This One Might Sting A Little

Yesterday the ship ran aground, again.  Same story.  Different child.

The insanity of the deviant.  The XO finds himself greeting the local authorities, yet again.

"Does this belong to you?"

The XO fights off his natural desire - "Absolutely not!  Do you see even the slightest hint of resemblance?  No, none, not any!  No child of mine would behave in this manner.  Good luck in finding their sorry sucker parents."  He buries that response and digs to the depths of Jesus Land, "Yes, it is mine.  For better or worse, it is mine."

"Trouble at home?"

The XO chuckles, "You have no idea the trouble that bubbles and brims everyday at home."

"Likely you and your wife need some help, unstable home and all.  There are agencies, programs.  Do you need me to pass along a number or two?"

The XO knows the drill, he nods his head and shakes a few hands, offers his thanks and loads what is certainly "ours" into 30 year old truck.  The 30 year old truck he drives so he can afford to care for that which he just picked up from the head-shaking authorities, again.  The 30 year old truck carrying the XO and that which certainly was not ours but God said let's go ahead and make it yours and life became ugly.  Very ugly.  That is the God's honest truth.  Ugly.

At noon dark thirty I heard the XO arise and do his perimeter check.  All secure.  He lays back down to steal a few more labored hours of fitful slumber before he arises to go secure another perimeter.

I heard him slip back into his unsettled slumber.  There is no rest for the weary.

I laid there and quietly began my own perimeter check, mentally, emotionally and spiritually.  I walked the perimeter of my life and all was surely not secure.

And so began a diatribe of epic portions and I let the CO have it.  For quite some time.

It may have sounded something similar to this -

The perimeter of my life is awful.  Actually the correct terminology was more akin to - sucks.  The perimeter of my life sucks!  In the last four years I have heard the words, "I hate you!" hurled at me more often then all the other years of my life combined.  I have been threatened, lied to, stolen from, lied about, I have endured violent attacks against me, we have been witness to hunger strikes, runaways, we have been verbally assaulted in Amharic, Oromo, English, American sign and Ethiopian sign.  In the last four years I have been thrown up on, spit on and urinated on (or at least all over my living room.)  By the description of my perimeter, one would think I live amongst detainees at Gitmo.  Men, housed and imprisoned by their enemies, now perpetrating in anyway they can against their captors.  And yet, no, this is not Gitmo.  We are not their captors, nor their enemies.  In fact quite the opposite.  We are actually the only people on this planet that cared enough about them to give them a fighting chance.  We turned our life upside down to accomdate them.  We sacrificed our freedom, luxury, comfort, stability and ease of life.  The XO had served many years in the service and we had served many years in our home, in both our parenting and our marriage.  We had sown the good seeds and we were reaping the reward; life was easy, life was uncomplicated, life was full of excess and life was good.  And we walked away from it, all of it.

Fast forward four or five years later and everyday is a battle, our home the war zone.  We fight tooth and nail for these young people who often despise us and reject us, everyday.  Everyday we fight for them and they fight against us.

And I had a few things to say to the CO about all of this.  I informed Him that His expectations have always been WAY TOO HIGH of me!  "Push harder Senior Chief.  Stay strong.  People need you.  You have to be strong, you can not under any circumstances bend or break.  You do not have the luxury of a "bad day."  Senior, run harder and faster and longer then them all!  So when they reach you and need you, you will already be there.  You Senior, you are expendable and I will expend you for them."  I told the CO, it was too much, too hard.  I can not run another step with their burdens on my back.

I hear Him, I hear others.  "No matter what, you have to be strong.  Oh and by the way, Senior, why aren't you writing more?"

Truth be told the poetic charm often gets lost amongst the vomit.  The lustre of language gets lost in the urine.  Wisdom whittles away in the spit.  I am just saying. Verbal assualts are not always conducive to penning the quiet whispers of the Spirit, they get lost in the, "I HATE YOU!  YOU ARE NOT MY MOM!"

But, in the dark of the early morning hours I let the CO have it.  I am tired and weary and contrary to VERY POPULAR belief, I do have feelings and they can be hurt.  And I do have a heart and it does break, often.

