what happened before the phone rang

"I must not, like the quietists, reduce all religion to a denial of any specific action, despising all other means, since what makes perfection is God's order, and the means he ordains is best for the soul. No, we must set no bounds or limits or shape to the will of God.

We must accept any way he chooses to communicate with us and respect any way it pleases him to unite himself to others. Thus, all simple souls have but one general way, though specific and different in each one, which makes up the diversity of the mystical experience. All simple souls must admire and respect one another, saying: 'Let us proceed each one along our path to the same great goal, united in purpose and by means of God's order which, in its great variety, is in us all.' It is in this light that the lives of the saints and the spiritual books must be read, without ever being misled and going astray."

................................................................................... Jean-Pierre de Caussade (1675-1751)

This is what I was reading last night before the phone rang. I'm not sure I agree with everything Caussade wrote in this piece, but this particular quote struck me like a bolt.

Basically, Caussade is saying that we can't put a leash on God. The Father doesn't operate with a tight formula that we can predict or control. Instead, He uniquely ordains the lessons of every single life, tweaking His actions to fit the sovereign goodness of His mysterious but perfect will.

That was incredibly significant to me when I read it. At that moment, we had two hours left before we needed to make a decision about our flights to China. After months of agonizing about how that trip should happen, we were simply out of time. It was really starting to look like another opportunity to embrace the mysterious goodness of a God I can't control. I sighed as I read, digging through my spiritual stash, looking for another dose of trust. This was going to be tough.

Those of you who have been keeping up with this blog know how long I have felt like the kids needed to go. JD has had a heart for adoption since he was very small – maybe seven years old. When he first heard about the plight of orphans overseas, he started saving his money in a jar, asking if it would be enough to pay for bringing a brother home. Last summer, he was the one praying every night for Moses -- before we even knew boys in China were available for adoption. He is a kid who doesn’t ever seem to ‘want’ a lot. He is happy wearing quirky shirts from second hand shops, and he rarely asks for new gadgets. But he has wanted to be there with Moses more than any want I’ve ever seen in him.

Clara has been giddy for months, thinking about reading to her little brother and making him cookies. Also, she has been reading missionary biographies since she was little, so her desire to travel is strong.

Aside from all this, over the past few weeks we have been invited to connect with several orphan help programs during our adoption trip. The kids have been trying to hunt down medical supplies, and I really wanted them to have the chance to deliver those. I feel like if they could just see what is happening there, they will never be the same.

But despite all of this, it seemed like taking the family just wasn't going to work. When our CA arrived yesterday, Bobby came home to sort through numbers with me. Once again (for the 42nd time?) I felt myself handing these desires back to the Lord. It seemed like He must just have other plans, and that we would need to rest in those.

As the inevitable disappointment rose, I tried to grab onto something I had found in the Psalms yesterday morning. God didn't speak to me in a voice that I could hear, but I did keep running into one main concept as I read. "TRUST ME." It just felt like it was something I was supposed to embrace specifically for the day.

Trust comes hard for a driven, self-reliant person like me. I'm more comfortable with my own hands on the wheel, working hard, and finding a solution. But the situation was looking pretty hopeless as far as my own resources go. I thought it must be one of those times when I was going to have to learn to trust "despite." Those times are hard, but God works in them. I tried to steel myself.

When the adoption travel agent called, she warned us that flights were moving fast because a lot of students were returning home the week we were leaving. She found us a great deal on tickets, but we only had two hours to lock into those prices.

We pushed our dinner plates aside, got out a notebook, and wrestled with more numbers. No matter how we pushed them around, it wouldn't work. So, we walked out into the garden and looked for ripe zucchini, just praying and trying to clear our minds. We tried to sift through motives and temptations that might be influencing us either way, but in the end, we still weren't sure what to do. So, we came back to the kitchen table and prayed some more. We just needed clear direction so we could obey.

The phone rang, and it was a dear man we know from Singapore. He told us that God had put Moses on his (and his wife's) heart, and that he was sending more than enough funding for the kids AND me to go on the 'gotcha' trip.

Several days ago, I had established a private, bare minimum amount that I was secretly praying for God to provide. That prayer number wasn't large enough to cover our trip in full, but it was all I could find the courage to pray for. Still, it seemed too much to expect. However, what this couple was offering was double that amount. DOUBLE.

