tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12305017556539137612024-02-20T10:57:02.484-05:00Ramblations...*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-28917493315618659242016-03-20T10:11:00.001-04:002016-03-20T10:11:46.996-04:00Trusting in princes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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During times like these when we have a lot of difficult medical situations going on with our children, I find myself seeking out "princes" to put my trust in... A reputable doctor or a cutting edge treatment or a more equipped hospital or a limitless supply of funds to support the very best of care. <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">I search for the princes whose outcomes are positive and predictable and I get frustrated when they seem to be far away and out of reach. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">I get scared when I google the type of recovery a seriously brain injured child will require because she has a name and painted red fingernails and I love her. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">I feel anxious when I read the success (or rather, failure) rates of this specific type of brain surgery because the little boy we love will find himself on one side or the other of those percentages and I want so badly for it to the the smaller side--the successful one, because I love him.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> My heart drops when see the positive HIV test result that sucks for anyone but it somehow belongs to this teeny tiny precious one who hiccups in my arms as the two lines appear. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">I am indignant because I know that if this level of medical negligence happened in another country, there would be a court case or at least an apology to the one who suffered and will continue suffering.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Defeat floods my heart when yet another friend is told to take her baby home, there is nothing they can do, when I feel confident that somewhere, there is someone who would at least care to try. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Sometimes the princes I seek out are within reach, but usually they are far and so I am left wallowing in despair.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">I now have the psalm taped to my windshield because I need the reminder hourly... </span><br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">"Praise the Lord. Praise the Lord, my soul. I will praise the Lord all my life; I will sing praise to my God as long as I live.<b> Do not put your trust in princes, in human beings who cannot save. When their spirit departs, they return to the ground; on that very day their plans come to nothing. Blessed are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God</b>.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote>
He is the Maker of heaven and earth, the sea, and everything in them - He remains faithful forever. <i>He</i> upholds the cause of the oppressed and gives food to the hungry. <i>The Lord</i> sets prisoners free, <i>The Lord</i> gives sight to the blind, <i>The Lord</i> lifts up those who are bowed down, <i>The Lord</i> loves the righteous. <i>The Lord</i> watches over the foreigner and sustains the fatherless and the widow, but He frustrates the way of the wicked. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">The Lord reigns forever, your God, oh Zion, for all generations. Praise the Lord."</span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Psalm 146 </span> </blockquote>
<blockquote>
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God is Himself -- His mighty, sovereign self, in world-renowned hospitals with the brightest of minds and highest levels of technology and He is Himself -- His mighty, sovereign self, in the overcrowded hospitals where gloves are washed and reused and trained personnel are few and far between. God is not restrained in <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">arenas where resources are limited and He is not boosted in places where resources are limitless either, I don't think. </span><br />
<br />
HE is the one who gives sight to the blind if He sees it to be good. HE is the one who will sustain the children in our care because He says He will and so we trust that successful outcomes or not, He is doing His work. HE deserves our hope and trust -- all of it.<br />
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*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-29873303616374780322015-06-12T12:33:00.001-04:002015-06-12T12:48:51.731-04:00Long overdue <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I will never be able to forget the night we first heard what is still too hard to believe is actually true. The way Lucy burst into my room just as I was drifting into sleep--screaming, pacing, gripping her head and unable to form the words that I was anxiously begging her to release. She finally spit them into the air and I immediately wished to return them to her mouth.<br />
<br />
Our sweet Njeri was dead.<br />
<br />
The first stage of grief immediately busied my mind. Surely this was a mistake. There's no way. Calm down. Let me talk to them. Did they check for a pulse? Is she at the hospital? No. Just no. Sorry, but no. This can't be true and I will not accept this. Are you sure we are taking about the right person? Not this Njeri, or that Njeri, or her mom or her neighbor or her cousin, but OUR Njeri??? The six year old with the raspy voice and constantly runny nose and the millions of questions and the best laugh ever. It couldn't be real. There was just no way.<br />
<br />
The anger came as soon as enough people had confirmed that the horrible news echoing through the phone was real. It was not a mistake and it had already happened. It was done. There was no breath left in her lungs and the helplessness of that fact and the distance I felt from her in that moment brought on an anger I have never felt and honestly hope to never feel again. I was three hours away from the man who did this and it was past midnight, but all I wanted was to get to him and to pay him back just an ounce of what he deserved. At that point, I decided I would gladly give up my freedom and/or my life to punish him-- to stand up for Njeri in the way I wasn't able to when it mattered.<br />
<br />
I was so angry in the beginning. I was angry with him mostly, a man I knew and actually had once had compassion for, and also angry with God for seemingly not looking out for this precious girl who loved Him. Lucy and I laid on her twin mattress on the floor (it was our first night in a new house) and tried to get a grip on this whole thing that was now a reality. Those long hours until the sun finally rose housed the most honest utterances and grumblings and grievances and pleas and confessions and frustrations that I have ever had with God. He loved me by listening to every ache expressed in every way they spilled out.<br />
<br />
He was so sweetly close in the days and weeks that followed. I had prayed for that thick presence over many people walking difficult paths, but I don't think I myself had ever experienced the deep NEED of His nearness in such a way. Eventually the anger faded and our focus became honoring the precious girl who was no longer with us, but thankfully knew and loved God and now had no memory of the pain she endured as she left this world.<br />
<br />
Sitting down with the kids who considered Njeri a big sister and explaining how she would no longer be a friend/sister that we could see and touch and play with and race and tattle on was one of the most strangely and unexpectedly peace-filled conversations of my life. I remember just a couple of months before when our beloved puppy died, I had to tell the children that Happy would no longer be with us and I couldn't even get through the first sentence without crying. About a DOG. A dog they had only known for two months. I didn't want their hearts to feel pain over that loss, but how could this even compare?<br />
<br />
Telling the kids about Njeri initially and all of the little conversations that followed, even to this day, have brought me so much closer to the God that I so desperately want to trust is always good. We talked about how she had gone to live with Jesus and that is the best place to be. We talked with joy about how it is such an incredible place because the very best company, Jesus, is there. We talked about how we love Jesus like Njeri did, so we will get to go there someday too. We talked about how we won't get to play with her anymore, but we are so happy for every day we did get to play with her and we won't ever forget her or stop thanking God that we got to be part of her family. We talked about how we will miss her so much and even though we are happy for her, we are sad for ourselves because we won't get to be with her anymore.<br />
<br />
This family we have here -- this unconventional, nobody's first choice, response to tragedy, lots of pain and lots of redemption family -- are all so very excited about eternity with Jesus. I love that about us and I never want it to change. I don't think it can ever change, considering how much pain this little family has already endured and how much pain is all around us on a daily basis and how much pain is still yet to come.<br />
<br />
The kids don't know any of the details of her death and I know someday we will be ready to talk about it and I fear the junk out of them questioning what we always talk about -- that God is always always with us -- when they hear how she died. But that is exactly why I need to be reminded on a daily basis that He was with her up to her very last breath. That she does not even remember a bit of the pain she endured and that God is good and He is and was FOR Njeri and is and will be FOR us, too. I need to believe it because I cannot share it with my sweet little ones if I do not even believe it myself. I want to throw out all of the cliche and simply untrue junk that we like to believe about death and heaven and eternity because the truth is hard, but it is the truth. I want the three year old hearts under my care to know that only people who know and love Jesus get to spend forever with Him. It is an incredible gift that we get to thank Him for every day.<br />
<br />
Elly and I were asked to speak at her burial and we both felt so strongly that this was to be a celebration of a sweet and precious life simply because God is who He says He is. It turned out to be a much more political, women/children's rights type of day and we actually didn't even get to share our tribute to Njeri and testimony of God's goodness, even still. I think missing that opportunity actually encouraged me even more to live in a way that daily declares His glory through pain. A six year old who hasn't even lost her first tooth yet dying in a brutal murder committed by someone she loved is one of the shittiest things imaginable ……. Yes. No one disagrees with that. But God is still good. So good. And I feel so confident that Njeri agrees.<i> That </i>is worth declaring daily -- more than just once at a funeral.<br />
<br />
It was six months ago that she died and I had never been able to write anything about it publicly, but God's goodness needs declaring - even and maybe especially six months down the road. I cannot possibly end having only talked about my personal experience and really want to tell you more about Njeri's life and how thankful we are for the time we got to know her, so that post will be on it's way shortly. I worry about a day going by when I don't remember her and consciously miss her and so I keep pictures of her all over. But I'd still love an opportunity to share a bit more of her life (the small part of it that we got to share with her) with y'all so she can be honored and celebrated and God can be praised for still knitting her into her sweet mom's womb, even knowing that she would leave us way before any of us wanted. That post will be next. :)<br />
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*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-57213021382388080662014-02-28T07:55:00.000-05:002014-02-28T07:55:41.226-05:00for those of us who need our hearts changed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">**Note:
this is not about whether homosexuals should be preachers or should be allowed
to marry or should be allowed to adopt or <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/feb/25/ugandan-tabloid-prints-list-top-200-homosexuals"><span style="color: #0000e9;">should have their names posted in the newspaper so that
they can be publicly shamed by their country</span></a> or <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/09/04/washington-florist-gay-wedding_n_3866614.html"><span style="color: #0000e9;">should be served by any and every florist.</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This
is about how Christians are failing to love this group of people well, and
it needs to change. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> I
think I'd be more indignant towards <a href="http://edition.cnn.com/2014/02/24/world/africa/uganda-homosexuality-interview/"><span style="color: #0000e9;">the people who call homosexuals "disgusting"
while signing bills to incarcerate them for life</span></a> in the country
next door if I couldn't remember a time when I used the exact same descriptor
to encapsulate this entire group of people. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It
hurts so much to remember, but homosexuality used to make me cringe too.
You can blame the media or the "liberals" or higher education or
whatever you want for why it's now only these memories that make me cringe; or
I can save you the speculation and tell you why. <b>It's because now
I have the privilege of actually knowing and loving people who are gay. And, I
also think I know Jesus a little bit better than I did before. But ultimately,
it's because He supernaturally changed my heart because I was wrong--so
wrong. </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When
I was a teenager growing up in a conservative Georgia neighborhood, the only
surefire way to prevent anyone from thinking you yourself are gay (which was
the most horrible thing imaginable at that time, in our little world) was to be
dramatically disgusted by it. It wasn't that difficult. I <i>was</i> disgusted
by it in many ways and I was horrified at the thought of anyone thinking it of
me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I
remember well the girls we whispered about in the bathrooms and the boys whose
high pitched voices we didn't believe when they shouted "I am NOT
gay!" to the 7th grade taunters who sat behind them in class. As long
as I stayed on the side of the predators and not the victims, I felt safe.
Sometimes all it took was a quick smile at a joke or silence when people were
being treated like trash right in front of my eyes. Other times it meant
huddling in tight and listening while the
obviously-heterosexual-girl-who-had-a-boyfriend dished about her softball
teammates. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I
often stood up for people being made fun of and tried my best to keep company
with those who didn't thrive off of gossip and tearing others down.
But there was something that silenced me when it came to people being
mistreated because some 13 year old somewhere thought they might be attracted
to their own gender -- I was a Christian and people knew it. In my mind and
most of the minds I was surrounded by, Christians were known to be against
homosexuality. If anyone were to stand up for them, let it be others who
were gay or at least people who didn't consider the Bible their "rule book
for life." Being disgusted by homosexuality, and thus homosexuals, seemed
to be a requirement of Christianity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">That
was then, but this is now. I have seen a few changes for the better since then,
but I'd still say we have a freaking ugly reputation among homosexuals and I
believe the blame lands on us for that. I blame myself and I blame the rest of
us who have either silently looked on as the stones are thrown or have been the
ones hurling them at that scary, sinful person whom we don't understand--the
person whose sin is easier to point out than the ones that are secretly rotting
our own hearts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Even
for those of us who try earnestly to ascribe to the "Love the sinner, hate
the sin" adage -- I would say it is not really working for us. Sin<i> is</i>
disgusting and ugly and messy and it deserves our hatred, but I have plenty of
sin in myself to hate before I start making it my duty to hate<i> your</i> specific
sins. And I like the way Micah J. Murray reminds us that Jesus' business card
didn't read : "Jesus Christ. Hater of sin, lover of sinners." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"They
say Jesus was a friend of sinners, but he didn't describe himself that
way. His
motto wasn't "eating and drinking with prostitutes and tax
collectors." Those were the labels used by the religious community, by the
disapproving onlookers. What's amazing about Jesus is that when he hung out
with sinners, he didn't act like they were sinners. They weren't a
"project," a "mission field." They were his friends. People
with names. Defined as beloved children of the Creator, not defined by their
sins. Icons of God's image. His brothers and sisters."<br /><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/micah-j-murray/why-i-cant-say-love-the-sinner-hate-the-sin-anymore_b_4521519.html"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">--Micah J.