And I asked the CO, "It is quite clear Your deep love for these young people, Your care and concern for them is everyday evident.  Why do You not have care and concern for me?"

In lieu of the lightening, Merciful God allowed me slumber.  And I awoke this morning with the dull ache of a bad night.  Very bad night.

What can I say after a night like that?  How do I talk to a Spirit Who endured the spewing of a selfish sinner such as me?

I quietly slipped eyes up to heaven, half scared, the other half still angry.  As my wardens slumbered on I quietly made a cup of tea and slipped outside.

I sat with cup of hot tea and noticed the steam was only rising from tea, not the horizon.

Enter Miracle 1 Stage Left - on our Floridian shoreline we were not a cauldron of humidity and heat this morning.  Late August and I was not sweating.  A cool breeze cooled my boiling heart.  I had to give it to the CO - well played, well played.  Wonderful weather, well played.

I felt a touch of His care, a hint of His concern.

Slightly later, I stepped off the steps and headed into the beautiful breeze.  I still have a little swagger in my old age and a slight trudging each morning helps shed my complaining ways.  I stretched stride and breathed down deep of cool August air when Miracle 2 caught my eye.  Man-child is the only way to tell the tale of this one, stretching his long stride towards me, "Love you Mom!  Have a good run!"  He flew past, blur of a miracle man.  Young miracle man determined to defy societal odds and love his God and love his people and love his Mom, right there running along the road.  Man-child gave hope to the future, remembrance of the Redeemer Who holds His chosen in the palm of His hand.

Ok, I hear You, You do love me.

A few steps later Miracle 3 startled me, "Good morning Mom, love you!"  The prior-hater lumbered past.  This one could hurl the hate in unimaginable heaps upon my head.  This miracle 3 could lie like no other and threaten in ways that would terrify a hardened criminal.  And now, out for an early morning run, radiant smile plastered permanently on changed life.  Miracle 3 met Jesus sometime back and the heaping hatred ceased.

I got it Big Guy, I got it.  The work we do matters and You do see, and You timed Your little running miracles well.  I got it.

I labored on with my little bit of labored swag that I have left, I hit my turn and began my elderly waddle home.  And there amongst the trees was my Miracle 4, barefoot and flying straight for me.  Miracle 4 churned up rocks and gravel, weeds and stickers on bare-skinned flesh and Miracle 4 is truly a bundle of wit, charm, speed and Spirit and he barreled right at me.  "Hi Mom!  I love this weather!  Isn't it wonderful!  Cool weather makes me sooooo happy!  Doesn't it make you happy?!  I loveeeeeeeeee mornings like this!  I could run all morning!"  Miracles 4 says it all in a matter of 1.2 seconds while skipping a twirl around me.  "Mom, how was your run?  I love you.  I missed you!  Can I run home with you?!"  All said within .3 seconds while dancing a jig.  Some of you may be tempted to believe that I exaggerate my Miracle 4, I exaggerate not.  Even slightly.  The bare-footed running wonder makes us all wonder with awe.

Alright CO, now You are just showing off.  Just plain showing off.

As the bare-foot running wonder and I neared our house the CO took one last opportunity to drive the point home.  We saw Miracle 5 at the crest of the hill, this was the CO's first save in our house.  Miracle 5 was pulled out from the burning rubble of youth's stupidity.  He protected her from the abuse and saved her when all said hope was lost, I had ruined our lives but the CO said different.  And Miracle 5 walked gracefully towards us, full of beauty and promise, promise of a life led by the CO.  A walking promise fulfilled, no longer filled with hurt and angst, now healed and whole.  I wear the battle scars of this one, literally and figuratively.  Miracle 5 was the first cut, I would pay dearly in pounds of flesh for this one and it would teach me, train me for the ones to follow.  Grace and beauty met us there, a quiet smile and laughing eyes.  And in a flash I remembered when those eyes did not laugh nor the mouth smile and the remembering was burning to scars healed over.  A remembering to remind the Senior, who had temporarly lost her way, to tell again why we do what we do.  To watch Creator return a laugh to the eyes and a quiet, shy smile to the lips.  To restore a childhood that the Thief had devoured and redeem a soul that the world named lost.

