Here we go again . . .

My mind wonders and worries, wanders through questions of my insufficiency; how could He possibly call me? Send me?  Without degrees or training, nor wealth, nor influence, nor power, nor infamy, nothing notable, nor does anyone know my name; why would He send that?   The one who has nothing behind her name ~ no MD or PhD or MBA or anything of the sort, just her name ~ just Mom.  Why would He send “just a mom?”

Yet, in the quiet recesses of my mind – past the doubt, past the fear – there, I hear a quiet voice and He asks me a question, “When I sent my Son, My only Son, whom did I entrust Him too?  I placed Jesus in the arms of “just a mom.” 

Just a mom – a young, inexperienced, scared little girl - just a mom.  Not the ruling dignitaries, nor the elite and the powerful, nor those with countless degrees to their name – no, He trusted the Savior of the world to “just a mom.”

Is it entirely possible that He is now again placing precious little ones into the arms of “just a mom?”  Not only is it entirely possible but it is entirely probable.  Would He send “just a mom” to those who are hurting, those who are sick, those who are without?  I believe He has already answered those questions the moment He placed His treasured Son into her arms and the woman who was “just a mom” became His mom.

So, I too, have been called again and I will claim the title Mom once more but not “just a mom” I will become their mom and I will answer the call “Mom” nine times over. 

He sends us again to Ethiopia, this time to claim three who have waited entirely too long.  And our numbers jump from six children to nine children and Will and I are certainly outnumbered.  The orphaned teens ~ the oldest girl at 15, Shumbe, deaf and waiting; the brave young man, Kemal, he too is deaf and waiting and will join our ranks at 12 years of age; and the little one, Leyla, hearing and the spokeswoman for her tribe, rounds off the trio at 11 years of age. 

Are we crazy?  Maybe.  Are we scared?  Undoubtedly.  Are we running on God’s steam?  Most assuredly.  Are we blessed beyond compare?  Entirely.

So, we have our marching orders and we begin the fight again.  Why?  Because they are waiting . . .

We race on.  Please race with us at   ~   3orphans.com

Christmas Eve's Eve

I stood for worship this morning and I stood with the familiar ache, the heavy that weighs down and causes shoulders to slump and the light to dull in the eyes that should shine bright.  This is too familiar, all too familiar.  How on this day, just two days shy of His coming, how are the eyes dim?  Why do the shoulders hang and why does my heart weep that inward moan? 

Have I done it again?  Have I lost sight again?  I run down the list ~ five hundred gifts given to children from all over our community ~ done.  Check.  Next in line ~ give more away then we take this year and this Christmas season ~ done.  Check.  What else ~ walk through the Advent devotional with the family, almost done.  Partial Check.  What am I missing ~ continually remind children and myself that it is better to give then to receive (my Hero said that once upon a time) done.  Check.

Yet, here I stand with my list of checks and yet I still feel that dull ache, that throb that beats of empty in my heart and soul.

And then we begin worship  ~

"A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
Fall yonder breaks a new and glorious morn,
Fall on your knees!  Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born!"

And a dam breaks open that I had not realized I had rebuilt and I remember, I forgot to fall to my knees and I had not heard the angel voices over the din of this dark world where evil visits babies and this world that has willingly replaced the only true Gift with worldly gifts.  I forgot that the angels' chorus plays on and on regardless of this selfish world that spins itself towards madness, they sing on in their love song for surely they know Who it is that they worship.  They know, it is us who forget.

And the dam continues to crack and spill and He reminds me that the list of checks ~ that is what I do, but this moment that I spread arms and rejoice with the angels ~ this is who I am.  And the ache subsides and throbbing beats a new rhythm, a rhythm of peace and joy.  And this weary world, my weary world, can cry with the thrill of hope ~ His hope.

We stay through to the next service ~ I need to hear the voices of the angels again and more and louder and I need to hear them above this present din and darkness.

And I sing again ~

"How I need you, How I need you,
Oh Jesus, walk with me ..."

And He does, He walks again and again with me and as we walk the failure that haunts me falls aside and the worry and fret for these hurting children drops off and the din quiets and the darkness fades and this Babe in a manger, He becomes my Everything, again.

And in this season of coming, He came again to this unworthy daughter and He came as He came that night, O night divine, He came humbly and quietly and He healed hurts just by His presence.

