Change Ain't in the Couch Cushions...

"And so it happened just as the Scriptures say: “Abraham believed God, and God counted him as righteous because of his faith.” He was even called the friend of God."~James 2:23

God never intended for Abraham to kill Isaac.

God desired to know Abraham's heart.

I have not been asked to sacrifice my child.   I am, however, presently being tested on my trust in the Father and my willingness to surrender my attachments in this world for His greater good and plan for my life.

I am asking you to pray.

And to hold me accountable.

On the surface, it is easy to find blame and complain and find the negative that accompanies being told your hours are being slashed to the point that you will not be able to pay the bills on your new salary.  It is easy to be upset at the fact that indeed you will have to sell your house and find other work.  It is easy to be sad, angry, complain about the state of the economy and the boneheaded decisions being made in our world.

God asked me a long, long time ago to stop taking the easy way out.

He is asking me to step out on faith.

So, here I am:

When you ask God for answers, stating, "Make it obvious God."

He does.

In bold, often uncomfortable ways.

Playing around online this morning, I came across this:

The chasm between talking about something & doing something about that thing is only bridged by a willingness to forsake comfort & ease. Our fundamental unwillingness to have our own plans, schedules, or balanced lives interrupted or inconvenienced is what limits us."~Christine Caine

If I sit in my frustration over my circumstances rather than trust God's answers to  my life questions, I rob myself of the gift of God's amazing hand in my life and new opportunities that He is granting me.  I cease to be a woman of trust.  I cease to be considered a friend of God. I cease to be...

Sometimes God's answers are uncomfortable and frustrating.  And it is easy to place blame. 

And be angry.

And. Complain.

I've been guilty often this week.

Please be in prayer for me, and especially my children, as we embark on a season of great change.  I am ready.  Truly I am.  Scared-yes.  Uncertain-yes.  Weary and lacking confidence in my own abilities-yes.

Trusting God - all the more YES.

Let me cry.  Let me be sad.  Don't let me complain.  

God never promised me a life of ease and comfort.  God did promise me Life and Abundant Life at that.  

Gratitude.

Trust.

That's the path I choose.

Change the World: Part 2

"God doesn't ask us to do everything... just something" ~Christine Caine

What is your passion?

I talk to so many who are weary.
Of work.
Schedules.
Life.
Mundane.

It is no longer enough for me to know where my contribution to the Sunday morning collection plate goes.  
I long for meaning.
I long for purpose.
Sometimes with selfish motives.
Sometimes not.
Sometimes with pure motives but lacking direction
And
Purpose.

I've spent many months praying for direction as God has moved my heart in deep ways.
There is a LOT wrong in the world.
We see it.  Often.
As chards explode across finish lines and extinguish hope. And life.
We longed for, and looked for, Hope.
And we found it.  In strangers.
And blood.
And responders.
And prayers.

It is hard to face, daily, the heartache in our fallen world. So, sometimes, we hide.
In our
Work.
Schedules.
Life.
Mundane.

But, deep inside, we long to
Make
A
Difference.

Christine Caine is a survivor of child molestation and the founder of the A21 Campaign: to abolish the injustices of human trafficking in the 21st Century.  Their foundation creates awareness and a safe haven for rescued victims across the world.  I love her statement above.
It sums up what God laid on my heart late in 2012:
Do. Something.
Live. It.

You cannot do everything.  God is not asking you to.  But, He DOES lay passions on our hearts for a reason.  There is something He is calling YOU to do.
What is it?

The A21 Campaign is becoming a passion of mine.  The more I read and learn the more heartbroken I am for the broken women, and children (young, small children) across the world who have been objectified.  Victimized.  Tortured.  Broken.  And abandoned.

I cannot go and save them.  But I can.do.something.

Compassion International is a passion of mine.  Ever since I welcomed my precious Ndungutse into my heart and life two years ago, my heart melts at his, and so many other childrens', pictures as they come in my mail or across my computer screen.  I have worked events calling others to open their hearts to a child in need.  A few dollars a month provides food, clean water and a Christian education into the life of a child who has never known a fraction of what I throw away every day.