And I do remember and I do know.  Amidst the weary and the angst, amidst all the angry and the anguish we wait for Redeemer to redeem the past and restore their future.

I also know that He will expend me for them, for that is the way of the Cross, that is His way, His path.  The dying of self to bring about life in another.  It is Jesus' way, it is my Cross to bear.

Last night in the dark hours I only proved my still, yet dark ways.  I showed the truth to my unwillingness to die a death in manner that glorifies Christ.  I showed true my lack of sameness to Christ, He died a glorious death for thieving sinner and showed love in the midst of anguish to that thieving sinner.  I on the other hand, cried crocodile tears into dark night to the only Light I have ever known.

I lamented to Savior Who saved me so similar to the thieving sinner that slumbers here.  Savior asked us to save in the practical, so He could save in the eternal.  We save in the temporary but He saves in the eternal.  I hurt today, so thieving sinner will not hurt for an eternity and how dare I question a Savior Who suffered through death on the cross and lived anguish into the grave and underwent hurt of an unearthly kind into the underworld.  And He endured for a sniveling sinner named me.

Bounty and Beauty

Lately, has come the knowing.  Knowing that beach is yet boundary,  boundary to the land of the Other, the Other that is found at the descent of the dive to the Deep.

Mere mortals make boards and ride the last of the lingering power as it breaks on beach.  Mortals on boards ~ momentary child's play, and you often hear them say, "Master of the Sea, is rightly me."

Fishing trolleys offer a trail to merry jolly and another day spent at man's mere play.

And yet, mortals on boards and trolleys for our jolly lay laboriously close to land.  To the depths of Master Waters, they dare not descend.

What lies beyond the moment that Ocean beckons man?  Where power lays laboriously calm amidst our toes to offer a gentle summons, is just a glimpse, a meager tasting but not yet the true knowing.  The depths of the Ocean deep - mortals on boards and trolleys for our jolly - dare not attempt to know.

But, on the horizon we see mammoth monsters of metal, sea sojourners made of steel.  And they steel themselves steadfastly and set their sights on the Sea and they huff and puff their steely, steady selves out to Mighty Sea.

The glamor of the coast, the dazzling temptress of the shore, the promise of ease ~ they gladly leave behind.

For they have found the True Treasure, the depth of Real Beauty and an Abounding Bounty.  Beauty and Bounty of the Ocean Deep.

Most would say, these monsters of metal, these sojourners of steel are a most unbecoming sight.  All the lustre, the lure, was left for lost on the land for sure.  Mammoths of huff and puff, the sleek of the seductress they left laid up.

And yet, the mammoths of metal, the huff and the puff ~ know Truth of the ages, were mindful of the Mystery and gained the Goodness by knowing the Magic is at Sea.

The True Treasures of life are found laboring at Sea.  The Beauty and the Bounty are buried beneath.

Mammoths of metal set sights upon Sea, metal men wander where no man can save them, they are at the mercy of the Maker.  Steely souls have shrugged off the sandy seductress and have set sail to the Sea.  The glamour of the gods of this globe have lost their grip on steely souls, metal mammoths.

They have rightly reckoned, to receive the Bounty of the Ocean, they will need to steel their souls for the diving of the depths and this is not for mere mortals on boards.  To he who holds the Beauty, the Bounty, the Wisdom of the ages ~ his pith and power has come from the fire-forged steel.

The saints of the Sea, the ancient and old of the Ocean have been forged in fire, scars lay deep as they dive the Deep.

The steady ease of shore life is a slippery slope, to stand upon sand and feel the slightest hint of His Presence but not yet dive into His depths is a dangerous gamble.  One in which you may lose your soul.  Or a soul or two of those who surround you.  Tingling toes is temptress, seduction of salvation without the steeling of souls.  I will not attempt a theological debate, I do not dare to claim the academia necessary for this feat.  I will only say, our western church seems quite happily laying up days on shore and talking of tingling toes and loving the luxury of the shore and yet, claiming the prize of salvation without the steeling of souls.  I worry wide and I pray deep at this point - souls may find themselves lost amongst an eternity of sadness, souls that laughed of tingling toes and laid claim to salvation without the sacrifice of steeling a soul against the seductress of the shore.  Salvation is not an act of ourselves, not a "something" we can do and yet, the Word clearly names a bearing up of a cross, a walking out of salvation, a suffering with our Savior.  I see a startling few crosses amongst the shoreline saints.

