God meant 20 years to make us holy, and happiness is just a bonus, not a guarantee :)

Dave and I celebrated 20 years together, I weaned the baby, and the rest of the family said goodbye to leaving-the-house Hannah and I all on the same day. It was a day for grace.

The kids brought us breakfast in the guesthouse outside, coffee cake made especially for us, tea and coffee just the way we like it. It felt different, knowing I would get on a plane with Hannah and fly far away from this man that afternoon...wave goodbye to everyone, even the still-nursing 15-month-old who we decided would be better off with daddy than traveling the world in six short days.

I'm not good at goodbyes. I have said so many in my life, and my life-long strategy has been to think of the next happy thing. I'm sad, but I try and make myself feel better. I hate being sad. It doesn't feel good. I hate my children being sad. I don't think I know how to be sad for long enough without being sad for too long.

Those last days with Hannah were like a dream...I kept looking at her, at the way her hair blew in the breeze, at the way her eyes shone when she was happy, and I kept wondering how 18 years could go by so fast. I know they do....people always tell you that they do....but to actually arrive at the day when I had to let her go was hard to imagine. It didn't feel like a gradual letting go, gap year or not. It felt like a grasping for last moments and days. I'm still trying to get my head around it. And speak truth to my heart:

This girl was never yours. None of them are. They are pure gift, and now you get to give one back.

You thought while you were with her that you could protect or provide for her, but her Father is the One who has been doing that all along. Now you both get to see Him do that even more.

God, in His sweet and infinite wisdom, has other people and experiences and plans for her that He is unfolding before her. I would never want her to miss out on any of them.

So, after serious reflection, I let it sink down deep: all of this is blessing. He reminds me of how I want to be that Proverbs 31 woman who “laughs at the future.” This is one of those times that I'm sure that lady had some choosing to do: to laugh, or to gnash and wail and ask that it wouldn't be so. I will choose laughter, and joy.  

Joy: a choice, but not an option. Always a choice, always necessary, sometimes more of a battle than other times. “As for me, I will always have hope. I will praise you more and more.” Psalm 71:14

And Hannah, God has done such a great work in you. We could not be more grateful that He gave you to us as a daughter and friend!  You are such a treasure.

Last night Kate and I were making dinner and singing. I said, “that song makes me sad.” She said, “It makes me sad, too, and I don't know why, but it makes me think about Hannah not being here.” My thoughts exactly. You are always close in our thoughts and hearts.

So, not bemoaning the fact, but choosing with hope to see: this is the beginning of a new phase, one where we are excited when we're all together! Because that is what will be unique, not the usual. And even as we say goodbye to one, we see the lineup already marking out each two or three years ahead, praying for grace. As Dave reminds me when I am downhearted: this is what they were made for! They were not made to live with us until they are 30. :) Not that he doesn't grieve, but not the same way.

As a matter of fact, while I'm on that subject, do men and women do anything the same? I am amazed at God's design to put two such different genders together.

The mission psychologist walked in the room, plopped our personality tests down and declared, “Well, it's true: opposites DO attract.”

Surely you see this all the time, I say. Not to this extreme, he responds, and not when they still like eachother so much.

It's true: we are almost completely opposite, not just on the test, but in real life. Maybe twenty years together has made us even more so. He says my drug of choice is people. I can hardly hear him say it over the clattering of the party that I've invited. :) I like spontanaity. He likes to hold down a job. He plans, he saves, he purposes, he is faithful as the rising sun when it comes to a commitment, so he isn't quick to commit. He actually thinks things through before saying yes. I think about it two weeks after the yes when I realize what it actually means for me. I love change. Moving houses is my idea of fun, along with having another baby or moving to Africa. 12 years in one spot was just what I needed to deal with my lack of contentment. Of course, we did have five babies and move three times in those years, but even still....

I think it would be fun to live near the beach and ride vespas together and eat icecream and meet people (of course). This worries him.

My idea of a good time is staying up late until the babies are naughty and we're all falling apart because we had no self-control. He actually likes getting people to bed on time and making sure we stay sane.

It took me about fifteen years to figure out that 1. He wasn't going to wake up one day and realize my way was better, like I had always thought he would (wouldn't anybody?!). 2. I might not be a very suitable helper to my man while I sat around waiting for such an occurrence to happen.

I had a very specific picture in my head of what I wanted our family to look like, and I actually made it more important than dying to myself and my desires and letting God decide what our family should look like.