I cannot sponsor every child.  But I can.do.something.

The Hands of Mercy Outreach Center is a passion of mine.  Stretching across denominational lines, Christian men and woman have reached out to the needy in my own backyard providing food, supplies, needs, and the love of the Great Love to those who go without.  It has opened my eyes to the needs in my own community.  And the need in my heart to share what has been so richly lavished on me: Love. Grace.  Mercy.  Compassion.

I cannot donate all of my time and money.  But I can.do.something.

You may be limited in time.
You may be limited in funds. (Boy, oh boy, do I know this one).

But, you CAN write a letter of encouragement to a woman or child who has been rescued from a life of slavery.
You CAN sponsor a Compassion Child for a simple $38 a month.
Local friends, you CAN donate household items, clothing, or time to the Hands of Mercy Outreach Center.

Here's my point:
Educate Yourself
Find Your Passions

There are SO many causes and issues that capture my attention and my heart.  And I cannot give my all to ALL of them.  But, I CAN put my heart into something that truly fires my passions.

There is nothing too simple or too small
When we all work together
to
Do. Something.

Live. It.

Change the World: Part 1

Truth.

And meaning is not in our stuff.
There are voices and blogs and reports ad nauseam detailing how over-committed, over-extended, over-worked, over-distracted our lives are.  I am not going to add to that.  Few disagree.
Let's move on.
What are we going to do about it?
It's time to quit lamenting and start doing.

The first step is:
With. Me.

I defeat myself and my purpose when I lament all I cannot do.  When I sit in woe over all of the injustices of the world and feel helpless.
You are not helpless.
Neither am I.

So, I will begin where I can and make changes that CAN change the world.
Starting at home.

I begin every day looking into the face of the future in the faces of my brilliant, creative, talented, unique, headstrong, bossy, sometimes grumpy faces of my children.
When I say "I can't," I am telling them, "You can't."
Ouch.

My belief: start with the little things.  They grow into big things.

I purge.  I have done this often over the last couple of years and I am not remotely done.  Those of you who follow me on Facebook know my journey.  I am tired of being owned by my stuff.  And slowly, but surely, I am getting free.  I am in love with empty spaces, and shelves, and corners.  My time is freer because I am spending less of it cleaning and organizing and locating what I cannot find. I have utilized resources galore which have kept me motivated and encouraged.  
I read books and blogs on minimalism.  They focus my goals.
And then, I purge some more.
It's therapeutic!
(Sometimes, the children fear they will be tossed into a box labeled "Goodwill" or "Hands of Mercy Center")


We turn off the technology.
(Before you say it, YES.  You CAN!)
We took a week long fast from all things tech, excluding needs for work and homework:
No iPods, DS, Wii, computer, Facebook, etc.
It was a cold-turkey rebooting of the minds.  It CAN be done.  We found ourselves doing other things: playing games, baking, playing outside, riding bikes, reading.  Enjoying the quiet and freedom from constant distraction.  
Then, we implemented a one-day-a-week tech break.  Every Monday - the only exclusions are the needs that accompany my work or their homework.  Other than that, nope.
Yes, there are pouty moments.  I will not tell you that we sit in bliss reading the classics while Pa plays his fiddle.  But, we do play outside, and ride bikes, talk more over supper and laugh.
(And, as bedtime nears, if we've done well on the break, we may end the day playing Wii sports TOGETHER).  I cut myself some slack.  We are not Nazis.

