When the children say "I want to help you," I cringe. I think to myself, "No, no, no, you'll wreck it," but I say outloud, "No thanks, sweetie, I got it."

The wee one repeats himself over and over, "I want to help you, I want to help you, I want to help you," grabbing a chair and rocking the table. The stove is hot and he spills the soup on the toast in the skillet, and I say, "No, no, no, you'll wreck it."

He doesn't hear me, though. Picking up wooden spoons, stirring the pot, patting the bread. "I want to make it, I want to help you." He will not be stopped, will not be deterred. There is nothing to say to a determined three year old eyeing nothing but grown-up goodness and a chair next to mama.

I turned off the computer today because in my head I say, "No, no, no..." too many times. Two weeks left here and I worry about the square pictures on a sticky screen when the man and the children and the Lord say, "I want to help you. I want to make it." 

My place is not virtual, my body is not digital. I am here now, my heart beating and breathing. Help me. Make me.

See the drops of soup on the bread.

He is making.

I was ugly :: 31 days of messy parenting {day 25}

I think I will regret this, putting it out there. It is so much more, so much heavier - wrought with humility - than a witty 31-day-series tag line. Writing down the words, words I've only said to two, maybe three people... writing them here for you to see.

You will judge me, but I feel compelled. I want to see how truth is beauty. Even ugly truth, made beautiful by what happens, what came, how God was in it anyway. The beauty, it's all him. The ugly - that's me.

The truth is, I didn't want him.

I took the test in a fit. Of course, of course. And when the second line turned pink... of course.

We had talked about a third, always wanted a third, even named a third. But I wasn't ready. And I wasn't happy. And this was not the way it was to go.

Ireland was new to us, only a few months old to us. The wheels were greased, turning easier and faster and we were ready to hit our groove and sail right along. I'd been given an assignment, one I felt so proud to deliver on and make mine, one I hadn't even begun yet. I sat in a coffee shop, sick and stressed and hiding our secret.

We were idiots. And now there was a third. And I didn't want him.

This is ridiculous: a married mother of two not liking the timing, the inconvenience of a third child. This is the worst thing: to know how God loves and creates tiny humans for the delight of eternity and to feel so distraught over it. We were (mostly) in love and we were (mostly) able to readily welcome an addition, and yet I was (mostly) in despair, for no other reason than my misguided desire for a life worth something... more.

The not wanting... the not accepting, not thanking, not participating in the life within drained my reservoirs of faith. I was so ashamed. I was so afraid. I was so sure I would not - could not - mother him the way I ought. I was ugly with selfishness. I hid from God.

But... but... of course. Something changed. We grew.

Two months of sickness and stillness makes one think and leads one to pray and allows one to rest in the inconvenient, inefficient nature of God. Around week ten I was nervous and antsy. I began to worry that my not wanting him made him go away. I was in a fit, knew it was too late, wanted to take it all back. We begged to be seen by the local GP (weeks before my first scheduled antenatal appointment in the hospital). We needed to hear it; I had to know.

We heard the heartbeat, and Ella's laughter rang through. 12 weeks along. Then 16. Then 33. Then due date, contraction, labour... a boy. The beauty, it's all him.

The truth is, I was ugly and did not want him. But he was beauty and we named him Asher. Happy.



Are you in this place, dumbfounded - saved - by beauty amidst the ugly?

Compassion Blog Month :: Projectile latte in hand

I'll be honest: It's been a crappy week, in which I suffered from many First World Problems, not the least of which was tripping up stairs whilst carrying a screaming toddler and shattering (projectile spilling, really) a nice, cold iced latte in the process.

So when it came time to meet a cousin/friend for some H&M therapy - aforementioned screaming toddler in tow (what, baby, you no like H&M?) - I was awash in self-pity and anxiety. But we shared stories, soup and coffee (and cheesecake), she deftly handled the toddler who adores her, and filled me in on the latest developments in her life, including the 5 (five!) children she and her husband began sponsoring.

"How on earth did you end up with five?" I ask, with curiousity.

"Well, I read your blog!" she said.

Stunner.

Sometimes I write to an empty room, and sometimes I open my heart and words spill out on a barren road.

