Happy Hearts.

Our Table for the Be Mine Breakfast

 Last year we began a tradition with our three littles.  We had a Be Mine Breakfast for them!  I can't claim this as an original idea because Seth's mom Patti used to fix a special breakfast for Seth and his sister Shelly on Valentine's Day when they were young and Seth told me about it.  I have to admit that 2011's breakfast was not as awesome as I dreamed it would be because some people had one no-good, terrible, horrible case of The Grumpies.  Our former DCS caseworker had the, ahem, pleasure of joining us that day and she was probably never so glad to get out of our house!

Have no fear, this year was much improved! After a few moments of growling courtesy of my littlest little, he overcame for a plate of syrupy pancakes and some chocolate-covered strawberries.  A great time was truly had by all.

The girls got a few special tokens of love!  Most of it was leftover from my shop or old stationary things I had tucked away.  It cost us just a few dollars at the most.  Tabbi and Heather love stickers, memo pads, and inexpensive jewelry.

Ty got quite a tray of excitement. Tres exciting, no?  In that sippy cup lies the A*Team Holy Grail: Chocolate Milk from the Chocolate Cow.  We don't believe in Nestle Quik around these parts.

Seth got the shock of his life when he opened yet ANOTHER exciting gift from me...a brand-new polo shirt.  There are no bounds to my creativity.  Or his wardrobe, turns out.

Papaw came to hang out with us this morning, and he got each of the littles a special gift.  This 24-piece puzzle went to Miss T.

I got about as crafty as I get this morning.  I found some cute printables, bought some mason jars, and put Lucky Charms cereal inside of them.  (If I would have had time, I would have put just the marshmallows in.  Don't even pretend like you eat the ruffage that comes with those GLORIOUS hearts, stars, horseshoes, etc.)  Then, on the back of the printable, I wrote "We are Lucky to get to love you!"  Dad seemed happy with a bowl of cereal for the road!

The Littles simply begged to make an appearance on the blog...so I told them that in order for me to be in compliance with the State, they would have to wear their SECRET ADMIRER DISGUISES.  Baby Boy looks like he may just fly away with the heart of every lady who visits Mom's blog.  Daring to go where no baby has gone before...it's a bird, it's a plane, it's a Ty Ty!

I apologize for the blurry photo, but if you know the Queen of Hearts, you know she doesn't let her seat get warm.  However, she would like to announce that she is accepting all flavors of "lick gloss" and all colors of OPI in her Valentine box.  She sends you a smooch and reminds you to keep your clown noses where little brothers can't find them.

Check out her shirt.  She is a brown-noser, huh?  Or maybe a red-noser.  Either way, this little beauty loves her mom.  Miss T would Pity Da Fool that didn't give her extra laffy taffy to share with her old lady.

Papaw even got into the spirit with just an eensy-weensy bit of prompting.  He wants the loyal blog reader to know that he had these same glasses in the fifth grade.  The sticker was from the ever-generous (except when it comes to the aforementioned "lick gloss") Heather.

Our new friend Bobbie joined in our Be Mine Breakfast and modeled not only our Secret Admirer glasses but also that delicious hat my father gifted her.  No one wears it better, girl!  Notice the two stickers, one from each of the little ladies as a guest-gift.

I hope you've enjoyed this glimpse into our very special Be Mine Breakfast as well as your Valentine's Day.  Aren't you glad to know you have at least three Secret Admirers?  Grin.  Remember, the A*Team loves ya, pretty babies!  We love ya so much we can barely even stand it!

Jesus loves you too.  Remember, you're the apple of His eye today and every day!

A Lost Cause.

While speaking at a local church a week ago, I had the honor of ministering with some close friends of mine.  The couple, who share not only the same passion for advocacy regarding foster children, but also a deep love for the Lord, shared their testimony of foster care and the story of the three sweet girls that as of now, round out their God-ordained family.  Then they picked up their microphones and began to sing the sweetest song. 

The whole of the lyric touched my heart, but there were a particular couple of lines in the song that took hold of my soul.  Even a full eight days later, I can’t seem to shake the Holy Spirit chills as these words – like a Sword –pierced my heart:

You love every lost cause.