And voices lifted high again and again and I hear the words and I live the words ~

"Your presence is heaven to me"

He teaches again, this race I run, has nothing to do with lists and checks, it has nothing do with what I can do but only to do with who I am in Him.  That is the race I run.

We pay tribute with broken hearts ...

Yesterday, I looked up and I wondered, how can the sun continue to shine?  On this day when darkness visited the young and defenseless, how can our star stand bright and continue to spill light?  Should she not bow her head and weep with the mothers and fathers that are left to carry on under her rays, to carry on alone, should she not hang her head and lament with us.  And I wonder again, how does the world turn and the sun burn when mammas spill tears over their empty arms.

And then He whispers, He reminds, that as surely as the arching of color splashes a reminder across the sky that the flood waters will never rise and wash all away, never again; the colors tell a tale of testament.  So, too, stands the sun, she tells of the promise that not only does our star sun shine on, but our Savior Son shines on and on  ...  "and the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has never overcome it." (John 1:5)

Lest we never forget.  The Light will never be overcome by the darkness.

Speak these words of Life and Truth into your heart and into your home and over children ... We must never forget even when our hearts are heavy thick and tears spill over and the house is quiet, quiet because we do not know, we do not fathom, how one can do such a thing.  As mothers and fathers, as those made in His image, the throat stands tight and throbbing and we see little faces everywhere and we ask again, why?  ... how?


We must not forgot that our enemy wages a war against us and the war rages on whether we choose to engage or not, the war will rage on and on until the final hour has come ~ "So then the dragon was furious at the woman, and he went away to wage war on the remainder of her descendants who obey God's commandments and who have the testimony of Jesus Christ." (Revelation 12:17)

So let us gather together and stand shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand as the army of Light was intended to stand and fight this war that lays before us with the weapons that He has imparted to us (Ephesians 6).  It is our call, our purpose, we must fulfill it, far too much is at stake.

We stand with heavy hearts but we stand just the same, we stand with tears in our eyes but we stand bathed in His light.  And we fight battle after horrific battle in a war that was already won, so we stand victorious as His adopted sons and daughters.  And yes, He is victorious, even yesterday, for He is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow.

The pain is unreal, the loss of a child, but it is a pain that He understands ~ for once upon a time He lost a Child too.

So, again I rise on weary legs and my sad sick heart beats out questions of why? and what now? and when will it all end? and today He does not ask me to race this painful race, today He simply picks me up and we carry on as a child of God and Abba Father together, and we race home.  A home where there are no tears and children's laughter rings unended and moms and dads weep no more ~ to this, He carries me home.

Baptism and Advent

In this season of Advent, this season of coming, we wait expectantly for His coming anew, we brim over with hope of this Jesus child that has come and we know this Jesus as Savior will come again and again.  And our days are not filled with shopping and the hurry and hustle of the holiday but they are filled with a waiting, an excited waiting that waits upon the only Gift that was ever truly needed.

And in these early days of Advent we gather as friends, family really, brothers and sisters in Christ, and we stand on the sandy shore and we join in celebration with this young family that expectantly hopes on the Lord.  And they confess ~ yes, they do confess, that Jesus is Lord and Savior and they enter into the cold waters and fulfill the commandment to "believe and be baptized." 



Mark 16:16 ~  Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved, but whoever does not believe will be condemned.

Matthew 28:19 ~  Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.


And Will lays them back in the biting cold and they allow themselves to be laid low in the manner and the fashion that our Lord Jesus Christ was laid low and they surrender and they are poured out.  And as surely as the man Jesus rose again, they too are pulled from the waters and as their sinful man spilled out, they now arise and are filled with the Spirit of the Living God.  And we follow after the footsteps of our Jesus and we enter into this Holy mystery and trust that in the willful spilling of ourselves He will entirely fill us with something new, something heavenly.  And they spill out and He fills, again and again.

And the young family walks a new course, one that was not laid out before them by the generations before, but a course laid out by their Heavenly Father, their Abba Father.

And children laugh and watch and are witness to an ancient rite, they witness the passing of the old and becoming that which is new.