And sometimes - sometimes - accidentally and sloppily, something of value blooms, and this brilliant and beautiful young woman ends up with five kiddos from Africa and Central America, through Compassion and World Vision. Her husband wanted to surprise her and she wanted to surprise him, and in comparing both programs they just couldn't decide and kept adding to the bunch, and really, "You can't look at that face and say no," she says.

So this September, today actually, I'm asking you to visit Compassion's Sponsor a Child page and look at a face. For me, it was a face landing in my lap at a concert 10 years ago, or showing up on this here page, staring at me from beyond frayed red ribbons in her hair. Hoping. Pure.

Choosing which child to sponsor is such a first world problem. A really excellent first world problem. And actually, it's not a problem. It's a privilege. So go on, tell your friends, visit the page and pray over a child. Pray over all of them. Think about me and that freaking latte and what it takes for God to wake us up from the lazy, hazy American Dream.

They are worth so much more than that, God's children, desert blooms.


This is the first in a series of posts for Compassion Blog Month. Our goal? 3108 children sponsored this month. Special thanks to Karin for helping me wake up this week. Is it just me, or does anyone else need awakening?

A good 'ole smack upside the head

And this is how God smacked me upside the head:
I didn't plan past the new year. When well-organized teachers sent home well-prepared calendars at the start of September, I wrote down the pertinent information in my own well-meaning way, all the way till December 31, 2011.

Oh, we won't be here, I thought. There will be new schools and new calendars and if I don't acknowledge a 2012 that exists in Kansas City, God will see my sign of faith and reward me with fulfillment of the long-awaited return to Ireland.

My first clue that something was amiss should've been when my child informed me that Spring Break was less than a week away. (Stupid empty calendar.) We quick write it down, making plans and figuring out how this will all work - three kiddos all at home all week and a newly hectic and stressful work and ministry schedule, which it always tends to be right before St. Patrick's Day.

Which brings me to Wednesday.

We are on our way to a get-together with new friends that evening. We've rescheduled and rainchecked, waiting for schedules to align and illnesses to pass. We are packing some homemade bread and a bottle of wine, turning down the road, when an advert pops on the radio: Paddy's Day is coming and our city celebrates and we remember.

The Chieftains. Two tickets. That night. In ten minutes.

A generous Christmas present for two homesick former residents of the Emerald Isle, in the brand-new freaking unbelievably gorgeous opera house that adorns the KC skyline. When we received them, I looked at the date and thought, oh, this will be amazing... if we're still here. I kept the tickets in a safe place, not bothering to write it down or shop for an outfit or plan the romantic date night.

We look at one another in shock, having each been smacked upside the head by our loving Father.

It never even occurred to me that holding out for the future was disabling me from living in the present. (Still! Even after I spent my whole 31 days writing about and learning from it.) Life is happening and we are willfully ignoring it. So caught up in waiting and planning, we were missing the living. Too good to be here, where we are, for however long we are here. More than ready to stop, drop and roll right on out of here when He gives the signal. Forgetting about the little people who share this life, the friends who walk alongside us on the path, the beautiful gifts given to help us on the journey.



So we call the friends, "We are the worst!" I say, and she graciously understands. We u-turn and find the tickets and do a quick costume change. We arrive 30 minutes late and uproot a dozen Irish-American retirees from their seats to find our own. We watch and listen in wonder at the music that has followed us and beckoned us for our entire marriage.

We see them dance and we both cry. Because in the waiting to go, Ireland came to us and we feel alive. Without saying a word, we agree to put a little effort into the living, so as to not be 30 minutes late anymore.

Best of '11 in Words : Preaching a la social media

The second in a short series of best of posts from 2011. This one really challenged me and humbled me. Given 7 months hindsight, how do you now feel about it?

***

‎"As surely as I live, declares the Sovereign Lord I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live." Ezekiel 33:1

"Do not gloat when your enemy falls; when he stumbles, do not let your heart rejoice". Prov 24:17

Just a couple of the scripture bombs falling on Facebook today. I have mixed feelings about the Osama/death thing. Relief, thankfulness, concern, crippling humility...

On the one hand I celebrate God's justice, grateful for our troops who do dangerous and difficult things to protect us, and hopeful that those who suffered loss, injury or devastation on 9/11 can close the door a little more on this chapter of pain. But I'm also wondering about the nature of evil, enemies, and sin, I'm concerned for violence to beget more violence, and I'm wrestling with my own sinful thoughts, actions, or predispositions that initially placed me in the category "enemy of God" before I praised His name, and haunt me still as I struggle to walk a life following Him.

