Finding Rest

When Divorce Strikes Your Family

2012-01-31T08:40:00.000-08:00

This past year was the first time divorce has hit our family. None of us knows how to navigate through the myriad of emotions and stressors and tears.

Something Bookguy and I learned in college is that people respond so differently during trauma. Some people say awkward things. Some people run away. Some people cry, a lot. Some people react with anger. Some people are administrative. Not only is the divorce painful, the way people respond to it requires serious amounts of grace, because most of us aren’t acting out of our best selves—we are acting out of our sorrow, insecurity, or fear.

That said, I guess I post this with a new understanding and heartbreak for those of you out there who have experienced divorce in your family. Because I didn’t know. I couldn’t relate, and even now, the way I relate is my own experience, in my own way of responding.

Bookguy and I escaped to the Gaslamp District of San Diego this past weekend. (THANK YOU to our friends who shared their timeshare with us!) There are so many mommys out there that I know that will not leave their children—they don’t have childcare, and they don’t have money, and they don’t have time off work. And I get it.

But there are also mommys out there who hide behind their children (or their job) so they don’t have to face their marriage.

If a weekend alone with your husband sounds undesirable (What will we talk about? Oh, no, he’s going to want to have sex. Whatever will we do? I would have more fun being by myself.), please oh please confide in a counselor or lay pastor or trusted friend. Do not give up fighting for your marriage. Choose to try.

Watch this video by a new Yates & Yates client. I thought it was so well said.

Three Things I'm Excited About

2012-01-23T11:36:00.000-08:00

Three things I'm excited about right here in my own backyard!

The Christian Alliance for Orphans Summit 8 is taking place RIGHT HERE in Orange County, hosted by Saddleback Church on May 3-4. If you are passionate about orphan care, adoption, foster care, and caring for the needs of the fatherless, you really DO NOT want to miss this. Please take a few minutes and register to attend the Summit. Get a babysitter. Let's meet up for lunch. Let's attend seminars and breakout sessions, network, share, seek the Lord and learn from the experiences of others about how we can use our God-given abilities to serve orphaned children and the poor. The Summit will be informative in helping paint the full spectrum of the issues and obstacles we must confront in order to help reduce the orphan crisis in our world. There are SO many facets to orphan care, not simply adoption, and Summit 8 will be a powerful gathering of thousands of orphan care/adoption advocates. It is sure to inspire anyone who attends!

regenesis rising fall update: moving in from ReGenesis Rising on Vimeo.

Bookguy and I are finishing our paperwork to become involved in Regenesis Rising, a non-profit organization that helps emancipated foster youth right here in our own city. We are excited to see how God is working in this new organization, and hopeful that we can become a friend or mentor to a teenager/young adult who might need a friend.

We are having an OCEAN (Orange County Ethiopian Adoption Network) picnic/park playdate on Sunday, February 12 at 3:00 pm at Citrus Ranch Park in Tustin. At our last gathering we had more than 12 couples (some post placement and some in process), and we had over a dozen Ethiopian beauties running around like chickens. We marveled at how God brought all these orphaned children into our homes to be in our forever family. PLEASE if you know anyone in Orange County who has adopted from Ethiopia or is in process, help spread the word! Anyone is welcome, whether they just started their homestudy, finishing their dossier, waiting to travel or waiting for their final trip! Also, we have a Facebook group, so send me a message on Facebook if you want to be added! It's how our little Ethiopian adoption community stays in touch and encourages one another.

How Long? and Unbroken

2012-01-18T11:49:00.000-08:00

On a long run a few days ago I couldn’t stop thinking of Louis Zamperini. I had finished Unbroken a week earlier, and I absolutely loved it. Turns out there’s a reason it was a #1 New York Times Bestseller. Part of that is Louis’ incredible story of survival and endurance and sheer luck. And the other part is Laura Hillenbrand. Her writing is phenomenal. She whisks you away into the land of World War II and the Japanese Zero, survival 101, labor camps, and vicious tyrants. I think the rhythm of her writing is what I enjoyed most. Before the war Louis Zamperini was one of the fastest milers in the world, and somehow Laura Hillenbrand made the training, competition, and dream of Olympic track and field circa 1930 matter to this 35 year old mother of 3.

On my run I considered how little endurance most of us have—myself included. How many of us really have what it takes mentally, emotionally, and physically to endure trial, pain, hardship, suffering, hopelessness the way Zamperini did?

With the children, I am reading aloud to them from my grown up Bible. And today I read to them Joseph’s journey: Genesis 38-42—from the coat, to the dreams, to the pit and betrayal, to slavery, to false imprisonment, to interpretations and people forgetting him, to finally, one day, after waiting and waiting, Joseph stands before the King of Egypt and is rescued. Suddenly he is appointed second in command over all Egypt—a prisoner—a nobody—probably dirty and smelly and hungry having been in jail for so long—He is given a ring, robe, a chariot, wives, and names his firstborn Manassah, saying, “God has made me forget all my trouble and all my father’s household.”

While he was ridiculed by gypsies and languishing in jail for a crime he did not commit, he must have thought: “How long? When will I be vindicated? When will this all make sense? When will relief come?’

My children felt it acutely. How unfair Joseph’s life had been for the last decade! How sad that an innocent man was imprisoned and unjustly treated. How horrible that his own brothers would sell him as a slave to a far away land!

And Louis Zamperini knew that feeling. Waiting for a ship or a plane to save him as he floats adrift the Pacific with no food or water for 47 days. Arriving to the first prison camp, transferred to the next, and moved to the next. Beatings every day over and over and over again, starved, humiliated, interrogated, as B29s fly overhead with no provisions or help or rescue.

What trial are you facing that you need supernatural endurance to overcome? How long, O Lord?

When will days of tenderly serving and loving your newly adopted child shatter the hard shell of abandonment and rejection? When will wombs open, and when will husbands and wives lay down their weapons and say they need each other? When will neighbors become friends and coworkers cease to be competitors? When will a new job finally come, and when will the atheist turn towards his Maker? When will his sickness be completely healed, and when will I finally be able to rest?

We ask these questions over and over, and it’s ok to ask because God can handle our whens. Don’t you think Joseph asked time and time again of God in that prison cell: “WHEN?”

Our job is to HANG ON and NOT GIVE UP. Do we have what it takes to hang on, gripping for dear life, to capture a bird in our bare teeth, to keep fighting, to stay positive, when our toenail is hammered bloody, when the bullies pound our face day after day, when we pee in prison cells and eat maggoty rice, when we are wrongly accused by vicious vindictive people, and when we’re forgotten by those that we hoped would remember?

Endure.

One day you will be rescued. You will be called forth from that prison cell and given a signet ring, a robe, a chariot, and a new life. With God there are no accidents.

