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.