A Godly Man

When I was 18-years-old, I packed up and moved to Los Angeles, California to attend Bible college. It was less about wanting to learn more of the Word,  and more about trying to find a preacher husband like my daddy. I had been praying for a godly husband for as long as I could remember and I figured that was a good place to find one.

I came home after a year, without a husband. It's amazing just how badly you can do in college when you're not actually there to learn anything.

A few years later, while in school to become an occupational therapist, I met and fell in love with Shawn...decidedly not a preacher, but a really good Christian guy who is very much like my daddy.

While I had obviously moved on from my desire to be a preacher's wife, I still had some hang-ups and ideas about what constituted a godly man. He must be at church every time the doors opened, raise his hands in worship, rise early in the morning to read the Bible, witness to his co-workers, listen exclusively to Christian music, etc. I decided my husband was lacking in these areas, so I set about to change encourage him.

I set the radio in our shared car to Christian music. I removed his magazines from the bathroom and replaced them with a Bible. I bought him family devotionals. If he chose to miss church, I feigned my best martyr smile and set about readying the children until he guiltily agreed to go. I was so subtle in my nagging encouragement. 

If you haven't figured it out, Shawn has mastered the long-suffering fruit of the Spirit.  And, he loves me. So, he put up with all my nonsense and did his best to live up to my ridiculous standards of spirituality to make me happy.

And then something happened. After the birth of our fourth child, I suffered from severe postpartum depression. I found myself in an angry fog that I could not escape. I was unable to function. I was miserable and, I'm sure, miserable to live with, as well.

My husband saw us through. While continuing to work full-time, he cooked meals for us, changed diapers, bathed and dressed children, and generally ran the house. Beyond that, though, he took care of me. I remember him running hot baths for me to soak in and handing me my Bible and journal and shooing me out the door to the nearest coffee shop. When I'd walk by him, he'd scoop me into his lap and pray for me and let me cry.

During my depression, he became the hands and feet of Jesus for me. He loved me as Christ loved the church and gave himself for me. He sacrificed his own comfort, time, and desires and kept the "in sickness" part of his marriage vows. Finally, when it looked as if I may never return to "normal", he gently sent me to my doctor.

After a six-month course of medication, I did return to my old self, but our marriage was never the same, thankfully. I finally realized that God had sent me that godly man I had prayed for. I'd been married to him all along.  It was not out of character for him to serve us. He's been doing stuff like that our whole marriage. I was just too thick-headed to see it.

This is what godliness is supposed to look like. How did I get it so wrong?

"The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart." I Samuel 16:7b

Now, seven years later, this man is traveling half-way around the world to become Daddy to a child he's never even seen. He is sacrificing his plans, his security, and his future to care for one of the least of these. He has no idea what awaits us when we get there, and he hates to fly, but he's leading us there anyway because he's good and brave and his heart is broken for children with no one. He is determined to right a grave injustice.

It takes my breath away when I think about it and he is absolutely my hero.....and one of the most godly men I know.

Hair and Faith

Recently I wanted a change and began researching hairstyles. I finally decided on a sleek, smooth, classic bob, slightly longer in the front. Excitedly, I took several pictures to my stylist.

She started cutting and realistically decided I had too much curl underneath for that to work. Instead, I came home with a layered, curly, "sassy" 'do that works with my hair's natural bent.

My husband liked it, as did my kids, and the "sassy" comment came from one of my co-workers who were all very complimentary, as well.

Still, I spent one very frustrating hour with a blow dryer, flat iron, round brush, and product trying to mold it into the sleek bob I had envisioned.

I would get one part of my hair smooth, only to have another section spring up and refuse to lay flat. My efforts were in vain and I was beyond irritated until, very clearly, the Lord opened my eyes to a spiritual truth.

For the past year, I have been working full-time while my wonderful husband stays home with the kids. Prior to this, I was a homeschooling mom juggling a large family and some hugely unrealistic expectations for myself.

I'm not sure where the expectations came from....possibly my peers, my church, homeschooling magazines and conventions, blogs, books, I can't say for sure. All I know is that, somewhere along the way, I got this picture in my mind of what a homeschooling mom of many was supposed to look like. And it wasn't me.