You reach for the outcast.

Truly, if there was an anthem for the Redeemed, it would sound something like this song, and in the context of our gathering last Sunday, it took on a special significance.  That’s why we were in that sanctuary: to do what Jesus does best – standing up for the lost cause, for the outcast, for the little ones who have been, at best, abandoned and forgotten by this world, and at worst, used and mistreated by it.  Captivated by the challenge, I shared our story as if it had been the first time.  All the while, I was asking Jesus to intercede to the Father for these ones overlooked and discarded…

Give us even one that will stand up with us this time, Lord!  Bring forward even one who will be a voice for the voiceless.

Fast forward through the week – those words continually bringing fresh challenge through the Spirit, beckoning me to a deeper commitment to those seemingly lost causes, asking me what I am willing to give that they might be found.  His commands are not burdensome but they ask me to journey one pace further than I feel prepared to go.  To descend a few cubits past familiarity.  To climb one meter higher than my courage does. 

It is the same with this high call to love the forgotten, the grieving, the poor, the wretched, the thieving, the lusting, the broken.  God asks for more than I can give precisely because He wants to remind me of my own need.  God asks me to open my table and my heart and my pocketbook and my life in order so that there is plenty of margin for the marginalized.  That’s one of my favorite things about Him. 

He does love a lost cause, that Jesus.  I want to be like that so much.

A few nights ago at a McDonald’s in another city, my daughter and I were sitting in the booth next to another family.  It was clear that these sweet people and their beautiful children didn’t have two dimes to rub together.  The kids’ clothes were dirty and ill-fitting.  The little girl was dressed in a tank top and the small boy had on a jersey that was at least one size too small.  They were both adorable; the boy kept turning around and smiling at us.  His face was streaked with dirt and ice cream. 

I had such compassion for him in my heart as I looked at his outfit, recalling three children who were dropped on my doorstep one day.  All of their clothes were in trash bags.  I could count on one hand the number of items that fit them correctly.  My tiny princess occupying the booth with me once had really no clothing to her name, much like the boy behind her, who was so charming that I just wanted to scoop him up.

My little girl, on the other hand, did not have the same reaction.  AT ALL.    

“Ewww,” she said, somewhat softly as she turned from the boy’s attempts to befriend her.  I chastised her as quietly as I could while still conveying with my tone of voice that this type of rejection was categorically unacceptable and disrespectful.  She has met many people, adults and children alike, who did not have the resources to make even the most basic hygiene a priority.  I tried to figure out why this little boy in particular bothered her enough to voice her disdain to me.  The boy, thankfully, didn’t hear her hateful tone and continued on his mission to be her friend. 

I chatted with his mommy for a moment.  I could tell she was trying her best, and I told her how precious he and his sister were.  She grinned and told me their names. 

“He’s three,” she said.

The same age my little girl was when she came to be in our family. 

I couldn’t help but notice his troubles at communicating clearly.  He was not developmentally appropriate in his speech.  Was that what was making her uncomfortable?  

My mind flipped back a few pages in time and my eyes darted back over to my little one who also struggled to speak and would merely point and grunt at what she wanted when she came to us.  She is so far removed from that point in her life that I doubt she even remembers any of the difficulties we had working with her on speech. 

Slowly I coaxed her to talk with him.  She gazed at me warily, unsure of my instruction and its purpose.  “He wants to be your friend, sweetie!”  She looked over her shoulder at the boy and looked back at me, eyes full of questions as to my purpose for desiring her to buddy up.    

She had forgotten that her life used to be just like his.  When I met her, there was really no difference between them.  Dirty face, ill-fitting clothes, and delayed speech are just a few of the things that they had in common.

I never want to forget who I was before Jesus came into my life.  He reminded me of that as I watched the interaction of these two children, who were utterly oblivious to the Divine Object Lesson I was receiving during their exchange. 

The Body of Christ should be motivated toward evangelism because we look into the faces of the lost people inside of our sphere of influence and see who we used to be.  I remember how hopeless and dark it felt without Him.  I remember before I came to Christ how painful it was; I was clamoring for approval and answers and applause and only seemed to find rejection and more questions and silence.  I felt dead inside.  I was dead inside.  I was broken in pieces, desperate for truth and love.  It was a devastating time in my life – one I never want to relive. 