Murray </span></a></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As
I said before, being on a similar page with Musseveni is unfortunately not
a distant memory for me--it is a much more recent recollection than I like
to admit. But thankfully there is grace for that, too. There is grace for
my Kenyan friends who think Musseveni is a hero and there is grace for
Musseveni himself. For those of you who think homosexuality is
"disgusting" (though you most likely have learned better than to say
it with those words if you live in the US), there is grace for you. I know
because I was there a few years ago and there was and is grace for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> The
more I get to know Jesus and see the way He lived, the more I want to busy
myself with loving people--all people. The ones, like me, who have
debilitatingly prideful hearts that are fairly easy to hide and the ones whose
sin is on display and on whom we can easily place the one-size-fits-all bumper
sticker of "I love you, but I hate your sin." Does that really work
for anyone? It never worked for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> A
few years back, I finally grew tired of making it my job to hate someone else's
sin, especially my friends. So I simply asked Jesus to give me his heart for
other people, all types of people who struggle with all different types of
things. He did it. He still does it, and I am forever grateful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> So
yes, I am absolutely heartbroken about how people are being treated. I have
cried tears over the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uganda_Anti-Homosexuality_Act,_2014"><span style="color: #0000e9;">new legislation in Uganda</span></a> and have felt
genuine anger about the ways I believe we are getting it so, so wrong. But I
believe it is God's grace that I can still remember when I was on the other
side of that line drawn in the sand. I am still somewhat new to feeling
overcome with grief that these precious brothers and sisters are
being persecuted by <i>us</i>--the ones who are absolutely, undeniably called
to love them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My repentant tears
have begun to run dry as He allows me to have real relationships with real
people who struggle with real sin, just like me. Now instead of throwing hate
at homosexuals, you are throwing hate at my friends. In the name of the same
Jesus I call my own. It is confusing to them and it is confusing to me and
I truly think Jesus is shaking His head at how we are getting it
wrong, like we are prone to do. If you think you are "with" God
as you hurl hate on <b>anyone </b>in His name (...even
murderers, child abusers, traffickers, and rapists), I believe you are gravely
mistaken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The
good news? There is grace. It's never too late to stop hating and start
loving…Jesus is fully capable of changing hearts and he proved that to
me personally. Also in my experience, the gay community
is pretty darn good at forgiving us who have at one time treated them
like they are somehow less worthy of love than anyone else. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--EndFragment--><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Teacher,
which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” Jesus replied: “‘Love
the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your
mind.’<b> </b>This is the first and
greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as
yourself.’<b> </b>All the Law and the
Prophets hang on these two commandments." -- Matthew 22:36-40</span></blockquote>
<br />
</div>
*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-19495523375212136382014-01-22T06:51:00.000-05:002014-01-22T06:51:51.868-05:00Downward Mobility<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This week I had the awesome privilege of writing a guest post on DL Mayfield's ever-challenging and wonderfully rich <a href="http://dlmayfield.wordpress.com/blog/">blog</a>. Basically I am just honored to be invited into the conversation that takes place there. I strongly encourage you to check out the whole blog if you have not--you will absolutely, positively walk away with things to chew on.<br />
<br />
This post was never really an essay, just an on-going list in my iPad notes that became a post when I decided to throw it out there and see if anyone could relate.<br />
<br />
Below are a few excerpts, but you can read the whole thing here :<br />
<a href="http://dlmayfield.wordpress.com/2014/01/21/moving-downward-in-spite-of-the-safety-net-guest-post-by-annie/" style="background-color: white; color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" target="_blank">http://dlmayfield.<wbr></wbr>wordpress.com/2014/01/21/<wbr></wbr>moving-downward-in-spite-of-<wbr></wbr>the-safety-net-guest-post-by-<wbr></wbr>annie/</a><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px;">On most days, my privilege ostentatiously dances in my face and frustrates my desire to really, truly live in solidarity with the people I am surrounded by. The voices that call this pursuit of downward mobility “ignorant idealism” ring louder and surer than my unsteady, but wishful, belief that this type of living is not only beautiful, but possible.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: inherit;">...I sometimes I feel like I am just playing dress-up. I put on a costume and play the part of friend to the poor, friend to the sick, and friend to the orphan, but remain so far above them (much to my dismay) that it seems a laughable feat to really live in solidarity with them. If I lived in America, I would most likely be dependent on government assistance. But here!? Here I am rich. I am healthy. I have family who call me their own and always have my back. I have people who would fight for me, if I needed it.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px;">One of the things I love most about Jesus and the way He used His time on earth to teach us how to live is how mind-blowingly clear He is. I am simple minded and need straightforward directions; He graciously made it so that we do not have to make any assumptions or decode any messages to understand His heart for the poor. He is crazy about them. He honors them and cherishes them and calls them His friends; not for charity’s sake, but for love’s sake. I love the way Father Greg Boyle defines this solidarity: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #131313; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: inherit;">“kinship– not serving the other, but being one with the other. Jesus was not “a man for others”; he was one with them. There is a world of difference in that.”</span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px;">This is what I want. And this is what God is doing, slowly but surely, and not without pain and difficulty and awkwardness and lots of fumbles.</span></blockquote>
</div>
*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-34509661309671776552013-08-12T06:11:00.003-04:002013-08-12T06:19:35.070-04:00My job<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">Every single night. That's how often we remind God that we really freaking need Him to work out each of their futures. They fold their tiny, chubby hands and pretend to close their eyes, carefully watching to make sure mine stay shut. And we pray. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">We pray to the God who knit them into wombs already knowing that we would be here. That we would be in this place; this unnatural, response-to-tragedy place where none of us truly want to have to be. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8p4N30_mdtpkzmGnq8vve68IQcPHPRO3T71KOjIjjIb-d-XRCPpI8T9pq_CYFEHi2HwXQN2u1wPsW0upG-LSQyJjwyDRxilp7yzaYDvvLAujhKxFcLkdLlAXuPHGAbxc6fkhb0e-PH_yK/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8p4N30_mdtpkzmGnq8vve68IQcPHPRO3T71KOjIjjIb-d-XRCPpI8T9pq_CYFEHi2HwXQN2u1wPsW0upG-LSQyJjwyDRxilp7yzaYDvvLAujhKxFcLkdLlAXuPHGAbxc6fkhb0e-PH_yK/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">I can do my part. I can hold them close for this time and love them <i>hard</i> and petition God on their behalf until I am hoarse; but working out their futures is not and never will be a task He gives me. He has never, ever asked me to determine their future steps. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">He hasn't asked me to stay awake late into the night, filling pages with "best case scenarios" and "plans A, B, C, and D" to keep little, tiny humans in families until they grow up and create families of their own. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">He hasn't asked me to pour over scientific journals and anything else the internet has to offer about mentally ill mothers successfully raising their children. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">He hasn't asked me to analyze every interaction with birth moms and grandmas and women I walk past on the street who maybe, just maybe, could have a role in this child's life, long-term. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">It's simply not my job. </span><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">My job, then? <b>My job is to believe Him for them.</b> To teach them, in this short time we have together, that our God is One to be trusted. What we do here, in this unconventional family--what we do here is trust God to love us like He says He loves us. It's how we keep walking, how we keep following when the path is too foggy for our purposefully untrained eyes to navigate. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">The same prayer every night, aloud, and then a few million groaned ones throughout the day. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><i>Jesus, remember us. Work it out. Continue to work it out for us. We trust You. You are the only One for this job. </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">And then all together, we say amen. We give our affirmation.</span><i style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"> Let it be, Lord.</i><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"> And we thank Him. </span><i style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px;">Asante Yesu.</i><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"> Thank you, Jesus. Not because we can see it but because we believe You. We believe You hear us and we believe You're mindful of us. And so we keep on trusting. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><i><b>Asante Yesu. </b></i>Because we trust You are working and need not save our thank you's until we can see it crystal clear. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
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*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-52218837525231850122013-07-10T07:02:00.002-04:002013-07-10T10:24:57.642-04:00The post in which I try to convince everyone to become Foster parents (sorry)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">((proof that i'm not a 'blogger' by trade... tried to add pictures because apparently words alone are boring and in the process made the font tiny and certain paragraphs huge... let's just take that as a sign from Jesus about what He thinks is important enough to actually read :)))</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
I'm not so bad at reflecting... looking back on
things that are no more and seeing things I learned, things I missed, things I
want to do differently next time, or things that have shaped me in ways I will
cherish forever. But freezing time for even a moment and looking at what's
around me <i>now</i> and thinking about what God is teaching me <i>now</i> is
much harder for me. I don't journal and even though I love the question that
almost always comes up on coffee dates with friends, I am not often thinking
about what God is doing and teaching and disciplining and stretching and giving
<i>right now.</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbjubqbaMM90d21DaSR2_IH-TLHt6Ot0IGDa2hVQaq050BYhNRT9c1FrFT3k9x88pr2_sad1l6wfxifP_PIrAER8AZqjWz3LNIfG829E3i3JjZjbj0VeiEqBP_0LRhsAf_m4o78K2pCw0h/s1600/IMG_4792.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbjubqbaMM90d21DaSR2_IH-TLHt6Ot0IGDa2hVQaq050BYhNRT9c1FrFT3k9x88pr2_sad1l6wfxifP_PIrAER8AZqjWz3LNIfG829E3i3JjZjbj0VeiEqBP_0LRhsAf_m4o78K2pCw0h/s320/IMG_4792.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, let me just talk about my journey while my tracks in the dirt are
fresh and the path ahead is still long and winding, with much more ground to be
covered. So much left to learn! Though my experiences with foster care have been unconventional (to
say the least), they have always involved being a temporary mama to a child who
is in need of just that. Most often, I would have preferred the word
‘temporary’ to not exist as a descriptive adjective in our relationship; but it
always has. And I am thankful all the same for the weeks, months, or years that
these children have been in my hands, even if they are now just <i>mine</i> in
heart. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">I believe so strongly that it is our great opportunity
and privilege to enter into the suffering of others. That's how God led me here, before I knew anything about foster care. A child </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">finding
themselves in need of a different roof over their head is a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">big deal</i>. And the thing is, it’s a big
deal for everybody.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We can
look on, or we can enter in with humility, utter dependence on God, and a
willingness to do whatever we can, at whatever cost, to love all who are
involved.</span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">You guys, I know this as a daily reality so believe me when
I say Satan is after these kids. He so deeply loves a child feeling forgotten,
abandoned, neglected, unworthy, and thrown away. I believe God is so clear in
scripture about His profound love for the fatherless, outcast, and abandoned <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">on purpose.</b> He makes it simply
impossible to read Scripture and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i>
see this unfathomable love for the forgotten. He is crazy about them. As I spend my days (and nights) with them, I see Him
working tirelessly to reveal this love to them—He is so faithful in that, but
the awesome thing is He invites us in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">If we know this deep love to be true and we know that Satan
wants ownership of these kids’ hearts, can we enter into the battle and wrap
these little (or big) ones up in that love? Can we get some flesh in the game
and welcome these kids into our homes, into our families, for even a brief 24
hours of love? Can we not think about ourselves for a few minutes and just
trust God to use silly, small <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">us</i> in
the lives of these kids He cherishes? Can we trust Him to give us what we need
and help us to love “as much as we love our biological kids”? Can we trust Him
with the hearts of our other children who we are afraid of hurting in the
process? Can we believe Him when He says He is always and will continue to work
for our good, even as we take a break from working to create our own good for
ourselves and our families? Can we stop planning and rationalizing and thinking
as if we are working in our own power and walk into this with expectancy for
how He promises to carry us? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
In foster care, it is so much about trusting Him to do what He wants to do in the lives of these kids (again, even
for 24 fleeting hours) and letting you play a part even just by reading bedtime
stories and wiping sticky hands. It's remembering constantly how deeply He cares for these kids and trusting Him to reveal that to them and to not relent in working for their good. It means trusting Him even when things don't go the way you would have hoped or thought best and continuing to pray for the children all the more when they are out of your hands/view and in someone else's. It’s saying yes to things that are likely to
hurt and reminding Jesus that He needs to be so thick in this or you simply
can’t walk it. </span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiww2OuAqzhFVBftJNzufqRINubtjJ1elybfHkdiJdM90JidIEcef4ubDW8pQl5ZoY89_yyCDASQYvqIIsmwLC2Hkdrn2GZpK7ICfdGB-64mHKZbwTB2bFUwBrrGX_K-fRx5EQMChv_cqL5/s1600/IMG_9958.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiww2OuAqzhFVBftJNzufqRINubtjJ1elybfHkdiJdM90JidIEcef4ubDW8pQl5ZoY89_yyCDASQYvqIIsmwLC2Hkdrn2GZpK7ICfdGB-64mHKZbwTB2bFUwBrrGX_K-fRx5EQMChv_cqL5/s320/IMG_9958.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I know that many, many godly people are of the mindset that
some people are called to this and some are called to that and there are clear
distinctions and it’s awesome that I am called to this and not that and it’s
awesome that they are called to that and not this. Sure. I get that, sort of. But I
think we are missing an important part of our relationship with God when we
make our minds up prematurely about what He has or hasn’t called us to. Though it might
look different for everyone, He has clearly called every single one of us to
love and everyday I believe we can be asking Him who. He will not tire of our eagerness to <i>see</i> who He wants us to see.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In foster care, you will have hurting children
(even if they are unable to verbalize the hurt, it is surely there) under your
roof and you will be given the unique privilege to put your hands on them as
you pray and petition on their behalf. You will be entering into the battle,
undoubtedly. You will be fighting right alongside your God and with the
indestructible armor that He has already won. You will forget yourself and you
will <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">have to</i> remember Him. Your
stomach will be filled with the anxious butterflies that they might not even know
to have before court dates, family visits, and other life events. You will feel
their heart pain and it will <b>hurt</b>, but doesn’t every one <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">need</i> that—someone to weep with them? You will pray earnestly for them and
their families, often with tears, and God will so delight in hearing and
answering those prayers that might have never been prayed. You will find
yourselves loving their moms or dads or grandmas or siblings and that will
probably be the Holy Spirit sweetly teaching you that we all need Jesus just
the same. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I won’t play with statistics because I just don’t even know
them off-hand, but I do know that there is a need. A real need. There is a always,
always, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">always</i> an opportunity for
people who love Jesus to enter into the suffering of others and to allow
themselves to be used however the heck God wants. As long as we live on earth,
we will never lack these opportunities to enter in. </span>When I lived in Atlanta and had thoughts of staying for more
than a few months, I started the process of being registered as a foster
parent. If Fulton County DFCS was willing and eager to let me join them in caring
for these kids, as a 25 year old single student who had 3 roommates and would
be keeping the child in a closet-turned-bedroom, I’d say there is a great need. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I encourage everyone to pray about it… but maybe not in the “am I supposed to
do foster care?” kind of way, though there's nothing wrong with that. Maybe in a “Here I am. Here is my home. Here is my time. Here is my heart. Here is
the family you’ve given me. Use us as You see fit. We are here for You. Take
what little we have and use it for Your glory.” And then <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">listen.</i> It’s not foster care for everyone; of course I realize
that. But it’s<i> something</i>. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>Prayer: </b>there is <b>so</b> much power in this! it blesses me (and our babies) so much when visitors who come to Neema House pray over the children, their families, their futures. Contact me and I will <i>so so </i>gladly match you with a child who would so greatly appreciate your prayers. Think about how you who have children pray for them and commit to pray the same way for a child who has no one to pray those bold prayers for them.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>Supporting someone who is doing it: </b><a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/echoesofmercy">here</a> is an awesome way to get some beautiful art AND support a <a href="http://www.seeingjoy.com/">girl</a> who is fostering. I'm also willing to bet your pastor knows who in the church is involved with foster care and maybe they'd love a fresh meal when they bring home a new child, just like new moms home from the hospital love!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Learn more: </b> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> <a href="http://www.safe-families.org/">http://www.safe-families.org/</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
<a href="http://www.faithbridgefostercare.org/">http://www.faithbridgefostercare.org/</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
<a href="https://camellianetwork.org/">https://camellianetwork.org/</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
<a href="http://www.theforgotteninitiative.org/index.html">http://www.theforgotteninitiative.org/index.html</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
<a href="http://dfcs.dhs.georgia.gov/documents/become-foster-parent">http://dfcs.dhs.georgia.gov/documents/become-foster-parent</a></span></div>
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*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-5491524950246836232013-04-24T14:37:00.001-04:002013-04-24T14:47:31.082-04:00Even there<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's quickly becoming a favorite place of mine though I've only spent 6-8 hours there in total. Honestly, my first minutes inside were full of timidity and nervous observation. As the gate was slowly unlocked, pushing willful escape artists out of the way, it was as if we were being welcomed into a cage full of lions. My eyes were busy scanning the scene, never lingering too long to avoid being surprised by an unexpected encounter.<br />
<br />
The noises greet you before you even cross the muddy path that brings them into sight. Screams, groans, bickering, singing, laughing, conversation, crying. This is Kenya's one and only mental institution--the "civil" women's ward.<br />
<br />
Wangare* meets you at the gate and squeezes you so tightly you feel like your organs will come out of your mouth. Not just upon greeting, but every few minutes. Sneak attacks from behind are her favorite, and maybe mine too. Her laughter echoes through the stale walls and urine soaked floors. She proudly buries my entire arm in the pit of her own and drags me throughout the whole ward, introducing me as "rafiki yangu" (<i>my friend</i>). I am blown away by the honor of her introduction. I strangely miss her in the hours I am at home, surrounded by people who respect my personal space.<br />
<br />
Alice* repeats the same few sentences repeatedly, sharing her desire to become a US citizen. She follows too closely for my comfort and sees a way-too-small opening on the bench as a an eager invitation to sit. After a few minutes, I lose feeling in my left leg and run out of graceful responses to her repetitious mutterings. Her husband visits her daily and I would say she is the best dressed women in the ward thanks to his faithful efforts. She treats him poorly when he comes but he keeps on coming back. This kind of love baffles me.<br />
<br />
Mary's* sweet demeanor meets me at the gate every time. She has more love in her frail 80 pound body than anyone I've met. Her story will cut your heart into pieces and yet she is the first to tell you that she does not doubt God and His power. She speaks so sweetly of her God and I love Him all the more. Though she was granted permission to be discharged months ago, Kenyan hospitals require you to stay until you can pay your bill in full. It is a practice synonymous with prison. She tells me she is fasting and as much as I respect her faith, I beg her to eat. Her bones protrude and her gait is weak. I tell her she needs to remain physically strong so she can care for the children who wait expectantly for her. She nods with brimming tears. I ache to erase her pain. I stand in awe of her resilient faith in the same God I call my own.<br />
<br />
Sarah* talks to me about the mzungu ("white person") she knows, assuming if we are both white, we obviously must know each other. I listen for a few moments as she skips sentence breaks and talks without end and then intervene to tell her to eat the food she has collected before it gets cold. I just need a small break from her incessant talk and maybe if her mouth is full my ears can have a rest. Just as her mouth is filled, she breaks into singing the Kenyan national anthem. Some women stand in respect and other just look on.<br />
<br />
The one I feared the most is now a friend, as I have learned the key to her heart: food. She is nonverbal, very stout, and wears only a medical gown which barely covers her front and hangs open in the back. She seems unable to recognize when her stomach is full, so roams around to each person who is eating, demanding they give her some of their portion. The wise ones have learned to quickly fulfill her request so as to avoid an altercation. She has been abandoned again and again and again until she reached adulthood and no one knew where else take her. If for no other reason, I want Jesus to hurry up and come back just for her sake.<br />
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This beautiful woman doesn't respond when I ask her name, but she yells loudly that God will come. I nod my head and grab her hand, telling her that He is already here. <b>We both look around and say it aloud. "He is here. (<i>Mungu ni hapa.</i>)"</b><br />
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I have to believe it, though I feel my own doubt creep in as my eyes scan the scene once again. But yes, even (or most especially!) in a cage full of urine soaked and wandering women -- He is here. <i>Women</i>. Women who have moms and dads and childhood memories and brothers and sisters and husbands and CHILDREN and gardens and market vendors who know their name and how many kgs of flour they will buy this week and homes they wake up to sweep. This cage is filled with moms and daughters and wives, not wild animals as I had once believed.<br />
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You can see the kindness in Jane's* eyes the second you meet her. She remains quiet, except to warn me when I am about to sit down on a bench that is covered in human, adult excrement. Though she does not join any of our conversations, I watch her and her love for others amazes me. She gently scoots down the bench to sit next to a severely ill woman who is unable to feed herself. Jane has learned that the woman just needs help getting the food into her mouth, where she is then able to push the food down her throat with her index finger. Before Jane even takes a bite of her own food, her heart beats for the others around her.<br />
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The one most precious in my heart is the one who brought me here. She puts her limp, sedated arm around me and says "I am bad". Together we lift her chin and force her eyes to meet ours. "You are not bad." "Do you hear?" "You are not bad." "Jesus is here and He says you are not bad. You are His child." "Do you hear?" As if speaking to a child, I will her to believe me. I will not tell a lie. I also will not allow a lie to be spoken without calling out against it. Satan will not be the loudest voice echoing through this place. Not in the ears of my friend. He will not reign here. She asks to come home with me every single time we visit. I ache to say yes, but know that she needs just a little more time to adjust to the medication and be reviewed.<br />
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I cannot blame her for even one millisecond for wanting to leave. At the same time, I am encouraged to no end by the work God is doing when I see the precious friends she has made in just one week here. They are sisters. The most beautiful sisters who seem to not even imagine withholding love from someone who is different. I hide tears behind my sunglasses at the sight of their love for one another.<br />
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I love so deeply the God who chooses to be present in places as seemingly hopeless as this overflowing prison. He pulls us out of the miry pit and even when we still feel neck-deep in the muck, He is there with us. I just love that God. I love the Jesus who tells us as He walks this pain-ridden earth that these women that fill this cage are absolutely precious to Him, a king. Giving our whole lives to them is not a waste, it is worship.<br />
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A personal pet peeve of mine is the constant asking God to come and join us as we worship Him. Though I don't know that the invitation does any harm, can we just believe assuredly enough to skip right to THANKING HIM for being here? And if we have to invite Him even into our churches, what about the places where darkness is tangibly thick? Can we trust Him to be there or is it our duty to unlock the gate, push back the ones trying to break loose, and give Him a place on the bench?<br />
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Is the God who lifts my head and goes before me the same God who has the same fond affections for these seemingly forgotten women, sisters, and mothers? I ask Him the whole way home. I so need Him to be and the next time I go, I ask Him to show me Himself so clearly because my eyes are new at this stuff. The recognizing Him in hurt and pain and injustice is something I am just beginning to learn. I need him to pick up my eyeballs and place them in front of His sweetness every single day here.<br />
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Today the muddy, soiled ground where overmedicated women lay was recognized as undoubtedly <i>holy</i> ground. I saw Him everywhere. He was in the patient doctor (one of TWENTY FIVE mental health specialists in a nation of over 43 million people) who spoke lovingly to the hundreds of women in her care. He was with and shining so brightly from precious Mary who keeps on believing He is working for her good, even now. He was in my sweet friend who shared the precious fruits and soda we brought her with the sisters she has found here. He spoke through Margaret* as she took a weeping woman in her arms and assured her over and over again that this pain will not last forever. He is in Wangare's* laugh and tight squeezes.He is all up in the laughter that just doesn't quite make sense in the conditions these women live in. He is there -- where women and moms and daughters and sisters endure. Though most of the country, their own families included, have given up on or forgotten them, God is there and He is crazy about them and He is not going anywhere. That kind of love leaves me breathless.<br />
<blockquote>
"Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
<b>even there</b> your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you."