Hashimoto's Disease and Hypothyroidism

2012-01-14T07:45:00.000-08:00

After Peanut was born I went through a period of insomnia that was so horrible I've practically blocked it from my mind. And I was having other symptoms too. I had body aches and pains. I had an irregular cycle. I would fall asleep each night exhausted, only to toss and turn all night long, never really falling alseep. These frequent night wakings left me so very fatigued. I had paralysing headaches. My hair was falling out--by the handfuls. Not joking. I had a reoccuring sore throat--somewhat of a raspy voice. And persistent thirst. Every morning I felt as though I had run a marathon the night before--my muscles were sore and my joints hurt. I was also majorly discouraged. Lack of sleep does that to you. And so does physical pain. And so does feeding an adorable 6 month old multiple times a night.

For a time I dismissed all my symptoms. I explained my fatigue as middle-of-the-night wakings and hormones. I told myself to chin-up. I justified my sore muscles as being out-of-shape post baby. My sore throat was a common cold. I guilted myself for having a bad attitude. And my depression related to a new baby and lack of sleep and hormones.

Finally, after sustaining 2-4 hours of sleep a night for months on end, I made an appointment with my primary physician. He did a routine blood test. He gave me 10 minutes of his time. He handed me a prescription for Prosac and said I had post-pardom depression.

I left his office, numb, thinking, "Really? I'm depressed. Huh.  This is what depression feels like?" Something inside me just didn't believe the diagnosis. And so I sought a second opinion.

Those first blood results came back in the "low-normal" thyroid range. I came to find out later he only tested my TSH and T4.  He did not test my T3 or my antibodies.

A month or two later I saw a doctor, whom some would call 'suspicious' (AKA he was sorta a quack), who did a more extensive blood panel and told me I had Hashimoto's Disease. Thank God for him. He gave me my unilab blood results and talked it through with me. He encouraged me to research on my own. He told me there was a reason I was feeling poopy.  And it was all the ammunition I needed, lab results in hand, to tell me I wasn't going crazy. I had legitimate symptoms that now had a legitimate diagnosis.

(I'm with a new Dr. now. This switch was made after I walked into said Dr's waiting room and witnessed a standing-room-only of patients hooked to IV fluids. He believed each of his patients needed a saline flush to rid their bodies of whatever sickness was ailing them, and to hydrate their bodies faster and better than water ever could. After he told me I needed this same treatment, a nurse walked in the waiting room to hook up my IV and I fainted so severely they seemed happy for me to flee, as happy as I was!)

The short description is this: everyone, (you, me, and your Aunt Sally), have antibodies in your body. These antibodies are intended to fight infection, whether its the flu, common cold, or some other illness. When you have Hashimoto's disease, your antibodies fight your thyroid, a normal, God-given adrenal gland in your neck that helps regulate how you use energy.

Hashimoto's Disease is an auto-immune disorder that many people have. It is linked to several other auto-immune disorders, such as Grave's Disease, Diabetes, Lupus, and Rhumatord Arthritis. If you examine my family history, I have a strong line of auto-immune disorders, although I didn't know the connection until after diagnosis.

By all accounts my TSH and T4 were 'low-normal' and my T3 was even low(er) normal. But my antibody count was raging high.  When a hormone panel was done I was told I had hardly any hormones in my body whatsoever.

So I started a treatment of Armor Thyroid that I take every day, every morning for the rest of my life. I also take DHEA, a mother hormone, to help my pituitary gland, which doesn't seem to be releasing enough hormones to make me a normal woman.

The good news is, I finally sleep (at least better than I once did). And I don't ache. In all honesty, within 4 weeks of taking my medication I was a new woman. I thought, why did I not investigate this sooner? I didn't realize, and it never dawned on me, that there might be a tangible solution to what I was experiencing. To sleep, after months of not, is the most amazing euphoria.

The troubling news is: anytime I am slightly under the weather, congested, or feeling icky, instead of my antibodies attacking the illness deserving annihilation, they attack my thyroid. Any common cold means more antibodies, which means more thyroid assault, which makes me feel (not) great.

A few weeks ago my prescription ran out. I forgot to stay on top of it, and the doctor would not refill until I saw him.  So I've gone without meds for two weeks.  Today I had my appointment (finally) and received my refill. It amazes me how two weeks without a tiny little pill can make the difference between sleep, discouragement, appetite, hair loss, and abdomenal pain.

As I considered this blog post I remembered the countless hours I spent googling "Hashimoto's Disease" and "Hypothyroidism." I sought answers. Somewhere, someone, is googling.  So here is my story.

To Resolute or not to Resolute?

2012-01-05T07:30:00.000-08:00

It’s the New Year, and Google and Yahoo, Blogosphere, Twitter, Facebook, churches and bookstores, and seemingly the entire Universe is talking resolutions.

Whether I think resolutions are a load of doo-doo or a worthy excuse to make a change, I do believe one thing: I have ownership of how I spend my days. And so do you.

We all have choice.

I have a choice how I invest my short time on this earth. I have a choice who I want to be. I have a choice to follow or take the lead. I have a choice how fat I am, and I have a choice in what kind of mother I’m going to be. I determine my involvement in my world. I dictate how close I am in relationships, and I choose to either pursue things of this world or things of the world yet to come. I decide to extend grace or harbor bitterness, and I decide to initiate or sit back and let the chips fall as they may.

I DID make some resolutions but I’ll add this stipulation: 2011 turned out significantly different than I ever imagined. I’m sure 2012 will be the same. But it certainly doesn’t hurt to take some time and consider my current choices, and if there’s anything I should (or want) to alter or add or dissolve.

1. Lose 10 lbs. BORING. Who doesn’t need to lose a few, right? (And if you are one of the ones that doesn’t, YAY YOU!! (for reals!!) I’m trying to run three times a week, with a longer run on the weekend. I’m excited for the Mud Run in June! On the off days I’m lifting and doing yoga or pilates at Soul At Home. I’m missing volleyball though. (more on that soon).

2. Read through the Bible. I’ve never done it. (except for Old Testament and New Testament in college). My new church, Mission Hope Church, is leading a charge to read through the Bible in a year, and I’m joining the challenge. I am most excited to do this alongside the rest of the Church body and grow together in this new way. I continue to pray that God gives me a sincere, passionate love for Scripture.

3. Ethnic dinner club. This feels vain and strange, but nevertheless, it is a resolution purely for pleasure. I love other cultures, and so I’m excited to go out to dinner once a month with a few friends and explore some authentic cuisine.

4. To be on the offensive socially. I would like to try to engage people that are different than me, that we might not know as well, that might need a friend or be a new connection. We are at a new church, a new school, and we are about to enter little league season, which is a whole social network in itself. I confess I am not great at entertaining, but I want to be better (and grow more comfortable doing it). I admit I do not often walk up to someone I don’t know well. I’d like to grow more comfortable approaching new people, or people I first meet. I’d like to let the conversation flow a bit more organically too.

5. Monthly date nights. Um … yeah, that’s because Bookguy is a rockstar.

What about you? What are you going to work on this 2012?

Part 2 of 2: The Challenges of Homeschooling

2011-12-20T12:10:00.000-08:00

This is Part 2 of my reflections on our new adventures in homeschooling. In part 1 I talked about all the benefits homeschooling has provided for our family. This post is going to report the flip side: the parts of homeschooling that I’ve found challenging. BUT before I launch in, if you are considering homeschooling, I just want to go on record that EVEN WITH THESE CHALLENGES, I have no regrets and I’m SO glad to be schooling them for this time.

