the southwest part of the city). There's also, "You know you're a homeschooler if..." That one is fun, says things like "You've done your school day in your PJ's."

I have some new things to add to that particular list, courtesy of my always-entertaining 1st grader. Specifically:

"I'm going to make a Star Wars movie. It's going to be rated 'C' for 'Kids.' Yeah. And also 'A' for 'Everyone.'" (As long as those kind of comments don't get shared in public. I am SO RESPONSIBLE for how these guys spell... oh, the pressure.)

"Who'd you vote for for President? McCain or Obama? Are you happy it's Obama? Cause that's not who we voted for!!" (This lovely, courteous quizzing was thrown out to a park ranger at a local park. Said ranger graciously overlooked the nosy 6-year-old.)

It's always something fun! Oh, and it's a bit sleety outside. We're crossing fingers that we'll get to do school in our PJ's!!!

Braving the Dark

A late meeting kept me out. I got home, went in to kiss the little guys, knowing they'd probably be asleep.

And they were. The room was mostly dark, lit only by the light on the sound machine that generated the necessary white noise as well as the light from the fish tank CD tower.

The bottom bunk held our 5-year-old. Why did I not recognize the PJ's? Then recognition dawned: the 5-year-old had been transformed into a clone trooper while I was out (the boys were both blessed with full Star Wars clone trooper outfits for Christmas). The trooper impersonation had continued through bedtime, so the uniform was the bedclothes of choice.

I smiled, and planted a kiss on the soft, warm, brown skin. Climbed up next to the top bunk to kiss our 6-year-old. He, too, had gotten lost in Star Wars land. His uniform shone in the darkness of the room.

The irony hit me: wrapped around my 6-year-old's arm was his precious Pooh bear. He is a brave, light-saber wielding warrior by day, but the darkness of night brings the reality of the unknown -- and the need for security.

I looked behind me at the closet. The 5-year-old needs the closet door shut, keeping the unknown that plagues his thoughts locked safely away until the morning light can shine again. The door was shut.

Heroes by day. Little guys by night. My prayer is that God will lead them to understand that there is nothing to fear when we know ourselves to be kept in His hand. Our God never sleeps, and the darkness is as light to Him. And He is to be trusted in every breath we take, even those taken in our slumber.

I smiled, kissed my clone troopers, thankful that they found common ground in their play and enjoyed each other, thankful that they will hear over and over that the LORD is always watching over them. God is good.

Bretfust

I knew this moment was coming. I know they don't stay small. Proof floats in front of my eyes all day long in 14- and 12-year old bodies. But the surprise of those older two (weren't they just born yesterday? I remember it so well!) has caused me to savor more slowly the sweetness of these days with my 6-year-old. Listening a bit more intently. Focusing more on finding times to read, to play (even though there is much less time to actually do those things with him).

Today's reading time brought a bit of pain. With one word. Breakfast.

There's a list in my head of so many words that he's said in his unique way for so long. Most of them he's self-corrected over time. I don't correct my kids when they say words in their own way. I don't allow the older ones to correct them, either. I selfishly hang on to the childish fumblings that roll off their tongues, loving the sound of each mispronunciation that reminds me of how young they are. I try to wring each day of their childhood for all it's worth, knowing that the setting sun is a day gone forever.

His list of words has grown so short now, as it should have. But a few words remain: Napkum for napkin. Frowed for throwed. Bretfust for breakfast. Others that don't come to mind right now.

Today's reading story brought a new word: breakfast. I didn't know it was coming, but I saw it before him. I held my breath. He paused, read it in his head, pronounced, "Bretfust." Continued reading. The selfish Mother inside argued, "Let it go! He'll get it later! Keep him little!"

The teacher/responsible/guilt-infused Mother argued back: "It is time to let this word go. Don't cling. Help him be where he needs to be."

"Go back," I said. "Look at the word again. It's pronounced break-fast."

One more small step toward Older, one giant step for mom toward letting go.

He had to read that word 4 more times. Each time, "bretfust" came out, followed by the correcting: "break-fast."

It's so much like Jake losing his Vietnamese. Jake is learning English and has to leave his native tongue behind. (I have been surprised at the grief that this has brought to my heart.) His brother must learn the correct way to speak and leave baby-hood behind. I must learn to enable, to strengthen, to encourage to grow -- and leave my grief & distaste for change behind.

For now, though, my heart is sore. Tears are burning my eyes. I'm battling to do the right thing. Bretfust is leaving.