Psalm 139:7-12</blockquote>
<blockquote>
"Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end."
Matthew 28:20</blockquote>
He will never leave or forsake His people. Even there, He <i>is</i>. </div>
*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-34704736790127095032013-03-27T09:41:00.001-04:002013-03-27T09:57:22.095-04:00The Fight<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I still don't really "get" it. I can't explain it to others who ask and I will be the first to admit to anyone that it doesn't make much sense to me. I have found a place on both sides of the fence at one time or another--the one which asks hard questions and believes the worst about the One who set it into motion and the one which asks hard questions and clings to the Truth, as is and as will be.<br />
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I am always wondering when and how we are supposed to fight and simultaneously trust God's sovereignty. Sometimes the two seem mutually exclusive in my mind. Some days I wonder why the heck we put ourselves through chemotherapy if we trust Jesus and His good, pleasing, and perfect will. Other days I am knocking down doors and busting through road blocks because <i>surely</i>, this cannot be what God wanted.</div>
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I think I've been waiting to talk about this because I keep thinking that maybe next week I will grasp it a little bit better, or at least not swing so rapidly on the pendulum. It's true that nearly every time I open my Bible, The One Who Remains The Same changes, reworks, or expands my view on things that the day before I thought I might just have figured out. This conversation below is the one we have the most frequently. And most certainly, I will read another scripture tomorrow that tweaks what I understood to be true today, just a bit. The awesome thing is He never stops teaching and that HE Himself never changes -- so for that reason, I am writing.<br />
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In EMT school, after weeks of CPR training and testing, we were presented with the odds of CPR actually bringing people back to life. While difficult to measure, the statistics are surprisingly low--below 7% is a good guess. Some say as low as 1%. </div>
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It was 12:15am and I was just getting ready to have my intern papers signed so I could leave--midnight had finally come. Now I was headed home to sleep for several hours before going back to school. The machines started beeping and the small, but sure, nurse began to shout out orders until the closest doctor arrived. A finger landed on me to begin chest compressions. It should have come as no surprise that standing over a real, warm, bare-chested human and putting my weight into the pursuit of pumping her body with blood, a job that intricately designed organs were meant for, would be quite different from my experiences with a plastic dummy. </div>
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This woman beneath me, the one absorbing the forceful heart thrust I was delivering every second, was real and so was her daughter who was waiting outside the door. Forty two minutes later, her heart had shown no interest in re-programming and beginning again. The doctor called the time of death and I stepped down from the stool, my arms seemingly frozen in the position they'd held for those long, but fast-as-lightning, minutes. </div>
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As I finally drove home from the ER, I was able to talk to a friend in a different time zone who was still awake. She asked me if I felt bad that the lady had still died. For some reason, I didn't really. Giving up a fight is always hard, but such solace comes when you can say with certainty that you did all you could. My role that night was small. As I physically begged this nameless woman's heart to kick back into gear, others worked furiously to provide adequate oxygen and intravenous epinephrine and atropine to give this woman her best chance of coming back to life.</div>
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Instead of going to class the next day, I went to get a massage in hopes of being able to use my upper body again someday. I have never been so sore in my entire life. I really did wonder if my shoulders would be stuck like this forever -- if I would always look like I was gripping reins while riding a horse. The pain felt good though, in a weird way. Even my body was crying out that <i>"we tried, dadgumit, we tried</i>." Better than me, the doctor and nurses who didn't give up on a pulseless human for 42 minutes, knew the odds of bringing someone back to life. This was not their first cold body to cover--not their first tearful daughter to encounter with news she was praying against. But they fought. We fought hard. And then we trusted. Maybe the trusting should have preceded the fighting, but in the end, I know it was there.</div>
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We see it often in Scripture, the call to fight. "Defend the cause of the weak and fatherless." "Seek justice for the oppressed." "Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves." Act, speak, seek, defend, stand, love -- we have a role in this fight, those words (and so many more!) are our proof. We are all called to a fight, all the while knowing true justice is not something we will see on this earth right now.</div>
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I am so results-focused. Quantifying <a href="http://www.ramblations.blogspot.com/2010/08/successful-loving.html">successful loving</a> has been a struggle for me since I started following Him. I want to win. I want to make a difference. I don't want to waste a second. I want my chest beating to bring life back and we want our banging on the doors of brothels to put little girls back into families and to reacquaint them with their innocence. We want our tears and our petitions and our time and our sacrifices to be rewarded with success. I do, at least. </div>
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But the thing is, I don't think He really promises us quantifiable results or measurable success. At least not the kind I seek. He tells us to fight, undoubtedly. To stand with, to defend, to speak, to act... But He doesn't tell us this will end slavery or get the number of orphans in this world down to zero. I don't think we're supposed to be so concerned with that, honestly.<br />
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I'm also starting to think He also doesn't always promise us the good, peaceful kind of sore that lingers to remind us we did all that we could do. If it comes, let me see it as a sweet, kind gift. If it doesn't come and I begin to demand it, maybe this has become far too much about me. Maybe He wants us to linger for a bit in that anxious "put me in the game, coach!" place of constant seeking and surrendering, offering (way too obnoxiously, perhaps) to be used if He will let us.</div>
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There are the things He doesn't promise us...and lots of times the sting is big. But the things He DOES promise us are <i><b>good</b></i>. So good. He tells us He will be <i>with</i> us. He tells us He will be Himself <i>for</i> us. He tells us that if we fight,<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-align: -webkit-auto;">“</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">then [our] light</span><sup class="crossreference" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-18797AI" title="See cross-reference AI">AI</a>)"></sup><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">will rise in the darkness,</span><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span class="text Isa-58-10" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); position: relative;">and [our] night will become like the noonday. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-weight: bold;">The</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-weight: bold;"> </span><span class="small-caps" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-variant: small-caps; font-weight: bold;">Lord</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-weight: bold;">will guide [us] </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-weight: bold;">always; </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">he will satisfy [our] needs</span><sup class="crossreference" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-18798AL" title="See cross-reference AL">AL</a>)"></sup><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> in a sun-scorched land</span><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span class="text Isa-58-11" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); position: relative;">and will strengthen<sup class="crossreference" style="font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-18798AN" title="See cross-reference AN">AN</a>)"></sup> [our] frame. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">[We] will be like a well-watered garden,</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </span><span class="text Isa-58-11" style="position: relative; text-align: -webkit-auto;">like a spring<sup class="crossreference" style="font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-18798AP" title="See cross-reference AP">AP</a>)"></sup> whose waters never fai</span></span><span class="text Isa-58-11" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; position: relative; text-align: -webkit-auto;">l."</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And if that's not enough, He tells us He is coming back for us and none of this crap that called us to a fight will even be worth comparing or remembering.</span></div>
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There are days I convince myself I am fighting alone. Many days, unfortunately. I ask Him why the little girl who always ran home from school to show me her A's is now the same girl who was pulled out of school and is being sold for sex instead. I ask Him why that boy has to confirm the scoffs of the "I told you so"ers and find himself back in jail, when it's impossible not to see he is the greatest victim. I ask Him why no one who has any kind of power seems to give a damn that orphans are being oppressed, right before our eyes. I ask Him why the lady who drops her handicapped sister off on the street every morning to beg for money is rolling in wealth while her sister is pushed lower to the ground every day. I ask Him why all of this medical knowledge, all of this gifting is reserved for the sick who are rich, while body bags are overflowing in the slums.<br />
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I have so many questions. I know He cares; I know I only care because He cares; so I cling to what I know of who He is and join the fight. The results are His, my only obligation is jumping in and trusting that He is good.
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<blockquote>
"The truth is we may never fully understand why God allows the suffering that devastates our lives. We may never find the right answers to how we'll dig ourselves out. There may not be any silver lining---especially not in the ways we'd like. But we don't need answers as much as we need God's presence in and through the suffering itself. Explanations, I've learned, are often a substitute for trust.
For a believer, God's chief concern in your suffering is to be with you and be himself for you. And, in the end, we discover this really is enough." --Tullian Tchividjian </blockquote>
*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-82566104606227213612013-02-25T12:41:00.001-05:002013-02-25T12:41:52.991-05:00Living in Africa doesn't make you an awesome person<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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As a general rule, I've mostly found that people think you're an "awesome person" if you live in Africa. Especially if you live in the bush and poop in holes and sleep on thin mattresses and take baths in buckets... in the name of Jesus. Even more if you hang out with sick people or orphans or the poorest of poor. It makes me cringe from the inside out when this is put onto me (it's fine on the others, I even put it onto them along with everyone else) because I know what goes on in my heart and there is so so much that isn't awesome... but it probably doesn't show up very clearly in the pictures where I am snuggled up with brown orphans.<br />
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It was an act meant for good, without a doubt, but it watered the young seeds of some pretty ugly things in my heart. I think I was in 9th grade. I was a regular at church and Sunday School and Bible Studies for social reasons. It was fun and I loved the people and I was a generally nice person, so no one really looked twice in question of whether or not I 'belonged' there. It worked.<br />
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I will never forget it -- the Sunday School teacher came over and picked up my thick, colorful "Teen Study Bible" and held it up in front of the entire class. She said something along the lines of <i>THIS</i> type of Bible being the kind we should all have. <i>THIS</i> type of Bible was covered in stickers and doodlings (a result of extreme boredom and easy access to stickers during a Bible Study...). <i>THIS</i> type of Bible had wrinkled pages (a result of everything I touch being ruined within minutes... Homework, school books, etc just ask any teacher I ever had). <i>THIS</i> type of Bible had stains and rips and tears and unbound pages (again, I am mess. Lord only knows yogurt, rain, juice had soaked into the pages and by that point the mold was unhindered). <i>THIS</i> type of Bible was highlighted (because for the first couple of years of church, camp, Sunday school, etc I followed the rules and highlighted stuff they told me to highlight). <i>THIS</i> type of Bible was clearly and visibly well loved and we should all have Bibles that look like <i>THIS</i>.<br />
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My face flushed red--a common occurrence--but it was boiling hot in this instance because I was scared to death that she would ask my favorite verse, what I was learning in my non-existent "quiet time", or worse, a Bible trivia question to prove my alleged faithfulness to the Word of God. That would surely shut this party down. I knew the second she grabbed my Bible from my lap that this was now a lie I would have to work to defend. I was doing things right. I was someone who the others in my class should learn from. If she only knew...<br />
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My sins perhaps weren't the kind that necessitated being added to the email prayer list (Sally is drinking, I think. John smelled like pot once...so he is smoking pot. Amanda is probably anorexic. Sam is sleeping with his girlfriend, I'm pretty sure. Tommy loves the new Eminem CD, etc), but they were a plenty. The hidden kind are so often even more destructive than the exposed but what I was learning is that hiding sins and highlighting your Bible was all it really took.<br />
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I'm using this example because I have experienced how detrimental it is to keep your sin and struggles in the dark. To remain quiet, letting people keep on thinking that you are an "awesome person". I can recall precisely where I was when I first heard this truth come out of my CD player in downtown Athens :<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“The best thing that could ever happen to you is that your sin would be literally exposed in the five-o’-clock news. Your deepest, darkest, most embarrassing sin. The one you work the hardest to hide, would be broadcast on the five-o’-clock news. Best thing that would ever happen to you… Because I am so weary, I am so tired of having to hide my sin from people. Of deceiving people about who I really am–I’m tired of it!” (Derek Webb)</blockquote>
I literally felt nauseous at the thought of my sinful heart bare naked before the world. It left me speechless. It even gave me nightmares. Holy crap, that would RUIN ME. Why? The answer scared me even more. I was letting people think I had things together and was living right because I could usually be counted on as a designated driver, kept my Bible on my nightstand, drug myself out of bed for church (most) Sundays, tried to be nice to strangers and smiled a lot.<br />
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I remember exactly where I sat as I heard my pastor in Athens say the words of Paul (in his own way that I don't recall) "a sinner, of whom I am the worst." What?! It stopped me in my tracks. I think it was my first Sunday at my new church in my new city. It was the most beautiful gospel message that I came to hear every Sunday. It was a message I desperately needed to hear every Sunday. It was a message I needed to preach to myself daily. If it was okay for my pastor to need Jesus this much, it was okay for me.<br />
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It changed absolutely everything for me. I am not sure it was truly the first time I heard it (from a pulpit or a church leader) or if it was just the first time God opened my ears to receive it. But it rocked me. So hard. For good. I don't know what I was or wasn't before, but now that I was beginning to see and hear and learn that being a Christian means quite the opposite of what I had previously thought -- I knew I was in this time around. He had me. I wanted to follow this guy who actually WANTS the people who don't (and will never quite) have their shit together, for lack of better words.<br />
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Anyway, if you think someone is awesome (for reasons other than NOT being awesome, but because of God's sweet grace) but you can't name the sins they struggle with then you probably need to get to know them better. Please, get to know me better than to think I am awesome. ((I know this is a laughable statement to my close family and friends who are well aware that I am anything but...yack it up, people.)) Get to know Katie Davis or even Mother (freakin? seemed right) Theresa better than to think they, as a single unit, are awesome. And if you want people to think you're awesome, you're certainly not alone. Talk to Jesus about that (it's a conversation we have often because being seen as an awesome person doesn't sound so bad sometimes).<br />
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I'm just saying maybe we need to start looking up to the people who straight up suck at most of the things Jesus asks us to do. The ones who bear fruit because they ABIDE not because they're good at what they do. The ones who actually, truly, deeply, wildly <i>need</i> His grace, they don't just know how to talk about it.<br />
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Some of these people are in Africa, no doubt. But a whole ton of them are getting a different kind of dirty in a different kind of war zone. Maybe there's is less glamorous to their facebook friends, but it's every bit as beautiful.<br />
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*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-83006127148010998802013-01-30T16:01:00.001-05:002013-01-30T16:30:30.530-05:00A God who is ableThere is a reluctance, if I'm honest, to allow myself to dream for them; but don't earnest, shut-eyed prayers always lead to open-eyed dreaming? I have not found another way. <br />
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It was my turn to run the call and the seasoned paramedics snickered as we bumped along Cascade Road and arrived at our patient. He was a "frequent flier" as they call patients who too often find themselves hitching a ride to the Grady ER in the back of our ambulances. He had called 911 himself. He was high on cocaine and despite the paramedics eye rolls, he was telling us in his most serious tone that he was ready for this to be his last hit. He wanted to quit.<br />
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She shifted in her seat and looked me in the eyes, saying she was ready for a new life. She was tired of depending on her body to keep a roof over her family's head; her family that consists of children and their children. Her daughters scoffed in the seats behind us, two babies sitting on their laps. The next strip club we passed, one called out "Oh look! They're hiring! Hey mom, have you changed your mind yet?" They didn't believe her. Why should I?<br />
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Bundled up in a blanket she made with all of her spare time, she tells me about how she will live by the ocean with her sister and spend her days freelance writing. When her disability checks start coming in, life will be so different. She has been living in shelters for years now, but month after month shares visions of where she would like to be in just a few more weeks. Seeing her sit on the same bed week after week sends a tinge of pain as I realize her dreams are not coming true as quickly as she would like. <br />
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His voice was muffled as we sat separated by a wall of smudged plexiglass. I leaned hard into the phone receiver and willed my ears to make something of his hushed mumblings. Though I missed bits and pieces, his message was clear : he was falsely accused. Another man should be wearing this orange jumpsuit, not him. Isn't that what everyone says when courts are threatening to remove them from society to pay penance for a wrongful act? <br />
I wasn't sure. <br />
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Her children are proof that she has not been attentive to their needs in a way that a mother must in order for little bodies to grow and thrive. The neighbors throw a hand in the air saying it is a tragedy that she was physically able to give birth to life. The nurse who examines the weak bodies sighs with anger and says she would love to give their mother a piece of her mind. The neglect is undeniable; no excuses of ignorance seem justified. She doesn't have much to say for herself.<br />
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The evidence is laid out before him and onlookers are quick to remind "once a street boy, always a street boy." He cannot be trusted and anyone who (ever) believed otherwise was just being foolish. He admits, finally, to the destruction he has caused and promises he won't let them down again. He begs forgiveness, it is granted, and the scene repeats itself just days later. His birth family has disowned him and his foster family is encouraged by others to do the same, being told that they have given it their best shot. Isn't there a time when it's appropriate to accept defeat? To throw in the towel?<br />
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These are just a few examples, but I think we run into these people every day. Hopefully more than running into them, we seek them out. Sometimes it hurts to dream for people when not many others are. When "wisdom" tells us they don't deserve our dreams, dreaming on says that we see them (or are straining to see them) as Jesus does. They need this. We need this. <br />
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We believe with the cracked out man because he needs someone to believe with him that even this can be overcome and we happen to know a God who can do big things like that without batting an eye.<br />
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We believe with the friend whose children called her bluff from the backseat because she needs someone to believe with her and we happen to know a God who can do big things like that without batting an eye. <br />
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We believe with the lady who dreams of a beautiful, less-dependent life outside of a women's shelter because she needs someone to believe with her and we happen to know a God who can do big things without batting an eye. <br />