Many have gone before me with far greater skill and capacity and one of these named it as such ~

     "You desire both the comfort of God and the pleasure of Mammon." ~  Michael O'Brien

We desire the salvation, heaven side.  But here on this gobbling globe, we lay in the lap of luxury and eat of the Mammon.

Mammoths of metal ~ we find unsightly and detestable.

Steeling of souls, the scarring and the scourging ~ is simply not seen on the shore.

And a precious few of saintly Sea souls are found in our midst and the few that sail upon the Sea are often seen simply as strange and discarded as such.

If we were to turn to the Gospels and read the words of Jesus alone, we would fully know that He did not promise us the pleasures of Mammon.  In fact, He was quite clear to the opposite.  His people would suffer much and hope in the glory of heaven, they would live just as Jesus lived and died and then rose again in the hope of this glory.

It is a fool's gold that we hold here in the Western church - that we may have the comfort of God while constantly grabbing the pleasures of Mammon.  We may not have and do both - He decidedly told us to choose.

Beaches, Oceans and Such

Yesterday's diatribe may well have been a detour and yet, we see Truth in God's detours.

Before the diatribe spiraled into a thing of its own - I had begun here ~

". . . and He will show Him greater works than these, so that you may marvel and be full of wonder and astonishment."  (John 5:20)

This is the place where I desire to write - a place of wonder, of astonishment.  A place of child-like marveling at the Great Things He hath done.  In truth, I do not desire to write from this place of wonder but to live in this place of wonder and then allow all else to flow from the marvel.  Our words, my words ought to flow only from the place of wonderful wonder.  Everything I am in need of to craft the perfect W O R D is so clearly found in W O N D E R.

Hence, my deep disdain for the awful word (dare we even name this jumbled jargon a word?) BLOG.

For trivial cares of this world steal our wonder at the Wonder of us all.  Blogs and jobs, technology and our busy, schedules and time tables, calorie counting and our dollar making, schools that turn us into mindless fools and a myriad of other wonder - less thieves gobbling up our wonder.

I fight the battle, daily, constantly - to stop the wonder thieving goons that have all the appearances of good but are certainly not the Best.

I want the Best.  I want all the marvel, the astonishment, the WONDER of looking into the Best.

Allow me to further explain -
     Good versus Best
     Beach versus Ocean
     Wonder Thieving Goons versus Life Giving Wonder

I have lived my life on one coast or another.  Half a life upon one and then the second on the other, we now find ourselves resting on the gulf attached to the other.

I have known the beach, known the beach well.  I have lapsed many a lazy laying days listening to lulling waves lapse laboriously upon the sand.

The beach calls to our lazy ways and meets the demands of an apathetic self.

The beach is good.

But, the Ocean is BEST.

The beach is yet just the moment where Ocean gently touches our world - demonstrating just a slight hint of the power contained within.  The beach is place where power untold and beauty unfathomable lay up gently around our toes to offer a soft whisper of the raging storm help within the deep.

And I have known the beach, the soft whisper but have feared the Ocean, have feared the Deep.

I have settled for the wonder - thieving good and lived Wonderless, lived Oceanless.

A lifetime lived by the sea, sadly lived Oceanless.

The Ocean, where the tempest will blow and the leviathan will roll, and yet this Ocean will still somehow lovingly me lull.

This Ocean has lingered at my toes, just a plug away and I have foolishly lingered on the beach with mere child's play.

My Ocean is waiting -
     And the Wonder of the mighty tempest blow,
        The Wonder of the playful leviathan roll,
     This Wonder desires to fill me full,
        But, alas the beach doth lull,
     Yet, of the Wonder it is null,

The beach we do mere mortals know but the Ocean is beyond our knowing.  It is not a knowing but a plunging, a diving in to the Wonder of the Living Water.

It will take courage and a single minded focus to live amongst the depths of the Sea.  Peter took eyes off the Wonder and sank within the moment, our eyes must be fixedly steadfast upon the tasting and the seeing the Fullness of the Wonder.