And come to find out, it really isn't all that fun to keep everybody up until they're all falling apart. It is actually nice to put people to bed on time and have a sense of order in our lives, no thanks to me. :)

And what the man said at the end is true too: we do like eachother an awful lot. There is a lot of laughter that happens in our home. We crack eachother up. I hope we're growing into that old couple with a thousand private jokes and permanent laugh wrinkles. We're on our way, not that the way isn't punctuated with lots of “growth sessions” and hair pulling.

Recently, we were able to go snorkeling in the Indian Ocean. Chugging out in the glass bottom boat, we could see some of the fish through the glass. Sunshine reflected on beautiful, spilling waves, and salty breeze blew.

I sat on the boat, thinking about the cold of the sea, the mask filling with water, the cumbersome flippers...I almost thought I didn't need to see down below. And anyways, I could see the fish gathering at the bread in the water. It was beautiful up above.

Thankfully, I made myself jump in and get a glimpse underneath the water. The second I went under, it was a different world. Bright fish darted in and out of stunning coral. The sounds were all muted by the quiet of being under the water. I held Dave's hand and swam along, reaching out to feel with my other hand. I was in awe over the variety and beauty of the fish, each with a unique and spectacular design.

Marriage has been just such an experience. Of course it is easier to not have true intimacy. Of course it feels more comfortable not to expose your desires, your body, your soul to another human being, and one so different than yourself. Of course it's easier to cover sin than to confess, repent, bare all. It's easier, but then we miss out. We miss out on the depths of intimacy and oneness that are waiting. We miss God's design for our holiness and transformation that comes through the melding of our life to our beloved's. We may miss laying in bed with a kicking baby belly in between us. :)

And when we do risk all, we marvel that we thought that easier was better.

"A heavyweight boxing champion who dodges all serious contenders to consistently fight marshmallows is derided and ridiculed--and rightly so.  Christians who dodge all serious struggle and consciously seek to put themselves in whatever situations and relationships are easiest are doing the same thing--they are coasting, and eventually that coasting will define them and--even worse--shape them." --Gary Thomas, Sacred Marriage

If you have had it with your marriage, there is always hope.  As long as there is breath in your lungs, there is hope.  Our God, He's making all things new.  Nothing is impossible for Him!  If you do nothing else, fight this battle for your marriage!  You don't have to save the world or live in a mud hut or sacrifice your body to the flames.  All you have to do is love this one person.  Sometimes it feels a lot easier to save the world.  But this is your battle; this is where you show who you really are!  Actually, this is where you get to see who God really is.  He is ready to show Himself strong on your behalf.   

Humbled, Always.

I have several blog posts appropriately named, "humbled."  Truth be told, I think the majority of them could be so labeled.  God continually challenges me by my lack of generosity or lack of faith, or lack, but in a good, kind way.  I need him, always.

I have had the privilege of participating in a monthly pastors' wive's meeting.  It is a sweet time of fellowship and learning more about the Word, what God calls us to as women, health issues, and more.  All of these dear women live in surrounding villages and it is a blessing to have them all come into town to gather together.

Two months ago, about halfway through the morning, the women with babies decided it was time for baths.  At 10:30 in the morning.  Decided, as in, "where is the hot water and basin?"   Ok, let me go grab those things.  I struggled.  That's how rich I am in generosity.  It's not easy to admit!  And I love these sweet little babies!

Last month I was ready, as God, in His great mercy, had prepared me to be a little more welcoming and kind and actually have the basin ready ahead of time, whether I think babies need a bath in the middle of the morning or not.  I was not reluctant, and proud of myself for it! (wow.)   I do find that it isn't the big cultural differences that get to me, but the little ones, usually when I wonder if I'm being taken advantage of.

I'm pretty sure Jesus didn't give a second thought to whether or not he was being taken advantage of, since "everywhere he went, they brought the sick out..."  Worrying about being taken advantage of is in stark contrast to true service.

Take two.

Last Sunday a vehicle was stuck after the service and Dave was busy working to get it unstuck.  We have been at the village church in the village we used to live in, so we know the people of that congregation well.  Most of the kids went home in another car, and I tried to get a very tired, unhappy Ben to sleep in my arms in our car.  He was screaming his head off--he just needs his bed.

A mama from church came to the car and said, "Oh Mama Hannah!  He's crying because he needs a bath!"