I never even questioned the validity of the picture, I simply tried to become it.

Organized, efficient, methodical, frugal, focused, quiet, calm, industrious.

Baking bread from grains I ground myself, cooking delicious and nutritious meals on a meager budget - from scratch, packing lunches with homemade snacks and fixing crockpot dinners for co-op days, decorating my home in the latest crafty style (ala Pinterest) and keeping it immaculate, creating lesson plans for all the ages designed to seamlessly learn together, organizing everything alphabetically for easy use, ....

You get the idea. All that was missing from my mythical picture was the proverbial denim jumper.

I was under the impression that this is who God wanted me to be. I begged Him to turn me into her. I went to conferences and prayer groups, did personal and group Bible studies, had friends and my husband pray for me all in an effort to become this mythical person.

Don't get me wrong. I know enough to know that no one is perfect, but I really did believe I should strive for the ideal, and I really believed that this was it.

I was becoming discouraged and eventually became depressed. I struggled with my faith. It's difficult to continuously beg God for something that never happens. I would "get it together" in the area of meal planning, only to fall hopelessly behind in housekeeping or laundry. I would feel like I was doing better in scheduling only to completely space a therapy appointment. I would stick to my budget for two weeks, only to forget to turn on the crockpot and blow my weekly food allowance on one meal from a fast food restaurant.

I was exhausted, overwhelmed, deeply depressed, and hopeless.

It's taken me a year to get some perspective, but God really opened my eyes in that one futile hairstyling session. I was trying to turn my hair into something opposed to it's natural flow.

I spent years trying to turn myself into something I was never created to be.

Trying to smooth one area of my life only to watch my inadequacy pop up in another area. Focusing only on my weaknesses and refusing to play to my strengths until my strengths became weaknesses to me.

There is nothing wrong with the woman I described. Those are wonderful ideals to live up to....if that's who God created you to be.

But it wasn't me.

And that's okay.

God created me with certain giftings and then He gave me this huge, wonderful family...that I will never be able to organize. But, instead, he gave me the ability to be interrupted. I used to be so frustrated at my lack of focus (surely a godly skill and necessary to accomplish acceptable tasks like cleaning a closet or scrubbing a sink) instead of rejoicing in my flexibility. With seven children, interruptions are constant, much like Chinese water torture if one were prone to be task focused. Thankfully, my ADD allows me to roll with interruptions and to deal with the problem at hand. I may not have accomplished much toward home management at the end of the day, but my children felt heard.

My spontaneous nature allows me to change direction in the middle of the day and my kids might suddenly find themselves schooling in the park. Did it really matter that some of them might have been wearing yesterday's shirts or mismatched shoes? 

God gave me a soft heart toward those in need and an ability to move people with words, but I allowed others to convince me that organizing my closet was a holier pursuit than time at my computer. After all, "God is a God of order." (To be clear, I didn't actually abandon my computer in favor of organizing, but I sure felt guilty about it.)

There are other examples, I'm sure, that I'm just now uncovering...or rather, that God is just now revealing, but you get the idea.

I'm free to be me, now, and I'm working to stay that way. I'm discovering deeper waters of grace and I'm careful about the influences with which I surround myself. Mostly, I'm staying close to Jesus, an example of flexibility who received interruptions as divine appointments and used His soft heart and persuasive words to bring glory to His Father.

I want to be like Him.

The American Dream

I write this post out of complete and utter conviction that I have been striving for easy and comfortable for far too long. Complacency and contentment have stolen years of the life that God has chosen for me to live. Call it a midlife crisis, a wake-up call, or God just rattling my cage. Just know, if this post sounds preachy, I'm preaching to myself.

I've been thinking lately about what it means that I am an American. For what purpose was I born into the land of freedom, prosperity, and opportunity?

While I am deciding which restaurant I want to dine in, somewhere far away is a mother watching her children starve... to death.

While I fill a glass of filtered water from my refrigerator, in Afghanistan, a 7-year-old girl is lugging a bucket of filthy water from the river to her family for the third time today.