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We believe with the huge man in orange whom I barely know-- not that he is innocent, who really cares?--but that this is not the end of his story, because he needs someone to believe with him and we happen to know a God who can do big things like that without batting an eye.<br />
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We believe with the woman who has truly sucked as a mother, but it doesn't have to be that way forever, because she needs someone to believe with her and we happen to know a God who can do big things like that without batting an eye. <br />
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We believe with the weary foster mom as she struggles through uncharted territory, as only few are brave enough to walk this path by choice, because she needs someone to believe with her and we happen to know a God who can do big things without batting an eye.<br />
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We don't have to believe with them because it is a safe bet or because the odds are in their favor or because they've proved themselves trustworthy or because they really seem to "want it". We can do all of that without Jesus--it is not so bold to walk a tightrope that is lying on the ground. <br />
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We can believe with them because of all that they are not. All that we are not. All that HE is is certainly enough for us to enter into their dreams. <br />
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Y'all. It's supposed to be us sitting beside the cracked out man as his body seeks to ruin him if he does not go back to the substance it has come to depend on. We are the ones who are Holy Spirit empowered to believe with someone who has only known one way of life that things can be different--that God is able. Is this not our own story of redemption? <br />
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When we're not all that impressed with what God can do, it shows. <br />
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It shows when I join the "encouragers" who pat her on the back and say she gave it her best shot, time to send him back to the streets because he has had about 7 trillion chances. It shows when I stare too long at the statistics on men who are released from prison actually staying out and living productive lives in society and throw some distinguishing water on the fiery dream that wishes things to be different, at least for him. It shows when I deceitfully nod my head and pat her on the back as she dreams of a different life, but cannot help but glare hopelessly at the seemingly permanent impression her body has made in the third bed on the second row of the shelter. It shows when I succumb to what I do not know about this man, accepting what has already been decided about him based on how many times a week he shares this same desire, only to be picked up again and dropped off at the ER for a repeat of the week before. It shows when the first time I hear she has gone back to what she knew, my frustration overcomes me and I deem her as a "lost cause" until she truly wants to change. It shows when I join them in anger (that seems so so warranted when innocent children are involved) and bash her further into the ground instead of seeing the tiny seedling of hope that might just sprout if nourished. <br />
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It can be a lonely place, the place that sits before Jesus and first believes He is able and then waits to see just how able He is. Sometimes the crowd is heavy in the beginning and usually it dwindles, maybe to the point of standing alone before Jesus, petitioning Him on behalf of someone that everyone else has given up on. They will disappoint. And if you're like me, you will disappoint yourself even more frequently than they disappoint you. But this is a blessed place. I want to find myself here more often. I want Him to increase my faith in Him so I can stand with them with complete and utter confidence that my God is the one who can move the ginormous mountain in front of them. They need us whose eyes have looked on Him, tasted His goodness, and been transformed into His likeness to believe with them that He is able. If we can't believe it, how can they? <br />
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"Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, to Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen." --Ephesians 3:20-21<br />
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*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-89394844615857842312013-01-21T16:19:00.001-05:002013-01-21T16:25:34.480-05:00NeedyThey come in and out of the room and ask question after question and I repeat, for what seems like the 3 trillionth time, what little I know of his last six months and twenty three days on earth. I unload the broken pieces I know of his story and we work together to fill in the gaps. I catch myself saying words like "usually" when describing his habits and then realize I have only known him for two days--what do I know of his usually? I remind the doctors and nurses and nutritionists who probe me again and again that we are still nearly strangers.<br />
<br />
He cries incessantly in the crowded waiting room and women look at me with eyes that will me to please, for everyone's remaining sanity, find a way to make the baby in my arms be quiet. Though our skin tells that I didn't birth him, they look to me as if I am the only one in the room with the ability to calm him. As he squirms and writhes in discomfort, I want to tell them that they are welcome to give it their best shot, because he doesn't yet know me from any of them. <br />
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I hold his abrupt entry into my life against him at times, sometimes wanting to cry back at him during especially public or drawn out meltdowns that "this isn't too fun for me either, kid." I get so frustrated with 10 little pounds of pure innocence when I want to get more than 45 minutes of sleep at a time. I question if this is really where I'm "called" to be if I have such a crappy attitude about it a good bit of the time. And then I go to the dark place of imagining Katie Davis, not only being super excited at the chance to love a sick baby all throughout the night, but also sharing her faith with the nurses and doctors and other patients in the ward (instead of the negative attitude and complaints of their negligence). Comparison kills. <br />
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All this to say, I am learning lately that there is nowhere I can go where I will need His grace any less. I seek out those places, in search of the "perfect fit" or "my calling" thinking that because of the way He made me, I certainly ought to need Him less there. Why haven't I landed in that place yet? I sigh and think "Man. I really thought I would be pretty good at loving sick kids. Guess I was wrong again.... Back to the drawing board." <br />
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Sometimes I just get tired of needing Him so damn much. Good Lord, can we not take off the training wheels yet?! I am familiar with this... I signed up for this! Why can't I fly solo here yet? Is it ever coming?! If not, am I in the wrong place? Why am I not more joyful in this moment? Why isn't this natural and beautiful and lovely and effortless and "like breathing" yet? <br />
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Because I am believing a lie. <br />
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I think I first heard it from Oprah when I was in High school and had more interest in what she said than what Jesus says. I even wrote it on one of my binders, I think. "Your true passion should feel like breathing; it's that natural." I think I've been looking for this dreamy place all along and to be honest, I have come up short every time--usually settling for the closest thing I can find and being annoyed that I can't just be naturally good (and independent) at anything. <br />
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I am coming to see there is no such place. Sure there is a place where my precise strengths and passions can combine to maximize the glory He receives as I live out life here on earth. These places exist for all of us, I know they do. We were not created each with different gifts and cares and loves to operate outside of the Body, to the benefit of the world (or ourselves, of course). <br />
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But where I've been so deceived is my thinking that these places will be natural and lovely and beautiful and effortless and maybe even easy. I believe Oprah a little too much and then get angry with myself when I am face to face with the seemingly ugly fact that nothing "good" I do will ever feel as effortless as breathing. Nothing "good" in me will ever be anything but that which He has done. Like Paul, "I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out." I just can't. <br />
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Guilt floods in about how I am failing Him by sucking so bad at loving people -- the people I have chosen to love, based on where I felt His nudges. The truth is I want to depend more on my strengths than on His grace. It feels safer there. <br />
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I promise that I love my life and the places He has me (((not even joking, this sentence was interrupted by the dreadful sound of projectile vomit being shot through the mesh walls of Isaac's pack n' play bed.... His only bed, now covered in vomit at the early hour of 11:36pm))). Haha, but really I do. There is a lot of hard (cue teeny tiny boy being waken from sleep vomiting the 7 different medicines he had to take tonight plus 2 whole bottles of Pediasure through both nose and mouth--did I mention he's malnourished and really really needs that food his body keeps rejecting? And those meds he can't keep down are supposed to be the ones fighting off all of the stuff that has been attacking his body for the past 7 months?), so I don't love it in the blissful skipping through fields way -- but I love it in the "holy crap. How in the world do I have the honor of being a part of the story God is writing for this boy He loves?" way. <br />
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All I'm saying is I don't think I have to turn in my resignation letter just because I literally have to pray the words "Jesus, help me not to hate this baby when he wakes me up in 30 minutes. And then again 45 later. And then again." as I lay my head on the pillow at night. I need that. He knows it better than anyone. <br />
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You don't have to question your entire marriage when you have to pray the words "God, please give me the grace to not punch this guy in the face tonight." We don't have to quit our jobs and search for something better just because we literally can't get through an hour without crying out "Lord, help me not to spit in my boss's face when he critiques my work for the 50th time today." <br />
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I'm famously bad at making up examples (which you know if we've ever had a conversation), but you get my point. Needing grace--being absolutely desperate for Him, having nothing of our own going for us is a beautiful place to be. It doesn't mean we are in the wrong place--it might just mean we're exactly where He wants us. I need to write that on my arm. It's good to need Him this much. It assaults my flesh in the best way. <br />
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"But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me." --2 Corinthians 12:9<br />
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*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-84650658742427577472012-12-01T14:16:00.001-05:002012-12-01T14:21:33.566-05:00Answered Prayers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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We prayed aloud as our far from 4-wheel drive sedan slowly crept along the rocky road. The car we had traveled in was not even close to being equipped for this journey, and the same glaring ill-equipment was heavy on my heart as well. So we prayed.<br />
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"God we love babies and we would be honored at the opportunity to love these twins in whatever way You allow us, but we don't want that to be the reason for anything. We believe and trust that You care for their best far more than we do, so lead us to Your will. Keep us from our own. We are yours. Use us as You see fit here, if at all. We trust you."<br />
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It was all that came out of my mouth because I didn't know what to pray for, I didn't know what to do, I didn't know what to expect, I didn't even know what to <i>hope</i> for.<br />
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As we left the house 15 minutes later--completely overwhelmed, empty-handed, eyes holding back tears, breath still lost--Sister Helen looked at me and said "wow. the prayers you just prayed have been answered!!" I looked at her in aggravated disbelief. Had I really prayed to see such a heartbreaking story unfold before our eyes? I pondered her comment for the rest of the day, as the faces of the twins and their brother raced through my mind every second of the 24 hours before we returned for them. I would never, ever have prayed or hoped for a situation so desperate to require immediate intervention like this. Never. If I had prayed for this (whether to fill our beautiful baby home, or to feel useful, or to become a temporary mama to gorgeous twin girls), God please forgive me.<br />
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It took several hours before one of my very favorite pieces of Scripture broke into my mind. I love it so much because I am simple-minded and this is about as clean-cut as it can get, yet I still forget it and am re-amazed constantly!<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Charis SIL', charis, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="text 1John-5-14" id="en-NIV-30639" style="font-size: 16px;">This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us.</span><span class="text 1John-5-14"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><b> </b></span></span><span class="text 1John-5-15" id="en-NIV-30640">And if we know that he hears us—whatever we ask—we know<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><b> </b></span>that we have what we asked of him.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>" --1 John 5:14-15</b></span></span></span></blockquote>
Praying for His will means being heard and His will being done means we get what we asked for, whatever it is. It's just easy. I love it. Sister Helen was right, God did answer our prayers. We prayed for His will to be done and that's where we are and man oh man, where else can I get confidence like that? Nowhere. When the "what the heck are we doing?" questions arise, a quick look up to the Leader of all of this brings solace. This is His thing, not ours. As we continue to ache for His will done, we have immeasurable confidence that it <i>will</i> be done and we get to go along for the ride.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span">Several days before we met the twins, I was reading Psalm 90:17. It led me to stop and take a painfully close look into my heart before I could even meditate on it. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">"Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and establish the work of our hands; yes, establish the work of our hands!" ~Psalm 90:17 </span><span class="Apple-style-span">Before I could pray it, I needed to confirm my hands were being directed by Him. Though I don't think He'd even answer the prayer of establishing the work of my hands if they are not working solely for His glory, it was something I had to get straight on before the same plea exited my own mouth. It has since become a daily prayer... a daily trust, rather. First, a prayer for His will to be done, for His glory--second, a trust that He will establish the work of our hands when these are our aims (and only then).</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span">We can take heart in trusting He will establish the work of our hands when we are truly working for Him. I am so very thankful we are not in charge and that the work He has each of us in right now, He promises to make it count long after we are gone from this earth.</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">"Good men are anxious not to work in vain. They know that without the Lord they can do nothing, and therefore they cry to him for help in the work, for acceptance of their efforts, and for the establishment of their designs. The church as a whole earnestly desi</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">res that the hand of the Lord may so work with the hand of his people, that a substantial, yea, an eternal edifice to the praise and glory of God may be the result. We come and go, but the Lord's work abides. We are content to die, so long as Jesus lives and his kingdom grows. Since the Lord abides for ever the same, we trust our work in his hands, and feel that since it is far more his work than ours he will secure it immortality. When we have withered like grass, our holy service, like gold, silver, and precious stones, will survive the fire." --Charles Spurgeon</span></div>
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*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-71311776932184935602012-10-26T06:46:00.000-04:002012-12-27T13:37:49.967-05:00Bring on the ringworm<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings></xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument></xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles></xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]><style> /* Style Definitions */table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}</style><![endif]--><!--StartFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">I was wearing a dress that was tooshort by Kenyan standards, but our walk was unexpected and it’s just too hotsometimes to dress conservatively when you aren't planning to leave the house. They called out to us andasked me in Swahili if I knew how to farm. It was a joke, obviously. Theylaughed, assuming I didn’t understand what they said; and because I don’t lovebeing the object of jokes unless I can join in the laughter, I took off my redleather ballet flats, waded through the freshly plowed field and picked upthe hoe. They held my baby as I swung with all my might and dug up fresh groundwhile we all laughed together at my skills (or lack thereof). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Caleb was wearing one of the shirtshe “came with.” I am not sure of it’s original color, but by now it holdsstains of every hue and the neck is stretched out so that one of his shoulderslays bare. I had meant to get rid of that shirt, but it somehow remained in hiswardrobe of bright, fresh blues and greens and reds. He greeted them with akindness that made time stand still for a moment as I looked on with pride.They were dirty. Their two children sat under the shade of a tree nearby. Thelittlest cried when I approached, as if I was dressed in a frightening costumeinstead of just the white skin I was born with. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">I talked with the ladies who wereworking to feed their children while Caleb sat down in the pile of dirt rightbetween Kevin and Mateo, our new friends. I eventually sat down with him, afterthe laughs from all of the “mzungus are lazy jokes” had ceased. I had missedthis. I watched him gently run his fingers over Kevin’s head, covered in whitespots from a fungal infection that is pretty rampant among kids here in Kenya. Partof me wanted to pull his hand away because bringing an easily-spread fungusinto our house didn’t sound like a great idea. Not today. Instead I let hishand remain and felt an undeniable confirmation from the Holy Spirit that thisis good.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">I suddenly found myself in someways wishing that Caleb’s pants had holes in them just like Kevin’s and hisface had a stream of thick, gunky snot like Mateo’s. I wished for a moment thathe smelled like soil and mold and old urine instead of Johnson’s Lavender babylotion and <s>my perfume</s> this fancy stuff called Febreeze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to take off his shoes andremove the socks (that I had just previously replaced when he spilled porridgeon his others) so that he would be more of the same as these other two boys. Idon’t know that that is what the Lord would want, but I do know that He doesn’twant us covered in gold while our neighbors roll around in the mud. There ismiddle ground, there has to be. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">One thing I pray for (without theexact words, oftentimes) is that my children will always run their fingers overfungus-covered heads, even when they know the risk. I pray that we pick up andcuddle babies who are soaked and soiled and stinking from no diaper with thesame ease we pick up the babies who are dressed neatly in a matching BabyGapensemble. I pray that we kiss our HIV+ brothers and sisters as long and hardand mushily as we kiss any of the others. I pray that we can forever squeezethrough the small entry and into the darkly lit, scrap-metal houses that areteeming with bugs to visit friends in the slums. I pray that when those mamasand their kids come over for chai later today after their long day of work, wetreat them as if they are queens and princes, because they are. And I pray thatit slowly becomes less forced or painstakingly intentional and more natural,like breathing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Yes, the freshly cleaned floorswill have red footprints when they enter and more when they leave and yes, someof their soil, sweat, susu (sorry, had to keep with the s’s…susu = peepee inSwahili) scent might linger on our couch for a couple of days and yes,sometimes we might even pick up some pretty nasty illnesses, but I need that.Caleb needs that. I think I will be prouder of my kids getting ringworm from ourfriends in the slums than I will be of my kids making honor roll. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><b><span style="font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">“</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">So then you are no longer strangersand aliens,</span><b><span style="font-family: Verdana;"> </span></b><span style="font-family: Verdana;">but you are fellow citizenswith the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation ofthe apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone, in whomthe whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in theLord. In him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by</span><b><span style="font-family: Verdana;"> </span></b><span style="font-family: Verdana;">theSpirit.” ~Ephesians 2:19-22</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
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</div><!--EndFragment--></div>*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-42397810559887221882012-10-24T06:58:00.002-04:002012-10-24T08:37:50.251-04:00on loving HARD<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been in this position before… it is not altogether
new and uncharted territory for me. Being entrusted with a child for an unknown
(but always sure to seem “too short”) amount of time, asked to love them with
all I have (by the Lover Himself), filled with unequivocal joy during the
loving, but then left with a deep, open wound (on top of other wounds that are
still healing) when the subject of the loving is no longer present in my
day-to-day. The loving never stops; the ability to love in flesh, unhindered,
is just removed in some way and man, does it sting. To this day, they are still "orphans" as defined by the world. They still lack a mother.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
the wounds are still fresh, I promise to never walk this road again. I will
give my heart to no other transient visitors, only those who are sure to linger
long enough to make the loving “worth it.” Carol. Pinky. Mercy. Obama. David. Abigail.