 And they shiver and laugh and we gather again.  And as brothers and sisters in Christ we are privileged to offer up another act of obedience and worship and we bow heads and break bread and we do it in remembrance ~ remembrance of the body that was broken and the blood that was spilled.  And we enter into repentance and walk into holy communion with the One that we wait on ~ this Jesus child, this man Jesus who wore our flesh, the Sinless One who bore our sins, this Savior ~ we find communion with Him in the cold waters and the sandy shores.  And we are reminded that every moment is holy, every place sacred when you enter into communion with this Babe in a manager.

We are honored and grateful to run this race with those who too love our Jesus, we race on, even into the cold waters of the Atlantic, we race on.

Home for Christmas

I have made a commitment to myself and to my God to truly attempt to write with some consistency ~ perhaps Tuesdays I think, yes, Tuesdays will work nicely I believe.  So, one week passes and I successfully write on a Tuesday, yes, Tuesdays, nice indeed.  The next week comes and I find another Tuesday ~

and this Tuesday?  Not so nice indeed!  I managed one week, only one week, how is that possible?  So, I sit at my computer and stare at a blank screen and listen to thoughts that make a soul weep and I say, "This Tuesday, this is not your day."  But, my commitment?  A bad day, a bad week, are grounds to break commitments?  That is surely not a lesson I would teach to my children, so why do I teach it to me?

God quietly whispers, reminds, He does not expect perfection, He expects truth and obedience, so I type the first word and submit to One that is far greater and not the slightest bit flustered by my day or my week.

Why the bad week? Nothing of any real consequence ~ multiple difficult conversations with hurting children (always entirely exhausting and completely necessary, and Jesus always sustains), 6 dentist appointments, 2 doctor appointments, 1 audio appointment (in Charleston no less), 1 huge Christmas party to plan (500 children from our community attending and we plan and pray and then pray some more), 1 meeting with our social worker, countless school hours and papers to grade, and 168 plates to fill this week (yes, I did the math).  This all makes for one tired Mama, especially when she loses sight of the One Who always supplies.

But, exhaustion or not, I will try to write but with a little cheating involved ~ I fished through old drafts of posts not completed and there it is ~ a strange post about Christmas and ramblings of sojourners but I read with a tear in my eye and it soothes my soul.  So, tonight I read and write and will eventually hit submit ~ for me ~ He knew I would need these words that He gave before and in them I would find rest.  Maybe you need the words of rest too, maybe not, either way, God is good, all the time.

Here it is, ramblings of Christmas ~
 
Jesus ~ entirely unchanging, never exhausted or rattled, never anxious or angst filled but ALWAYS readily available with wide open arms.  Jesus ~ so unlike me.

An unchanging God is a foreign notion to us, we who are so prone to change in the blink of an eye, to be filled with stress and tension over the most inconsequential, trivial matters.  We are so dumbfounded by the One who is unchangeable ~

Malachi 3:6 - "For I am the Lord, I do not change . . ."

Hebrews 13:8 - "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever."

James 1:17 - "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning."

How can we be so deeply loved by the One who is so unlike us?  Is this why we continually come to God with closed fists rather then flat, open palms, ready to receive all that He desires to give?  Because we do not understand how entirely different He is from us?

We do not trust because we do not know, He is wholly unlike us, for the image was broken in the fall.

We are sojourners, we search for this Mysterious One and we often do not know what we were search for, we simply sojourn on ...

And when found, He, that was so unknown somehow feels familiar, as if I have always known this One.

It is as if I have come home for Christmas after weary years away.  And my friends and family await and I have voyaged so long and when I arrive home the familiarity, the known, floods my soul.  And I am home but yet this home I have never seen before ~ this is not the family room of my memories, yet a pair of perfectly fitted slippers await me beside the reading chair.  And my eyes descry an unknown bed in an unfamiliar room and yet somehow the pillow is creased with perfection to fit my head for ... every hair on my head is known ... and I wonder how can it all be?  A home I have not known, never beheld before is meticulously prepared for me as if I have lived here for all of eternity.


And I have come home to my true home; a new home but a new home that slides on like a well-worn pair of running shoes that have traveled miles upon miles with me.

This is God; every time.  A continual breath of fresh air that shocks the lungs to life with remembrance of something always known.

And I journey home, but can I find a home in this moment that I am trekking home?  On this weary, worn path; can I find a place to rest my head on a perfectly creased pillow intended just for my hairs?  Is it possible to travel and somehow abide, simultaneously?

Can the weary walk in rest?

The Christ follower come home before they reach the final, eternal home?