I want to be very careful as I write this post. Caussade's words remind us about the dangers of trying to turn God into some sort of vending machine. Many Bible teachers promise Result X if you perform Spiritual Action Y. Like pagans sacrificing to a carved deity, we look for sacrifices strong enough to steer our fate. We try to keep God two-dimensional and limited by easy answers, so that we can control Him. And we idolize teachers who promise the ease we crave.

But sometimes His plans differ from ours, and we don't understand why. In those times we are stripped of any sense of control, and we may find ourselves searching for meaning in circumstances that seems suffocating and pointless. We can start to wonder if maybe God doesn't love us as much as someone else, or if He isn't really there after all. It can be lonely and frightening when the mystery of God is more evident than His miracles. Like C.S. Lewis says, He is good, but He isn't always safe.

But as Caussade writes: "[t]he means He ordains is best for the soul. No, we must set no bounds or limits or shape to the will of God." We must trust Him in the dark. And we must trust Him in the light.

For some reason last night, it was in His perfect plan to give us a taste of His lavish, tangible abundance. I don't know why. I am humbled beyond words, and I am absolutely overwhelmed with gratitude.

Thank you for praying with us over the past few months. You have groaned and petitioned with us, and we are so grateful.

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still waiting.

Well, we are still waiting for that consulate appointment. It’s tough to be so close and yet so far away. It could also be a little scary, if I let it go there. A long list of "what if's" is knocking on my door tonight. I feel like we've rationed out our courage and energy to run a marathon, and now we have to run a few more miles at the very end.

I've had a headache most of the day, just from being worn out. There are so many decisions to make about travel, but they are all on hold until we know something definite. If we knew when we were leaving, we could make alternate summer plans, but we have to keep the schedule open. It's like holding your breath for days.

HOWEVER, it hit me tonight that maybe this wait is good practice for parenting a child who has been institutionalized for most of his life? There are likely to be many issues down the road where I want results quickly. But a toddler who has never lived in a home before is not going to just adjust at the snap of my fingers because I am exhausted and ready for him to "shape up." Realistically, we will probably face challenges that are a lot more exhausting than this awful wait.

So, I'm trying to pray tonight that God will use this time to discipline and strengthen my heart, and that He will teach me patience and trust. Maybe He will use this time to help me grow in emotional fortitude before our son gets here, so that I'm more patient when the real challenges arise? After all he's been through, Moses needs a mother who is steady and calm.

It's awfully hard, though. I'm not going to lie. I think it's the hardest thing so far.

Hugs to everyone waiting and loving Moses with us. Maybe we will know something tomorrow. And until we do know more of what's in store, the Lord does. I'm so glad He has a plan, even if I don't understand it.

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What are the odds?

This week our church is hosting a sports camp in one of our downtown schools. The goal has been to move into a community with love instead of expecting the community to come to us.

The kids in my group have had it rough. One of boys has never met his dad. Another suffers from a debilitating birth defect and lost his mom this past year. It's awful to think of the struggles they are going to have to face in life. The odds are clearly against them.

Playing with kids comes easy for me. So does loving them. Ministering to the deepest needs of their hearts does not. Deep needs take time, and I have suddenly just shown up in their emotional neighborhood, whispering hopes that are big, foreign, and hard to comprehend. These kids are small and sometimes slow. They have emotional defects and a low attention span. They get wiggly and restless when old tales are told, not understanding fully how they could fit into such big shoes.

Thank goodness for our youth minister, who is a former elementary teacher (AKA: a master of translation). Last night he segued with the life story of Wilma Rudolph. Brilliant.

Wilma had lots of health problems as a child, but she couldn't access fair treatment at a local hospital because she was an African American born before integration. When she contracted polio, it looked like she would never walk. But through the devoted care of her mom, and through personal dedication, she overcame her handicaps and became an athlete. She eventually won three Olympic gold medals.

Wilma beat the odds. That made sense in a soundbyte, and the kids got it. (Thanks, Mat!) Then we played ball, made paper megaphones, played more ball, and sat in the floor and ate a bunch of cookies. That made sense, too.