While my 12-year-old daughter is enjoying dance camp, a girl of the same age in Cambodia is barely surviving the sex slave trade.

While I pop an Advil for a slight headache, another woman is watching her husband shrivel from AIDS, not because there is no medicine available for the dreaded disease, but because there is no medicine available for him.

Why were we born here? Of all the places in the world, why here?

I don't think it's so we can live easy lives. I don't think it's so we can be comfortable and relax. I don't think it's because God loves us more. I don't believe that the great American dream is the abundant life Jesus talked about.

There is a purpose in our being here.

God had a reason to drop us in a place where mere survival is easy; where we have expendable time with no reason to worry about our next meal; where we sleep comfortably in safety; where basic healthcare, though expensive, is readily available.

Our purpose, as Christians is to glorify the One who saved us.

How are you doing that with the resources (time, energy, money, freedom, knowledge) that He has so readily entrusted to you?

There is no reason to feel guilty for what you have been given, just as there is no reason to feel superior to those that have not. But is it enough to just feel grateful? Are you fulfilling your God-given, American-born purpose by being a good neighbor, living a moral life, and hoping that people will be won over to the Kingdom by noticing your niceness?

God rarely fills us with something without the expectation that we will pour it out for Him.

Pray that He will give you passion. Pray that He will reveal His purpose for you. Pray that He will break your heart with what breaks His. And then pray that He will fill your heart with love and open your eyes to see beyond the nose on your face!

God has so graciously put people in my life who inspire me to see beyond my nose:

My friend Nickole, through her Better Way Imports business, sells items that women who have escaped the sex slave trade make to support themselves. She also uses her shows to raise awareness about the women and children who have not escaped.

My young friend, Emily, instead of presents for her 21st birthday, is asking people to celebrate by donating money to help build much needed wells in areas without access to clean water. Click on her name to see a video for more info.

Another friend, Caroline, is building support preparing to move her family back to Afghanistan to provide aid to the people they have come to love.

Several of my friends have opened their homes and hearts and adopted children with special needs from other countries, who otherwise would languish in institutions.

God put you here, in this place at this time, for a reason. What are you going to do about it?

A Home

For the last four years (maybe even longer), I would say that our house was just that, a house....not really a home. It was perpetually messy, even dirty, but more than that, it lacked all the extras that make a building homey. 


When Eon was born, we suddenly had six children, four of whom were aged five and under, and we were plunged into the world of special-needs-parenting. Prior to his birth, I was (obviously) pregnant, a state that leaves me exhausted, queasy, and crabby...and doing the barest of bare minimum. After his birth, even though he was generally healthy, we had appointment after appointment, one always leading to another, plus two hospitalizations and one heart surgery. 


We had little (read "needy" and "messy") children who seemed bent on  destroying every knick-knack, throw pillow, and window covering in sight. A relaxed housekeeper in the best of times, I couldn't even pretend to keep up. My ADD, with it's trademark ability to hyper-focus on select things and not at all on other things, allowed me to immerse myself in the world of Down syndrome, but accomplish little else. 


After the first year, the appointments slowed and I thought I could get my bearings, only to find myself unexpectedly pregnant with KJ. Another 9 months of the barest of bare minimum, a kidney stone, and a scary delivery later and we now had seven children, five of them under six-years-old. Then I had a revisit of the kidney stone with stents, infections, hospitalizations, and surgery. 


Things at home continued to deteriorate.


Last summer, I found myself depressed, overwhelmed, and without hope and, what's more, I think I'd felt that way for a very long time. I couldn't cut this stay-at-home, homeschool mom thing any more. We, or rather I, discussed sending the kids to public school, but the kids seemed to be doing fine. I was the one struggling...with the dingy environment, the overwhelming clutter, and my inability to affect change. 


When the opportunity to escape for three months and work full-time presented itself, I was almost giddy with anticipation. With Shawn home, I knew things would change in rapid order. 


The first few months flew by and I agreed to stay on permanently. Things did not really change much with the house, but I didn't really care. It was no longer my responsibility and I just felt free, honestly.