I wonder, I pray, I am not sure this wearisome wanderer can continue on until my final day.

He must have an interim home, for He had known from the beginning that we, or maybe just me, would need to lay the head down, to slip achy feet up to rest.

I sense it, I feel it, my spirit comes home for a moment ~ in the moment that I set my eyes aright and I abide.  I choose to abide and lay my head down and rest on the breast of He who is waiting.  (Did not the Disciple whom Jesus loved do just this?)  But then another choice, and I set my eyes all askew and I hear words that were not His and allow emotions to reign that are not His fruit.  And I choose to focus on their behavior rather then His promises, the finances rather then His provisions.  And in that instant of a choice made I pick my head up and turn away from my home, away from my eternal home.

But, there is hope, I hear Him calling louder, clearer and continually, He is calling me home.  Come home, your rest is waiting.

Strange how abiding and coming are so often one in the same.

We set about coming and realize He is already there so we see it is simply just abiding we need; opening our eyes to that which is all around us; His goodness.

His goodness ~
                    heard in the loud laughter of the rambling six ...  

                    in the rising sun (and it does rise, every morning, just as He promised) and the crescent moon ...

Hosea 6:3
"...As surely as the sun rises, he will appear; he will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rains that water the earth."

                    the tides that flow according to His time ...
                    the breaking of bread and giving of ourselves in thanks to the hand that provides ...
                    in the butterfly and the bird that travel paths He has marked ...
                    in His holy, written script ...
                   And countless more.

I see and I come home and I make choices that allow me to abide and stay home while I travel to my eternal home.

So, we race on and we race in His rest.

Every so often ...

Every so often he quietly asks, "why haven't you been writing much?"  This man that God so generously and graciously gifted to me, this man that so often knows the me that I hide, and yet he loves on.  This love that loves beyond the failure and loves despite the ugly; this love that knows that I am hiding from my writing ~ this love, He uses to cut to the quick, to dive into the core of me.  And this man standing before asks with no judgement or condemnation and I hear Him ask in the same manner ~ "why aren't you writing Jennie?"

I have two answers ~ one simple and justifiable and the other, not so much.  First, the easy, I am exhausted and most days I run hard until I crash into bed and rest in the arms of the One that guards and restores.  The second, now we are getting personal, I am afraid to write.  Afraid.  Scared of what my writing will become and more assuredly scared of what it won't become.  That is the truth. 

The same man that quietly questions, "why no blogs, stories, poems," he also wisely says, "it is an act of obedience for you Jennie, you have to write because He has given you words to share."  And I stammer around and declare, "that no one cares, who will read?"  And again he speaks truth, "it does not matter who reads it, you still have to be obedient even if no other soul ever lays eyes on it."  I always quietly turn inward here; terrified still, even with truth spoke directly to me; I wrestle with self and with God and I am disobedient. 

But, here and now, I do declare that "He has not given me a spirit of fear but of power and love" (2 Timothy 1:7) and out of that power and love that He has bestowed I will write for an audience of One, the only One.

Much has happened this Fall in our ever-growing family and God has been so good.  We are nearing the end of our first semester as a small school of 6, our first family vacation was greatly enjoyed, our newbies were dedicated (as was our niece) braces and doctors still fill our schedule (and pocketbook) we spent Thanksgiving in TX surrounded by wonderful family and God is stirring again (always stirring).  I will not clog the blog with details but one story must be told ~

The above mentioned family vacation was to the gorgeous mountains near the N. Carolina border and we were surrounded by an array of the hues of Fall as they laid beauty around the lake and days were filled with beauty and mountaintops (as a family we trudged to the top, 3 1/2 miles straight up and then the march down) and our family should have been entirely at peace. Yet, we weren't.  For weeks before we had been battling in our house, a storm was brewing and it raged in her eyes almost every time I dared look at her.  Anger, pain, loss and loneliness set in deep upon her and she wandered the halls of the house like a little storm.  Pain and loss grip the young hearts of previous orphans, understandably, but this storm was a storm of a different sort; this was the storm that whips up winds of angry words and insolent attitudes as the Enemy knows another is nearing the heart of the Redeemer.  And our family dug in deep and prayed and watched and waited and prayed some more and she spoke words that cut deep and God immediately layered His love upon us to keep the wounds from festering.  And she stomped and stormed on and we bit our tongue, sometimes; and we left for our "first family vacation" certainly uncertain of how much rest and relaxation we were in for.  The first few days in the cabin our little storm tore through beautiful Table Rock and fussed and fretted even there in the midst of God's glorious beauty.