Less Me Time. Duh, right? I know, I know. But I’m an introvert, and I am consistently surrounded by cute short people who make noise and mess and ask me questions and need snacks and want to play with me. Bookguy works 11 hour days, so by the time he’s home, I’m spent.

The discouraging part of less ‘me time’ is having little creative time. At 8:30 pm, when everyone is finally asleep and the kitchen is clean, and assuming we have no activity that night (which, right now, is not happening), I find myself sitting on the couch watching a classic BBC, and I feel so B-O-R-E-D. I have a slew of topics I want to write about, people I want to call (or email), I want to go to Yoga or for a run, attack work projects, or play my guitar or the piano. I can account for my day a BUNCH of things the children accomplished and VERY LITTLE I actually accomplished. That’s icky. God made me to concept and create. I get energy when I do these things, and a part of me feels absent without it.

Loneliness. There are days when, if I don’t reach out past my laptop and my children’s coaches, and if we don’t have an evening activity, I might only talk to my children and Bookguy. Which then, I need to embrace that challenge and get on the offensive socially. (trying). But non-homeschooling mothers are meeting at the gym and for coffee and having lunch dates and getting all their social girltime during the day, while I am ... teaching. It is what it is, but it's been a big adjustment.

Home-bound. Duh, right? I’m HOMEschooling! Of course I’m home-bound. HAHA. But seriously, sometimes I’m sick of this house. Especially because this house is now not only where I school, but it’s also my ‘job’ to make sure everyone has clean underwear and there aren’t 2 days worth of bread crumbs on the floor. And it’s where I’m supposed to feel cozy and safe. How does a homeschooling mom actually find rest in her house? I explained it to Bookguy this way: Imagine you sleep in your office. And you eat in your office. And you do your work in your office. And you entertain in your office. Would your office be a sanctuary too?

More Mess. Now, some of you embrace mess the way you eat chocolate, but I am not one of those people. My house isn’t always spic and span, but I do like it tidy. When your children are around for a bulk of the day, your house gets messy. Because I want them to explore and color and paint and cut and we do crafts and glue and we get out tons of books and we build marble mazes and lizard houses out of legos and it just happens. Don’t worry, I will keep letting it happen. But I’d be lying to say some days I wouldn’t mind dropping them off at school at 8 and coming home to a tidy house that won’t be messed up again until 3:30.

Less Coverage. I pulled Bookguy aside a few days ago and asked him when I can get back to Africa. And then it hit: Who will school my children when I’m gone? True, two of the days they will be at Spirit, but the other three days they will need to be directed. This makes it hard for Bookguy and I to escape for a night away, or even more so, to consider a longer trip to serve together somewhere internationally. Also, if I have an appointment during the day, or a work meeting, or if I am traveling, it can be difficult finding a babystitter for the time I am gone (because high schoolers are in school and college kids have erratic schedules).

So now you have it … this is the full picture, the good and the hard, and all that in between. What a ride we’re on!

Homeschooling Pros and Benefits

2011-12-13T09:18:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow I’ll finish my first semester as a homeschooling mama. This is part 1 of a 2 part post on what I’ve seen are the benefits and challenges. Today we are talking about benefits--and there are MANY!

First a pre-cursor:

I was a reluctant homeschooler. In fact, I did NOT want to homeschool. But I felt like God was so very clearly wanting us to give it a try. And I wanted to be open.

Second, some specifics:

My kiddos are technically students at a K-12 homeschool hybrid called Spirit Academy. The children attend classes two days a week (8:30-3) at school (Wednesday and Thursday), learning from a teacher in a classroom environment and using Spirit Academy curriculum (which is Abeka, Bob Jones, Singapore Math, and some others--none of these are cush curriculi). They are schooled at home the other 3 days a week.

Spirit is accredited by WASC, CITA, and is a member of ACSI. (Our last school (which was private and super expensive) was not accredited and we learned it matters (to us) to have these accreditations. (Public schools are required by law to follow State standards. Not so with private schools. They can do whatever they want, however they want. Accredidations keep private schools accountable.)

At Spirit the kids enjoy class interaction, socialization, science projects, sports, clubs, book reports, recess, chapel, field trips, individual and group presentations and projects—basically all the benefits a school provides. Also, (and this might not matter to everyone), but should my children transfer, my children's transcripts would come from Spirit Academy, not from "The Yates Family School" or whatever it might be called.

So here’s how it works.

On Thursdays I pick up the children from school, and I receive from their teacher the lesson plan for the week. It says what subject to do, what concepts and pages in our worktext, and I have at home the Teacher’s Editions and Instructor’s Guide to help me as I teach them Friday, Monday, and Tuesday.

We learn at home from 9-2, usually taking two breaks. Little Bean is in preschool MWF so we take advantage of this and school diligently on Friday and Monday, even working ahead so that we can have light Tuesdays. (We are often finished by 10:30 on Tuesdays and then have a field trip or park time or lunch out).

And now the benefits:

My children are truly happy. And that makes me happy! They LOVE staying at home with each other and having me as their teacher. I only have a few more years (probably) where my kids will enjoy my company and ask for it. And right now, we are really having a great time together! Lots of laughter throughout the day, lots of sibling affection, lots of mommy quality time.

We also have more energy for extra curricular activities—WAY more than we used to. In the old days, I’d pick the nuggets up from school and we’d go to an activity, and they would beg not to go. ‘Let’s go home!’ they’d plead. Now, at 1:30 for piano lessons or 3:30 for baseball or 4:30 for soccer, they are super excited and ready to try their hardest, play their best, exert 100%.

We aren’t so desperate for time together. In the old days, I’d pick the kids up from school, we’d head to baseball, and then by the time we got home (at 5:30 or 6:00), we’d try to squish the evening and make it something special. Only it often was actually the opposite. Evenings were stressful and disappointing because everyone was tired, hungry, and didn’t have much extra juice left over.

Financially, this is a huge relief for us too. Our old private school was quite pricey and having this option saves us a significant chunk of change each month.

Flexibility. This is something we are just starting to enjoy, and something we've been needing for a long while for our school choice. Because the school is small (there are two third grade classes with 12 kids in each) and one first grade class with 12, the teachers know my children. Already they have recognized and proved flexible with adjusting curriculum slightly for my children. For example, my son excels in Math, and so we are in conversations with the school about how to accomodate him, and because he is at home on the 3 days, I'm able to stimulate him in this subject to his heart's delight. My daughter is a great reader, so instead of being required to follow the reading curriculum at the school's pace, I do our own read alouds with her at her level, and I've been using Explore the Code as a supplement. As a tax-paying citizen, public schools are required to accomodate special learning needs of students. But private schools are not, and some of them choose not to bend and/or do not have the resources (without hiking up tuition) to flex. I do appreciate the challenge it is on teachers with 25 children in a classroom how to meet the unique needs of each child. But I have found the homeschool environment and culture is far more open and comfortable with flexibility in (and outside) of the classroom.

