G.O.S.P.E.L. from Humble Beast Records on Vimeo.
"...wrote a check with His life; but at the resurrection
we all cheered, cause that means the check cleared!"
Man. I love this.
Who are YOU trusting in?
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Life with Jake
One of the joys of parenting is seeing how your kids process things.
We sat at the table this morning, reading through Psalm 121, talking about how God is able to care for each and every person all at once. The daddies in Canada and the kids in South America and the mommas in India...
DJ said, "And the kids in Zimbia!" (hhmm??)
"You mean the kids in Zambia? In Africa?"
"No, that place where we just went to war!"
"Oh! You mean Libya!"
"Yeah! Libya!"
And then Jake piped in: "And those kids at that pizza place!"
at the pizza place... I'm trying to track...
"The pizza place, Jake? Which one? Do you mean Pisa, that place in Italy?" (ohmyword! How did this child learn anything about Pisa?)
"You know! The one (DJ) told me about!"
DJ, ever helpful: "Oh, no! I was telling him yesterday about Chile and Turkey!"
Chile/Turkey = chili and turkey, which easily becomes pizza. Mystery solved.
"Yes, Jake, God takes care of all the kids in the pizza places, too." (Please, Lord, don't let me laugh.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Then there are the things that I don't want to find out, but that I have to learn.
I was holding Jake a week or so ago, giving him some kisses and hugs. He is such an affectionate boy!
I asked him if he liked it when "the ladies in Vietnam" kissed on him when he lived there.
"They not do that." (just matter-of-factly, nonchalantly. No big deal, Mom, they not do that.)
"Didn't they kiss you some? A little?"
"No, Mom! They not do that over there."
I don't know how much of his memory is faulty. But I do know this: if there was affection shown at a physical level, it was never enough to create the memory for him. There was not enough to register.
I can't even begin to imagine. My heart broke over how much he lost those first 5 years. We all need affection and physical touch, but so very much more as little tiny babies. I've been much more mindful of making myself stop and hold him more. Longer. I pray that the horror of this thought, and the renewed compassion it brought, continues to pain me.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Children of God
Okay, so I'm sensitive. Admitted. And about some things but not others.
For the past three years, I've grown increasingly sensitive about how Jake's adoption is spoken of. And that's a good thing, understandable.
Some of that is the fear of the unknown. I have no idea how Jake will process his whole life circumstances as he grows. I believe it will be a difficult process, I just don't know how he will uniquely handle the emotions and trials that will come.
So I spend quite a bit of effort ~ which is good and bad ~ trying to do damage control. Trying to ward off as much pain as possible. Trying to do it right, make the right decisions.
Which means I cringe when anybody talks about Jake being "adopted." The fact remains: he is adopted. There will never be any changing of that.
But I always talk about Jake "coming home" instead of being adopted. And I lectured one of my kids today on being careful to use that terminology, especially around Jake.
It's good and bad. I'm trying.
So, when I saw this video from one of my favorite bands (Third Day) singing one of my favorite songs, I cringed through the first two-thirds. Why make it so obvious that these kids were adopted? What was the point? How weird to keep pointin' out the difference in these kids' lives. ("Okay, so I'm sensitive.")
Then I cried through the last bit. As I was shown how quick I am to judge, how much I need to believe the best. As I was reminded of the sweet truth of who I am in Christ.
And as the Lord kindly showed me that I have more in common with my fourth baby than I ever knew.
Enjoy...
For the past three years, I've grown increasingly sensitive about how Jake's adoption is spoken of. And that's a good thing, understandable.
Some of that is the fear of the unknown. I have no idea how Jake will process his whole life circumstances as he grows. I believe it will be a difficult process, I just don't know how he will uniquely handle the emotions and trials that will come.
So I spend quite a bit of effort ~ which is good and bad ~ trying to do damage control. Trying to ward off as much pain as possible. Trying to do it right, make the right decisions.
Which means I cringe when anybody talks about Jake being "adopted." The fact remains: he is adopted. There will never be any changing of that.