And then one afternoon she cracked open and the anger spewed from her and she said things we all regretted and we dug in deeper and we spoke of His love and how all is impossible without it.  The storm quieted, and she barely whispered these words, "I want Jesus," and the heavens parted and the angels danced  and rejoiced and another orphan found her true "forever family" and met her Forever Father.  And this earthly mother and father were humbled again by the call, His call, to "care for the orphan and the widow." 

Life since that blessed moment in the mountains?  Exactly as you would expect it to be after an encounter with the God Almighty ~ entirely and eternally changed.  She is nothing of the old, but then again isn't that the truth of us all who have come home to our Forever Father?

And we watch and wonder and pray ~ what has He in store for these rambling six?  What will He do with these who are young in age but mature in faith?  We pray that He uses them to His glory and we rest in that.

And we race on?  Absolutely, we race on as He lays a new course before us (more of that to come) we race on and on and on ...

 

Always a choice

I run beneath a canopy of Oak tangled with moss that drips low and sways gently, a promenade of grandeur that lines this slow trudge of mine.  Beauty and splendor cascading down on this early morning run, as the sun breaks through a horizon of clouds, glowing white hot. 

 

It could be a picture from a movie, but it is not, it is my life and this is my moment and this is my God.

And this is also a choice, my choice.

I could curse at the tired, creaky bones that fight to keep this frame aright or swear oaths against the extra pounds of life layered across this body.  I could breathe heavy with frustration and heave deep with anger or I could choose a different way, a new way, an awakening of sorts to the God all around.

A choice made a thousand times over that string together to tell the script of my life ~ a story of praise or of disgruntled days.

I could focus on the gnats that buzz and bother, that nag and frustrate for assuredly as my foot falls on this earth there will always be a great Pestilence.  So, the choice is mine, the choice is yours.  

For there is always, always the canopy of beauty, all we have to do is look up and there He is, draping His people in goodness.

And the Lifter of my head continues to coax and encourage me to pry the eyes from the old, tired feet and to surpass eyelevel (for there I can only see myself and those that are so broken, the same as me) and to fix my eyes aloft on the Beauty that is above.

Can it be that this is my intended stance?  Before the fall, before I fell, before the slip that rent a tear in all of humanity, before the break that broke our natural posture.  Were we always intended to stand with eyes fixed on high?  I believe my break may have just gotten a little smaller.  For this position with eyes set above, arms stretched wide, and open hands ready to receive all that He has to give, this feels quite natural, more like the me that He intended me to be.

I make a million choices, over and over again ~ set eyes on high or down below? One makes whole and the other tears asunder.

I pray that I choose well and race on until I find myself under the final canopy of beauty that will usher me in to the moment where my foot finally falls on the streets of gold and I run effortlessly, and pain free into the arms of the One that ran this race before me.  The One that prepared a way for me.

I pray the same for you, that you race on and choose well.

  Photos courtesy of Tricia Garrett

What Adoption Can Lead To!!!

After the cost of the adoption, thousands spent on dental and ortho and dozens upon dozens of hours spent in doctors' offices ~ Will and Trae had a plan ~ and it went a little something like this ~

Apparently the thought of another trip to the dentist was a little too much to handle, so Will performed his first tooth extraction.

The Misunderstanding of Righteousness

*We have added a few new photos, head to the photo tab if you like.*

Our goodness is not based on our individual lives for we have no goodness in us.  Our righteousness is based not on action or deed, for we are truly void of righteousness.

To compare one to another is futile and sinful for it is thievery against the One to whom all glory belongs.

If we claim one may stand more righteous than another then we stand in the midst of the proud lie that greedily gobbles the glory of our glorious God.

Good works are only truly good when birthed out of the Source of Goodness, anything else is an ugly counterfeit, masquerading as light but in truth it is only darkness masked.

If we look upon another believer and deem them as more righteous for one religious accomplishment or another, then we betray the power and awful beauty of Calvary.

Now surely out of a life abiding in Jesus Christ goodness will flow, for you cannot wade into the rivers of the living water without that living water seeping out of every pore onto a thirsty and parched land.  But, that is the outflow of God in us, NOT the outflow of our goodness, for there is rightly no such thing.