At the end of the night, we huddled up around the story of Gideon. I have heard that story many times, but it came to life in light of the night's focus.

Gideon had some pretty tough odds, too. He was leading Israel's army against Midian. Midian had 135,000 soldiers and Israel had 32,000. So basically, every Israelite would have to take out four Midianite soldiers. 'Sounds like a good time for some reinforcements.

But instead of beefing up the ranks, God said Israel had TOO MANY soldiers. (Seriously... too many?) So, He told everyone who was scared to go home, and 22,000 guys packed up. This left Israel 10,000 soldiers to fight 135,000.

God said that was too many still. (Seriously... too many still?) So He took them down to the water and sifted them. When He was done, there were only 300 left. 300 to fight 135,000.

What are the odds now? They are laughable. They are impossible. But God knew that His power shines the brightest when human odds stink.

Sports camp is supposed to encourage the kids who show up, and I really hope it did. But last night also had a pretty big impact on me.

Over and again through our adoption process, we haven't been adequate. We haven't had enough courage. We haven't had enough knowledge. We haven't had enough money. We haven't had enough room. We never seemed to have enough soldiers to fight Midian. And as the process moves forward, our emotional and physical resources continually seem ridiculous in the face of impossible challenges.

Yet, God has shown up in our neighborhood, whispering hopes that are big, foreign, and hard to comprehend. I am small and sometimes slow. I have emotional defects and a low attention span. I get wiggly and restless when the old tales are told, not understanding fully how I could fit into such big shoes. I just want to sit in the floor and eat cookies.

The odds are against me. But my God is big.

Maybe this is exactly how it's supposed to be.

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the fifth stack

While Bobby was folding clothes tonight he shook out a little pair of shorts I'd found at Goodwill for Moses. He said, "You know what this represents?"

"What?" I asked.

"The fifth stack!" he said.

It made me smile, because he was right. That fifth stack of folded clothes looked awfully good sitting on the coffee table. It's our 'quiver-full of arrows,' twenty-ten version.

- - -

Upon recommendation from a friend, I've been reading Milton Vincent's A Gospel Primer. In the past, I've always felt a little slow, because no matter how much in-depth theology I read, it seems like I still have to return to the rudimentary gospel on a regular basis. It's like returning to the surface for air: Jesus died for me, and because of this, my life was made new ... and is being made new.

Yet Vincent's work is helping me see how the gospel was intended to be more than a one-time thing for Christians. The ongoing exchange of Christ is central to my growth, and this one simple truth applies very practically to every area of my life. The life infusion Jesus offers exchanges my strivings (fears, bad habits, insufficiencies, failures) for rest.

The chapter that shook me up today was called "My Manifesto." Vincent writes: "Admittedly, I don't deserve to be a child of God, and I don't deserve to be free of sin's guilt and power. I don't deserve the staggering privilege of intimacy with God, or any other blessing that Christ has purchased for me with His blood. I don't even deserve to be useful to God."

"I don't even deserve to be useful to God."

That last statement hit me hardest, because as the last few weeks of our adoption process draw to a close, I find myself plagued with fears. What if something happens and everything falls through? After falling in love with this child, what if we are left with empty arms? What if paperwork gets lost? What if he is gravely hurt in the orphanage? What if one of us gets hurt too badly to travel? What if one of us becomes seriously ill so that the other government won't let us have him? And then ... what if no one else wanted to adopt him, because he's a toddler? Or what if someone adopted him who didn't love him? For someone with my personality, these sorts of possibilities can be paralyzing.

Fifteen years ago I had a miscarriage, and it broke my heart. So I don't speak lightly when I say that (for me) these adoption-loss fears have been even more intense than pregnancy fears of losing a baby living inside my body. I know what would happen if I lost a baby inside my body. The child would transition from an environment of warmth and love into a beautiful eternity with Jesus. I know I could find comfort in that truth at the end of grief and pain.

But I don't know what would happen to Moses if we lost the adoption. I couldn't be assured he would be safe in any aspect, most importantly spiritually. I know many of the horrors and dangers that he would face physically, and that knowledge stirs up a level of fear I have absolutely no words to describe.