Well, that was not the first thing that had come to mind.  "Come with me to my house."  At that point, I was up for anything.  Lauren, Ben and I followed Mama Baraka through some little mud houses, past some sunflowers and into the little dirt clearing between her two mud rooms.  She pulled out a small wooden chair for me and filled a basin with plenty of water, then plopped Ben into it.

He grinned, pleased with this effort.   He splashed around, flinging his hands out with droplets of water onto the packed dirt: a small, chubby pope bestowing wild blessings from his sacred bath.

While he lingered, Mama Baraka brought a fresh bar of soap, retrieved a clean, folded kanga (material for a wrap) to dry him off, and then produced two kinds of baby body lotion for me to choose from.

I'm sure you can see where I'm headed with this.  Or where God was headed.

How humbling.  To receive such sweet, eager, wholehearted generosity from a mama who had to carry the water from the well herself, use her little money to buy soap and lotion...my heart was greatly instructed.  Jesus, forgive me.  I am so not like you.  I learn from your people in this place every day. I still have so much to learn about generosity.

 But God has chosen the things which the world regards as foolish, in order to put its wise men to shame; and God has chosen the things which the world regards as destitute of influence, in order to put its powerful things to shame...I Cor. 1:27

Mama Emma (short for Emmanuel, a boy who used to come play at our house) saw me and called to me to come visit her house, too, "We have been waiting for months for you to visit!"  We headed down the path: a humbled mama, a barefoot Lauren and a very clean and good-smelling Ben.  Offered a chair again, we greeted everyone and had a little chat about Mama Emma's youngest who has Down's Syndrome.  She is a gorgeous little pumpkin of a 4-year-old who just recently learned to walk.  "Emma!  Go run after that chicken and give it to Mama Hannah!"

                                                          

Emma ran around the yard furiously, chasing a world-class runner of a chicken, grabbed it recklessly, and brought it to Lauren.  She held it delicately, and seizing its opportunity for escape, it flapped desperately and let out a series of loud squawks right in Ben's face.  Ben loves chickens as much as I do, but he loves them from a distance.  He let out his own series of loud squawks and clung to me.  Mama Emma and the children roared with laughter, and then Mama Emma promptly advised:

"He needs a bath!"

She was only dissuaded when she found out that he had just had a bath.

Five minutes ago.

She sent us on our way with our speckled hen and a heart full of the good medicine of laughter.  My heart is always full when I leave the village.  Full, and humbled.

Truly, "those who walk in pride, He is able to humble" Dan. 4:37

The hidden reason for poverty...

To catch a thief

This post has been a long time coming. It keeps having little postscripts added to it.  I'm still not sure the story has actually ended!

I used to think, in my pride, that I was a pretty good judge of character.  Someone lying?  I thought I could see right through that.  Who was really needy, who was kind of faking it.  At least once I knew them for any amount of time.

Living in Africa, drenched in another culture, language and innuendos, has knocked my self-confident feet right out from under me.  From the street boys who say they are starving, then scoff at the offered banana, to the people who come to the gate who don't seem so desperate but I find out actually are....I find myself constantly asking the Lord for wisdom.  Which is good, because only God really knows our hearts to begin with and I would hate to remain in my lofty state of Mrs. Know-it-all.

The first time a thief was caught on our block, we found out what it was like to watch a mob that was blood-thirsty to the core.  It made me feel sick for the rest of the day.  In the end, after they had beat the simple man mercilessly and tried to stone him, they decided to run him over with a motorcycle and driving him away in our car was the only thing that saved his life.  One young man in particular was gleeful about hitting him with his grass slasher, "Islam says if you steal, you can lose your hand.  You can go home with one hand today."  When we begged for mercy, they said, "next time it will be you who gets robbed."

The second thief was caught in the afternoon, three guys having taken money and a phone at four in  the afternoon at knifepoint, only one guy having been caught.  Again, the mob arrived within      minutes, and Hannah heard the man saying his last prayers as they sharpened blades and made him      
lay down.  A minute later they dispersed and she was sure they had beheaded him and left him in    front of our gate, but by some miracle they had decided to take him to the police station instead.  Not only would that have been horrifically sad, but evidently his body would have been our responsibility since it was outside our house.

The third thief was our thief.  We had been robbed the day after Stephanie arrived, and had a couple nice chunks out of the concrete to show for it, outside the metal grate and locked door.  Two in the afternoon on a Sunday was evidently not intimidating for these bold guys that hopped into the mango tree, pried the metal door and bashed the other one in.  They relieved us of all the electronics they could find and hopped the back fence when they heard us coming home.