And lastly, NO HOMEWORK. We finish schooling by 2:00 at the latest. And then we’re catching lizards in the backyard, prepping dinner, going for a bike ride, playing games, having dance parties, running errands, etc.

Tomorrow I’ll share about the challenges …

Beautiful

2011-12-09T08:56:00.000-08:00

I watched this video and cried and dreamed of how things will one day be. I encourage you to take the time to be blessed by this little boy.

Christmas Shopping

2011-12-06T08:01:00.000-08:00

I’m surrounded by some seriously gifted, crafty friends. And it's the holiday season. :) So if you are looking to make some purchases by small business owners and mothers, here are some close peeps I'd love to recommend.

Wrapped in Clover

Wrapped in Clover: My friend Erin, whom I’ve known since elementary school searches for vintage jewelry, fabric, embellishments, and she buys what she loves. Then she comes home and creates a beautiful piece to fit what she loves, and she sells these individual creations on ETSY. I think she should be on Project Accessory, if you wanna know the truth. She also paints murals, does interior decorating, sculps, and paints portraits. She has a vintage, romantic, renaissance flare that is feminine and one-of-a-kind.

Yellow Me Daisy

Yellow Me Daisy: Holly is my second sister, and she and her friend have a new little business creating cute fabric pieces. Holly is detail oriented and organized and so simply creative (she could be in Simple Mag, she’s that kind of ‘simple creative’ (AND you should see her Tupperware drawer). Last year I drooled over her messenger bags—she buys fabric she loves and sews it and they are so.very.cute. She is putting on a boutique called Ubuntu in San Diego this Friday, December 9, hosting multiple crafty women from So Cal who are all donating the proceeds from the boutique to their charity of choice. Her charity is the beloved Amazima, and it melts my soul that she loves Katie and Amazima the way I do.

AllyZabba

AllyZabba: Jill and I became friends through Susan, and she makes gorgeous baby blankets “softer than a baby’s butt” (which is pretty dang soft!). Such a GREAT gift for any expectant mother (or adoptive mother of an infant). Each blanket has a silky side and a plush side, and AllyZabba has received rave reviews. These are high end, VERY lovely, VERY soft, VERY adored blankies. What I love about Jill is that she is an ordinary mom like you and me who made her own lush blanket just because, and it turned into a business that has impacted so many families.

MamaSheep

Mama Sheep: An adoptive mother, friend, and seriously funny human being, Jody makes very cute, handmade jewelry at an affordable cost. Lots of her jewelry have an African flare or are adoption themed. I’m especially in love with her new tiny Africa earrings. Jody gives a portion of her profits to help the people of Ethiopia, which makes me love her even more.

You can also visit the stores of my friends at Project 7, Amazima, 58 Store, Tukula, and 147 Million Orphans. Very proud of the work they are doing.

Cultivate Joy: When a Run Goes Bad

2011-12-01T07:30:00.000-08:00

Today’s run was poopy. Every step I took felt like work. I had dry mouth 2 miles in. My ankles kept cracking. I was extremely hot. My breathing was labored. My rubberband broke, leaving my hair flying everywhere.

After going out to my car and getting another rubberband, I tried to set the new pace again. So disappointed with how this sacred running time had manifested itself, I tried to concentrate on acceptance: embrace what it was and let go of what I expected and wished it would be.

I reflect on that ideal run—where I feel so strong—where I am mentally focused, and I idealize that run. I compare today’s run, and yesterday’s run, and last week’s run, to that glorious, fantasized run of yesteryear. I just want to get back to then.

How many times in our lives do we just want to get back to whatever it was then?

For the last several weeks I’ve met with some girlfriends to discuss what it means to Choose Joy in our everyday life. And part of choosing joy (for me) is accepting. Accepting today and being in this moment, allowing my senses to feel right now the smooth satin sheets pressed against my calves.

My new friend Catherine lost her firstborn, a son, after he was born at 28 weeks gestation. Then she became pregnant with her daughter, and, spending the last several months of pregnancy on full bedrest in the hospital, birthed her premature (but alive), and raised her with love. And then just over 6 months ago this little girl, 3 years old, was tragically killed in a car accident. A mother who has lost two babies.

We sit in a circle talking about Choosing Joy and Catherine smiles. And I see before me someone who should, in no way, have any joy whatsoever. But she does. She says that God has used it to bring her back to Him.

Could I ever do that? Could I Choose Joy if I was Catherine?

I’m such a pansie, I thought. What is my complaint?

Oh to be dissatisfied with a run when there are people with no legs on which to walk. To bock at the slightly-too-salty mashed potatoes when there are children in this world with distended bellies, dying of hunger related diseases every day. That I gripe when we’ve run out of ice, and that my pillow is going flat, that my child woke me up in the middle of the night, and that the mango was not ripe.

I set out to focus my time and energy and thoughts on what I DO have and what I DO know. Not what I don’t.

This is an exercise worth cultivating.

Veering from grumpy, I swirled my thumb on my ipod over to One Republic, “Good Life.” I told myself that today I would run slow. And my ankles needed the exercise. I listened to the air rushing into my lungs and felt my chest rise. I noticed the monarch 8 feet ahead of me and decided the sun on my face was God’s smiling. I thought how nice it was to be alive, and what a gift that I was running sans children, and how nice the lukewarm water felt on my parched tongue. I thought about my mom (today is her birthday) and how she cared for my every need, and how I’m alive today and have fullness in my life because she gave so sacrificially. I considered the clouds, the beauty of the trees, and a God who invites me in, who created me in His World for His glory, and I felt happy.

I took Joy. I ran with it.

Breakthrough with A Neighbor

2011-11-21T07:23:00.000-08:00

I had a breakthrough this weekend. For at least 3 years I’ve been running/walking about my neighborhood and I’ve often passed the same woman in her 50s or 60s. She’s walking and I’m running, and we make eye contact and smile and occasionally, we wave.

I notice her because she walks with a severe limp. I think she’s a stroke survivor. Her left arm hangs by her side. Sometimes she clutches it with her opposite hand, and her left leg drags behind her. She smiles a crooked smile. The right side of her lip curls up and I see white. Something in me says she’s insecure, even though her delicate features and petite frame fit her perfectly, and she’s one of the only people to purposefully make contact with me each time we see one another.

As I run past her I admire her. Her walk around the block is probably way more challenging than my trot. She’s courageous. She’s joyful. She’s disciplined.

So yesterday then, I’m running up behind her and I hear a Word tell me to stop and say hi. Winded, I come alongside of her and introduce myself.

I tell her I’ve noticed her for several years, faithfully walking our neighborhood, and that I’ve meant to say hello before now. I say I admire her discipline and her faithfulness. Turns out she lives a few streets over, and I tell her my street, and she makes a bubble with her spit while she speaks and nervously wipes it. I’m huffing and out of breath, but I see a glimmer in her eyes. Her name is Michelle, and as I run off I think how very easy that was, really. What was I waiting for? The next time I see her, I’ll stop again. And again. Because even though I know nothing about her, I want to, and was that so very hard?