I realized today that, in light of those dangers, I have felt justified in expecting that God would let me be "useful to Him" by adopting Moses. The presence of such fear is diagnostic of a heart that trusts my love and my will more than God's. In the midst of a 'good' pursuit, the mission has almost become more important to me than my Savior. Perhaps this is the universal temptation of motherhood.

I'm grateful for Vincent's reminder that it is a grace to be invited into God's work, but I am not doing something good for God. In His mercy, He might allow me the privilege of being a part of something beautiful that He is doing. But participating in redemption is not something I deserve. I cannot demand it. My "usefulness" is dependent solely upon God's calling and sustenance.

Soli Deo Gloria.

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emotionally whipped

"Dear friends, do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice that you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed. If you are insulted because of the name of Christ, you are blessed, for the Spirit of glory and of God rests on you." (I Peter 4:12-14)

When I was younger, I understood the Passion of Christ in physical terms. I thought about the beatings and having nails put into flesh. I wondered how much Jesus' body must have hurt.

But the older I get, the more vividly I think about the internal pain Jesus might have faced before He was put upon the cross. There were many ways the Father could have orchestrated the death of Christ. Why did He allow emotional torment to be a part of a physical death?

From what I understand, the New Testament seems to indicate that Christians are still completing the sufferings of Christ (Colossians 1:24). If we are going to suffer like Him, will that include some of His emotional sufferings as well?

If so, I wonder if mapping out some distinct emotional sufferings that Jesus might have faced will help me brace for the challenges ahead?

As I was reading John 18 this morning, I found a few possibilities. If anyone finds some others, I'd love to hear about them as well.

Some difficulties Jesus faced:

1.) The direct betrayal of someone in whom you've invested great time and love. (Judas)

2.) The failure of a close friend to stand up for you when you're being falsely accused. (Peter)

3.) Someone deciding to believe the worst about your character and regarding you with suspicion, even when you have repeatedly responded with integrity and humility. (The High Priest)

4.) Spiritual leaders persecuting you as you try to serve God instead of supporting you. (Religious leaders)

5.) Passivity on the part of someone who knows the truth, who is in a position to help, and who should come to your aid. (Pilate)

6.) The predetermination of fault, even in the face of innocence. (The crowd)

7.) The refusal of others to recognize or respect the role to which God has called you. (All)

As I read through these seven types of pain, and as I think back through times when I have experienced some of them, I have to admit that I've not handled them well. I have doubted God for allowing seasons of blatant injustice. I have cried out in frustration that God seemed to just ignore the abuse.

Maybe that's why it is so comforting for me now to realize that being misunderstood, misrepresented, betrayed, attacked, alone... these aren't signs of God's absence or rejection. These are the very same sufferings my Lord experienced. So maybe it is an honor to share in this type of pain... to walk in His steps. Maybe I can get to know Him better as I go there with Him.

This is something I am learning very slowly, and with wobbly knees. The reality of it comes and it goes, because I don't like pain and my faith is so small. Suffering hurts. And I want to run from it.

But I wanted to at least share what I'm starting to learn, in case any of you are facing some of these hurts as well. This sort of abuse can produce such lonely, scary feelings.

I don't think we need to feel surprised by unfair times. Suffering doesn't mean something strange is happening to you. It doesn't mean God has abandoned you. You might even ask for strength to rejoice, because maybe you are being given this opportunity to share in the passion of your Savior. When His glory is revealed, every unfairness and insult will turn into blessings. And until then, the Spirit of God rests within you. What beautiful company.


"Dear friends, do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice that you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed. If you are insulted because of the name of Christ, you are blessed, for the Spirit of glory and of God rests on you." (I Peter 4:12-14)


THREE MORE RANDOM THOUGHTS AFTER TALKING WITH A GOOD FRIEND ABOUT THIS:

1.) "The Gospel shines brightly when we respond in such a way. No one is capable in human strength to do this." (Celeste Rutledge).

This matters to me because I often get stuck just in "knowing" and "trying." But I need God's empowerment to truly rejoice, because that's so counter-intuitive when I am hurting.

2.) The impact of insecurity

Sometimes I doubt that I am really sharing in Christ's sufferings because of insecurity. I try to handle injustice as something less significant than it is, because I don't feel like I would be important/good enough to really suffer for Christ.