God is asking us to cast off our judgment-colored glasses and our pursed lips and put on compassion, kindness, humility, and LOVE….

and remember how it cut deep, that divide between man and his Creator.  Remember how we would never want to go back to that life before Him.   

Now that you have lived even one day with Him, could you bear one without?  Never again.

Let that be the reason that His Bride runs the rescue mission a yard from Hell.  Let our past be the reason we cry out so ardently for their future to be secured in Him.  Let the memory of our era B.C. (Before Christ) be the kerosene on the Holy Spirit flame inside of us that provokes us to carry men to the Light.  Because that same darkness that once pervaded our very souls also has them in its grasp. 

As Heather finally made up with that little boy in the booth next to us, my Father humbled me as we reminisced about my existence before I was adopted into His family.

 I remembered who I used to be: a broken, painfully awkward, miserable, lonely, defeated child with dirt on my heart and nothing in my hands.   

 I was that lost cause.  I was that outcast.

I am so glad Jesus befriended me.  The least I can do to reveal a grateful heart is share my life with those who are far from Him and mirror His love and His grace to those who are where I used to be.  He affectionately invites us to take a chance on the spiritual dark horses. 

He taught by example.  He loved you and me while we were His enemies.

He loves the lost cause.

He loves the outcast.

Do we?

Be Us Guest.

Every morning before my husband Seth leaves for work, we have a short family prayer time.

Lest you think we are really spiritual around here, keep in mind that I often hold a Care Bear's paw during a quick and simple circle prayer that is serially interrupted at best by shouts of "Mommy, she pinching me!" and "I not want pray!"

Sometimes, you have to make the choice to keep doing spiritual disciplines with your children even though it does not exactly produce a Norman Rockwell image.  They may not remember the actual prayers, but they will hopefully get in the habit of pausing to invite the Presence of the Divine into their day before their day gets the best of them.

Honestly, it's just as much for me as it is for them.  Speaking as a nouveau domestic engineer (sounds FANCY, don't you think?), I cannot realistically make it through the day without giving God an invitation to abide in the places I run short-like patience, for example.  I've never had a lot to spare and as it turns out, two high-maintenance preschoolers and a daredevilish toddler tend to test the limits in all manner of ways.

Prayer at the start reminds me that it's good to have limits as a human, for it makes us recline on the limitless nature of the Good Shepherd-who has never yet run out of longsuffering for even the most wayward of sheep.  Grasping tiny, sticky hands in the morning to ask the blessing of God on our day spent chasing and encouraging and feeding and time-outting and singing and dancing and refereeing and, if you must know, wiping, can mean all the difference between my children merely seeing my weakness when they look at me or seeing the presence of Christ in my weakness.

This morning was no different.  My need for Him is strong and my reliance on Him is of the utmost importance.  I feel the heat of that crucible again and I know that He has entrusted me to raise these small people... 
not because He knows I can do it - but because He knows I cannot.
 

"Who wants to pray this morning?" their daddy asks.
"I do!" says Heather excitedly.  With that, she begins to talk to God with a simple beauty that makes my prayers sound proud and guarded.  

"Dear Jesus..." she half-whispers, head bowed and eyes squeezed shut.  

Photo Credit

She rattles off a mix of prayers she has heard before-prayers uttered by her parents, grandparents, preschool and Sunday school teachers, and friends.  It's the sound of a faith community coming together to raise this little girl in the admonition of the Lord.  One of those phrases she uses in her conversation with the Almighty is her own adaptation of one familiar from my childhood, and it catches me off-guard.

 

"...and be us Guest..."

 


I look up at her as she continues her prayers and ponder the Good Shepherd being a guest in this house full of 5 wayward sheep.  I feel a mix of humility and empowerment as a lump forms in my throat.  He is here anytime we ask Him to dwell, no matter in what shape the invitation comes.  He is always here when we invite Him.  The Good Shepherd doesn't run to the sheep who sit all well-behaved in the pen, but to those sheep that seem to daily need a rescue. 