We declared supper time: Sacred Time.  We've had sit down suppers since the kids were babies.  I have always heard friends whose children were older than mine speak on the importance of family dinner at the table.  Now, instead of rushing through dinner to get from one place to the next, we slowed down.  I make sure there is time for them to help because they both love to help make supper.  And, when food is on the table, phones, iPods, etc are OFF and we enjoy each other.  Confession here: I have often allowed the non-emergency messages to interrupt this time with my kids, if even for a few seconds.  Now, they have my undivided attention over supper.  And we laugh and talk more.  With purpose or not.  We just talk.  And eat.  And enjoy each other's company more.  And we clean the kitchen together.  It is an uninterrupted hour of real joy. Yes, we annoy each other often.  Yes, there are nights we cannot do this (I teach one night a week and, presently, two nights a week).  Those times, I relinquish the guilt of fast food suppers and commit that once the schedule settles back to normal, we will resume the normalcy.
Don't wait until your kids are teens to see this importance.  By then, it may be too late.
Who cares if the extent of your conversations are over who-said-what-goofy-thing in the car rider line today?  Listen to your kids.  Listen now, and they will continue to talk to you later.  When the topics are deeper.
Remember, it was over preparing supper that my son began the conversation about his Savior that would lead to the changing of his life.
These moments
ARE
That. Important.

Plan ahead - make menus.  At the beginning of the week, we discuss supper so I can shop for the week.  I know this is difficult.  But, the truth is, it is not that time-consuming.  A few minutes planning saves me hours during the week when I do not want to decide what's for dinner and find no ingredients in the kitchen.

Sabbath.  I've never done this before.  This one - the biggest challenge.
This one requires much planning ahead.  MUCH.
My desire: to begin Saturday night with supper, prayer time, and a deep family-breath as we embark on 24 hours of rest and focus.  Nothing we "have" to do.  Rest, worship, play, etc.
BUT - this one is a challenge when A) every other weekend they are away from me and B) so many commitments from the outside world are on the weekends and C) if I have been too busy during the week the only time I have to catch up is on the weekend.  
So, we are still learning and navigating this one.  We do it when we can.  It has become a regular topic of conversation within the family now and at least is an issue of conscious thought that we strive for.  It's a beginning.  We'll get there.

Family Bible Study:
How many of you leave Bible study to your Sunday school teachers?
(My hand is the first in the air).
Yet, deep inside the main influence I want on my children regarding the Word, and who God is, is me.  Not their youth minister, or Bible class teacher or anyone else.  Not because I am a control freak.  But because I want them to grow up knowing, knowing, knowing that God is at the heart of who I am.
And for some of us, due to lifestyles either of choice or not, this presents a challenge.
We began at Christmas studying, even for 10 minutes together on Sunday nights before bed, about the life of Christ from His birth to His death.  We are now on the fruits of the Spirit.
I am no theologian.  There are many significantly more qualified to teach the Word of God.  I do not have a denomination-sanctioned curriculum.  We just, my children and I, read the scripture.  We ask questions.  We think together.  And we pray.
And, truth: these have led to some of the sweetest, deepest, (sometimes) tearful conversations we have ever had.  And then we hold hands, and we pray. And we pray specifically for what is directly affecting our family.  Our future.  We tell God what we want (Phil 4:5-7) and then we commit our lives to His will (Matt 6:9-13).  We learn faith and trust.  And love for each other as we share our hearts.

My point:  none of these ideas are hard.  They are a challenge.  They do take some forethought and planning.  None take too much time.  I do not have it all together.
I just decided that I HAD to START.
Somewhere.

Time.  What is most important?

You CAN change the world.
I have chosen to begin with MY world first.

An April to Remember

April snuck up on me this year.

Easter was early.
Spring was late.

And tonight caught me off guard.

Supper was consumed and children were scurrying and I couldn't bear the thought of cleaning the kitchen.  Glancing out the front window, I catch sight of one child on a bicycle, so I make my way to the front door to sit in my favorite spot:  The Front Porch.

It's a spectacular time of day.  A little while before twilight.

I sit.  In my sleeveless top and bare feet, I revel in the weather as a perfect spring evening approaches.
Birds are singing in full effect and the crepe myrtles are just beginning the first deep red sprouts of the season.  My angel-girl is astride her bike, chatting with the neighbor german shepherd.  Our ever-expecting kitty is meandering her way down the path around the house and I sit and soak in the moment.