Shopping (I don't like it, and that's ok)

2011-11-15T10:36:00.000-08:00

Last week I called my friend and I begged her to take me clothes shopping.

One thing I am not: I am NOT a shopper.

I’ve started thinking the only women that like shopping are size 4s. Because there’s nothing fun whatsoever trying to squeeze your mommy buns into a pair of skinny jeans.

But I cannot go on wearing yoga pants every day. And it’s my birthday, and I’d like to feel not-so-very-frumpy on my birthday.

So we hop into the car and she tells me what staples I need (black pants, nice jeans, and a few fun pieces, and herein I learn ah-ha moment number one:

Most women have a monthly clothing budget (and hair/nail budget).

Well no WONDER they look so cute. :)

We are in our dressing room with bubbly saleswoman named Joi, (what kind of a spelling is that for Joy? French?). She keeps bringing me sweaters and pants and at one point, boots and accessories too. When she speaks her voice is high pitched, and when I turn away a champagne pink sweater she demands to know why.

Bless my friend, she asserts herself on my behalf.

“There are too many clothes in here!” she says. “She’s feeling overwhelmed!”

And I tuck myself into the corner of a Nordstrom dressing room (which, incidentally, is bigger than my kitchen) and what happens? I start tearing up. ?!?!?! What kind of a freak woman am I?

Just give me a pair of black pants please!

I’m realizing we all have our insecurities and we all have our dos and donts. Inasmuch as I want to be the woman with the Better Homes and Garden house, and I want to be a magnificent chef cook (and I have so many friends who are AMAZING cooks), and I want to love a dressing room full of Hudsons and designer boots, I am not that kind of girl. I DO want to look nice, and I DO want to be confident, and so I’m glad I took a girlfriend with me that could handle my ‘non-shopping freak’ and giggle with me through it.

Here’s what I do have to offer:

-I love to play sports, and I enjoy watching sports. I enjoy playing volleyball and ultimate frisbee and throwing the football and going to the batting cages, and I don’t mind getting sweaty because it makes me feel alive. I like feeling my body engaged in the world around me. I’m proud to care about March Madness and enjoy having people over to watch Tim Tebow’s erratic performances.

-I love listening to music, playing music, singing, and live bands, orchestra, theatre, broadway shows, and coffee shop jazz. When I go to the theatre, during intermission you can find me examining the orchestra pit. At jazz clubs, I’m tapping my heel to the 16th and I actually get tempted to take the mic for My Funny Valentine. Basically I love jam sessions. Not heavy metal, though, sorry. Your acoustic guitar and djembe are welcome in my home.

-I love poetry, literature, quotes, good books, story lines. I love learning from what people write, people that have gone before me and people that are currently living out their own journey in this same world of mine. I like the rhythm of the language, the picture images, the expression of thought, and the vulnerability that comes through reading out loud to a room of beating hearts.

-I love other cultures—always have. As a young girl I had two longstanding penpal relationships—one with a girl named April in Australia and another with a missionary in Camroon. I love the par avion envelopes, and I’m constantly noting places I’d like to visit and cultures I’ve never encountered. I loved Ethiopia and Uganda and Turkey and Greece and when I traveled Europe I found each culture intriguing and having much to offer. I like trying new foods and learning about this ginormous world God created.

-And finally, I like good conversation. I like knowable people, and I try my hardest to be knowable. This means I like to talk about real things over margaritas and guacamole. I try to listen well too (although I think I can ALWAYS get better at listening). I ask questions and point out ironies and laugh over my own ridiculousness. I hope at my funeral people say I was vulnerable and open and that they knew I loved them by how I engaged them. J

And shopping … well, shopping is something I’m resigned to do so that I have a bit more confidence when doing the above things, and so that I don’t do any of them naked. Favorite purchase of this shopping expedition: my very burnt orange hat.

Our Adoption Story--Orphan Sunday

2011-11-10T09:13:00.000-08:00

Last Sunday was Orphan Sunday, and Bookguy and I shared our adoption story at church. I thought to share it with you all. Funny thing is, I typed this out and then on the actual Sunday I strayed quite far from my notes, so I don't really recall what I said on that actual morning ... maybe this was meant to be a blog post from the very beginning?

Today is Orphan Sunday. This is a day celebrated by hundreds of thousands of Christians across America, recognized in local churches throughout the United States and now echoing back across the seas to countries as diverse as Ukraine, Guatemala and Kenya.

It’s exciting that Mission Hope, our new little community in Tustin, can be a part of this moment of Christians wanting to bring hope to the orphan.

If you or I walked through the Costco parking lot and saw a 3 year old in tattered clothes, filthy, unsupervised, distended belly and gray hair, we’d stop. We would bend down and say, “Where is your mother?” and we’d search around for his caregiver. When we realized there was no one, we would pick him up and take him to the police or maybe to our own house.

But because of where we live, here in Tustin, in one of the richest counties of the riches countries, that kind of need isn’t staring us in the face. We don’t see children without parents lining the streets, and so we forget that the orphan crisis is real.

It was 1996 and I was “friends” with Bookguy (who is now my husband). We discussed generally that we would be open to adoption if either of us, when we were married (not necessarily to each other), could not conceive. I didn’t know at the time that Bookguy would be my husband, and I didn’t know that God was planting in us a passion for orphan care and adoption.

Fast forward 7 years and we’re married. We had one son and one daughter, and my doctor tells me I should not birth any more babies. We had the safe, picturesque family of 4, one boy, one girl, easy-to-manage. But in God’s grand orchestration, the seed He planted years ago began to sprout.

I began to read, think, and pray about growing our family through adoption.

The more I learned about the needs of orphaned and vulnerable children the more my heart ached. 18.3 million children in this world have NO parents—no mother, no father. No one. 18.3 million. That’s the population of Florida. They are living, children of God, fending for themselves, without any parent to tuck them in at night, without any parent to help them with homework, to make them dinner, to give them snuggles, to show them the unconditional love of the Heavenly Father.

I began earnestly praying. Praying every day HARD, and journaling, and reading everything I could on adoption. I became convinced that He wanted us to pursue growing our family in this way. His leading was so clear and direct that I began to feel we were actually sinning, rebelling from what He wanted us to do, every day that would pass and we would not pull the trigger.

Bookguy, while open, was much more pragmatic. He was worried about money and the lifelong expense of raising another child. He sought to provide for us well. God began revealing to Him (apart from me) his own need to leap out in faith and trust that God was at work and could take better care of his family than he could.

So we began the research stage, learning about adoption, talking and praying about our fears, listening to God’s direction, telling our families, and then eventually shelling out tons of money, completing a massive amount of paperwork, bracing ourselves for the army of personal, invasive questions we would have to answer, and waiting.

It was exhausting. And it was exhilarating.

God used our adoption to bring me into closer relationship with Him. He used our adoption to bring me to my knees--praying daily for my son, yearning for courage, more faith, and praying for more surrender to His will for my life.

And of course I would tell everyone and anyone that every ounce of the process was worth it. Because … in March of 2008, we received “The Call.”

There was a little boy, who I now affectionately call the Bean, less than a month old, and he had no one. “Would we pray about becoming his parents?” our social worker asked.