3.) The impact of being married

If your husband is being persecuted, you will probably feel the results too. Your whole family will. As as a wife, it can be tempting to see our spouse's suffering as something less spiritually significant than it is. What if your husband is being mistreated for God's glory? What would it mean to trust a husband's leadership and rejoice that we are invited to suffer with him? What results happen when we blame him instead, and add to the pain?

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A Patched-Up Perspective on Being Broke

If all goes well, in about 16 months, we should receive a referral for a special-needs child from China. Almost every night we listen to our kids praying for God to bring a new brother or sister home. It’s strange how much you can miss someone you don’t even know.

Without question, the most frustrating part of this whole process has been financial. I'm not writing about this so that you will pity us or give us something. I'm writing about this because money is THE primary barrier to many families with a heart for adoption.

The more I become immersed in this need, the more I am amazed that little pieces of green paper could affect whether or not a living, breathing child finds a loving home.

For determined families, finances can bring a lot of changes. Over the past few months, I have taken on a new job. We’ve sold jewelry. We’re trying to sell portraits. We’ve taken money out of savings. We are researching grants. We are looking under every rock, trying to make this adoption happen however we can. Many other adoptive families are doing similar things.

During our grant research, I spoke with a wonderful gal from an organization called Show Hope. This is an adoption foundation started by the Steven Curtis Chapman family.

As we talked, we told this gal how frustrated and discouraged we were becoming with the financial aspect of this process. It’s very, very difficult to have so much love in your heart for a child - to feel like someone is missing - but then to feel like you cannot reach him or her.

As we talked, however, this woman offered some insight that I had never even considered. She said she thinks God sometimes allows financial challenges to exist in families who are called to adopt for a reason. She said financial need forces families who love orphans to talk about the plight of waiting children. She said that when we grieve publicly, this encourages the body of Christ to become infused with concern for the need.

As understanding and love spread, others begin to worship God by joining in His pursuit of waiting children. By working together, Christians who aren’t able or called to adopt can still become a part of the adoption process. Together, we become the hands and feet of Christ to a child.

Her words changed my feelings about our situation. Maybe God wants to use our inadequacy to help others experience adoption at a new level? Are we humble enough to go there? What if this story isn’t just about one distant child + one waiting family? Maybe God wants us to share an up-close picture of adoption with people who have never participated in one?

Maybe part of our calling is to push the reality of hurting, waiting children back into the forefront of Christ’s body? Most of these kids will never hear the name of Jesus spoken. They will live and die untouched by the Great Commission. This is a tragedy that we are called to affect.

So, may God use our weakness and our need. May He use it to help transport 147 million little voices into places they cannot reach on their own.

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Storms At the Beach

We won't move through this adoption process perfectly. But I hope we will at least be able to move through it honestly.

For a decade, we have considered adoption. Over and again, different rising fears have pushed me away. This time, I'm committed to staring those fears in the eyes, calling them what they are, and seeing what falls away and what remains.

For years, I was frightened of disease. The thought of bringing new bodies into our home/community that might have been exposed to hepatitis, HIV, etc., was a strong fear that lurked in the back of my mind. If Bobby and I had not had kids, or if we could live a life of exclusion, that might not be quite as much of an issue. However, we live (and plan to continue to live) in the context of a community with other children. I knew that I could not risk putting all those others in danger.

Several months ago, however, I finally named that fear and faced it. I did some research, and I was shocked to learn about all the testing and regulating that happens during a Chinese adoption. I felt pretty foolish for letting my fearful ignorance control me so long -- for not having the courage to look into the facts sooner.

Last night, another obstacle surfaced. Vacation is ending, so we sat down on the little condo porch to talk about the upcoming year. Tuition is going up significantly at the kids' school. Clara needs braces. I'm having trouble finding a part time job that will let me do occasional field trips and pick up kids after school. I could feel that old wave of fear starting to choke me. I got frustrated. There was a rising temptation to retreat... to not look the monster in the eyes.

As we were talking, a huge storm rolled across the sky. It was one of those storms where the lightning is shooting back and forth in the clouds every two or three seconds. It was like fireworks, only brighter. Remarkable flashes of color and light. JD saw it smack the building next to us.

My skin was crawling with electricity, and I felt a strange sensation. It was anger. I was angry at the fear. Angry at what fear keeps me from trying.