Praise the Lord for nursing babies.  Two weeks later, Lauren, Stephanie and I stayed home from youth group when the rest left, as they weren't feeling well.  I was sitting in the living room with Ben,  
when I noticed some guys outside our fence that were just standing and staring at it.  I got up, looked out the window and to my amazement they were lifting one guy up into the mango tree again.  I told         Lauren to take the baby to the back room and we hurried to the hallway and locked it, as the outside door was already locked.  I whispered to Stephanie who kept her wits about her and asked if I had any kind of weapon besides the pepper spray gun in my hand.  "Well, Dave has a crossbow, but I don't know how to use it."  Practical Steph--"it's ok, I'll just hold it!"  Bless her.  I had already called Dave, who was on his way, and we looked for the thieves on the other side of the house....and waited, and saw one guy on the street, and as best as we can figure, the thieves must have gotten spooked by someone walking on the street and were waiting for a clear road again when Dave and the kids and our night guard showed up along with Bill in another car.  After a chase, our guard caught one guy who had a story that didn't add up, and dragged him back to our gate.  Of course, the mob gathered again, mostly due to the abundance of cell phones and people looking for something to do.    

And the beatings commenced, while Dave called the police and asked them to come before he was beat to death.  And when we thought he was done for, face shoved in a puddle to drown him and sticks breaking over his bloody body, the police did show up, threw his body in the back of the truck and told him to start talking, or they would give him back to the mob and haul him out, dead.  He did   say he had stolen a computer at our house two weeks earlier.

 After the police walked through our house, they went to the station with Dave, where they told him that he had, "made a big mistake."  He should have dragged the guy into our house and put a "little something" in his hand and said that he stole that, so there would be something to charge him for. We didn't feel better after hearing the police say we should have framed the guy.  This was right after our discussion about what the best way is to deal with thieves.  We should use the authority that is in place, right?  That is what we came up with, and I do think that is the best we can do.  So what about    when the police say to just kill the thief, as they often do?   And as horrible as it is to see the mob  beat thieves, what hope of justice can you offer them?  What reason do they have to not handle it themselves when often the police are just paid off? For those of us from the west, we really can't imagine living in a land with little justice. "You white people love to give mercy and  you need to stop!" they said as they beat him mercilessly.

Back to thinking I could spot crooked character....one youth who was present at the beatings, and particularly vicious, really made me angry.  He was out for blood, intent on killing.  He was happy for a chance to beat someone.

And he was the first one to show up when our neighbor's baby died.  Long, too-painful story short, little Junior died in the night and his daddy showed up early in the morning asking Dave for help.  We attended the funeral later on that day, and the youth who delighted in bloodying the thieves worked   just as hard to dig out a grave for this little baby.  He was respectful at the funeral, compassionate, the  first one to help hold the tiny coffin.  If I would have just seen him on that day, I would have said that he was a decent young man, kind.  Getting my head around the contrast of those two scenarios was impossible.

But one thing I do know:  Jesus came for us all.  For the ones who look good, and the ones who look bad, and sometimes the ones who look good have the greater need.  As we often tell our children, we should not be surprised when people who don't know Jesus act like....people who don't know Jesus.  We should make sure that our lives match up with our words that we do know Jesus, that we are the Christ-followers.  We need mercy as much as anyone.  He could just as easily have thrown the first stone at us as at the woman caught in adultery.  We all need this Savior and His mercy.  Every day.

Faith puts its flip flops on and gets to work

Sometimes I wonder how long it will take me to get a grip on some spiritual truth.  Walking by faith is just one of those things.  For about two years now, I have been diving again and again into the deep waters of faith which are Hebrews 11 and 12.  It seems like every time I do, I'm challenged in new ways. 

Unrelated, it had seemed, to my study of faith, is my increasing battle with my thoughts about feeling like I have "too much" to do.  How can I be everything to everybody?  How can I do all I should when I feel like the list replenishes itself as soon as I complete something? 

 I'm not used to feeling this way.  I like to have my life under some kind of control (even if, to some of you, it appears to be chaotic....it is my own, controlled, happy chaos!). :)  I am not used to feeling like just throwing in the proverbial towel.  My battle with my thoughts feels so constant. 

"Here's the question: how wholesome, faith-driven, and Christ-centered is the conversation that you have with yourself every day?  Do you remind yourself of your need?  Do you point yourself once again to the beauty and practicality of God's grace?  Do you tell yourself to run toward him in those moments when you feel like running from him?