And when you pray and ask God the Father, the Creator of the Universe, the lover of all people, the most greatest adoption advocate of all, if you should, in fact, embrace and love an orphaned child living 9,000 miles away, I have a hard time believing He will say no.

We "bonded" with a photo, and eventually, a few months later, we flew to Ethiopia to meet him.

I look at my family, I look at my son, and I think about the 18.3 million other children who are just a statistic to you and me, but to God, they are what He sent His Son to die for.

I think about our God who takes our brokenness, our horrible tragedies, the evil of the world taking shape in abandoned children, abusive parents, and neglect, and invites us into His family, once and for all.

God has a special place in His heart for orphaned children. And I want my heart to reflect God’s own. Scripture is very clear that caring for orphans and widows is not an option. It is a requirement.

James 1:27 says: “Religion that is pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”

Psalm 68: 5 says that God is a father to the fatherless, a defender of widows.

Matthew 22:39 says that we are to “love our neighbor as ourselves.”

I think about God’s plan, His great love for the Bean, that in 1996 he would plant in the heart of two future spouses a desire for adoption, knowing that an energetic jumping Bean would need a mommy and a daddy.

I think about my own adoption—how it can be possible that I am a child of the King—that I have been adopted as a co-heir with Christ, and in my new family my Heavenly Father showers me with perfect, unchanging, unconditional love (and discipline).

I think about the ways I will disappoint my own children—because I am flawed and weak and sinful—and I claim for them their own adoption in Christ. I point them to the love of their Heavenly Father as the One who will never disappoint. I look at all of you and I think, if I am adopted unto the Father, and you are adopted unto the Father, we really ARE family—sharing the same Abba, the same Daddy.

The Bean is now three years old. He has the loudest laugh! He hits pitched baseballs and knows his colors and he asks me to sing O Come O Come Emmanual every night before I tuck him into bed. And some days I look at him and I think about what would have been—what his life would have been like—if God had not spoken and we had not listened. I cannot imagine our life or our family without him.

Best. Halloween. EVER.

2011-11-03T14:15:00.000-07:00

This Sunday is Orphan Sunday, and I am sharing our adoption story at church. I spent a chunk of Monday writing out our journey and thinking through the underlying themes of what I should say.

Later that night I’m with some friends and meet a new couple. They are strangers, and wife politely asks about the Bean (noticing he’s ‘different’): “Would you mind telling me a little more about why you adopted?” (which was such a polite, kind way to ask).

Remember I literally JUST practiced my adoption story only hours beforehand.

I begin to share, and after I’m done, I’ve noticed the children (once rowdy) are quiet and in another room, and the parents have all gathered around in the living room listening. Stillness and peace.

Husband says, with lots of emotion, “It’s really amazing to hear your story. Because I was adopted. I just found my birthmother. I made contact with my birth uncle last week. It’s been so emotional for me.”

And rivers of vulnerability rush downstream, to me, a complete stranger, about this HUGE momentous part of his story, and I begin to well up with tears, and he does too.

Because he suffered a loss. And the Bean suffered a loss.

But his loss is not him. And the Bean’s loss is not him either.

He was given a beautiful family, and security, and values, and confidence, and Jesus, and he was WELL LOVED, and he was sensitive to his parents, and worried about hurting them, and he was curious about his story, and I understood why it mattered. He shares about looking in his son’s eyes wondering where they came from and I share my grief that the Bean’s story is vacant and skeletal.

The room is heavy, and the emotion is deep, and we stare at each other because it feels just too random, and we feel an unexplainable connection—a unity—like we are part of a family.

We get in the car and drive home. Bookguy turns and says, “That was incredible.” “Yeah,” I say.

Best. Halloween. EVER.

5 Influential Women for Lunch

2011-10-31T07:58:00.000-07:00

My friend Ken asked on his Facebook last week: "If you could have lunch with any 5 women, living or passed, who would you choose?"

Now if you can't limit to 5, that's ok. Or if you can't think of 5, that's ok too. But what influential woman (or women) would YOU like to have lunch with? Please leave a comment and do share!

Here was my answer ...

AMY CARMICHAEL

MARY (THE MOTHER OF JESUS)

ABIGAIL ADAMS

JANE AUSTEN

OPRAH

Book Review: Beautiful Outlaw, by John Eldredge

2011-10-27T08:02:00.000-07:00

So excited to do a book review on John Eldredge’s new book called Beautiful Outlaw: Experiencing the Playful, Disruptive, Extravagant Personality of Jesus.

This is, in my opinion, Eldredge’s best book since The Sacred Romance. If you are an Eldredge fan I HIGHLY recommend it.

It is a book about the personality of Jesus, and I really felt like I learned more about who He is and what He is like through Beautiful Outlaw.

For a short while there I began latching on to John’s wife Stasi (she wrote Captivating—a MUST DO Women’s Bible Study) as the female voice of their ministry. I started to feel like, because I was a woman, I couldn’t relate easily to John. But not so with Beautiful Outlaw!

The thing is: I want to know Jesus more. And there are many books about who Jesus is, but few with the eloquence and passion of a writer like John Eldredge. His writing is descriptive, imaginative, and picturesque.

And I just love thinking of Jesus as outlaw. Because He was. He is so much more than that little 8 lb, 3 oz brown haired babe swaddled in a manger. Or that 33 year old innocent man bleeding on the cross.

Here are a few character traits of Jesus that John talks about that I particularly liked: Extravagant Generosity, Disruptive Honesty, Trueness, Humility, Fierce Intention, The Most Human Face of All.

If you grab a copy and read it, please let me know what you think!

These days ...

2011-10-25T08:12:00.000-07:00

Just an update on my little treasures:

Pumpkin, age 8, in 3rd grade, just started taking tennis lessons! He’s really enjoying it. Last year he picked up a racket for the first time and I’d find him hitting tennis balls against the wall of our house. I took him to his first lesson where he spent the first 20 minutes shy, and then began to open up with the instructor over a small scrimmage. He recently got braces too! He confessed to me a few weeks ago that he’s happy to be home a few days a week so he can spend more time with me. We have been catching blue-neck lizards in our yard and building lego houses for them.

Peanut, age 6, in 1st grade, loves soccer and runs fast! She has the sweetest spirit, and two weeks ago yelled to me during her soccer game, tucking in her tears, “I’M FEELING PRESSURE.” She applies herself to everything and seeks to please coaches, teachers, and friends. She gives me hugs readily, helps me cook dinner most nights, can climb anything, rarely complains, and recently started washing her own hair. (sniff, sniff) She worries about losing things and being late and wells up with tears easily at the slightest inflection in your voice. She recently learned to braid (Mommy tip: Use pipe cleaners to teach braiding! So easy!) and isn’t afraid of getting dirty! She loves to play big sister to other little children, especially her brother and some little girls at our church. She also plays agreeably with Pumpkin and his friends, crossing over into 8 year old territory seamlessly and with a smile.