How many kids around the world need help because fear sends people like me back into our rooms of safety? We go to rooms where we can manage smaller storms and block out the dangers other nameless faces must weather alone?

God, protect us from the temptation of convenience. Help us stare it down this time, and make it run from the room with its ugly tail tucked between its legs.

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The Question I Never Expected

"Why would you want a child who doesn't look like you?"

Maybe I am naive because I was born after integration. I just didn't realize educated people still wrestled with this stuff.

Growing up, I had Indian, Kenyan, German, French, Jewish, Japanese, and Hispanic friends... and although that was interesting... it just wasn't that big of a deal. Asian exchange students and teachers lived in our home. Again, no big deal.

As a portrait artist, I always thought it was beautiful that different people had such different skin coloring and bone structure. What a creative God we serve! And, as a lover of story, I liked the different cultural nuances. Learning about unusual foods, and traditions, and patterns of life was fascinating!

Sure, I love America. But that doesn't mean I can't love certain things about other cultures as well. There's a huge difference between accepting secular globalization and worshipfully appreciating the unique "imago Dei" reflected throughout the spectrum of humanity.

So, I've been naive. I just ran into the adoption process assuming that the world felt like I did: "How COOL! We don't look the same! I get to discover a whole new sort of beauty now by watching you grow! Won't this be fun?"

Hmmmm.....

"Why would you want a child who doesn't look like you?"

OK, I'm tempted. Next time I want to hand them a mirror, smile, and say, "I'll explain that if you'll tell me why you WOULD want a child who DOES look like you?"

Sigh. No, I won't.

You know, despite the shock and frustration, I'm thankful that God is letting me experience this question now. I can tell that I need to develop a sense of humor about this and toughen up in a few places. It wouldn't be good to raise a child to respond in anger every time this happens. I need to see these situations as opportunities... opportunities to show our world that God's beauty, joy, and grace transcend race... and that our Savior truly loves all the children of the world.

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Leaves in the Stream

Amazed....

Where do I start?

Last week I mentioned that we’ve been filling out stacks and stacks of papers for an Asian adoption. It is a very long and complicated process, and part of that involves preparing a financial statement of all our assets. Yesterday, I looked at our “bottom line," and I laughed. Then I shook my head.

I’m ashamed to put this in words, but the biggest feeling that went through my mind was frustration. Frustration at our inability. Frustration that in our own power, in our own resources, we simply don’t have what it would take to give this child a new life. What do you do when you have a burning desire to help someone, but you do not have the ability to do it? I wondered how much I could get for one of my kidneys...

Then, I began to wrestle with our Lord. “Why do we have all of this love? Why have we been given this wonderful, amazing house with a huge yard that we could share? Why do we have all these things, but not a fat stack of extra money sitting in a bank account somewhere that we could use to simply make this happen for a child in need?”

Next, I began to fear. I felt foolish for dreaming big dreams and speaking them in public. Fear that God might not provide for our two biological kids and for these other unknown children who are burned into our hearts. Fear that maybe I was just imagining this pulling, or that I might (even worse) be trying to "force" a change that wasn't intended.

After that I became sad, because I do have a huge desire to train up all of our children in love for the people of the world. And I do pray that God might use them someday (no matter what they decide to "do" as a job) to bring nourishment to hungry places. And so the fear of not being able to train and launch several more lives that might serve places of global need felt sort of empty somehow.

So, I was wrestling with all this. And I was asking God for clarity. I know He loves orphaned children so much. And I think He has given us a parental love for them -- and a vision for their lives. What then? Would He show us where we should go with all of these yearnings?

This morning I checked my email. This was less than twelve hours after I had asked God to direct us.

In our inbox was a letter from a businessman we know in Singapore. Of course, he had no idea what the Lord and I had talked about the night before. But, he said that he had recently been praying for a way to bring Bobby back to Asia this year. When he started praying this prayer, it didn't seem viable because the economy was down. It's no secret that global funding is tight. But he still prayed.

Through a remarkable series of events (which I won't explain here, because this is too long already), he said God had just recently provided extra money for him to fly Bobby back over to Asia. And he wanted to know if he would come. His plan was for them to visit Asian ORPHANAGES to see how we might learn to help a great number of people.