The thing is, I think these are great issues to wrestle with and discuss in a public forum. These are fantastic opportunities to share our fears, struggles, hopes. This is a time where we can admit to rejoicing in a little vengeance, while still questioning the mercy that's so unjustly offered to you and me and him. On the contrary, I don't think it's the time to drop a little biblical napalm on spiritual weaklings who haven't yet reached the righteous highground others claim to have found. It ignores valid emotions, belittling their journey with Christ.

Yes, let's confound people with our love for our enemies. But let us also admit to struggling to do so. A one-liner of contextually removed Truth confuses more than it confesses. Let's confess together the human difficulty we have in fully understanding the perfectly divine nature of both justness and mercy that lies in a most holy God. The same God who says "vengeance is mine." The same God who says, "wishing no man to perish."

I just cannot get it. But I do trust it.

Why do I complain, why do I say...?

31 days of LIVING in transition :: the days {day 6}

On the days you want to scream
On the days you know it's not fair
On the days you tell God your kids deserve a backyard
On the days no one hears you
On the days with more questions than answers
On the days when it's all about you
(and by you, I mean me)

Think of the missing baby.
Think of the woman (no longer) in prison for a crime she didn't commit.
Think of the motherless children.
Think of the enslaved in your own backyard.
Think of the war.

God's heart will not forget them. And He's taking care of me more than I know.

Preaching a la social media

‎"As surely as I live, declares the Sovereign Lord I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live." Ezekiel 33:1

"Do not gloat when your enemy falls; when he stumbles, do not let your heart rejoice". Prov 24:17

Just a couple of the scripture bombs falling on Facebook today. I have mixed feelings about the Osama/death thing. Relief, thankfulness, concern, crippling humility...

On the one hand I celebrate God's justice, grateful for our troops who do dangerous and difficult things to protect us, and hopeful that those who suffered loss, injury or devastation on 9/11 can close the door a little more on this chapter of pain. But I'm also wondering about the nature of evil, enemies, and sin, I'm concerned for violence to beget more violence, and I'm wrestling with my own sinful thoughts, actions, or predispositions that initially placed me in the category "enemy of God" before I praised His name, and haunt me still as I struggle to walk a life following Him.

The thing is, I think these are great issues to wrestle with and discuss in a public forum. These are fantastic opportunities to share our fears, struggles, hopes. This is a time where we can admit to rejoicing in a little vengeance, while still questioning the mercy that's so unjustly offered to you and me and him. On the contrary, I don't think it's the time to drop a little biblical napalm on spiritual weaklings who haven't yet reached the righteous highground others claim to have found. It ignores valid emotions, belittling their journey with Christ.

Yes, let's confound people with our love for our enemies. But let us also admit to struggling to do so. A one-liner of contextually removed Truth confuses more than it confesses. Let's confess together the human difficulty we have in fully understanding the perfectly divine nature of both justness and mercy that lies in a most holy God. The same God who says "vengeance is mine." The same God who says, "wishing no man to perish."

I just cannot get it. But I do trust it.

Weary in not-well doing

A few weeks back, a wonderful gentleman who has known me for the better part of my life prayed over our family in church. As he prayed for us (a not unfamiliar task, as it was his prayers - together with God's call - that propelled us to overseas work), he asked the Lord that we would "be weary in not-well doing." I'm quite sure he meant "not be weary in well-doing," but, well, you know...

I couldn't help but laugh, as there are more than a few times I have felt weary in not-well doing. Dishes are piling up and it is way past bedtime. Sunday morning finds angry children and exhausted coffee-tumbler-toting parents hunkered down in a minivan. Prayers seemingly go unanswered after late nights of whispers and tears. Coming in third, or thirtieth, or threethousandth in a marathon, or worse yet, collapsing before the finish line.

You get the picture. Who hasn't felt weary in not-well doing?

Reflecting on that dyslexic prayer left me feeling all tied up in knots. I think I secretly wonder if this accidental prayer put a little hoax on me. We know - or really, we'd like to think we know - that God knows the thoughts and the needs behind prayers. Behind the mixed-up names and unspoken requests, He truly knows the soul and longings. (I actually referred to a not-so-new friend by an entirely different name during a lovely and inspired 3-minute verbal dialogue between me and God and in her forgiving presence. You know who you are!) But I think deep down inside my doubting heart, I ponder the ridiculous notion that in hearing those jumbled words, He did indeed grant the prayer: may she be weary in not-well doing.