No one is more influential in your life than you are, because no one talks to you as much as you talk to yourself."

Hanging up the clothes, while gazing into the blue sky, palm trees swishing in the breeze and birds flying effortlessly overhead, I asked God, "Why?  Why does my life feel so chaotic?  I want peace, abundant life.  I feel noisy and muddled in my head.  I want freedom; not freedom from demands, but freedom from striving.  Your yoke is easy and your burden is light.  It doesn't feel light.  Do I need a better system, or is this just how it's going to be?"

And He reminds me that not only is Hebrews 11 not irrelevent to this moment, but in fact Hebrews 11 was made for this moment.  Isn't this what I have wanted and, in fact, prayed for?  A life that cannot be explained by anything other than the fact that Jesus is alive in me?  A life that clings to Him? 

 I don't want a life that can be boiled down to an organized method, as tempting as that sounds.  I have thought many times that my goal for my home was to run it like a "well-oiled machine."  That's a great goal, but most days it just isn't reality.  A well-oiled machine doesn't leave room for people at the door and peace-making opportunities over the dishes and plans that change and mis-communication :) with the man I adore.  Not to mention amoebas and a baby's new sleep habits and interruptions at every level.  The faith of Hebrews 11 gets up, puts its shoes on, grabs several cups of coffee and gets to work, trusting that the GOD who leads will also provide everything that is needed for the journey.  

I loved a sermon I heard on the practicalities of Hebrews 11.  One morning, he reminded us,  Noah actually got up, ate some toast and eggs, and headed out to start cutting down trees.  He is not just some foggy character with a big, white beard.  This man chose to start out one morning by faith and do the craziest thing anyone could imagine.  

James 2:17 "so then, faith, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead." 

Oh, Jesus, could it be that this crazy is what a life of faith will feel like the second I take my eyes off of you?  I think so...there are times of peace, even rest in the midst of it all, but only when I have my mind and heart set on you.  When I do set my eyes on you, it doesn't matter what happens, because I know what to preach to myself.  I know You will, in fact, give me more than I can handle so that I can't handle it on my own.  You hear my cry, you come to my rescue.  You want to be my strength, and I can't do this life without you.  

"Nothing without joy," has become my battle cry.  That eliminates a lot of extraneous, and the things that remain demand joy.  I remember when I had three little ones and the baby had spilled cheerios and milk all over the kitchen floor.  I was so tired, and worn out, and I was on my hands and knees cleaning it all up with tears streaming down my face.  Tears!  Over spilled milk!  But by God's grace, it was a dying-to-self moment.  "I'll do what you want me to do, even if it means spending my time cleaning up milk and cereal."  It seems like a waste, so insignificant.  But it isn't wasted, and its significance for growth is determined by my response.  

"You're always preaching some kind of gospel to yourself.  It's a gospel of aloneness and partiality and injustice and a graceless world--or it's the true gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ that orients you in these moments where everything seems like sinking sand."

This was meant to be a post about something else entirely, but it's what is on my heart.  God, help us to live lives of FAITH, with ACTION, for Your glory.

"...that your faith should not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God." I Cor. 2:5

All quotes are from Paul Tripp.

May my soap box Rest In Peace

I want to be known for something.

It's easy, as a wife and mom and homeschooling mom and lover of most things domestic to pour my time and energy into those things--which is part of my calling, but only part.

Do I really want on my tombstone, "Boy, did she ever make great wheat bread."??
Or that I was fit, or sang well, or had great kids, or was really efficient?  Is that what life boils down to?  Are the things I spend my time on the things that really matter?  Because I'm sure I can pinterest my days away right to my last fascinated breath and miss what I'm here for.  Oh God, let it not be!

It feels like the clock is ticking ever-so-quickly.  We watch in awe as Ben drags himself, army-style, across the living room.  He is learning his boundaries at the moment, "No touch."  He is learning not to scream.

 From this vantage point, unlike when our first was tiny, it literally feels like it will just be a moment and he'll be signing up for the SAT.

However, instead of being depressed over the inevitable change that comes with having children growing and leaving, I find myself increasingly motivated to use every single moment that I have with them.

There are only so many nights that you hug your child and say, "I love you."

The big kids don't make forts in the living room anymore.  I clearly remember a time when I didn't want the mess of forts.  Really--the mess of forts?  How long does that take to clean up, five minutes?  I can get the mud off the floor, but I can't get back the fun times of running in the rain.  And I don't want my children to rise and call me "Clean, and Proper."  I want my children to remember that I loved Jesus, and I loved people.  Which brings me back to my original point.

