Marvel

Even though I spend so much of my day modelling, guiding, and teaching my kids about respectful behaviour and relationships, when I catch them embodying those principles to each other, I marvel.  It's not that I didn't think it could or would ever happen.  If I thought that I wouldn't be trying so hard to impart my wisdom.  But I am still a teeny bit surprised that it is happening right here in front of me, that it looks so natural, and that these things are becoming a part of them.  I marvel at how far they have come.

I feel like I know my kids well.  Nobody else has spent more time with them than I have.  Nobody has witnessed as many firsts or coached as many accomplishments.  Nobody has wiped as many tears or sneaked as many hugs.  I know a lot about their gifts, passions, interests, abilities, and characters.  Yet they amaze me over and over.  They do something that will fill me with pride as I delight in them.  And while I am proud of the thing they have done, I simultaneously marvel at what it says about who they are.  I see their accomplishment, but even better, I see the beating heart behind that accomplishment and marvel at who they are at their very core.

Jesus has been teaching me for years and years.  When He sees me living those teachings, embodying His will, keeping in step with His spirit in me...well, I suspect that He marvels.  He might marvel at how far I have come.  How I am growing.  How He is growing me.  Perhaps His heart even swells with pride when I have a particularly big breakthrough.

Jesus knows my gifts, passions, interests, abilities, and character.  He put them there, after all.  But in the moments when I have given Him plenty of space and freedom to move in me and through my hands and words, in those moments he must marvel like a giddy parent.  He must marvel at how the things I do or say reflect His love in my life.  He must marvel at how those great moments point to a living, breathing, beautiful soul that He crafted that with the capacity and drive to do His will.

Lord, today I marvel at You because You first marvelled at me - even as I marvel at how much vertical and horizontal square footage 5 cups of flour can cover.

Why I want to Foster

After finally saying out loud that I think I'd like to foster, I feel very self-conscious about it.  I feel like I need to have good, solid reasons and know for that this is what I want to do and why I want to do it.  I feel like it needs to be more than "a good thing to do".
(Sidenote: what I really want if for the I's to be we's, and I won't actually pursue this if they never become we's.)

I want to foster because the stories of kids whose families can't provide the safe homes they need make me angry and trembly and make my gut knot with compassion in a way that few other injustices do.

I want to foster because I have imagined giving a home to other people's children for as long as I can remember.  For 'irrational' reasons and long before I even realized that that wasn't normal.

I want to foster because I have a burden to share the Very Good Thing we have going on here.  Not the easy thing or the relaxing thing, but the good thing.  I want to pass on the blessing of a solid marriage relationship and of a supportive network of church, friends, and family.

I want to foster because there is a major issue in our city of injustice between races, and it seems that only love and personal connection can begin to heal that rift.

I want to foster because I have always pictured a full house of kids and thrived on managing the chaos.  God has given me a gift for this and I want to be faithful in using it to serve him and others.

I want to foster because God is pestering me to do so.  Pestering and preparing.  I have so many life experiences that have equipped me, on various small levels, for this.  I have begun to recognize and identify aspects of my character that are gifts not everyone has.

I want to foster because God is pulling my heart that direction and if I don't listen, I will miss out on part of his plan for me.

Like a Weaned Child

I am calmed and quieted, like a weaned child who no longer cries for its mother's milk.  Yes, like a weaned child is my soul within me.  Psalm 131:2

When Niko was in the newborn stage, he was so so good at snuggling in and sleeping on anybody.  He liked to be upright on a chest and would just burrow himself in there (I think Karen will have a memory of him doing this to her once during church).  He was so cozy and cuddle-able and content - especially on Bernie's chest.  But pass him to me, and a slow but steady transformation would occur.  He'd start shifting and wriggling.  He'd begin to turn his head from side to side and grunt.  Before you know it he was completely awake a desperate for milk.  Where peaceful sleep had been totally blissful only minutes ago, now only hunger remained.  

So I imagine being calmed and quieted as the place where Jesus is really all my heart wants and needs.  I don't find myself distracted at the faintest hint of a milky fragrance, because I have learned that my whims don't ever take me to that place of complete rest.  That peace is only found snuggled tight, cozily dozing on Jesus' chest.