I have know the good of the beach for far too long, the Marvel of the Maker is calling me into the depths of the Deep and I will surely take the plunge.

Not the Answer You May Expect

Do you know what I deeply dislike?  Nay.  Dislike is too puny of a word, deep disdain is far more fitting.  Do you know what I deeply disdain?  BLOGS.  Blogs.  BLOGGING.  The word in itself - B. L. O. G. - I find completely distasteful.  Words are meant to be gifts, music to the melancholy soul, medicine to the sick spirit.  Or.  Words can be harsh, damaging.  Or.  Words can be useless, a waste of sound waves, crowding our atmosphere with imbecilic chatter.  And BLOG rises to the crest of this unfortunate list and while the word is wantonly wasteful, the matter is of far greater concern then those ill-fated four letters placed so haphazardly and carelessly about.  The most fearful matter of this awful word is that it serves as a vehicle, a delivery mechanism to offer up a whole host of awful words at such deafening speeds that we are rendered awfully dumb and deaf if we are not careful, very careful.  Yes, this blogger, deeply dislikes blogs, you might want to prayerfully consider your own relationship with blogs.

Let me show you something of the ugly truth of blogs -

I could triple, quadruple my readership in a matter of a few seconds.  First, I would begin with a lame, yet catchy phrase - "Large Families on Small Budgets!" or maybe, "Crockpot Recipes That Will Shrink Your Waist but Will Not Scrimp on Taste!"  Thirty seconds of work and my readers just started liking me and reposted my lame blog all over social media.  Now, I begin to post daily, almost constantly, about EVERYTHING that happens to me and my numbers are climbing fast.  However, if I really want to land this plane - I will write heart breaking stories of my prior orphans, post pictures of familial bliss in a multi-racial family, tell heart warming stories of our disabled darlings and top it all off with comical tales of adoptive family life.  In truth, I could write a daily blog - "The Things Ethiopians Say!" and you would likely read it and repost it (far more often then you do my true blog).

And this is everything that I deeply disdain about BLOGS.

They are entirely too much of this world.  And we already have far too much of this world in our space, in our homes, in our relationships, in our time, our precious time.  This world, and its mundane  mere mortals, crowding out the other world, the true world.  And we live crushed lives under the weight of the mundane.  For nothing of this world can save a sinner or set a captive free.  You will find no eternal answers in a crockpot or rest for you soul in funny, familial antecdotes.

So, I won't write it, I can't post it.

Our time is limited, it is precious.  I do not want to be found guilty of wasting it.  I want to be deemed worthy to redeem it.

"See then that you walk circumspectly, not as fools but as wise, redeeming the time, because these days are evil."   (Ephesians 5:15-16)


Are days are numbered and each is a gift.  Days spent in dark times are gift to Christ follower for dark days dawn forth the opportunity to dispel darkness and offer in Light.

Because the days are evil ~ redeem the time.  Make right that what was set wrong and time finds redemption.  Can we alter the past?  Certainly!  Through restoration of the future!  You have walked darkly in your past?  Do not waste any opportunity to redeem your time this day.

Redeeming the time.  Christ has infused us with this terribly awesome power!  As Light bearers we can offer up restoration to time, redemption to our days.

So walk circumspectly, these days are surely dark.

And yet, even in the midst of this present darkness, we hold the Answer, the Mystery of the ages, the Wonder of our universe, we hold it in our hearts and how deplorably foolish and cruel of us that we bury it under useless cares of this passing world.  Oh, the hours we waste, planning that which is NOT ours to plan, complaining of mere fleeting trivialities, eating and drinking that which falls so quickly away but not tasting and seeing That which is so Good and so Eternal.

Our time is a gift, we have a finite, precious few moments to share the Gift with a dark and dying world and I for one, do not intend to waste those gifted moments reading what some other mere mortal had for breakfast.

Water.  Tea.  Prunes.  Apple.  Tea.  Water.  Luna Bar.

Do you feel all the wiser for having read my silly breakfast menu?  Certainly not!  Are you encouraged to run your race in faith?  Absolutely not!

Redeem you time!  Walk circumspectly!  And guard your sacred moments jealously!