But what do I really know? I know that He says:

"Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in Me." John 14v1

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives..." John 14v27

"Remain in me, and I will remain in you." John 15v4

"Apart from me you can do nothing." John 15v5

"You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit - fruit that will last." John 15v16

"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up." Galations 6v9

I think we're lying to ourselves if we don't own that sometimes we do grow weary in not-well doing. But what do we know? That even up to His death, Jesus - who may have grown very weary - did not grow weary in well-doing. Up to the end, He was inspiring us to pursue Him, to rest in Him, to find peace in Him, and to abide with Him. He was comforting us in our very time of need.

I woke up weary in not-well doing this morning. I mean really, super-duper, tears on the pillow weary. And then I spent the morning with Him. He chose me - me! - to go and bear fruit; fruit that will last, well past the expiration date.

So I rested in Him for a good long while, and then got back to work.

Hoarding regret

Today we spoke about our life and work in Ireland to a church that has supported us immensely for the better part of a decade. I love talking about Ireland. I love sharing the names and the faces with old friends who really do care about what's happening on the other side of the world. It makes me smile, swells of love fill my heart, and I think, "Yes, it really is worth it."

Of course, talking about Ireland and the past two years there brings about a couple of other feelings too. There's homesickness, of which I've already written about. And then there's a good bit of regret. You see, there were hard times (shocking, I know!). Days we questioned the task and the job and the God who brought us there. There were some roles we were given that didn't seem like a good fit from the start and which may not have been handled the best way possible. At the time, I was sure we were handling it the best way possible. And I was also sure that we were being wronged in some way, not given a chance, belittled and denied. Even on this side, I see that in all likelihood, we were wronged a bit. But we were not blame-free. And with that last realization, comes the regret.

This type of regret clutters my life. I have it in almost every distinct era in my life. I look back on a time, see all the crap I left behind, bunch it all up and brood about it, and then I shove it into a dark corner where it awaits its moment of reveal. This usually occurs after a random memory eeks out or a name is seen on a mass email or a slight comment is made by an acquaintance. It's as if a used candybar wrapper from 1982 has slipped out from behind the (stuffed) closet door and mocks me for a long-gone moment of failure.

In reality, I know that with experience, comes teaching, and with teaching, comes lessons, and with lessons learned, comes wisdom. And with wisdom, comes spiritual maturity. So on the whole, I can't help but praise Him for those experiences and teaching and so forth. But still, I can't help but cringe when I really look back and take stock. I wonder why I can't just love perfectly all the time. I yell at my pride and tell him to take a backseat next time. I look to God and say, "So I guess I'm still a mess... so how exactly do you plan on using me?"

On this side, I know that His plans are perfect, even if I am not. And in that not-so-perfect experience, I have learned and grown (even if that growth wasn't witnessed by anyone). I see that He didn't mean for us to be in that exact place forever, or even very long. And if the birth of the wee lad hadn't given me an easy out, I would've clawed my way to freedom anyway. What I can do now is stop hoarding regret. I have to clean out and give away the should'ves and could'ves. In the clutter-free zone, when there's nothing left to mask or hide my true self, I may even have to accept that I'm not perfect - and no one else is, either. 

And I can hope for grace... so that when we do return and run into that old crowd, we can smile and talk and forget about all that rough stuff. Come to think of it, I better start practicing that grace straight away. Grace would be a good thing to hoard.

"I sense you don't have the experience..."

This has just been one of those weeks. 

You know, where you are faced with a big task that you know you can complete with hard work, tenacity, and a wee bit of luck. So you set to it... you hit a wall, you find your way over it, you set to it again... and then you hit another wall. You work through it, feel a small sense of accomplishment, get back to work again, and then... another wall. This wall is taller and a bit more jagged, and looks difficult to climb, but you do it! Hooray! Mini celebrations abound! You can do it!

And then, yet another wall. One wall too many.

This is the point where you just wanna crawl back into bed and pretend your life has gone back to normal. I would say that this last wall may be the one that does me in for good. "I sense you don't have the experience..." is what a professional recently told me. Perhaps, he is right.