Righteousness is endowed upon us from the heavens at the precise moment that we believe on the Lord Jesus Christ.  And that glorious righteousness flows without prejudice and is bestowed upon the blackest of hearts, which is entirely my heart and yours.

So, let us shake loose the bounds of this false humility that says one brother stands more righteous then me and embrace the gift that was given from the only true Giver.  Our Giver willingly sweat blood to joyfully give this gift of righteousness upon ALL that would call on the name of Jesus, let us dare not demean this truth with self-indulgent comparisons.

Always, always abide first and then allow His acts to flow.

To this, I pray, we all race on.

Ephesians 1:4 ~ “Even as He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before Him.”

A birthday tribute

This weekend we will celebrate Will's birthday and in honor of his big day I wanted to write something to try and convey how much we love him and to attempt to convey to all of you how truly amazing he is.  I decided to post something I wrote for him 8 or 9 months ago, while it is in story format all accounts are truth, I can attest to that.  You may wonder why a story?  Well, everyone loves a good story and while I could type a list of adjectives such as fiercely loyal, generous, kind, courageous that would go on and on and would be entirely true I thought maybe this story may do a better job.  A story, ok, fine, a story but a story about a truck?!  Trust me, the story about a truck will do a far better job in depicting the man I am blissfully married to then anything else.

Trust me and read it, you may like it and at the very least it will help you better understand Will or BJ or whoever he is to you.

This is the story of a boy and his truck …

Four score and seven years ago, wait wrong story, our story began thirteen years ago in sunny California with a young mom who was terribly frightened about her future and often times felt utterly alone.  As this young mom stood and stared at the unending rows of cars on that enormous lot she knew she must forsake all thoughts of a jeep and provide her daughter with a safe and reliable vehicle.  So, she chose a small, platinum neon and began a new life with her little girl as they waded through life’s stormy seas.  But, God had a secret for this scared, young girl and her platinum neon; for He had heard her prayer that her beautiful young daughter not be forced to bear the brunt of her mother’s sins. So, God in His infinite kindness handpicked a young man and his truck, and this man and his truck would forever change this girl and her neon.

Our story carries on near the shoreline of South Carolina and our young mom plods on each day unsure of how she will do for her little girl all that she needs and deserves, but she presses on hoping that God has heard her plea.  And then one bright South Carolina morning she notices a very nice truck pull into the lot near her little neon and she thinks of how nice it would be to ride in a truck like that with a man like him.  And somehow the man sees past “the baggage” and he takes her for a ride in his shiny, white truck and the two begin to sense that maybe this time it will all be different, and the two were right. 

So, the man sells his beautiful truck to help care for the scared mom who is growing much less scared by the day and he begins a new journey with an old and tired Honda that most would have left in a junk yard.  But he selflessly drives his Honda and provides for the young mom and her little girl who is becoming his little girl more and more every day.

The man and the women (and her neon and her little girl) are united forever and a gift is given; yet again an old and tired vehicle that has served and cared for its family proudly and now has been given to care for the next generation.  So, the man drives the old van while his friends drive nice trucks and jeeps and they smirk a little at him but he drives on and he becomes everything to the young women and her little girl. 

The family continues to grow and a new family car is purchased and the young father is yet again given a hand-me-down, a well loved hand-me-down but a hand-me-down the same and our young man begins another chapter with our fateful platinum neon.  And his friends trade in their nice trucks and jeeps for even far nicer trucks and jeeps and he watches and dreams of the day when he too can have a truck again. 

The family begins its journey across the country, back to where it all began.  And with his eastward journey brings new promotions and his dreams of his beautiful truck will soon become a reality, no longer just a dream.  And then the young man hears a word from God and he wrestles with his dream and with God and God says, “lay it down; it is not best for your family.”  And the young man does, he lays down his desires and his dreams and he watches his friends drive huge monstrosities of trucks and he wonders, “why not me?”

But, God begins to do a beautiful and miraculous thing between this man and his little neon; He begins a love affair that could only have been conceived in the heavenly realms.  And our young man begins to understand how truly wonderful this little gift from God has been to him and his family and he develops a grateful heart.  And others begin to notice how blessed this man and his car are and they ask themselves, “why the difference?”  And the man knows in his heart because this little car has been given by God, not recklessly and selfishly taken from a lot.  And the love grows between car and man and man and God.