That said, my weaned children certainly don't cuddle the way they did when they were still breastfeeding, so maybe I missed the message of this verse.

That said, David never breastfed anyone.

Project E

You are not as gruff as you seem.  Your tough and apathetic exterior is a facade.  But I can see how that is easier to show the world than exposing them to your life of single-handedly supporting a family of five on a marginal salary.  Your burden of being the spiritual head of the household.  Your baggage of the mental illness that plagues your home.  Your heart heavy with loneliness as the husband who was supposed to be your partner in all things feels like he is another one you have to care for.

I am glad that you found our group.  I have been bitter before, at how your poison of negativity can drag us down.  But this time I will love you for you, challenge you carefully, and see if we can't both grow a little.  

Turner Of Hearts

It's not on me to put in the requisite minutes of meaningful daily devotion time.  Or to ensure that I pray often and deeply enough.  Or to see the beauty of God in every moment and person.  Or to love everyone I come in contact with.  Or to practice the presence of God at all times.

Those are all really good and wonderful things.  But it's not up to me because God, You are the Turner of hearts.  There are times when I will be on top of it and be doing everything "right".  And there are times I will be floundering.  Most days I am somewhere in between, but my relationship with You is not just another ball I have to juggle.  Not just a category of my life I can give a grade on any given day.  Because it's not on me.

Thank You, Jesus, for being the One to turn my heart back to You in the big and memorable moments.  And thank You for being the One to turn my heart back to You in the little whispers and gentle nudges.  Thank You for bringing me back little by little and pulling me closer bit by bit in a faithful moment by moment way.   Thank You that it's not up to me.

Foster

Every story I hear about abuse and neglect and broken messed-up families makes a deeper cut of compassion into my heart.  I can't gloss over them.  Those stories are the ones that grab my attention each time I see, hear, or read the news.  Sadness swells inside and I feel a yearning to do something.  What I have here is so good.  Not easy, mind you, but good.

I have a solid marriage.  Not perfect and certainly not bump-free, but solid.  It is hard work to maintain, but we are both willing to work hard.  It gets tense here and there, but we can always talk it through.

I have three happy, healthy kids.  They aren't perfect either, but they are learning and growing and are secure in their relationships with us and each other.  They are loved and respected in the way they deserve.

I have an incredible support network.  Parents, siblings, friends, and a church help out, back us up, support us, pray for us, and encourage us.  It is a wide circle of connections, but deep enough in a few places that I can rely on them to be there when I cannot.

The conversation of fostering comes up around me so many times.  Clearly our city needs more good, healthy, strong, caring foster families.  So many people mention that they want to foster, yet so few are.  I want to take steps of action and put my compassion to good use.  I want to share all the good in this house with the little ones whose houses aren't blessed with the same.

Jesus, give us courage to move ahead.

You have the Words

O Lord, to whom would I go?

To the world of friends and supporters I have built up around myself.  To encourage, to corroborate, to challenge, to enliven.  And they do.  But they cannot speak into the places I have not let them see.

To the mothers who know what day in and day out kids feels like.  To understand, to sympathize, to commiserate, to inspire.  And they do.  But they, too, cannot speak into the cracks that are so deep and thirsty.

To the internet with its (over)abundance of stories and ideas.  To be seen, to be heard, to be declared worthy.  And it does.  But it, especially, cannot speak into the real-ness of my real needs.

To my husband who loves me so fully and unconditionally.  To build up, to fill up, to hold up, to open up.  And he does.  But he cannot speak fullness when he is so drained.  He cannot be expected to single-handedly sustain me.

But You have the words that give life.  Thank you, Jesus.  I praise You for being the one who encourages, corroborates, challenges, enlivens, understands, sympathizes, commiserates, inspires, sees me, hears me, declares me worthy, builds me up, fills me up, opens me up, and holds me up.  Your words are the words I need to hear.  They bring light out of darkness and life out of death.  You speak truth.  You speak from a place of grace and gentleness and compassion.  Let my words be few as I learn to hang on every word that comes from Your lips, O Lord.