Bean, age 3, in pre-K, attends preschool three days a week and LOVES it. He is a very active child. In fact, I cannot imagine a 3 year old more gross motor gifted than the Bean. The very reason he is called bean is because he used to jump like a “Jumping Bean” in the doorway jumper when he was a little baby. He sings, laughs, dances, and has an active imagination! He loves chocolate and all things sweet, requesting a Nutella sandwich every day for lunch (much to Bookguy’s chagrin). He follows Bookguy around like a heat-seeking missile, (and why wouldn’t he?!) and loves to wrestle, play tickle bugs, swim, ride his tricycle, ride his scooter, swing, play soccer, and play baseball (he’s hitting pitched baseballs!). He enjoys books and recently started counting to ten and often makes up stories for no apparent reason. He is SO much fun!

Forgiveness Begets Forgiveness

2011-10-22T08:27:00.000-07:00

When we told my parents that we were beginning the adoption process from Ethiopia, my Dad, worried for us, said, “Racism is real. I’ve seen it.”

When does a Father stop worrying about his daughter?

It is not a new revelation, so it shouldn’t be shocking, but when several hateful, horrible extremist comments were posted on Amazima’s You Tube and Blog this week (they’ve since been deleted), I found myself BOILING.

I tried to dial down to simmer.

“Ignorance.”

"They were probably taught it.”

“They are a very small minority.”

“They are wounded too.”

But to be totally honest, I was SO VERY ANGRY.

It talks in Scripture about loving your enemies, and I’ve never quite related to what that means because I’ve never considered myself having an enemy. I like most people and most people like me (I think).

Fuming in my living room I hear whispers of Luke 6:27: “Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.”

I can’t do it, I thought. I can’t love someone who would insult a child just because his skin is brown. I can’t BLESS him. Pray for him, ok. I will pray for him. But I am NOT going to bless him and I am NOT going to love him.

I let it seep.

Today I remembered my favorite story of extending forgiveness to someone wholly undeserving: “Forget not, never forget that you have promised me to use this silver to become an honest man.... Jean Valjean, my brother: you belong no longer to evil, but to good. It is your soul that I am buying for you. I withdraw it from dark thoughts and from the spirit of perdition, and I give it to God!”

Who doesn’t want to be Jean Valjean? Who doesn’t MARVEL at that kind of grace and forgiveness and love, which Jean Valjean only was able to offer because it was generously, graciously bestowed on Valjean himself first?

Forgiveness begets forgiveness.

I want to follow a God who pushes me to such an extreme—urging me to forgive another human being especially when it isn’t deserved, to bless when one should be cursed, and love when it is furthest from my lips. That would make Him a radical, not-of-this-world King. That would mean He has something greater in Him than any other ruler ever lived—something magnanimous and unmatched and worthy of my worship.

And so it is.

God makes things grow

2011-10-17T11:12:00.000-07:00

What a whirlwind couple of weeks for my family! Bookguy was in Atlanta and then NYC for two big book projects (Kisses from Katie (spoke at Catalyst) and The Color of Rain (featured on the TODAY show). Katie came to California and spoke at two churches (and our children played together—YAY). Bookguy flew home for an Eldredge event (Beautiful Outlaw), and then I left for Nashville for several Amazima events. He joined me a few days later, culminating with meeting up with David Platt at The Church at Brook Hills. Now we’re on an airplane headed home to meet up with the Spehns for the California leg of their book tour. WHEW.

It’s been weeks since I’ve slept, really, and I suffered a horrible neck pain (which curiously is gone now that Katie’s tour is over), and we have been so strapped/stressed/overwhelmed at every corner. We have, in all honesty, been working ourselves to the bone.

It’s easy to fall into the temptation, the pride, that these things couldn’t have or wouldn’t have happened without Bookguy and me. That my ‘work’ makes things go. Because at times it truly felt like we were pushing a heavy cart up a steep hill.

But it's just NOT true.

Can you relate? Is there anything right now that you are working so very hard at, something you are trying to own or control or orchestrate, that is really not your job in the first place?

God is infinitely strong and omniscient and capable of doing all this without me. And without you.

The God of the Universe lets us join Him in His work. But He doesn’t need me to get it done.

This relieves me. Does it you?

And it reminds me. Do not think more highly of yourself than you ought. Because from Him and to Him and through Him are all things. It is God who makes all things grow. Apart from me you can do nothing.

I’m going to give my nuggets some slobbery kisses in T minus 70 minutes and I can’t wait.

Why I Need (and You Need) Your Children to Help You See

2011-10-07T09:15:00.000-07:00

During this window, where work is crazy with Katie’s book tour, and homeschooling is new and we are all getting used to it, where Bookguy is traveling lots and his job shifting, where we’ve joined a new church community that’s amazing and yet leaves me at times lonely, and where I’ve had neck pain and bad headaches for over two weeks, I’ve been in a bit of a funk.

In one minute I’m clinging to my cell phone because I cannot keep up with my inbox, texts, and calendar. The next minute I want to hide from it all. The next moment I have great faith and I let go and I feel alive with the Spirit.

I don’t like this manic me.

The more I try to surrender the more I’m TRYING and not surrendering.

I’ve sat down to journal and haven’t been able to. I dig for Scripture in my memory (during impatient moments, especially) to recite to myself and I cannot remember a single verse on patience, although I’ve memorized at least two dozen of them. I approach the piano for reprieve, and plucking notes and singing makes me teary-eyed.

The great present is that right now I think Bookguy is one of the coolest, smartest, most dedicated, loyal, loving human beings on the planet, and while we are spread thin, I am SO VERY proud of him. He has the three books he’s worked on tirelessly that all hit bookstores at the same time (RIGHT NOW!): Beautiful Outlaw, by John Eldredge, Kisses from Katie, by Katie Davis, and The Color of Rain, by Michael and Gina Spehn. Each book is impacting lives and bursting through the launch gate with lots of buzz.

I’m thankful we get to play a part in what God is orchestrating.

But I also CRAVE more simplicity. I crave moments.

Then yesterday I went for a walk with the Bean.

The day after rain, the sun shone crisp and clean and everything smelled of new. He rode his tricycle and discovered a very long strip of bark, two dead worms, and a bunch of little red poisonous berries. He asked why the sidewalk was cracked, and why the dog was barking. My senses suddenly more alert to the world around me, I ignored my phone and marveled at the little, inconsequential questions and details in our world.

We looked each other in the eye and he smiled and I chased him down the street. He noticed a loud lawnmower and remarked at my shoes. He asked about the pimple of my face and pointed to the clouds, exclaiming, “I see a heart, mom.”

I see a heart. I see love. I see simplicity.

So I thanked God for cloud hearts. For my short people that point out lose teeth and ginormous snails, who giggle at Yoshi and fascinate over the lifespan of a lion, who build lego houses for lizards, cry over injustice, pray for boys and girls with no mommies, make silly faces often, and contemplate sending a self-portrait to Barak Obama.

“Being in a hurry. Getting to the next thing without fully entering the thing in front of me. I cannot think of a single advantage I've ever gained from being in a hurry. But a thousand broken and missed things, tens of thousands, lie in the wake of all the rushing.... Through all that haste I thought I was making up time. It turns out I was throwing it away.”

