A God who is able

There 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.

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.

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?

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.

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?
I wasn't sure.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

When we're not all that impressed with what God can do, it shows.

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.

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?

"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

Needy

They 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.

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.

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.

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."

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?

Because I am believing a lie.

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.



"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

Answered Prayers

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.

"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."

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 hope for.

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.

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!

"This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us. And if we know that he hears us—whatever we ask—we know that we have what we asked of him." --1 John 5:14-15

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 will be done and we get to go along for the ride.

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. "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 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).

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.

"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

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

Bring on the ringworm

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).

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.

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.

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 my perfume this fancy stuff called Febreeze.  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.

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. 

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.

 “So then you are no longer strangersand aliens, 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 theSpirit.” ~Ephesians 2:19-22

on loving HARD

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.

            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. 

            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.  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. 

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.

            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.

            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.

“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.”~CS Lewis in the Four Loves

            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.  That would be easier.

            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.

            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.

            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).

            Lately I have been super encouraged by a family 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. 

           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.

            

Letter to the babies

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. :)

Dear babies,
             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.

 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.  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.

 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).  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.

 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.  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.  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.
 
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.  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.
  Back to my neediness—don’t tell anyone, but I have no idea what I’m doing.  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.  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! 

Still good.

Today I got word that baby Ashley, this one, died.

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...

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?

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.

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.

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. :)

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.

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.

Just as with baby Marion 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.

"He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” --Revelation 21:4-5