The Gentle Shepherd is the One who comes when we need Him to add grace to the weakness of the worn-out mom, the struggling business owner, the pastor overwhelmed by the needs, the one suffering with cancer of the body, or the one pained with the sin of the mind.  The Gentle Shepherd is no respecter of persons and He comes to those who genuinely offer Him the place of honor in the middle of their need.

We ask you humbly, sweet Shepherd, be “us” guest...in our weaknesses and at our messy table.

 

I will be sharing the story of our little family at the First Baptist Church in Edwardsport, Indiana this Sunday, January 29^th.  The service starts at 6:30 PM.  I would love to see you there! 

A Bitter Taste

Every one of us is, even from his mother's womb, a master craftsman of idols.

Calvin

The interactions between Moses and the Israelite people really captivated my attention this week in my Bible reading.   In my study, there was this one verse I must have missed in the past and it fascinated me in all manner of ways.   

If you are unfamiliar with Exodus 32, let me give you a synopsis of what has conspired.  In Exodus 24:12 Moses received a command from God…a most magnificent, terrifying, awe-inspiring order:

“Come up to me on the mountain and stay here, and I will give you the tablets of stone, with the law and commands I have written for their instruction.”

Moses did just that, and the decrees he received from the LORD filled the next seven chapters.  At the end of His holy instruction to Moses on all kinds of topics, He took His very own finger and wrote the 10 Commandments on tablets of stone.  

Let your mind wrap around that for a second. 

The same finger that could spin the whole earth better than the likes of any Harlem Globetrotter carved these laws into a stone with just His mere touch….just for all of His children to get a smidge of an idea regarding how powerful He really is. 

What an incredible thing for Moses, former palace darling, murderer, and sheep-herder turned reluctant emancipator, to witness.  The eyes that had gazed upon the plagues, the miracles, and the provision of a Holy God now viewed another display of His power and experienced another level of closeness with the Almighty Himself.

As always, the plot tends to thicken when we read about the Israelites.  Just when you think that they have to have LEARNED THEIR LESSON OR SOMETHING, you are reminded that they haven’t. 

Reminds me of someone else I know.

While Moses was up there having a Holy Tent Revival with Yahweh, down below the people were waiting for over a month to see their fearless leader.  Frankly, we all know just how awesome the Israelites were at waiting. J

Time ticked by and their frustration was palpable.  Aaron felt that frustration as they cornered him.  They were sick.to.death of waiting.

So, the Hebrew people turned to Aaron and recruited him to help them build another god.  Probably because they thought that the One they already had was not enough for them.  He was also too blessed slow, and so was his main man Moses. 

So Aaron took all the gold in the camp and melted it down into a golden calf for God’s people to worship.  Talk about fools’ gold, huh?

Photo Source

I hope I have set the context for the verse I really want to write about. 

 

When Moses approached the camp and saw the calf and the dancing, his anger burned and he threw the tablets out of his hands, breaking them to pieces at the foot of the mountain.  And he took the calf they had made and burned it in the fire; then he ground it to powder, scattered it on the water and made the Israelites drink it.

He made them drink the gold-water.  He went to a lot of trouble to do it, too.  He threw the idol into the fire, then he had to grind it up.  Finally, he had to spread it all over their water source. 

Why make them drink it?  

 Wouldn’t it have been enough to just trash the idol and melt it in the heat?  He could have smashed it like Tina Fey on Letterman, but he made them drink it instead.

Now I have not been known to drink water with gold flecks (I live in Bicknell so you can find a few flecks alright, but they are never golden).  But if I had to guess what it tasted like, I bet I could.

I believe that water tasted bitter.

Moses wanted them to drink of the cup of bitterness, because he knew that idolatry for the Hebrew people was only going to produce unpleasant results. Idolatry always leaves a bad taste – in the mouth of God and of the idolater. 

Building another god to worship always leads to confusion, frustration and disappointment.  Maybe not right away…but it always does.  The Israelites tried to construct a god they could control – a god they could always see – a god who had no mystery.  Those qualities make for a pretty poor god, don’t you think?  If I could understand everything my God does, why would I follow Him?  I am looking for someone smarter than me!