I said “yes, God” to doing life forever with each and every one of them. Lots
of times my “yes’s” were delayed or spoken through quivering lips, but they
were all spoken aloud by His grace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sometimes
I think that’s all He wants (our yes’s) and maybe that’s love, but when I’m
hurting, it feels like a trick. Trick us into saying yes to hard things and
then You’re not even going to follow through? My finite mind looks for someone
to blame and He is the only one in the picture who is big enough to carry
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel like the joke is on me
sometimes. The Deceiver loves when I give these thoughts the time of day—He
loves for me to doubt that God is working for my good--to think He is working
for everybody else’s, at the expense of my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Sometimes I feel like that. Could I
simply be a sacrifice for someone else’s good? At first I’m indignant, but
gradually that idea starts to sound good to my “leave it all on the field”
personality. I can get on board with that. Let me die and let others live,
somehow. But oh geez, that is not Jesus… He wants (and works hard for) MY good
as much as He wants (and works hard for) the orphan’s good. And it’s all grace.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This
time is different from all in the past because this time I know what I am
getting into. I know (and pray, in a weird conflict-of-interests kind of way)
that Caleb and all the other babies who come through these doors, lay in my
bed, and poop on my hands, will be removed from my life after a year or two—they
will be entrusted to a new family who signs up to love them forever. Forever,
forever. The thing is, I will do it. Happily! I want to do it. If Jesus said I
could keep Caleb forever, I would without a doubt. What an honor. But He hasn’t
said that yet, so I am asked to keep on loving and trusting He knows what He is
doing here.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m
sure I’ve posted it before because it is probably the most solid,
necessary-for-life wisdom I cling to, outside of straight Scripture. I need to
read it almost every day to be reminded that I want this. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwcIq1aykQQKh-KIcrZZxudjWuqNLEJCkfSyKR-VdYTChYfmiCCIay03eqOCOwbCvluR_71wnj6Obrvhds06m9UiDw2P7rdmUE8kDuGM2N-TaupBUpkyFmXmUK4QtyNzFJWI1sG6Y7CLrl/s1600/IMG_4552.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwcIq1aykQQKh-KIcrZZxudjWuqNLEJCkfSyKR-VdYTChYfmiCCIay03eqOCOwbCvluR_71wnj6Obrvhds06m9UiDw2P7rdmUE8kDuGM2N-TaupBUpkyFmXmUK4QtyNzFJWI1sG6Y7CLrl/s320/IMG_4552.JPG" width="225" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3QErEB2P2aLwcAp-gM8Kuepa2p-963DTVbCg6hPc-69U0IWlabb-NgkZJSkOVzaDJ-fF3oo6DCEFRipns_Tn0G-49w0LFeOfZXtt-_lYdepgEKphVEUP9tMUh3UlZUNXlvk_U8N5O0j2e/s1600/IMG_5772.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3QErEB2P2aLwcAp-gM8Kuepa2p-963DTVbCg6hPc-69U0IWlabb-NgkZJSkOVzaDJ-fF3oo6DCEFRipns_Tn0G-49w0LFeOfZXtt-_lYdepgEKphVEUP9tMUh3UlZUNXlvk_U8N5O0j2e/s320/IMG_5772.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 13pt;">“There is no safe investment. To love
at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly
be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it
intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even an animal…We shall
draw nearer to God, not by trying to avoid the sufferings inherent in all
loves, but by accepting them and offering them to Him; throwing away all
defensive armour. If our hearts need to be broken, and if He chooses this as a
way in which they should break, so be it.”</span></i>~CS Lewis in the Four Loves</span></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
feel myself already, 10 short days in to loving Caleb, wanting to pull away to
lessen the pain of giving him up someday. Loving him for 1-2 years and then
passing him off to someone else, when I gladly say “yes” to forever, is sure to
be painful. I could wrap my heart in a casket by remaining at arms-length with
Caleb and all of the other babies who enter Neema House. That is exactly what I’d
prescribe for myself if this was about me and what I'd consider my "best interest". I can even twist it in my mind and
believe that the babies will attach better to their future mom or dad if we
don’t let them attach to any of us—if we simply care for their physical needs and
pass them around incessantly, letting them wait longer to find someone who has
time to let them sleep on their chest or look into their eyes for more than a
passing glance or learn the ridges in their hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That would be easier. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
Jesus is and always will be so faithful it hurts. I tell Him why I want to give
away less than all and He draws me in closer. He sweetly promises He will never
run out, so I don’t need to be storing any away in case His well of goodness
runs dry. He gives the love that is poured out and He reminds in the sweetest
of ways to not let pebbles of self-defense block the raging-river flow of Love
that He refills for this very purpose. He is the very SOURCE of the river and
when we build up dams in our own strength, they are destroying us as much as
they are starving the dry riverbed that is thirsting for nourishment. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
don’t like talking about myself so much, especially the ugly stuff, but I just
want to encourage and proclaim that God gives what we need. If you don’t
believe that, try Him. People who aren’t doing it say that foster care is too
hard. It would be hard on the family and hard on the child and hard hard hard.
I would never ever try to convince someone it’s not, even in my small and
different experience with it in Kenya. But what is so wrong with hard? Hard is close to
the heart of Jesus. Hard is out of your own power and strength, completely
empty save that of whatever Jesus gives. Hard is constant contact with your
Savior because if He doesn’t come through, you’re literally done for. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
point is it’s more than okay to get on board with trembling knees. Do we really
trust Him? Not to carry us through once we’re in the muck, but to say “yes” to
jumping in, whether the water is murky or not. I just pray for all of us that we fear being
disobedient to His commands more than we fear affording a college education
(what I hear so often in regards to not adopting), or future tears cried into a
pillow (I'd love to skip that step by detaching myself from kids who will not be mine forever), or giving our hearts to people who can’t give their heart back to us (hmm, reminds me of Jesus a bit :)) or
having absolutely no idea what we’re doing 23.9 hours of the day (welcome to my life). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Lately
I have been super encouraged by<a href="http://thestanleyclan.blogspot.com/"> a family</a> who is doing just that… They sign up
for the “hard”, even as their wounds of past hards are still healing. They do
it for Jesus and they believe He is enough—I know that because they’d be
straight up drowning if they didn’t. I appreciate that they sought out the
difficult in their own city and then went there… not on a bus once a month,
they moved in and made it their home. I can’t speak for them, but I doubt they
would tell anyone what they do is easy or painless. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I cannot say the same for
myself either, but I know that sharing in Christ’s sufferings will forever be
the greatest joy. So,
we love on. We give it all and trust He will follow through. We let Him carry
us through the inevitable joys right up into the point where it does hurt bad,
and it’s there that we let Him hold us tighter than ever.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
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*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-18175549132768074162012-10-17T09:15:00.001-04:002012-10-21T11:21:56.643-04:00Letter to the babies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I jotted this down before I left for Kenya... before this life became real. Just thought I'd share it before formally introducing our first delight, Caleb Emmanuel. :)<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzHwar9iOueVdQZ8MLZK8Y1yn2JnBYOwkptHRGEb00SLSYyWU_a4ARzJBDLXA7yB9C45TCnH2w0_5DB2kpdqd5FHO1Pr5_rRwN4j4jugR9K2BKBh2Xrat6mX5vCYsNIR2hsoD6-NFIfoO/s1600/caleb.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzHwar9iOueVdQZ8MLZK8Y1yn2JnBYOwkptHRGEb00SLSYyWU_a4ARzJBDLXA7yB9C45TCnH2w0_5DB2kpdqd5FHO1Pr5_rRwN4j4jugR9K2BKBh2Xrat6mX5vCYsNIR2hsoD6-NFIfoO/s320/caleb.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Dear babies,<br /><o:p> </o:p><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Some
of you have been born already and some of you are still in your mommy’s tummies
and some of you are not even a thought yet, but what you all have in common is
that you do not have the cognitive ability to read this. :) I am mostly writing
it to remind myself that we’re in this together.<br /><br /><o:p> </o:p>You were each made dependent little
creatures. When you first join us in the world, you can’t even hold your head
up or scratch your own itches. You were created with a whole bunch of needs,
but a whole lot of nothing in terms of abilities to meet these needs. Sure, you
come with basic reflexes that will help you live and grow, but those don’t
sustain, they just assist. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God
doesn’t usually let you come out of your mom’s belly until your lungs and heart
and brain work well, because those are pretty important in assisting as well.
All things considered though, you need us. You need us for everything. You need
us to hold you close and you need for our warm skin to touch yours and you need
us to pick you up when you cry and you need us to clean up the stink you sit in
until we change your diaper. You need us to clip your nails so you don’t
scratch your face off and you need us to keep food in your bellies so you can
see another day. You need us to tell you “no” when are getting close to danger
and you need us to cover your head and ears when the wind blows cold. Above all
though, you need us to help you learn how to be loved. Sometimes learning to be
loved will be the hardest thing we do together.<br /><br /><o:p> </o:p>I’m sure some days (and many nights,
if your reputation precedes you) I will hold your neediness against you, but
that’s only because I’m just one big needy mess myself. Your neediness is your
greatest attribute and I hate to break it to you, but you’re not going to grow
out of it anytime soon (read: ever).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I shouldn’t apologize because it’s a real gift, but just wait until you start
to learn how to use a spoon for the first time or how to put on your shoes. You
will insist on doing it by yourself and we will certainly let you try, but we
will also be there to switch your shoes back to the right feet, so you don’t
fall on your face. You will learn SO much over time—even when you are old and
grey, you’ll still be learning, but you will never lose your neediness. Don’t
let anyone tell you that’s a bad thing either, cause it’s not.<br /><br /><o:p> </o:p>To be honest, neediness is
something I have to pray for because I know how to put on my shoes by now and have
become quite proficient at shoveling food into my mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am stubborn and independent to fault and
if I had things my way in your situation, I would change my own diapers and
prepare my own bottles and soothe myself to sleep and I wouldn’t even need
someone like a Mom to help me. I fight hard for independence every single day. Something
you will probably learn soon is that sometimes being needy hurts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s difficult, but it’s oh so good
because we have a big and GOOD Someone who delights in our neediness. He loves
being all that we have--our everything.<br /><o:p> </o:p><br />We were never meant to function
without Him in the first place. He is the giver of life! You help me remember
that. I fall more in love with Him every day because of the way He cares about
you… it is so much more than even the greatest mama and baba could ever offer.