Breathe deeply.
Glance around.

And then...remember.

Today is April 8.
It is almost 4 years to the day that my world came crashing down.
My life ended.
I ended.
And my real journey began.
I had almost forgotten.

"Why bother to remember?" you may ask.
"What a horrible time!  Why go to the trouble to reminisce?"

Here's one reason:
I glance to my right and see the much taller tree in which I had watched, 4 years ago, a sparrow building a nest.  As I stared at the branches, I could almost see her as she flitted from branch to ground and back again, building away. 
Four years ago I had sat and watched that new-found friend as I clung for dear life to the promises God gave that He would, indeed, take care of me. I was at a loss and wondering how on earth I would be able to provide for my family.

And now, four years later, I sit once more on this sacred porch in amazement that I am still in this house.
It is a beautiful house.  It is bigger than we actually need.  I have four and a half acres of woods that we hiked Saturday afternoon for hours. 

It is a stunning house that I am still living in.
It's a miracle.
Truly.
That this teacher/mom, after all this time, with her meager salary, is still.here.
I'm not behind on payments.  I am not in foreclosure.
Truly.  Miraculous.

I have no idea what God has in store.  I will fill you in later on more details of what all is transpiring in our lives as we journey on God's plan.

But, for now, this I know:
I am still here.
God provided.
He IS Jehovah-Jireh.
And I will praise Him.

I WILL remember
So that I CAN pass on this amazing truth.
God provides.
He redeems.
He restores.

I will soak up this moment.  With children running around playing and critters scurrying and sparrows building.

His eye is on the sparrow.
Me.

Resurrection Sunday. Indeed.

4364 days

That's how long I've been waiting for this day.

Correction:  4364 days and nine months.

Ever since that thin blue line on a purple stick.

Ever since the first flutters in the womb.

Ever since I looked into those precious blue-green eyes of my 9+ pound baby boy.

My son.

Now.

My brother.

Chopping vegetables to go with our dinner, his face never looking up from his work, he says,

"Mom, I want to talk about baptism."

My heart skips a beat and my breath comes to a halt.

I've heard those words before, and we've talked and questioned with young innocent eyes, learning and growing in knowledge.

But this time, this statement, coming from a no-longer-a-boy individual nearly as tall as I.

And I know.  He's serious.

We chat briefly, over boiling water and simmering chicken.

Later, curled up on my bed, this man-child and I, we talk.

"Why now, son?"

"Do you understand this significance?"

"You cannot walk this walk alone. It is all about His grace."

And he answers, with maturity.  And conviction. And determination.

He loves his Lord. He's ready to surrender.

I fight my tears as we talk about this decision.  It's purpose.  It's meaning.

And what it will mean for the rest of his life.

"It is the single-biggest decision you will ever make, son.  Bigger than where you go to college, what career path you choose.  Greater than who you decide to marry."

And his eyes open wide at that one.

Still.  He's determined.

"When, son?"

Easter Sunday.

At that, the dam of tears broke.

He was due to be born on Easter Sunday.  (Too comfortable in the womb, he arrived 4 days later).

Easter has always been his favorite holiday, for all the right reasons.

Not for the bunny or the eggs or the chocolate.

But because he's always known that day was special.

"Mom, I know a lot of people will be there that day.  And maybe I could be an example for people that day."

In his own baptism, he is wanting to minister to others.

My child.  An evangelist.

Already.

After a week of prayer
And study
And discussions
And tears...

Today, among a throng of friends, family, brothers and sisters, I watched my son be lowered into water, die to himself, and be raised now as

My brother.

My co-heir.

It was the single greatest moment of his life.

And mine.

I see him with new eyes now.  I still have the privilege to instruct, lead, and discipline this young man.  But now, somehow, it is different.  I now have accountability living in my house with me once more.

This young man, filled with the ever-growing Spirit of the Almighty God living in him, walking this journey with me.