They kept at it though; the Hebrews kept bringing their riches and their treasures, hoping it would make something suitable to worship.  It reminds me of some song lyrics.  “Many men will pour their gold and serve a thing that shines.” Created ones worshiped created things which were formed by the Creator.  Something is very, very wrong with this picture.

The truth about idols is that they were not just used several thousand years ago.  They exist today.  Maybe you don’t have a golden calf collecting dust in your laundry room, but there are things or people or both competing for first place in your life.  When you give first place to something other than Yahweh, that person or thing will eventually let you down and it won’t be long before you taste the bitterness of that disappointment.  Trust me, I know.

God knows He is God, and He desires for us to put Him in His rightful place.  However, when He reveals to us the other gods sitting upon the thrones of our hearts, He does that for us. 

He is trying to make us holy, but He is also trying to help us avoid descent into the pit called bitterness where dashed expectations and broken hearts litter the ground.  We build idols to serve and quickly they become our obsession.  Kelly Minter wrote, “Any idol in our lives becomes our master.”  He knows that any other master is not worthy of our attentions and affections and He also knows that they cannot fulfill us like He can and wants to.  He knows that at least, those other gods will leave us battered and bruised spiritually and much worse off than before we built them.  Our past reminds us of the times we looked to another to quench our thirst for God and tasted of a bitter gold-water instead.

But there is One who also tasted bitterness. 

He drank it for all the times we have sought to make our own gods and bowed down in worship to them. 

He drank it for all the times we looked for love and acceptance from someone or something that could never give it. 

It was here that we were freed from the bitter taste of idolatry once and for all, no longer to live under the slavery of a different master.

Later, knowing that all was now completed, and so that the Scripture would be fulfilled, Jesus said, “I am thirsty.” A jar of wine vinegar was there, so they soaked a sponge in it, put the sponge on a stalk of the hyssop plant, and lifted it to Jesus’ lips.  When he had received the drink, Jesus said, “It is finished.”

Holding Hands.

 For I am the LORD, your God,
   who takes hold of your right hand
and says to you, Do not fear;
   I will help you.

 Isaiah 41:13

Whenever my little girls are going anywhere with us, we have a rule: they must hold a hand. 

Sometimes they have to hold a "pocket" because mama's hands are full! 

We do this for a couple of different reasons: safety and comfort.
We make them hold our hands so that they don't run off and get hurt by a car or go to an area where they don't belong. 

We hold their hands so a stranger doesn't grab them and zoom off. 

Seth and I also hold their hands because when we go to new places or are around new people, it provides to them a level of security because it reminds them that we are with them and there is no reason to fear. 

God is the same way.  He is a wonderful Father who knows we need safety and comfort in this world full of hurt and fear. 

I once heard Beth Moore speak about a health scare she had.  Her daughter Melissa told her that "God knows it's scary to be us."  He who did not even spare His own Son for us is aware of how scary it is to be in it, but not of it. 

He grasps our shaky fingers and presses our sweaty palms to the same hand that formed the universe.  What a humbling thought - the God of all creation reaches out His arm and takes the hand of those who are willing to grasp it and receive the help of the LORD!

I want to tell you that there are times when my little girls don't want to hold our hands.  Sometimes they outright disobey this rule, which once led to our oldest daughter scaring the daylights out of me when she ran across a busy gas station parking lot. 

She thought that the freedom to do what she wanted was better than the comfort and safety she found in us.  God’s little ones can often be found doing the same thing – believing the lie that the freedom we have to do exactly what we want is a better alternative than His well-crafted very best for our lives.

 Nothing inherently bad happened to our little girl, except for maybe some threats for time-out for the rest.of.her.life!  That happened several months ago when they came to live with us. 

 I have noticed something since then: the longer she is with us, the more she likes holding our hands.  Perhaps it’s because the longer she knows us, and the more we keep our word to her, the more she trusts us.  

Photo Credit

 

In my own relationship with God, I have found the same to be true.  The longer and more I know Him, the more I love Him and trust Him.  Then I find I am more willing to walk with His hand in mine and let Him lead me to places that don't look near as scary when I am placing my life in His grasp.