This God has YOUR very name engraved on the palm of His hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s love, baby. This same God is the
One who knit you into your mama’s womb and the one who knows about each tiny
curl on your fuzzy head. He’s been loving you with the deepest of loves since
before you took your first breath. He knew you would be where you are today, in
a situation that requires this unconventional love and I promise that He aches
with you in your pain and loss. Isaiah 49 is the sweetest reminder that He knew
this world has the kind of hurt and darkness that would require the reminder
that EVEN IF we are thrown into a latrine by the mother who was created to
carry and love us, God will receive us, always. He will never forsake you. Or
me. We are His greatest possession. It’s the best news ever.<br /><o:p> </o:p> Back to my neediness—don’t tell
anyone, but I have no idea what I’m doing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve kind of gotten used to that by now, but I just wanted to
warn you that we who are loving you are just as needy as you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The God that never forsakes you is good
to be the same strong tower for us, so we cling to Him and do our best to obey
Him by loving you. Obeying Him is a joy when you love Him most, I pray you will
know that personally soon. So don’t think we are doing you any favors—we are
truly truly truly humbled by the opportunity. It seems too good to be true, but
God works like that. More than anything, we want you to know Him. He likes that
too, so He makes this “work” a joy. We are so blessed to love you! </blockquote>
</blockquote>
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*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-69447012238924381512012-06-22T16:09:00.000-04:002018-09-13T04:42:05.587-04:00Still good.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today I got word that baby Ashley, <a href="http://www.ramblations.blogspot.com/2012/02/baby-ashley-pray-please.html">this one</a>, died.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<div>
The condition she had wreaks havoc and if nobody is trying to stop it, it will have it's way and take lives before they walk their first steps...</div>
<div>
<br />
But things were better. She got the medicines she needed and was headed in the right direction.... gaining weight, catching up with all the developmental milestones that she had missed, and even learning to walk! It was all good news. So why had she died? Why were my eyes reading the words carrying the news that I could have read with my eyes closed as soon as I saw her name? Why does this keep happening?<br />
<br />
I don't like this. This is the third call I've received on American soil about a baby friend dying from something that is either very treatable or very preventable. She died from an acute asthma attack. Most likely completely unrelated to her other condition. Just earlier today, I easily circled an answer on a test in my EMT class about how I would treat someone in this same situation.<br />
<br />
I left school early and came to Starbucks to learn more about how to keep this from happening again, at least to someone I love. It was the only active, productive thing I could think to do, but the medical journals read like mockery in some ways. I skip over things like doctors having almost limitless options to try before giving up in treating your asthma attack. I skip over the assumptions that your primary care physician (what? barely exists in Kenya) has already diagnosed you with asthma and has prescribed you a metered dose inhaler of Albuterol. I skip over the unspoken assurance that you were able to get to a hospital ER within minutes of the initial onset of the attack. I skip over the big words about equipment and personal oxygen tanks and breathing machines and obscure drugs and your very own respiratory therapist who can get people out of this situation with their hands tied behind their backs and their eyes covered.<br />
<br />
I don't believe earth was better for Ashley than Heaven is, but I do believe God is behind all of this medicine stuff and it's not so crazy to try it out. Jesus obviously agreed or would have just told the people who came to Him for healing that they can go on home because He was about to make a way for them to go to a place where they'd be way better off, no need to bother sticking around on earth. :)<br />
<br />
I don't know why I'm still ranting. But I just want to say Jesus is sweet. It took 20 minutes of driving and listening to "I Will Exalt" on repeat before I could sing the words myself, but I believe it... I really do. I put myself into the picture so quickly though and with no other person to blame, I feel like there's nowhere else to go with it. We have been through this so many times, me and Him... by now, I have learned that there doesn't have to be anyone to blame. He doesn't have to fill that role because I can't find someone else to. He is good always, and quite frankly, shouldn't have to keep proving that to me, but He does anyways.<br />
<br />
So instead of staying angry, I tell him all that I don't understand and ask Him questions that He lovingly hears. I don't even really seek the answers anymore, honestly. I just tell them to Him, so He remembers I want to know and that it's all kind of confusing, I guess :) and I accept the grace He gives to TRUST. To keep trusting. I thank Him for anything I can think of, even if it takes a lot of digging to find (it's never really buried deep, this is just me fighting me). Thanks for using the Holy Spirit to even let us meet. Thank you for teaching me so much about obedience and faith and trust in those first few hours of our friendship. Thanks for getting me on my knees, I need to be here. Thanks for the relationship with her mom, Mercy because I'm not quite sure how we would have even met had she not had a sick sick sick baby back in February. Thanks for more determination to fight harder and with more passion to make stories like these less and less prevalent. Etc Etc Etc.<br />
<br />
Just as with <a href="http://www.ramblations.blogspot.com/2010/08/successful-loving.html">baby Marion</a> who died from whooping cough (something our babies are vaccinated for at their 6 week appointments) after thousands of dollars of unsuccessful treatment... this was still successful loving. God makes it that way. Please pray for Ashley's mom, Mercy. I can't imagine her pain, but know God is right up in it with her, so I will thank Him for that as well.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "charis sil" , "charis" , "verdana" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "charis sil" , "charis" , "verdana" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He will wipe every tear from their eyes. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 0.65em;"><sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31058H" title="See cross-reference H">H</a>)"></sup></span>There will be no more death <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 0.65em;"><sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31058I" title="See cross-reference I">I</a>)"></sup></span>or mourning or crying or pain, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 0.65em;"><sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31058J" title="See cross-reference J">J</a>)"></sup></span>for the old order of things has passed away." </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "charis sil" , "charis" , "verdana" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">He who was seated on the throne <sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31059L" title="See cross-reference L">L</a>)"></sup>said, “I am making everything new!” <sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31059M" title="See cross-reference M">M</a>)"></sup>Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” --Revelation 21:4-5</span></blockquote>
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*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-73139540437957440802012-05-31T18:18:00.002-04:002012-05-31T18:27:25.582-04:00Go after them.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
For the last several weeks, I have been able to view this city I love from a new vantage point: one I had read a bit about and sought to know more of, but one whose faces I did not yet know. God has used it to churn and twist and bend my heart in new ways and like anything else that is good, I just want to share it. I hope you know that is where my heart is in writing... When God pokes and prods and teaches and refines and convicts, I just want to bring others into it. Maybe so I am not alone, but mostly just because I want us to act together as an army. I believe that when we operate as He created us to, in dependent communion with each other, His glory is achieved and we are one step closer to Heaven on earth. I ask the same of friends and family and people I don't know so that we can learn from each other and go after knowing the heart of our King and living to honor Him together, as one.<br />
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It was my first ambulance ride-along. As a student, my abilities were limited but I was so eager to see what all of this was about. I had considered and wondered how I would respond to the difficult--the types of things that I'd heard make or break you in this world of emergency medicine. Will I freak out if I see something really gross? Will I be able to maintain composure during an intense call? Is there anything that will send me into the fetal position and thumb-sucking mode? Do I know this stuff well enough to remember it even in a stressful environment? None of those possibilities had been left unconsidered in this ever-wondering mind of mine. But God brought something different. </div>
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Patient after patient after patient that day... chief complaint? Tired of living. Weary and weighed down from the world. Exhausted and "out of options." Bearers of burdens that were crushing their frame as minute succeeded minute. Their tears first gathered in the corners of their tired eyes and then fell long, hard, and unhindered. My eyes ached to join them in their tears. Instantly upon looking at their faces and holding their hands, their trouble felt to be my own. Jesus does that. He lets us get into the muck with people and hurt with them because it helps us love them a bit more like He does, I think. The God of all comfort and compassion comforts us so that we can comfort others. As with everything we receive from Him--our testimony, spiritual gifts, joy, comfort, they are for a greater purpose than simply our own benefit. They are for the good of the church-the world-and well ultimately and above all--HIM!</div>
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Each of these sweet new friends had different stories, varying ways of acquiring this pain that was now crippling them to what seemed to be the point of no return. More than performing any medical intervention or procedure, I wanted to cup their faces in my hands and tell them that this is not all there is. Something better is available to us. In this world we will have trouble, but our hope lies in the unshakeable truth that He has overcome it all and has prepared a place for us where our pain will not even be remembered, because we will see His face! I did get to tell them a bit of that but I hope and pray for the opportunity to continue the relationships and walk with them through the hard and the happy too. So far I've been unsuccessful in finding them, but I am not giving up easily. </div>
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But here's my point (I am such a rambler, thanks for bearing with me) .... God showed me in these moments, they are there. People who are hurting are all over the place, especially in Atlanta--specifically the parts we try to avoid. I think God wants us to go after these people. I think it's cool and awesome and beautiful when we can attribute those "coincidental" meetings and friendships to His providence and guidance and all of that pretty stuff. But I think He wants more of us than to just let Him interrupt us. I think He wants us to be a more active participant and go after these people. I think the Holy Spirit is eager to guide us in the freedom of following where He is faithful to lead.</div>
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I wondered about how ambulance dispatching worked in this crazy busy city and now I know. We split up and go all over Atlanta to specific "posts" where the emergency stats are high. We don't wait around in the station and hit the accelerator when we hear that somebody needs our services. We go out there where people are prone to needing us and sometimes we just wait. Sometimes we drive in circles. But we are waiting or circling with purpose. We are waiting with our eyes open. We are circling with a trust that when something happens, we will be ready to quickly come to their aid. </div>
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I think God is using all of this to continue showing me how He wants us to live, which I am grateful for. Honestly, before now I was content with the chance meetings and cool relationships that have seemed to have come out of nowhere--just simply Him interrupting my daily living to add someone into the day who needs some loving. Those are great, but He is convicting me that that's not enough. He wants us to use our brains and to go to these places where we can guess that darkness is thick. Sometimes we might just be circling for a little while. We might not be welcome there and we might spend more time waiting than we do in activity... but I think this is still right and good. </div>
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Atlanta is aching for Jesus. Drive around with your eyes open if you need confirmation of that. Pass by the intersection of Peachtree and Pine after dark one night. Read the newspaper when you wake up in the morning--I can guarantee a lot went down while you were sleeping. Check out the high school drop-out rate at schools around our city. Visit the Fulton County Jail. Drive on Metropolitan Parkway in broad daylight and try to avoid hitting any of the drunk/high people who accidentally find themselves in the middle of the streets. Sit for 3 seconds inside the Emergency Room of any local hospital. Look under the bridges for the people sleeping as you drive under them. Check out the tents set out under overpasses that serve as a community for some of our Atlanta neighbors. Notice all of the cars in the parking lots of strip clubs and "massage parlors" that are spread all across our city. Go spend time in the Intensive Care Unit and meet all of the people who are on their last days of life and do not know Jesus. Recognize that your neighbor with 8 of the nicest cars money can buy has more than just a healthy love for something worthwhile. As thick as the darkness is in the brothels of Mumbai, the same darkness rules in pockets around our home city... </div>
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Some mornings I pray that God will put someone in my path who needs to be loved or needs to hear the gospel. Sometimes those opportunities present themselves and I thank Him for them. But He is adding to that in my mind and heart and He is telling me to go look for them myself. To seek them out. To go where I can guess to find them instead of just waiting for them to come to me. Like the ambulances intentionally place themselves in areas where they can be of service, let's do the same. And let's remain faithful in the waiting and circling that might come along with that, too. Because Jesus is the kind of guy that went after people... He sought them out and came to them in their distress... He came after me and He used others to do the same and the result is His glory. Let's do it--they're everywhere. Let's get up in their business and give ourselves to them generously, in love. </div>
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"Some wish to live within the sound of a chapel bell; I wish to run a rescue mission within a yard of Hell." ~ C.T. Studd</div>
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</div>*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-10027870827694906682012-05-08T00:50:00.000-04:002012-05-08T00:50:05.262-04:00two letters<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is gonna be quick, but I feel a pressing to say it, so I will ... I have been encouraged and want to encourage others in the same way I've received and I want to charge you to do the same. Because we have power. What we do here carries weight because Jesus decided it would and we can do small things that God can make big things, if He wants. And that alone is a big thing. A really big thing. <div>
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Someone said a two-letter word that almost instantly took my breath away today. If she could have seen the tears spring to my the eyes when she said it, she probably would have been caught off guard by the seemingly out of the blue response to a simple expression. It was a woman I did not even know minutes prior and it was over the phone, which was being pretty uncooperative in keeping a signal strong enough to let our sentences connect. <div>
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As happens quite often in this following Jesus adventure, He has led me to a place where I am utterly clueless and not only 100% dependent on Him (as should always be the case), but beautifully in need of counsel from people who have walked something that I have not. Honestly, my reaching out usually requires the prompts of others who might be equally clueless, but have the wisdom to offer at least the advice of seeking out assistance. I want really badly to walk this life with others, but most of the time all I really have is that desire and a prayer for His love for them. What I mean is, I don't know much about much. Hang out with me for more than 30 seconds if you don't believe me. I have walked this earth for a bit, but most of the time my landscapes have been flowers and fields and blissful ignorance and a good majority of the way, my eyes were not even opened. </div>
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It still doesn't make sense how we were connected, but when her calm and steady voice met my quivering and exasperated attempts at communicating a big mess of words and pictures and thoughts and ideas and emotions that were somehow supposed to be transferred from my head and dreams and heart and mind into sentences, I could feel the grace in my bones. </div>
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I laid my burden on her table... my rambling, 5th grade vocabulary, way too easily distracted, disorganized mess onto her and there was no hesitation in her voice when she responded with "Okay, we......." We. She said "we." ................referring to her and me. And these people that I have no idea how to love. Does she even know my name? Who cares. She said "we." She signed up to go along for the ride. </div>
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The rest of our conversation included a lot of Jesus and a lot of the people He loves and a little of us (thank God for that). In the moment she linked arms and said "we", she became community that does not need to know anything about the other beyond the fact that we are on the same journey and that means we're in this together. That means He created us for each other, because He knew we'd need each other as bad as we do. And also because He thinks we're great and wants to love us more through each other. </div>
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I am yelling this, so be glad you have the buffer of a computer screen (and miles) between us. <b>WE is how He wants us to live with each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</b> He wants you to look at your hurting sister and say "Yeah girl, I am with you." To man-pat (you know the hug with firm back pats) your struggling brother and say "We are going to get through this, man." To nod your head-still digesting all that your friend just shared but saying "Ok. We will figure this out together." Save the advice. The knowledge on this "subject matter" as I so often seek. The experience to claim empathy, even. It's not a requirement. Go with them. Walk. Do. Be. Weep. Rejoice. TOGETHER.... as was His plan all along in forming us to operate as a body. No part is meant to work to full potential without the other.</div>
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God can do so much with your little. The little you have to offer to someone--give it freely. Err on the side of giving too much (it's supposed to hurt), even when what you have to give seems like a drop in the ocean... He is able to make big things. Move huge mountains. Dry many tears. Heal deep wounds. All of it. It's His business. Link arms with those around you and walk this stuff out together. It's beautiful.</div>