And then His God asks him to do something hard, very hard.  For you see there is yet again another scared and lonely mom and she too is unsure of how she will care for this beautiful little girl before her.  She too prays that God will not allow her little girl to pay the price of her sins and He hears her cry.  And our young man is asked to give again to a scared, young mom and he does.  He gives away his beloved neon and he becomes an answer to someone else’s prayers.

God, in His unending sense of humor, has again brought our young man back into a truck.  No, it is nothing like the original and certainly there is no resemblance to his dreams but a white truck the same.  And this truck has been given by the hand of God and it too, just as his beloved neon, will carry him to where God has called him to go.

Now we find the young, scared moms not so young and not so scared because of a wonderful man and his truck. 

But, while our young man is not quite so young now his story is not over; no it is just beginning.  He will be asked to care for many more young moms and their frightened children, he will be asked to give more of himself every day, he will carry the burdens of those who cannot carry them for themselves and he will continue to be an answer to the prayers of so many.  For that is what God has called him to be – a giver, because much has been given to him.  So, he will give the women and the children their dreams back for it has become his dream to do just that.

Most will never be able to thank the young man this side of heaven but this very happy and very blessed mom can.  So, thank you for giving us our dreams back, thank you for being an answer to prayer.

 

With very much love, HAPPY BIRTHDAY BJ!!!  ~ Jennie, Tay, Rue, Trae, Tsinat, Cole, Grace & Tucker

 

 

A Glimmer

Now I see a hint, a glimmer dancing behind the words; just a faint image of You hidden behind letters strung together.  You . . . there, waiting  patiently behind my writing; my writing that attempts to mask my pride and my fear.   And yet, even the slightest glimmer of You is utterly radiant, entirely beautiful and absolutely captivating. 

So I pray on, write on, and race on to the day when the hint, the glimmer, the faint image is . . .  my words.  My words, hidden and peeking out from behind The Word; the terrifyingly, beautiful Word. 

“… with unveiled faces, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory…”  (2 Cor. 3:18)

And I pray on until the Image that I behold has become all that I or you see in me.  The glory becomes no longer a reflection but the only Image seen.

To this . . . I race on.

The Ugly Truth

*** To my email subscribers, in case you haven’t been to the actual blog site in a while, I’ve updated with pictures and more information if you are interested.***

 

John 7:18  -  “He who speaks on his own does so to gain honor for himself, but he who works for the honor of the one who sent him is a man of truth; there is nothing false about him.”

Jesus just ushered in stunned silence.  Silence.  Quite possibly the greatest gift I can give to myself and others around me, my silence.  How often do my words have NOTHING to do with His honor?   Too often to even begin to estimate.

As a writer, as a daughter, sister, friend, acquaintance I tend to be dishonest – I tend to wait to tell you the truth regarding my own ugliness until God has refined and regenerated, I wait until He has washed me in the Word and I can present something, someone to you that has been sanitized by this wonderful God we serve.  I hide the ugly, dirty truth from you; why?   Because I do not want you to see the truth before He arrives on the scene but the problem that arises is how can He receive the glory if you did not see the dirty?  He doesn’t.  So, enter … the dirty.

Before I was able to write about the tremendous amount of money and energy spent on our newbie’s dental care and tell of our privilege of being part of His miracle I had spent a ridiculous amount of time complaining, alright a more suited description would be whining to God about bringing me children that in Will’s words, “have seriously jacked up mouths!”  I may even have reminded God of the cost (both in time and money) of the adoption and now this?  Not proud of that, but it is the ugly truth.  So, in actuality the real miracle is not that God orchestrated their entire dental care long before we even knew they were in need of it, but that He is able and willing to take someone so ugly and selfish and re – remind her of His unfailing love in her life.  I would probably have smote me, fortunately I am not God.

Another ugly truth that I have not given voice to anyone but BJ and that is only after double checking behind me – that sometimes I resent these two precious little girls that God has brought me.  I resent them because I am still mourning the passing of my “old family” (that is another blog in the making.)  I resent them because I know the tremendous sacrifices my oldies have made on their behalf, which is crazy because the oldies don’t resent them, so why should I?  Why?  Because I am selfish and so often so ugly on the inside, until He shows up . . . and He ALWAYS shows up.  I have feelings of resentment and frustration towards these children that did not ask to come here, they did not pick me, I picked them!  And then I feel guilty and then I resent them for my guilt, no j/k, I have not taken it quite that far.  Jesus gets a hold of me first.