This journey that is now his own.

With his Savior.

Praise Jehovah.
What a glorious Resurrection Sunday.
Indeed.

I Can't Talk About Jesus

4 seconds.

That's about how long it takes.

That, or about 5 words.

Before the dry mouth, cracking voice, lip quivering effect kicks in.

It's challenging, being a teacher & talker, trying to share testimony when this is the result.
Every.Single.Time.

I can teach classes, join discussions, (sometimes) lead prayers. 

But you ask me about my Savior
And all of that
Changes.

What is it about this man?
That captivates me so deeply to my core that every cell in my body becomes seemingly unable to function when I'm called to share my story...
My Love Story...

There are certain friends about whom I cannot speak without tears.  And there are reasons.  Deep, powerful, life-altering reasons.  These friends, men and women, from different walks of life and pages in my story, stepped up in outstanding and unexpected ways thus etching themselves permanently into the fibers of my heart.  No matter fluctuating circumstances or spanning time, these souls are intertwined with mine for eternity.  You know those friends.  You have them too.

Along those lines yet much, much deeper, is this Man.
Whose eyes, which I've never seen, penetrate into my soul, seeing me for me and loving me just the same.
Whose smile is what I long to see when at last I am with Him.
Whose hands and arms cradled children, wiped grime from blind eyes, sketched in dirt, summoned sinners from trees, broke bread with the outcast, cleansed the road from the feet of his students...
Willingly outstretched, allowing iron to crush him into a tree.
This man who went, willingly, to the stake.
This man who loved the broken.
This man who worshiped the Father.
This man who prayed forgiveness, mercy, on those 
Who had called for his execution
Who had turned their backs
Their eyes
Their hearts

As he died.

For them.
For me.

This man is the same One
Who caught me when I fell.
Held each tear as they fell like rain and at intervals still fall.
Sat with me through the darkest of nights, the gravest of pain, praying for me when I lacked words or strength for utterance.

Whether it is a song on a worship-ful Sunday morning, echoing in my mind, reminding me of the utter amazement of His attention.
Or the flutter of the wind in the grasses as the birds greet me by dawn on the sacred porch I call home.
Or the brother, sitting at the communion table, asking about my free flowing tears as the congregation around me sings "...near to the heart of God..."

It is emotion I cannot contain.
Let the tears flow...

My Heart Writes Again

Time transpires.  Holidays advance.  We burn candles and sing and celebrate Holy Life.  We share gifts and hugs and snuggles and warmth.
We eat and sleep and explore and learn.

And still.  My heart writes.

We begin anew and recommit to greatness.  We dream big dreams and dare to be bold and say we can.  We encourage another and fight the temptation to compare and compete.
We laugh and love.  We look back and prepare ahead.

And still.  My heart writes.

We fight the wearies and we retreat.  We plug our ears to the noise around us.  Sounds which ring familiar and therefore, unhelpful.  We drone back into the day in and day out.  Our dreams slightly fade.  We work and we rest.  We sip chocolate by inviting fires.  We read and we wait.  We watch and we wait.  We listen. And we wait.

And still.  My heart writes.

We get up and we start again.  We hope through challenges.  We struggle.  Yet we remain.  We trust and we pray and we study and we pray and we give attention.  And we pray. And we wait.
We cook and we clean and we drive and we talk and we listen and we build and we sell and we buy and we do. And do.  And do.  And do.

And still.  My heart writes.

Through the heartache.  Through your tears.  Through my own.  Through impatience.  And discontent.  Through sorrows.  And laughter.  Through frustration.  And gratitude.

Still.  My heart writes.

Through the cold and then the spring.  Winter vastness and warming freshness.
Pondering.  Wondering.  Waiting.  Wandering.
Thanking.  Forgetting.  And thanking again.
Celebrating.  Mourning.  Learning.  Growing.
Resting.  Rising. Hot manna sipping.

Still.

My heart.

Writes.

Again.