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</div>*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-2034189806965655152012-05-03T01:35:00.001-04:002012-05-03T01:39:41.933-04:00Following<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Kids are my jam. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are my people... the ones He created me to pour my life into day in and day out. I like them all, but most especially the ones whose bodies are fighting sickness or whose hearts are fighting deep hurt or whose minds are fighting the lies the world has spoken to them. The majority of my most precious encompass all three. I don't have huge and lofty aims of rescuing them from these battles, but I do have huge and lofty aims of walking with them/carrying them while Jesus fights the battles for both of us. All of my dreams (the ones He so beautifully writes in each of our hearts) are centered around them and they are most definitely the greatest source of laughter and joy in my life.<br />
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My childhood prayers were of finding a baby in a dumpster or a bag on the side of the road. I have vague memories of crying in my bed from exhaustion of looking and not finding, as an 8 year old. (haha, makes me laugh looking back...) When I was a teenager, I remember being irrationally attracted to teen pregnancy because it seemed to be the, perhaps unconventional, fulfillment of a desire that I had felt strongly since childhood. (too bad that didn't work out, haha... i'd have a 10 year old right now!) I logged hours researching how to manage school and a child if I were to adopt as a college student with zero-source of income. (haha, another good laugh-especially for my parents) I later fell in love with Kenyan babies whose moms and dads had died/left them and thought it completely ridiculous that God would allow such deep desire to be a mom to go unmet, even when the need was there waiting to be fulfilled. And the "need" had captivated my heart in the form of tiny brown fingers wrapped around mine and little diaper bottoms scooting on the dusty floor and friends on their death beds who grasped my hand and asked me to take care of their precious ones they were leaving alone in this world and babies naming me "mama" unprompted and hearts that professed the ache for a caregiver to call their own. I remember navigating my way through Nairobi by taxi, alone and in search of someone who could answer my questions on how to make it possible to be a mom to these kids. I remember being angry that I was not yet the legal age to even be considered... because I was ready, I had been ready, why not now? The list goes on and on, but the product is the same: no children "belong" to me today. </div>
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All that to say, where I am today, I spend less time with children than probably ever in my life. Days go by where I do not interact with even one and some days a quick grocery store run provides my only source of contact. But my point is that this is<i> good</i>. Not because I look back and say, "thank God He didn't let that happen... this is so much better" because honestly, I don't feel able to say that most days. With my finite mind and narrow vision, I can't really understand why I am not living in Kenya with a house full of hooligans who call me Mom and are no longer titled "orphan".... but I do trust that <b>He</b> is good, so <b>this </b>is good. </div>
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This life is that of a follower, not of a leader. If I were the leader, I would have "my way" by now, surely. I would have fought hard enough to achieve that which I saw best for my desires to be met. The thing is, when my eyes are on Jesus, I don't trust myself more than I trust a man in a ski mask who asks to hold all of my belongings. Trusting myself is pure ridiculousness...but I do trust HIM in me. And the only way for this to happen, for Him in me to be the<a href="http://bible.cc/colossians/1-27.htm"> hope of glory</a> as promised, is to assume the humble role of follower, rather than leader. I try the leader thing often and I can say with learned confidence, following Him is the greatest adventure that exists. No greater outcome can be reached, no more beautiful dream fulfilled, and no better story written if not accomplished by and through Him. He is the master of creativity and adventure and passion and joy and when I try to take the reigns, I am choosing the <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/show/702">mudpies</a> over a holiday at sea. (read this CS Lewis wisdom, if you haven't).</div>
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So today I am following. I don't enjoy the ride every day... I ask Him a lot of questions and wonder at His judgment some days... I squirm away from the painful, forgetting He does some of His greatest work in these places... I ask Him to fast forward or rewind, so that I can be back to a place of familiarity or confidence... but in all of these instances, He so graciously reminds me that following Him is believing this: </div>
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"The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you or forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged." (Deuteronomy 31:8)</blockquote>
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He is so so so sweet for this. There is no ground we will ever step on, in following Him, that He has not gone before and prepared for us. Yes, there are times He says "go" but He is not just pushing us from behind, He is ahead of us with His arm outstretched. I miss this so many times... I envision Him pushing me off the diving board, saying "go" and cheering me on as I go to carry out the mission He has appointed me. I think my vision is distorted in these moments because His voice is never getting dimmer, as I get further and further "ahead" of Him -- eager to go out and LIVE as He asked me to. His voice is actually getting louder, as I get closer and closer to where He is calling me to. Yes, He (thankfully) pushes and yes, He (graciously) cheers, but He never leaves our side for a second.<br />
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He has led me into some pretty odd places lately--ones I never would have tried to pull Him along into... ones I would have been happy to bypass, honestly. But oh man, the joy in seeing His hand!!!! It is unreal. So many things or relationships I never, ever would have signed up for. I am pretty uncomfortable here. I don't know how to walk through life with a man (could have stopped this sentence here, ha) who has spent the majority of his life in a jail cell. I don't know how to pack four kids and a breastfeeding baby into my car and leave their mother in the dust because the children are not getting the care they need. I don't know how to be a light in the darkness of my own city where my upbringing has made me more of a foreigner than a friend. I don't know how to love (well) my family on the other side of the planet, when I do not have any idea when I will make it back to them. I don't know how to do more than just ache with people who are hurting over things I did not even know existed, like choosing to sell your body to provide for your family. I knew it happened, but by choice? I don't know how to love more than a few people well at the same time... and sleeping too. I do not understand how they can both happen. :)<br />
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This is a beautiful place to be, sometimes only because I know I followed Him here. I think that's okay. Kids are still my jam... my God-given jam. :) But right now, He's stretching me and asking me to give loving some other (larger) people a shot. It's hard, but it's good. I'm not very good at it, but that's good too. It's good because I don't have much to cling to besides Him. I got nothin. Jesus' dependence on God as HE walked this life really humbles me... "Very truly I tell you, the Son can do nothing by himself; he can only do what he sees his Father doing, because whatever the Father does, the Son does also." (John 5:19) If Jesus knew this utter dependence so well, let me thank Him for the humble role of following... it really is the greatest adventure.<br />
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</div>*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-84166330022454435682012-02-21T14:19:00.006-05:002012-02-21T16:06:22.317-05:00this has nothing to do with Kenya.I don't get it. It's beyond me, always... Every single day it brings tears to my eyes to remember His grace to me. I am HIS and I did nothing to deserve that. In my finite mind, it's the most irrational thing I can try to wrap my brain around--Him choosing me. John Piper's words speak what my tongue cannot express before the lump in my throat arrives and prevents me from finishing. <blockquote>"That God in eternity looked upon ME-foreseeing my fallenness, my pride, my sin and said "I want that girl in my family! I'll do anything to get her in my family! I will pay for her to be in my family with my Son's life!""</blockquote> That is Love. <br /><br />I know it's a random thought, but run with me for a second. If we submitted resumes to Him in order for Him to 'pick us' or 'not pick us' for the role of being His beloved children..... can you even imagine? Maybe we'd try to pretty it up like we do with real resumes and try to use some grandiose verbiage to make ourselves and our endeavors more appealing than they are. We would put it on the finest paper and make sure the corners were crisp and uncrumpled. We would deliver it to Him in a timely manner and with the most professional, confident follow ups with His secretary regarding His eagerly awaited reception and review. While we waited, we would compare ourselves to the others who were applying and encourage ourselves by zooming in on their shortcomings and highlighting our strongsuits. We would cover up our known difficulties with colorful words that aim to prove it's actually not a failing at all, but a camoflauged strength. We would be our biggest advocates, naturally. We would stop at nothing to fight hard for ourselves so that the Interviewer would see through our same lens--we are obviously the best pick. We owe that to ourselves, right? No one else can do it for us. Read any interviewing advice, it's all there. It's rational. It's logical. It makes sense. <br /><br />I don't think it's low self-esteem. I don't think it's that girls are more prone to this or that I have a negative self-image. I don't think it's something that requires counseling and a newly instated daily practice of looking in the mirror and telling myself how great I am until I start to believe it. "Love yourself" is written all over the walls of this world... maybe moreso in a female's world, but I see it everywhere. I hear it from pulpits as much as I hear it on Oprah and the Lifetime Network. <br /><br />I think it's crap. Everyday I spend around myself, I am convinced it is crap. I know that is an unpopular thing to say and maybe you are all going to get together and plan an intervention where you converge to send me to a "Positive Self-Image" retreat or something. Maybe I need that, I am open to Him completely changing my heart on this, but for now--I do believe He has whispered this in my ear so I will shout it from the rooftops with confidence in His speaking, not my hearing. <br /><br />The only thing I can love about myself is that He loves me and has made me lovely. Any night I am able to spend in an orphanage, my favorite nighttime ritual is snuggling up on the floor with our bare and dusty feet on the cold stone ground as we read the Bible together. I am not positive it's this exact quote, but the Jesus Storybook Bible re-emphasizes one point over and over. <span style="font-weight:bold;">He loves us and that makes us lovely. We are lovely because He loves us. </span><br /><br />I cannot convince Him to love me. I have nothing in my arsenal that makes me worthy. If you know me, you know I love a good competition. I am good at being over-confident and egotistical about my abilities (especially when completely unfounded), or more just my persistence that will stop at nothing to get my way. But listen... even if I am 'competing' with prostitutes, child molesters, murderers, thieves for His love-- not a thing in me elevates Annie Coppedge above a single one of them in His eyes. I am just as dirty and sinful and lost without Him as they are and this is the Gospel. <span style="font-style:italic;">Grace doesn't go to those who deserve it. It goes to those of us that can put up a solid argument as to why we are the least-deserving. </span><br /><br />I could give Him a trillion reasons NOT to have picked me... it's like knowing you suck at kickball and when they're picking teams in PE, you almost want to tell the captains it's in their best interest not to pick you, you can't really add much to the team but you'd be happy to fill up water bottles. Not a day goes by that I don't question His judgment in letting me be loved by Him--in not letting me go when I prove to Him over and over again that I am incapable of deserving Him. But that has made me rejoice in Him all the more!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My personal life and also my life with orphans is founded around PROCLAIMING His love and desire for myself and for them... I can show you verse after verse about His love and concern for you and that's the point--none of them are about our own personal loveliness, they're about HIS crazy love for us even when we screw things up miserably. We are lovely because He loves us. He is not drawn to us because of our loveliness apart from Him. It doesn't exist. We're supposed to notice this. Noticing this is not the definition of self-hate and emotional instability, it's recognizing GRACE. It's receiving Grace. <br /><br />Look at the 'heroes' in our Bible. They have horrible resumes... Listen to Paul!!! <blockquote>"I thank Jesus Christ our Lord, who has given me strength, that He considered me trustworthy, appointing me to His service. Even though I was once a blasphemer and a persecuter and a violent man [insert your own], I was shown mercy because I acted in ignorance and unbelief. The grace of our Lord was poured out to me abundantly, along with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus. Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners--of whom I am the worst. But I RECEIVED MERCY FOR THIS REASON: THAT IN ME, THE WORST OF SINNERS, CHRIST JESUS MIGHT DISPLAY HIS IMMENSE PATIENCE AS AN EXAMPLE FOR THOSE WHO WOULD BELIEVE IN HIM AND RECEIVE ETERNAL LIFE. Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God-be glory and honor and for ever and ever. Amen." </blockquote><br /><br />It's for a reason!!!! And I don't think we're supposed to forget it. Yes, I know we're made new and we're beautiful in Him and all of that. I am a girl and have had it drilled into me since I was little, thankfully. But y'all, there's a reason He saved us and pulled us out of the nasty pit we were in. It's so people in the same pit of sinfulness and desperation can come to know Him who loves to get His hands dirty in pulling us out. It's for His exultation and glory and honor. Forever. So if forever really means forever, it's not a one-time praising when people are saved. It's supposed to go on forever... and ever... and ever. Amen. Let it be. <br /><br />Claim it. Go and sing it from the rooftops...in your home, in your church, in the streets of your city, in the brothels, in the prisons-- it's not a depressed, self-loathing song that is only for those with emotional stability and high self-esteem, it's a JOYFUL song. THE MOST JOYFUL SONG... sing it. We were meant to sing it.*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-67862770033867320562012-02-04T11:36:00.006-05:002013-01-07T05:05:24.464-05:00baby Ashley--pray please<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There is a lot I've been meaning to write about but it will all have to wait because today happened and I want you to pray with me for a new friend and her baby... <br />
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Today my calendar (which doesn't really exist, rarely actually matches what the day holds, and is usually decided upon only hours before the day is reached-as anyone who has tried to plan anything with me (especially while in Kenya) can attest to) told me I'd be shadowing my friend Joseph, a medical student in Nakuru. I had mentioned my interest in labor and delivery several months ago and so he kindly offered to let me come and experience my first (and hopefully second, third, fourth, etc) Kenyan birth. We spent several hours in the Maternity Ward (which is accustomed to about 30 births a day) until we had seen all of the patients and it was clear no one would be delivering anytime soon. I was a bit disappointed that I had finally taken the time to come and shadow and of course, happened to pick the one day of the entire year that moms were not popping out babies every hour.<br />
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We stopped in several wards on our way to lunch and when we entered the 0-2 year old ward, it was clear they were overwhelmed. I have been in plenty of third-world hospitals and I promise I had never seen anything like it before. I think your stomach would turn like mine did when I entered, if only I could share the sounds of that room with you. Hundreds of babies crying sick and pain-filled tears whose different, but similar, noises echoed in the eeriest way. They were laying everywhere... on tables, in chairs, on laps, on backs, in beds with other babies. Several babies lay sprawled on top of a set of drawers, all hooked up to one oxygen tank.<br />
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My heart said to do something but my mind told me I wasn't qualified to. The heart won quickly and I found productivity in swatting flies from sleeping/oxygen sucking babies faces, removing the clothes of febrile little ones (a 2 week old having febrile seizures with a temp of 105 and no healthcare professional has told her to take off her onesie, tshirt, sweater, jacket, 2 pairs of pants, hat and thick blanket.... ah!!), rubbing heads, patting moms on the back, nagging nurses to pay attention to the ones who looked sickest, and praying for any little life my eyes found in that busy room. <br />
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As I said, the room was filled up to overflowing with desperate cries--hundreds singing distress in an unsettling harmony, so it is only God who directed my attention to the one baby in the room who was unable to make a noise come out of her frail body. The doctor was trying to get an IV started and had failed repeatedly due to this baby's critical condition. As he pushed and pulled the long needle in and out of her head, I watched in horror as her entire body cried, but no noise was released. I have never seen pain like that in my life. I cried heavy tears for her in that moment and her worried mother joined me. This baby needed help immediately. She was not getting it here. <br />
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I wrestled with the Holy Spirit for about 30 minutes, watching as my friend Joseph did whatever he could to move this child along in the process to receive the care she needed. I will be honest, the pain in my own heart was so bad at this point that I think I chose to get her out of that situation for my own benefit. I was so disturbed that I physically ached. I talked to the only doctor I could find in the large room and he agreed they would not be able to give this baby the care she needs to survive and supported our request to take her elsewhere. About an hour later (which is actually kind of fast for a public kenyan hospital), we were on our way... Joseph had gotten in touch with one of his professors (on a Saturday, Hallelujah again!) who is one of two pediatricians in Nakuru. He agreed to meet us and was able to admit us to a private hospital nearby, where he promised to provide the care Ashley needed himself. <br />
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The day was scary and hectic and I found myself praying often that He'd keep her alive long enough to reach our next destination. He did. He has, for today... I ask for your prayers that He continue to hold little Ashley tightly. She is very sick. At 10 months old, she weighs 9 pounds. She is severely malnourished and dehydrated on top of having a very serious case of pneumonia. Watching her chest rise and fall brings a new reason to rejoice 34 times per minute--she is still fighting. <br />
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Taking pictures seemed so odd and disrespectful, but I wanted you to be able to put a face with her name, a face with the statistic (15 million die of hunger each year... every 3 seconds), and a face on one of your sisters that you have yet to meet. They were taken this evening once Ashley was stabilized. Please continue to pray for Ashley and the doctors as they work to get this child back to health by re-feeding, hydrating, and controlling her chest infection. Please pray for her sweet mother Mercy whose ache for her child far exceeds my own small taste (so I cannot even imagine how bad it hurts). As the sun went down, we talked about how sweet Jesus is to have brought us all together. We thanked Him for loving Ashley more than we do and for answering her mother's wordless groans for the child He has entrusted to her. As I get ready to sleep, I am thanking Him that He lets us hear Him and never stops being faithful and true. I am thanking Him that we can say yes to Him even when we don't know how on earth it will work. I am thanking Him that we don't have to be rich or knowledgeable or experienced for Him to use us. I am thanking Him that we get to love people hard and deeply and painfully because He first loved us that way (but more) and He supplies the strength to keep on going. Thank you for praying. You are loving my friends by doing so and that means the world to me. <br />