May we find great assurance and delight as we cling more tightly to His hand of grace.

(This is an edited version of a devotion I wrote in 2011.)

A Letter To My Daughter.

Tabbitha, our oldest daughter, attends a wonderful preschool where her dedicated teachers work with the students on a wide variety of things.  When I picked her up on Friday, Tabbi wore a sparkly, 500- watt smile and had a charming little prance in her step.  I quickly learned that the preschoolers had begun a new project that promotes Godly confidence, and encourages each child to realize that he or she is special and valuable to God and to loved ones.  It's called Star of the Week.

Might not sound like a big deal to you, but to our four-year-old wonder it was akin to hitting the big jackpot.

It didn't hurt that her teacher let her take home the Star of the Week information in a reusable zebra-print bag.  She loves zebra print.   As Tabbi and Heather say frequently, "I get it from my mama!"  Good taste is contagious and apparently genetic as well.


We use that word loosely around these parts (wink).


Upon our arrival home and celebratory hugs from her siblings regarding her preschool coronation, we looked through the information packet to see what needed to be done for Tabbitha's big week.  We were responsible for an "All About Me" poster that went into detail about our family, her favorite foods and sports, and wishes that she has, such as going to Disney World and receiving a Nintendo DS (more on that later).  She also had the Great Nursery School Honor of bringing not one, not two, but THREE of her favorite toys to show her class, sort of like Show and Tell on anabolic steroids.  Seth assisted her in collecting those toys and placing them in the bag for her big debut.  The school asked that she bring her very favorite book in as well to be read to the class sometime this week.

I have to tell you though, it was the last part of the assignment that produced a large lump in my throat.  The teacher encouraged the family of said Star of the Week to write a letter to her to be read before the whole class.  The sheer idea of writing down all Tabbitha means to our family caused a large tear to pool in each of my eyes.  It was moving, exciting, daunting, to even consider finding vocabulary to express the way my heart almost bursts with love for her and her brother and her sister.

Seth and I tried our very best to design a composition that was preschool-friendly but also extremely meaningful.    It made me want to do another letter - one I could show to her later in her life to help her understand what she is worth to Christ and to us.  I thought I would share, in hopes that you may also realize that the things I say to my daughter, God whispers to you tonight too.

Dear Tabbitha,

The first time I laid eyes on you, my heart was stolen - for always, for good.  It was not a traditional way for a mother and child to meet - after all, most mommies don't see their babies for the first time the way I met you, but it didn't stop me from looking into your sweet eyes and falling in love, never to fall out.  Maybe it was how you carried yourself and independently hopped from the carseat and out of the caseworker's little car, or the gentle way you kept an eye on your siblings to make sure that they were never more than an arm's length away.  You walked into our home as though it was just another foster home, and the wary look on your face that told us you weren't expecting much from us.

Who could blame you after what you had seen and the weight of the world you carried around on your tiny shoulders?  This world will let us down, beginning the moment we draw our first breath.  The people God created are flawed inside and we need Him.  If we don't know that we need Him or attempt to do it without Him, we fail. The thing about that failure is it never just affects the one who fails.  Life is not fair, princess.  But I take joy in telling you that there is One who has never failed you.  He never will.

He is the One who introduced us.  He is the One who KNEW I would be so much less without you.  He is the One who decided you would be our little girl when you were being knit together inside the belly of another who loved you very much - so much she gave you life even though it meant great sacrifice on her own part.

People didn't think we would make it, you and me.  I didn't even think we would make it, especially at nighttime, when your daddy and I found ourselves in the silence, in the still place where inadequacies scream and Satan speaks his native language, whispering lie after lie after lie -- most of those deceitful whispers swirled around my lack...

You'll never be a good mom.
She will never trust you.
God is disappointed in your inability to show patience to these little ones.

The lies were loud - but I am thankful for all of the precious people of God who shouted the Truth so much louder and the God who empowered us to keep going even when everything in you and everything in me wondered what God was doing with the five of us.