But I always talk about Jake "coming home" instead of being adopted. And I lectured one of my kids today on being careful to use that terminology, especially around Jake.
It's good and bad. I'm trying.
So, when I saw this video from one of my favorite bands (Third Day) singing one of my favorite songs, I cringed through the first two-thirds. Why make it so obvious that these kids were adopted? What was the point? How weird to keep pointin' out the difference in these kids' lives. ("Okay, so I'm sensitive.")
Then I cried through the last bit. As I was shown how quick I am to judge, how much I need to believe the best. As I was reminded of the sweet truth of who I am in Christ.
And as the Lord kindly showed me that I have more in common with my fourth baby than I ever knew.
Enjoy...
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Boys, boys, boys
Why are boys so loud?
Why do boys love to make each other poot?
Why do boys eat boogers and lick their snot?
Why do boys kill bugs with delight? (that is SICK)
Why do boys run everywhere?
Why do boys steer their sleds toward the wooden posts of the swing set?
Why do boys with big brown eyes and big squeezy hugs and warm sticky kisses and smiles for their momma melt me into puddles at the end of some of the hardest days?
Why do boys love to make each other poot?
Why do boys eat boogers and lick their snot?
Why do boys kill bugs with delight? (that is SICK)
Why do boys run everywhere?
Why do boys steer their sleds toward the wooden posts of the swing set?
Why do boys with big brown eyes and big squeezy hugs and warm sticky kisses and smiles for their momma melt me into puddles at the end of some of the hardest days?
So I'm considering scrapping the last post. The dark one. Yeah...
Just got another phone call from someone checking in with me to see if everything's okay.
(sigh) I'm feeling a bit awkward at the moment.
The words that defined the emotional havoc were my reality at that time, and releasing them on screen was my way of wrestling them into order. Allowing light to shine on the mess sometimes helps with a better perception.
Personally, I've found it so helpful to stumble across blogs of people who are easily transparent with their struggles. Who spell it out in black and white and show me the wound that's come. Who allow me to read their fears as they labor to trust and think the thoughts that line up with Truth. I don't rejoice in the pain of anyone, but there is a peculiar balm that comes when we know that our struggles are not unique.
For me, with a life where a high stress level is static, I get to the point of just breaking at times. God knows what I can bear, but I have no clue; and I've often said, "Really, God? This, too?" because I groan under the weight of my sanctification rather than trust the Hand that loves me more than I could ever know. And it helps, somehow, to write about those things.
Anyway.
Things here are... lighter. The trial remains, because its work is not over. But God is changing me. Showing me that I need to stop praying for what would bring an end to the trial and instead pray for His will alone. That I should love Him more than longing for what I think is best. And that I often fall so short of that... All is good, and all is grace.
Just got another phone call from someone checking in with me to see if everything's okay.
(sigh) I'm feeling a bit awkward at the moment.
The words that defined the emotional havoc were my reality at that time, and releasing them on screen was my way of wrestling them into order. Allowing light to shine on the mess sometimes helps with a better perception.
Personally, I've found it so helpful to stumble across blogs of people who are easily transparent with their struggles. Who spell it out in black and white and show me the wound that's come. Who allow me to read their fears as they labor to trust and think the thoughts that line up with Truth. I don't rejoice in the pain of anyone, but there is a peculiar balm that comes when we know that our struggles are not unique.
For me, with a life where a high stress level is static, I get to the point of just breaking at times. God knows what I can bear, but I have no clue; and I've often said, "Really, God? This, too?" because I groan under the weight of my sanctification rather than trust the Hand that loves me more than I could ever know. And it helps, somehow, to write about those things.
Anyway.
Things here are... lighter. The trial remains, because its work is not over. But God is changing me. Showing me that I need to stop praying for what would bring an end to the trial and instead pray for His will alone. That I should love Him more than longing for what I think is best. And that I often fall so short of that... All is good, and all is grace.
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