We didn't know what to say. The timing was unreal.

But that's not all...

A few hours later, my phone rang. It was a lady with the adoption agency we hope to use. I asked her one or two questions about our adoption... then (on a whim) I asked her if she just happened to know of a way that we could help them. Did they have any needs in Asian orphanages... i mean, if Bobby made a trip this summer? She said, "It's funny that you should ask..."

I had to smile while several beautiful needs unfolded on the other end of the line. And I was reminded again of something that I hope not to forget this time, but probably will. That our God has access to every resource He needs. That His plans are going to be accomplished. No matter what my limitations. He is able.

Did you ever step into a stream where you have to walk with the current because it's just so strong? And there are fallen leaves, swirling all around your legs, being pulled faster than you can go? I'm not sure what is all happening here. I don't know if God will bless our family with one or two sweet new children or if He has another plan. Maybe there is something broader happening here? We are trying to keep our hands and hearts open to whatever that is.

But I think Bobby and I are both sort of shaking our heads today.

It's sad, we do all this talking about the reality of God, and then we are shocked out of our gourds when His presence becomes evident. Shame on us! And glory to God!

There is one hymn that has been in my mind since this whole dream began. I'll paste a few verses below...

- - - - - - - -

O for a thousand tongues to sing
my great Redeemer's praise,
the glories of my God and King,
the triumphs of his grace!

He speaks, and listening to his voice,
new life the dead receive;
the mournful, broken hearts rejoice,
the humble poor believe.

Hear him, ye deaf; his praise, ye dumb,
your loosened tongues employ;
ye blind, behold your savior come,
and leap, ye lame, for joy.

Jesus! the name that charms our fears,
that bids our sorrows cease;
'tis music in the sinner's ears,
'tis life, and health, and peace.

My gracious Master and my God,
assist me to proclaim,
to spread through all the earth abroad
the honors of thy name.
- - - - - -

I have only one tongue to sing God's praise. I only have two hands to give. But if that one tongue and two hands can train four more to bring love into a broken world... or help another organization do the same...

It all just makes me excited.

I honestly don't know what is happening here. And yeah, it's kind of crazy. But where He leads, we will go.

Thanks for your prayers.

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Old Nights and Roses

Last night I had an “old night.” In case any young pups are reading this blog (aka: twenty-somethings), I should probably translate that.

Until a few years ago, I had almost endless energy. I was one of those folks who could stay up until two or three in the morning and love it. It was very unusual for me to get the end of a day and feel physically tired.

But I’m thirty-seven now. And things are starting to feel a little different lately. First off, my eyes are changing. I’ve noticed the need to hold things a little further away to see them. (Creepy.) And sometimes my joints will send out a snap, crackle, or pop. And once in a while, late at night, I get tired.

Last night was one of those nights. Sure, we’ve been sick on and off for two weeks. So maybe I can blame that. Also, end of the school year craziness has been exhausting. But still, my clock hit 11:30, and I was WIPED. I mean that dizzy tired where you just have to get somewhere horizontal.

And so I crawled in bed. And I was worried.

I remember being twenty-five with a newborn. I was so scared of SIDS that I spent most of the first three months of JD’s life sleeping with my hand on his little chest. Listening to every breath. Trying to keep him alive with my alertness.

And I remember being twenty-nine with two little ones running around. Making myself get out of bed and put one foot in front of another - in the middle of the night - when someone woke up with a bad dream.

Could I really do that again? Am I totally crazy for thinking about this? Am I too old? Honestly, I had a moment or two of panic.

Trying to comfort myself, I started to think through my many friends who have had kids at 40+. They did it. So it CAN be done. And I thought about those seventy-something anomalies who still run marathons and wear bikinis. And look good doing both. (How does that work again?) But I still had this moment of fear that my thirty-seven was somehow older than their forty and seventy. Fear that I couldn’t do it.

I slept on that fear. And I woke up feeling refreshed.

I woke up thinking about good old Sarah who found out she was pregnant at ninety-nine, and how she was shocked out of her gourd. (Her response makes a lot more sense to me now than it did ten years ago!) Yet God provided for this new call on her life. Because it wasn’t about her weakness, but about God’s strength.

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