I know I made a lot of mistakes...I pray almost as much as I breathe that I am far more aware of each one than you will ever be.  I pray you remember that you are loved in this home.  As you sleep in the next room, I utter that cry from the depths of my soul for what seems like the millionth time --- that you will know and rely on the love God has for you.  We will let you down, but He won’t.

You are sleeping in the next room, curled up with your Build-a-Bear.  I remember the day we got that bear for you about a year ago.  You chose for that bear to laugh every time you squeezed its paw, and right then I dared to ask God if the next season of your life could be one filled with laughter. 



We have seen laughter and tears and the heights and the depths since then, haven’t we?  We have been refined in this crucible called foster care, and He has given us great joy in the midst of the great work He is doing.  I can think of nothing that fills my heart more than when you wink back at me using both eyes, or when Heather gives me a smooch because “You need some Lick Gloss, mommy!” or when Ty gives me hugs and snugs—all simple evidences of God’s best.  That’s why it can cause pain when people don’t fully comprehend how much I love you.  Some people ask me when I am going to have “real” kids and your daddy laughs when I say that if those people were to pinch you, they would indeed learn incredibly quickly that you are, in fact, very real.  God has called us to help people understand that foster care and adoption was not a “back up plan” for our family, but rather His highest good and first choice for us and it just might be the same way for some of them.

Tabbitha, do you know that you challenge me to greater holiness, even at four?  Your presence has revealed my greatest selfishness and has brought me to the throne of grace more in the last 15 months than in all my years combined.  You have my deep, deep gratitude for that great gift.  You make me more like Jesus, and that is the highest compliment I can give another human being.  You make me better.  You make me more like the person God created me to be. I am less without you.

I love you so fiercely.  The thought of some grown ups in black robes who have never met you and me but will make decisions about our future together can cause my fear to overwhelm my faith at times.  I want to believe, but I am sometimes still afraid.  Mercifully, I am often reminded that it’s not faith that casts out fear, but pure, true love from God and for neighbor.  It’s love, received from Him and shared with each other, that makes the scaredy cat scamper right out of us.  Love has made us brave, hasn’t it?   

His love has shown me that I have everything I need to be the mommy you need me to be.  His love has held us together and given us courage to keep figuring it out.
And those grown ups in the black robes? 

The other day I heard that song again.  It spoke of the truth to which I cling: Jesus commands our destiny, baby girl.  Not those strangers that have never met us, but the God who fashioned us and delighted to give you to me.  

 You must know that I long for the day that the law calls you mine, but I am so aware that we have a Counselor and an Advocate who says you already are.

Well, this letter might possibly be a little long for four-year-old you, but Papaw Biggs told you from the beginning that your mommy has a strong tendency to be quite windy, so you can’t say you weren’t warned.  But it’s getting late and Ty will be up again soon, so I think I will just sneak into your room, kiss your soft cheek and rock you for a moment.  While I do that, I will thank Jesus again for the chance to watch you grow into the mighty woman of God you say you will be every night.  I will also thank Him that He is using you to make me into one too.

And just in case someone gets mommy’s story mixed up and starts to tell you how lucky you are, you just remember that you did all the rescuing.

All my forever love,

Mommy

A.K.A Pickle Pants

Names, Part II.

Click here to read Names, Part I.

My father always delighted to tell his children how they got their names.  Probably because he picked them out himself.  My brother, Ryan, was born when mothers stayed in the hospital longer after giving birth (I'm not cracking on his age, either I am just statin' the facts) and my parents had some trouble choosing a name that they both liked.  My dad had gone back to his teaching job after a day or so off and received a frantic, high-octane, hormone-driven phone call from my mom that went something like, "If they bring me this child one more time and I have no name to call him, I am going to scream and cry!"  Thankfully, she knew her limits after the birth of her firstborn and let my dad do the business of the picking.  

The story of how my name came to be is a little different.  First of all, I was born just a couple of months shy of my brother's 12th birthday and to say I was a surprise pregnancy would be the understatement of my parents' lives.  They were led to believe that I was a boy all throughout my experience in-utero - and worse, they referred to me by the boy name of Nicholas!  So you can imagine their shock - and my Aunt Karleen's high-decibel woops from the waiting room - when I indeed turned out to be a girl.  Nice to know I've been catching people off-guard since around 1985.