Get this one – I have honestly stood beside the river near our house and watched the boaters flying by with their bikinis and beers and wished to God that I could launch a rock into the hull of that boat and sink that bad boy!  Why?  Pure jealousy, that is why.  Because they are out on the water on a beautiful day and I am trapped in my house on that beautiful day with 6, count them 6 children teaching Grammar or some useless subject like that!  Ugly?  Yes.  Truth?  Yes, again.  But, Jesus gently reminds me that these 6 and their lessons and laundry and dirty faces, these 6 are a privilege and they are the catalyst that has forged a partnership that has been welded tightly through the fires of adoption and mothering.  And this partnership, a threefold cord that cannot quickly be undone is the greatest blessing of my life.

What else?  Oh, right, my Mother’s Day post came after several hours of crying to God about my sorrowfully sad “special day.”  He listened . . . for a little while and then He mercifully ended the boo-hoo fest just right before I completely digressed into a self-absorbed, narcissistic cry-baby.  And the time that followed with Him is precious to me in more ways than I could ever hope to express on paper (or blog).

Many more, but I will not bore you with anymore details.  Prayerfully and quietly, I attempt to allow the Holy Spirit to refine me until I can claim that “he (or she) who works for the honor of the one who sent him is a man of truth.”

To this I race on.

It has been awhile . . .

How is everyone? I have missed writing, I have actually been writing just not anything you all would be interested in reading, so I just bore BJ with it. Things are good here in the Ruppel household, we have been busy since we last talked; two root canals, four teeth extractions, three crowns, countless hours in the orthodontist's office, many swim lessons and our first 5 weeks of school as a family of 8 have all been successfully navigated over the last few months.

What can I say about it all except that God is so good and faithful. He has stood beside us through many mountain top moments and carried us through deep and painful valleys, but where He is proving Himself ever-faithful to me is the plains of life.

The plains of life ~ the thousands upon millions of moments that are neither high nor low, the moments that make up the steady rhythm, the ebb and flow of life. The continuous flow of laundry, lesson plans, teeth brushing, dinners, rides to swim practices and yet another batch of brown rice (I have begun to associate brown rice with my newbies because we consume it now in large quantities because it is inexpensive and healthy) and the plains of life are often tedious, taxing, exhausting and downright boring. In my past I have allowed the plains of life to steal the joy in my faith, the joy in my family and the joy in my heart. I have spent countless hours (I am ashamed to say) in the laundry room or at the stove reminding God that this whole "stay-at-home, home schooling, Navy wife" was NEVER part of the plan. And He always reminded me (when I was willing to listen) that it was never part of whose plan? His or mine?

Yet, lately I have encountered a wondrous thing in the plains ~ a happening and stirring in my soul that is forever changing the way I perceive the plains. The plains are Jesus, and when I whittle my days away there in the plains I whittle away with Jesus. It is amazing ~ my laundry room that smells as if something came to die there, Jesus is there waiting for me, incredible; the Savior of all of mankind is hanging out doing laundry with me and then he sits at the counter while I make dinner and then I feel Him peering over my shoulder as I pour over lesson plans, guiding and directing and encouraging. Did you get that?! Jesus is in my laundry room with me!! At my sink doing dishes with me, again!! He referees fights, sits with me during ASL lessons, hangs out in the dentist's office and on and on.

What He is revealing to me is that the plains are not boring . . . when you are caring for His people. When you take His little girl to the dentist office for her root canal He is thrilled because He saw her pain and is so excited to end her pain. And now I have the privilege of being part of a living, breathing miracle and my Guide through these experiences . . . He is breathe taking and He takes my breathe away in so many ways.

So, He continues to teach me to walk through the plains, He reminds me I do not have to be a missionary to Africa or leading ministries to walk this journey with Him. No, we just have to look for our Guide everywhere we go and you can always find Him amongst His people ~ the lost, the hurting, the sick, the widow, the orphan, the drug addict, or the homeless.

Stay faithful in the plains of your life and your Guide will reward you and just think, you too can have a lifelong laundry buddy.

Hebrews 11:6 ~ "But without faith it is impossible to please Him, for he who comes to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him."

And we race on.