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*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-67154572861575172022012-01-20T09:15:00.010-05:002012-01-20T15:45:34.894-05:00He is everywhereJesus was especially sweet to me the week leading up to my journey back here to Kenya. I crave Kenya so bad when I am not there because it is where I see Jesus the clearest. It is not hard to spot Him and whether I am rejoicing or weeping in response to where I do or do not see Him, He is close by always. Night after night in Kenya (when I am living with the kids), I go to bed completely exhausted--spent in every way and absolutely requiring the mercy waiting for me in the morning and the rest of however many hours of sleep the night holds. My daily prayer that I would be "spent" <a href="http://bible.cc/isaiah/58-10.htm">(Isaiah 58)</a> seems answered every day, more than I'd like oftentimes. <br /><br />Admittedly, I dread American life for this very reason. Maybe it's because I have to squint harder to see Him there, have to be more intentional about seeking out opportunities to serve Him, or have to be obedient to His demand to love family and friends and strangers even when they are less small and cute and innocent as my Kenyan babies. Going to bed "spent" on others is an uncommon occurrence in my American life. I am super aware that I am only taking care of MYSELF when I am in America. I am responsible for no one else and I hate it most days. <br /><br />This past week was different... in preparation for Kenya, I started praying the prayers I pray when I am here. Bold prayers, though they do not seem so bold when I am in a country with so much hurt--a country where my eyes will inevitably meet a sick, hungry, poor, abandoned, unloved, orphaned, unsaved person at almost every turn in the bumpy roads. The joy He gives when we spend ourselves is an absolute gift that is intended to give us the fuel to keep going... read Isaiah 58 if you don't believe me. :) Or even if you do, it's good stuff! God answered... He showed Himself like crazy. Literally, about every 10 minutes, He did something that left me laughing and shaking my head as I looked up at Him and called Him crazy or ridiculous or some completely inadequate word to describe His goodness. I slept about 3 hours a night but had more energy and joy than ever in my life... I was afraid to stop running and take a moment to stop because I feared to remember that sinful desire to serve myself above all others. <br /><br />He blew me away with the graciousness that is so much a part of Him, in relationships more than anything; people whose faces shined Him so brightly I had to squint (now for a different reason). Old familiar friends whose hearts knit together in the perfect places to glorify Him through living in community and new friendships that made me wonder how He could possibly be so good to add them to my family. <br /><br />Nothing about this has ceased... He is here just as much as He is there. He was there just as much as He was here (when I believed and lived and prayed otherwise). The hurt that helped me find Him/need Him here in Kenya is just as much a part of America. It wears a different disguise oftentimes, but it is there. He is my (OUR, I pray) deepest longing and so it is our desire to see Him everywhere. We look for Him... and when we see Him, we need to jump and shout and rejoice! I am constantly hearing it and constantly asking for it myself, "Jesus, come..." whether it is us inviting Him into our worship services (HE IS ALREADY THERE) or inviting Him into our circumstances (HE IS ALREADY THERE) or inviting Him into our pain (HE IS ALREADY THERE) or inviting Him into our joy (HE IS ALREADY THERE), we should ask believing and expecting! <br /><br />Seek Him while He may be <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Isaiah%2055:6&version=NIV">found</a>!!!!! <br /><br />I can tell you from personal experience (mostly from my experience in the inverse), <a href="http://bible.cc/hebrews/11-6.htm">Hebrews 11:6</a> is TRUTH. He wants to be seen and exalted and is incredibly generous to give us joy and increased faith in exchange. <br /><br />I always wish that a song could play in the background of life; I'd definitely pick "We the Redeemed" by Hillsong if it was up to me. Luckily, we have this to look forward to in Heaven, but until then... I know I'd live a bit differently if this song was dimly playing as I walked through life. "We the redeemed, hear us singing--You are Holy, You are Holy." Let our everyday lives sing this to Him, whether we are doing laundry or paying the tollbooth guy, or talking to our parents, or holding an orphan, or eating lunch with our co-workers. <br /><br /><blockquote>"Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, YOU ARE THERE; if I make my bed in the depths, YOU ARE THERE. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, EVEN THERE your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast." ~Psalm 139 : 7-10</blockquote><br /><br />He is there. Jesus is in the mansions on Riverside Drive and Jesus is in the slums of Nairobi, Kenya... these are some of the places I've seen Him these past couple of days: <br /><br />in a game of soccer at a special needs school--where He let me be the legs and feet for an incredible soccer star who will someday walk, I believe! <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAgaqnCZGhI9E9PDqYLwsHwPtCKFcj-YEDq7MUYT5esEluYZkGDmTPD1OxYvrJh3-7piQYFCYS2ZgT5S1jbfzkQPiUoNj94ng5RkQuLngGe9L6Oec8zPNOhphSLglGqvCNENp4UulqD4pC/s1600/IMG_9615.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAgaqnCZGhI9E9PDqYLwsHwPtCKFcj-YEDq7MUYT5esEluYZkGDmTPD1OxYvrJh3-7piQYFCYS2ZgT5S1jbfzkQPiUoNj94ng5RkQuLngGe9L6Oec8zPNOhphSLglGqvCNENp4UulqD4pC/s320/IMG_9615.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699815218497952978" /></a><br /><br />in this game of Duck Duck Goose at a deaf school... the most silent game of Duck Duck Goose in history, but so much fun.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihJtyESfXhX_BxRiftAFK3D8R21ZGo86O3RaRHRqeDRlbH4HWRxZVeMqgDlv0qfSq-6YvOYWXnjuxsLaEcFptnwcY3hVI7LVlOgfvPONH1EuwzUh8oBNBrW302s1b5igQvgIqkRJiKT3e-/s1600/IMG_9481.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihJtyESfXhX_BxRiftAFK3D8R21ZGo86O3RaRHRqeDRlbH4HWRxZVeMqgDlv0qfSq-6YvOYWXnjuxsLaEcFptnwcY3hVI7LVlOgfvPONH1EuwzUh8oBNBrW302s1b5igQvgIqkRJiKT3e-/s320/IMG_9481.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699812357066584994" /></a><br /><br />in this place where making relationships had to get creative... the comfort and ease of speaking (either Swahili or English) was stripped away with hearing and we were forced to fight hard to love each other. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirSC6kZFlucGXJGoqummgkTkE8Ff7K-ebaLbtCQsnjE5O3o77GWg0Q34orjKCJKfyNtP1EP2hc2C4e7qYgaA3ZMVMPezdedlYfkZAmj8af4-m1tEU4x0umSaFiXokQrBewgdUeiS1pzrlz/s1600/IMG_9573.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirSC6kZFlucGXJGoqummgkTkE8Ff7K-ebaLbtCQsnjE5O3o77GWg0Q34orjKCJKfyNtP1EP2hc2C4e7qYgaA3ZMVMPezdedlYfkZAmj8af4-m1tEU4x0umSaFiXokQrBewgdUeiS1pzrlz/s320/IMG_9573.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699812346452790338" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoP6jkRclBP-7bT3cOxk3XO7l6dmjL5ovWeVXrLPq855XxJsVHB4IC1d8uPE1738sfrv8YQXfy5Bqshb1t0NcKWj-PiaL5MeTqjIDGZ6U3IjXeZVKlbojxAVD5h1VXVOsHsjoNAfo7w1R0/s1600/IMG_9577.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoP6jkRclBP-7bT3cOxk3XO7l6dmjL5ovWeVXrLPq855XxJsVHB4IC1d8uPE1738sfrv8YQXfy5Bqshb1t0NcKWj-PiaL5MeTqjIDGZ6U3IjXeZVKlbojxAVD5h1VXVOsHsjoNAfo7w1R0/s320/IMG_9577.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699815674288567778" /></a><br /><br />in these sweet faces who exuded joy and love and were so quick to open their hearts to us.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpVqmQRBqSP8P6wKf8TfictXl5_Aq36fiijjpCo-puaQ7DCXnUj-iNO_8nsrCaDDlZZ66D4msft-2xorKp9trg0UajWcbWqUoZ6KiLpYwHfC6b_PSjW-A8IRDdk4I23NlKpgYznGXkT9FY/s1600/IMG_9602.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpVqmQRBqSP8P6wKf8TfictXl5_Aq36fiijjpCo-puaQ7DCXnUj-iNO_8nsrCaDDlZZ66D4msft-2xorKp9trg0UajWcbWqUoZ6KiLpYwHfC6b_PSjW-A8IRDdk4I23NlKpgYznGXkT9FY/s320/IMG_9602.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699816071553513778" /></a><br /><br />He is everywhere. Now let's find Him and celebrate His presence as the gift that it is... glory to God that He may be found!*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-47698072210509390302012-01-11T14:17:00.003-05:002012-01-11T15:00:39.101-05:00the whywhy why why why why why? -- something people ask often and I respond to with shrugged shoulders. Now my answer is Jesus and I realize it always should have been... <br /><br />I want them to know Him. Knowing Him is everything... knowing Him is a million times better than being cured and knowing Him is a trillion times better than a heart that rarely aches and knowing Him is a kazillion times better than having a mom or dad and knowing Him is a bajillion times better than having a full stomach and warm bed and education and clean clothes. So. much. better.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I am not okay with this earth being the best they know. <br /></span><br />I want the things I rejoice in every single day to be the same source of praise and joy for them. <br /><br />I want to sit beside them in their hurt and cling to the hope of future glory, hand in hand. <br /><br />I want to be able to cry with them over the hurts of this world and proclaim the promise that the tears will be wiped from our faces when we join Him in Heaven.<br /><br />Of course I want them to be fed and loved and clothed and fought for and adopted and respected and healed, but more than anything--I want them to be saved, to be redeemed, to KNOW HIM. <br /><br />I think we are all called to surround ourselves with the poor, dirty, broken, hurting, and sick and if we do, our eyes will see a lot of pain. Hopefully even more than seeing it, we will feel it as our own. My prayer is that we see Him as both <span style="font-style:italic;">our</span> chief need as well as <span style="font-style:italic;">theirs</span>. That we would be slower to prescribe 12-step programs and faster to share the gospel. That we would be slower to hand out a quick meal and faster to sit down and make relationships over dinner. That we would be slower to diagnose their "needs" and faster to remember it's Jesus. <br /><br />He answers prayers. My heart is in pieces over orphans and the sick and oppressed--He has already convinced me they are worth giving my life for, but now I am praying a bit differently. I am praying my heart aches first and foremost for the ones who do not know Him as I do. <br /><br />The image of Carol, Lucy, the children that fill orphanages and others I know who have endured such deep pain on this earth rejoicing when they meet Him is something that makes my heart almost explode. <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=John+16%3A21-24&version=NIV">John 16</a> is the sweetest truth--they (we!), if followers of Jesus, will remember the anguish we endured on earth NO MORE!!!! The joy will so far exceed any pain of the times before that remembering it is not even an option. "In that day you will ask nothing of me"... all of our needs will be met, forever. No more hunger, no more sickness, no more fear, no more loneliness--only joy. JESUS.<br /><br />I want that for the man digging through the trash in downtown Atlanta and I want that for the orphan who silently cries herself to sleep each night and I want that for the cancer patient who suffers alone in a hospital room and I want that for the woman selling her body on the streets and I want that for the man who beats his wife and I want that for for the innocent child who inherited illness in his blood and I want that for the ones who buy and trade human lives like they are pieces of meat and I want that for the 'rich young rulers' of today and I want that for those of us who don't even know we're sick and needy. <br /><br />So, that's why. No other reason. <br /><br /><blockquote> "I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently." ~Romans 8:18-25</blockquote>*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-51636043291780638542011-12-09T17:32:00.005-05:002011-12-09T17:55:03.628-05:00Lotus buds<blockquote>"All souls are His, all flowers. Neither souls nor flowers are his who did not make them. They were never truly his. They belong to the Lord of all the earth, the Creator, the Redeemer. The little Lotus buds are His--His and not another's. <br /><br />So now we go forth with the Owner Himself to claim His own possession. There is hope in the thought, and confidence in the purest inspiration. And, stirred to the very depths, as we are and must be many a time when we see the tender Lotus buds gathered by a hand that has no right to them, and crushed under foot; bewildered and sore troubled, as the heart cannot help being sometimes, when the mystery of the apparent victory of evil over good is overwhelming: even so there will be always a hush, a rest, a repose of spirit, as we stand by the Lotus-pools of life and seek in His name to gather His flowers."<br /><br />--Amy Carmichael (on the children she spent her life loving in India)<br /></blockquote><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">They are HIS and that is so much better than being mine. </span>*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1230501755653913761.post-87361970255422737562011-11-27T00:04:00.005-05:002011-11-27T02:11:29.971-05:00Let the children come<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmTZVvsqGDOfZwXBpevBIdyaTtrnanY4zvADCBANYPNrK2ueaAl4wOw1zF3V-SVG27RIiUG9h5KB0KvfSNlkGO5kSUsQJPqtpkeJhyphenhyphen1GOn-5U8SWWFJeA1XE2Wk8vcTmXex-5JaDTX_pHr/s1600/IMG_5085.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmTZVvsqGDOfZwXBpevBIdyaTtrnanY4zvADCBANYPNrK2ueaAl4wOw1zF3V-SVG27RIiUG9h5KB0KvfSNlkGO5kSUsQJPqtpkeJhyphenhyphen1GOn-5U8SWWFJeA1XE2Wk8vcTmXex-5JaDTX_pHr/s320/IMG_5085.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679566396990567378" /></a><br />It just hit me like a ton of bricks as I read about Jesus rebuking His disciples for keeping the children away from him in Mark 10. It happened about a month ago, but the Holy Spirit has brought what was hidden from my eyes to light and I am thankful, however painful it is to look at. <br /><br />We were in a hurry, not only because dark clouds that promised to wash out the roads and leave us stranded loomed overhead, but because we had a long and difficult journey back to Nairobi waiting to begin. We had bought just about everything the small store had, at least all that was edible. Fruits of every kind and vitamin and mineral enriched porridge flour for the children of Loikas, a slum/village in Maralal. The three of us (Grace, Phoebe and I) struggled to carry boxes and bags of food we planned to give as we visited the neediest families in the area. I would say that every single person living in this village is hungry and trying to prioritize who needed the food the most seemed futile and heartless from the get go. With only what we could carry, as cars cannot pass through the narrow walkways, we set out to find several children whose weak bodies and expressionless faces had been burned into my mind months prior. We did not find them all and until I lay eyes on the weakest of them, I must assume he eventually died from malnourishment. It wasn't a very "rewarding" visit. Deworming the kids with visible signs of worms and providing minimal food to the malnourished babies seemed like barely brushing the surface (not even faintly scratching it) and I was frustrated. <br /><br />It was one of those days I hated the color of my skin even more than usual. I usually love the crowds of children who are drawn by their curiosity of all things new and different, but today I wished to blend in and be camouflage from the millions (well, it felt like it) of children who were slowing us down--crowding the narrow path we were walking, quickly draining my supply of fruit, and giving me less time to find the children who I had decided needed the small things I had "the most". <br /><br />I don't remember her name. She ran to us the instant she saw us from atop the hill where she lived and insisted upon holding my hand throughout the entire journey. I was annoyed. As I said, I was on a mission and time crunched. The paths were only wide enough for one set of feet and dodging human poop was a fairly high priority of mine--one that she was threatening by holding my hand and pushing her way in beside me. She was older than the usual insistent hand holders (who I adore on most days)... somewhere between eight and ten, I'd assume. She stared at me the whole time, another thing I sort of hate. I was taking any chance to awkwardly (and unnecessarily) hold my heavy plastic bag with two hands so that my obligation of dragging a ten year old through this maze of a village was over. Phoebe could tell I was annoyed (I'm not even a little bit good at hiding it) and politely told the girl to give me some space. I was relieved. But man, she was persistent. If she wasn't holding my hand, she was two inches behind me, still staring. I remember the conversation in my head with the Holy Spirit... it went something like Him telling me "just hold her damn hand. you can do it." <br /><br />I am not sure the Holy Spirit speaks this way, and mean no disrespect, but sometimes that is how He seems to best communicate with stubborn me. Or maybe it's just how I translate it, but regardless, I still chose to resist. I think I responded with a sarcastic, insensitive "I think she'll survive." <br /><br />As far as I know, this story does not end with the girl dying that night and me regretting my small act of withholding love for the rest of my life; maybe that would make a more compelling story (maybe even worthy of becoming a forwarded email that ends with a harsh warning to send to all of your friends or you will be hit by a bus) or maybe it would deter me from letting the same thing happen again. I am guessing she DID survive her encounter with a grumpy white-skinned person and is doing just fine right now, but looking back-I know my disobedience pained Him. In that moment, I withheld HIS love from her. Not that He didn't love her without me, but gosh... I could have loved her on His behalf and I gave up that opportunity in order to focus on my narrow, narrow view of what I thought He had on tap for the day. <br /><br />I imagine the inquisitive kids that gathered around Jesus slightly outnumbered the ones that met me in Loikas that day. :) I can envision Jesus being elbowed and shoved and prodded as He tried to maintain His footing in a crowd of small, but mighty when on a mission, kids who were eager to get near Him, if for no other reason than to stare. I can also see his well-meaning disciples responding to this in the way that they did... rebuking the kids in order to regain order to a now chaotic environment (kids are so awesome at creating those out of nowhere :)). And Jesus was "indignant." Really? Indignant? At least let the disciples gather them into a single file line and bring their voices down a notch. Prioritize them by needs and send the ones who are not sick or hungry home for the day. Let them come with a parent or guardian and please make sure none of them get back in the line after they've already been through once. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . He said to let the children come!!! Stop hindering them and let them continue being who He so perfectly created them to be--the very characteristics that lead Him to remind us again and again that we should aim to be more like them. "The kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these." <br /><br />So here I stand, humbled and repentant. Knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jesus would have at least taken a moment to look into this girls eyes and hold her hand as He journeyed towards those with "greater needs." I am no Bible scholar, but if I am correct, the children Jesus was referring to in these passages in Mark 10 and Matthew 19 were not even sick. What? I am definitely the disciple who is advising Jesus that His schedule is pretty full, so better just lay hands on and pray for the sickest and poorest and hungriest kids. I probably would have even suggested a good, solid group prayer for all, to hurry along the process. Especially if I knew someone "worse off" was waiting for Him. <br /><br />Looking back and recalling how unsettled I felt as we drove away from Loikas just as the rain drops became heavy, I am sure that feeding those babies and killing the worms in their bodies was not the primary reason He brought me there that day. I guess He just wanted to pour a little extra love on that girl and He gave me the chance to feel the skinny brown fingers wrapped tightly, trustingly around <span style="font-style:italic;">for Him</span>. I thought surely He sent me to fill grumbling bellies and improve sick children's health. Oops. <br /><br />Wonderful news though.... He's forgiven me and I am sad I hurt Him, but thankful for the grace to try again tomorrow; the mercy to keep my eyes open; the Holy Spirit to keep my heart willing to love whoever is in front of me.*anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05865546168394192157noreply@blogger.com2