My mom tried to make it easy and suggested that my name should be Nicole - the female version of the boy name they had picked out.  My dad was apparently not having that and came back with Lauren - a name he fancied, and Elyse - his ode to the famous piano piece Fur Elise. 

(c) 2002 Steve Baskauf

 My mom had cards with names and meanings on them for 79 cents apiece at her little store, and one day curiosity got the best side of me.  Excited and ready for some greatness to tell all my friends, I stepped up to the big book of names and found mine.

Laurel-crowned. 

At the risk of sounding unspiritual, I have to admit that I felt like Ralphie in that scene from A Christmas Story when he gets his Little Orphan Annie Decoder pen, minus the cussing part. 

"Be sure to drink your Ovaltine?"  

Anyway, you could say it was a letdown.  I remember thinking that it seemed ill-fitted for me to be crowned with any type of flowers.  It's fair to point out that I've never been on the good side of delicate.  Considering I was like My Big Fat Greek Wedding's Toula Portokolos as a youngster, minus the Greek part.

"I was a swarthy six-year old with sideburns."

It was tucked there in a back file of my mind and the memory didn't resurface until the conversation with my friend described yesterday in Part I.   After the eye-opening realizations God had given me regarding the names of my children, I dug a little deeper into the meaning of my name.  From what I have researched, these tiny blooms have caught my intrigue.  

Turns out, they can be extremely toxic.  

Man, this name thing can be a total drag :)

 Stick with me, though...

They are best known as being a powerful analgesic and antiseptic, and are frequently used to treat a variety of skin conditions, scratches and cuts. They are also used to help in easing arthritis, ridding the system of parasites, and relieving the sound of ringing in the ears.

There you have it: two polar extremes.  These little buds can be tremendously fatal in their toxicity, but if given the chance, they also possess a healing quality that can soothe all manner of ailments.  

They can work some wonders nothing short of amazing if they are used in a medicinal way.

Laurels can offer pain relief.

Laurels are designed to clean a wound and keep it from infecting.

Laurels have been created to calm tired joints and provide rest for those bodies worn out from the journey of life.

Laurels are able to aid in ridding the body of parasites. 

Laurels have the ability to silence the incessant ringing and bring the sound of peace.

What if I told you that these flowers - my namesakes, if you will - have reminded me of the choice that has been set before me?

I, much like the Laurel, have been guilty of being toxic from time to time - speaking death over people and situations, poisoning the air with negativity, filling the silence with a critical tone or a look that could bring demise, giving way to temptation and afflicting my sweet Jesus with the lethal wages of my sin.  

However, I was not created to be toxic or poisonous.  God did not design me to hurt or wound or poison.  I was made for more than that.  Although I have this flesh, this body of death, that can trip me up so easily, that is not all I am!  The Spirit of Life and Truth and Mercy and Justice and Healing and Love flows through these veins.  Christ in me - the Hope that His Glory is in me and on me and above me and below me and permeating every part of me.

Walking in that truth, I find a little piece of what my Abba Father had in mind when He called me by name... long before my dad chose it for me.

While I grieve for all the times I have chosen to be toxic, I also remember....He is in me. He is in me. He is in me.  The sheer glory of hope that He could take someone like me, who when left to my own stubborn devices, is toxic, and use her to heal.

He is in me, so

Lauren can offer pain relief to those afflicted, be it physically or spiritually.

Lauren is designed to bring purity in places that are infected with evil.

Lauren has been created to offer rest to tired spirits and provide an oasis for those bodies worn out from the journey of life.

Lauren is able to bring justice and deliverance to those who have been used by others for selfish gain.

Laurels have the ability to silence the lies of the enemy in the ears of others and bring the sound of peace.

All this, by Christ's power alone.

 I pray that every single time someone calls my name, I am reminded of the choice that I have: to be poisonous or to encourage purpose.  To speak death or offer life.  To tear down or to build up.  

Help me make the right choice, Jesus -- because the sweetest moment, when it's all worth it, is the moment I hear your voice call me by my name.