It took Shawn until very recently to get his bearings. After all, he wasn't presented with a handy job description for his new role like I was. But, slowly, things with the house were changing. New paint, less clutter, window coverings, throw pillows, etc and, suddenly, I realized I am comfortable in my house. It feels...well, homey.


I am so blessed that God is allowing this change in circumstances to bring restoration to our entire family in so many different ways. I am grateful and I am humbled. I am glad to come home.

One Thousand Gifts

Recently, I mentioned to a friend that I don't often choose gratitude. In fact, I was reticent to log into my facebook account because so many of my friends were posting something they were thankful for every day in honor of Thanksgiving. I found it annoying. 


My friend graciously loaned me her copy of the book, One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. 


I am entranced. I'm also convicted, encouraged, and...well, grateful that God would put this tool in my hand at this moment.


She writes poetically, and it's difficult to read more than a few pages before needing to stop and absorb the content. So much meat in such a small book.


I'm only half way through and my own list of one thousand gifts stands at a paltry forty, buy my eyes are starting to see and my list is growing faster and my heart is growing larger as I develop the discipline and reap the delight of eucharisteo.


I cannot recommend this book more highly. Get a copy for yourself. Might as well get a copy for your friends, as well. Then you won't have to loan them yours and wait...and wait...and wait to get it back. (Sorry, Peg! :)

The Seizure

Saturday, after having donuts in honor of our bookends' birthdays (Michaela, our oldest, turned 15, and Keturah, our youngest, turned one), Eon suddenly started crying and grabbing his belly while rolling around in obvious pain. We tried everything to calm him and to discover what the problem was, to no avail. 

After a half hour of this, we called the doctor on call and left a message for the nurse. Before she returned our call, he calmed somewhat. Then, while he was laying on our bed, his eyes half-way closed, his eyes started flitting from side to side. I called his name and he didn't respond. When I called him louder, his eyes opened wider and stilled, but didn't focus. Then they half closed and flitted some more. The whole thing probably lasted 30 seconds or so. 

When the nurse called and I explained what happened, she sent us to the ER. Eon was completely exhausted by then and didn't even move when Shawn buckled him into the van. Pulling into the ER parking lot, I thought he looked pale and I couldn't get him to wake up. I shook his leg and patted him and called his name loudly. Nothing. Freaked out, I pulled into the nearest parking spot, yanked him from his car seat and took off running.

Halfway to the door he said, "Momma. Down!" After that, he acted totally normal. He was diagnosed with an ear infection. I tried to hold him down for a CT scan. That was fun. They were able to get enough to rule out hydrocephalus and a brain tumor, anyway.

We were instructed to have our pediatrician order an EEG and follow-up with a pediatric neurologist. We have an appointment with our ped tomorrow morning.

Honestly, I'm a little stressed about it all. I was very afraid on the way to the ER. 

Also, I'm in a lot of physical pain. I hurt my back dashing into the hospital with a 30 pound bundle of low muscle tone. I just recently recovered from a back injury that happened over 3 months ago. I have some thoughts about this new injury that I haven't sorted out, yet. I'll keep you posted.

For now, please pray for my boy. 

Groundhog Day

The days run together until everyday is Groundhog Day....generally pleasant, but not something I would like to endlessly repeat. I find that physical exhaustion collides with mental fatigue and so I numb myself with the mindless drug of television...partly because I want to escape or avoid, and partly because I'm too tired to remember what I could/should be doing instead. 

How does one do the "quality time" I've heard so much about? How do you make every moment matter when you really just want a nap?

It takes a courage that I lack. To step outside of myself, to push aside my selfishness, might carry the expectation that I'll do it all the time. It might invite further guilt when I cannot pull it off consistently. Better to let them think it's not a possibility, than to show them what of me they're missing.

Oh, Lord. I've been a fool to think I need you less when  obviously I need you so much more. So many more people needing me...needing You...needing me to show them You. I have no time to lose, yet losing time is exactly what I've been doing on these Groundhog days. Instead of wallowing, the Bill Murray in me needs to wake up and finally get it right. Have mercy on me. Give me grace and strength. I need you. Please, show them You through me.