We make up what it looks like to be a "good Christian," or a good wife, or good mom, or whatever,  because we don't know how to love like God asks us to love.  Because that IS what He says will set us apart from the world.

John 13:35, "Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples."

Are you sure it isn't my wheat bread?  Because it's a lot easier to take pride in my wheat bread than to actually love, by Your grace and power, like you ask me to love.  And I think maybe being good at domestic duties and making people think I'm super woman should prove something to the world.  Yes, actually, it does prove something to the world.  It proves that I can do it by myself, that I don't really need God and neither do they.

I'm really all for domestic duties and serving in my home, don't get me wrong.  I just am tired of hearing about what we're all against to the point that it seems like we forget what we're FOR. We're against genetically modified crops and drugs and big government and loose theology.  But are we FOR Jesus, and forgiving, and loving our neighbors, and not being anxious, and learning to walk by faith and not by sight?  And am I FOR grace, and freedom, and obedience, and daily taking up the cross of service? Does my life overflow with the abundance of the Spirit?  Those are the questions I  ask myself.

And under the umbrella of loving Jesus, and loving others, I will hone in my bread making ability, to the glory of God. :)

I lift my eyes to the hills…

It keeps coming back to me lately…this persistent wondering about the final goal of parenting.  I want to work my way backwards, so to speak—beginning at a goal, figuring out how to get to that goal.  What exactly IS the goal?  And if I start with the wrong goal, then I will surely miss true priorities in the process.  And how much does culture play into what our goals are?  Do I want, as I often read in missionary material, “children that are well adjusted to their home culture”?  Well, I really don’t want children that “fit” in any culture.  But I understand the point.  However, I am fairly certain that aiming low will not produce high results.  And aiming high with standards that are not biblical will just result in the child’s frustration and feeling like they are never good enough.  Truth be told, they aren’t good enough.  And neither is their mother.  Isn’t that the point?  If I really am a Christ-follower, like I claim to be, shouldn’t His wisdom be enough for me?  And doesn’t faith grab hold of His promises and walk into the unknown, unsure, with confidence that their Maker is bound to know more than I am?! 

So in our process of figuring out “school” for the year, our goals come back to the same thing as last year and the year before.  If “he who desires to be an elder desires a good thing,” then doesn’t it go without saying that aiming for elder qualities and character traits is a safe bet….and if Titus 2 is supposed to teach women how to live in a wise way, isn’t it more than adequate to train our little daughters in those things as well?  And if “the wisdom of the world is passing away, but the man of God lives forever,” then my strategy for raising “successful” children, and even the definition of “success” should look radically different than my worldly counterpart. Every day I make a choice to listen to the “wisdom” of the world or God’s wisdom from above.  We can take these moments of frustration and anger and hard words and turn them into opportunities for grace, or we can get angry ourselves because the math lesson doesn’t get completed and someone is interrupting grammar, again.  The value of having this many personalities to learn to get along with can get lost in the ever-sharpening blade of sanctification when I resist His will for me, which happens to be that very same blade.  Lord, can’t you make me more like Jesus any other way?  But, truly, “before I was afflicted I went away, but now I heed your word. (Psalm 119:67)”   
  If my goal is that my children cry out for a Redeemer and Savior, then I will not resist the hard things for them either, wanting their lives to be always happy and without trials.  In fact, I will embrace those things for and with them, as I encourage them to pursue Someone greater than themselves.  And if my goal is that they would live more than “safe” lives, spending their time and money and resources and energy on others instead of themselves, then I have to lead them towards those ends now.  Which will come at a great cost to me, because it means I have to look at my own life and my own lack of willingness and beg God to change me first, let me lead in mercy and service.  Which is often what I don’t feel like doing.  

Oh God, use my tiny seconds of a life to raise these children in a way that honors you.  So much is at stake—if our children have seven of their own, I will be reaping what I have sown in 49 little lives in one generation.  Sobering.  To have other little ones, no matter how many, be bearing the fruit of your life is humbling.  Let me not grow weary in well doing.

  Show me what that looks like in each moment….another spilled cup of something (I think we might have the record!), a hurt, a joy, everyday conversation.  This is your idea, this business of sharing life together with little people, and ever-bigger ones.

Your words are not just empty words for me.  They are, quite literally, my very life (Deut. 32:47).

Strengthen my heart with grace (Heb.13:9). 

“Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.” II Cor. 12:9