“And when I give thanks for the seemingly microscopic, I make a place for God to grow within me.” Ann Voskamp

These kiddos are God’s gift to me to help me see.

Book Review: Kisses from Katie: A Story of Relentless Love and Redemption

2011-10-03T08:12:00.000-07:00

It dawned on me a few days ago that I haven’t yet done a book review about the book that has occupied much of my professional life the last year. :) :)
Kisses from Katie: A Story of Relentless Love and Redemption is now available at your local bookstore! I cannot say enough about Katie, her inspiring story and the impact that she is having (with Amazima) on the people in Uganda. I visited her in May and met her girls and met the Amazima team and I feel so privileged to know these people and serve with them.

In Kisses from Katie you read how Katie Davis graduated high school and moved to Uganda at the age of 18 to teach Kindergarten in an orphanage. She did not know the language. She had very few connections in the country. She took the untraditional, unconventional path and followed Jesus to Uganda, away from her sheltered upbringing, leaving behind her little brother and her boyfriend and all her high school friends, to live in a tiny bedroom (more like a closet) in a land of red-clay dirt, orphaned children, poverty, and disease. Yet she would find in Uganda a joy that surpasses her greatest expectations. She discovers the closer she gets to following Jesus, the more beauty and joy and purpose she experiences.

Some of my favorite parts of the book are describing all her first impressions and cultural observations of Uganda. Believing she would teach 12-15 students, she arrived to 138 pairs of eyes eagerly waiting her instruction. Can you imagine it? She describes encounters with rats, diseased children, her first trip to Masese, how she came to add her daughters to her family, and the birth of Amazima Ministries, the organization I work for and love.

Mostly this book is about an ordinary woman who is able to do extraordinary things, not because of who she is, but because of who He is. I really love Richard Stearn’s endorsement of her book:

“When you think of what one young woman can accomplish by simply being open to God’s call no matter the cost, you begin to ask questions like, Am I really open to God’s will for my life? Through Katie’s story, we’re reminded how God can use ordinary people to do extraordinary things for Him. We simply need to be willing to be used.” Rich Stearns, president of World Vision U.S. and author of The Hole in Our Gospel

Watch Katie's book trailer here:

You Can!

2011-09-28T07:55:00.000-07:00

We have officially entered INSANITY. :)

I don't have big muscles. And I'm not oober tough. But YES I CAN.

I DO NOT want to be scatterbrained. I DO NOT want to be impatient with my children. I DO NOT want to be impatient with others, or to be critical, or to be short-tempered. I DO NOT want to rush through the one life I've been given.

I WANT grace for myself. I WANT grace for others. I WANT to be ok with the 10 lbs that have barnacled to my buns. I WANT to laugh loud and shrug off things that don't really matter. I WANT to be used by a Big God to impact this world, and I WANT to reflect Him to others. I WANT to be fully present in conversation with someone, (not distracted by my iphone), and I WANT to believe in the potential of everyone around me that there is good in all of us, even in our yuckiest moments. I WANT to go to bed tired from giving and serving, and I WANT to be intentional, and I WANT to feel a genuine, sincere love for people. I WANT to work hard at mothering and work hard at homeschooling and work hard at working and I WANT to have a life that isn't compartmentalized into cubbies. I WANT to desire Scripture and every Word of His to reach into the center of my gut, and I WANT to gallavant about town in no makeup with dissheveled hair and still believe I'm beautiful and worthy of all the love He has for me.

Isn't wanting half of the battle?

I must CHOOSE how I'm going to live. I wake up and I say:

"It's ok if today I don't get it all done."

"It's ok if today I look a little tired (because I am)."

"It's ok if today I'm rusty."

"It's ok if today I don't FEEL like doing this job. or this mother-thing. or this homeschooling thing."

He has enough room and enough grace for my honesty. And I go to Him and I crawl into His lap and I say, I can't.

He strokes my hair and rocks me and whispers in my ear:

YOU ARE LOVELY.

YOU ARE WORTH IT.

YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES.

YOU ARE EQUIPPED.

YOU ARE CAPABLE.

YOU HAVE GUMPTION.

YOU ARE UNIQUELY LOVED.

YOU ARE KNOWN.

YOU ARE ACCEPTED.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

YOU ARE NOTEWORTHY.

YOU ARE ANNOINTED.

YOU CAN!

He is our BIGGEST cheerleader!!

Book Review: The Color of Rain

2011-09-27T08:00:00.000-07:00

Some people I know are food snobs. Food is their 'thing.' They talk about it, plan for it, recognize quality, see its uniqueness, know chefs, dream of it, plan around it. They pair it, stand in their kitchen for days prepping it, and savor every bite, comparing it to the last delicious morsel of the same caliber.

What kind of snobs are we then, you must be asking?

We are book snobs.

Get around us, and we talk books. Especially Christian books. Yates & Yates reads many manuscripts. And since I'm married to Bookguy, I get the blessing of reading many good books and meeting many great authors too. But the reality is, many (many) people have a book they think should be published, and they think they have a unique idea, and they think their story is remarkable. And really, there are too many books in the world and too many books that are B-/C+ and not nearly enough GREAT books.

I tell you this to preface my endorsement of The Color of Rain. MANY times Bookguy has handed me a manuscript on our living room couch and I take a full 20 minutes reading it and find it is not worthy of my couch time. The writing isn't great. The story-line isn't captivating. The characters are underdeveloped. The Christianese is typical and blasse.

But THIS book, The Color of Rain, from the moment I picked it up I loved it. It came to us through a friend, and even though the Spehns had no platform whatsoever (they are an ordinary married couple from Michigan), and they have no writing experience, their story is REMARKABLE. (So remarkable they'll be appearing on the TODAY show). Their writing is descriptive, vulnerable, and compelling. I literally read the first half of their book in one sitting.

I hope you take the time to watch this trailer and consider giving this 'little book from Michigan' a go. I can say honestly that after I read it I lived my life differently. Because we only have ONE life. And I want to live it to the full.

Why I was MIA this week

2011-09-24T09:29:00.000-07:00

In case you were wondering WHY I was MIA this week ... it is because I was finishing THIS! Soft launched YESTERDAY! SOOOOO stinkin excited.

I met these Karimojong ladies during our trip to Uganda, remember?

Amazima is finally making Karimojong jewelry available to you. WOOT WOOT!

Forest Fires and New Growth

2011-09-14T07:39:00.000-07:00

I read somewhere that the heat and pressure of a forest fire actually pop open pinecones, scattering seedlings rapidly and efficiently. Days after a horrible tragedy, where smoke and ash paint everything black and desolate, and after 300 year old Pine and Spruce tumble over, new life has already begun to germinate because of the fire.

Fire is the catalyst for new growth.

Death. Rebirth.

Into the depths. And the soul rises up.

Pummeled by lightning and thunder. Behold, the glorious rainbow!

"When life is sweet, say thank you and celebrate. And when life is bitter, say thank you and grow.” (Shauna Neiquist, from her book Bittersweet)

I don’t know yet if I’ve been through a forest fire. Losing a child. Death of a spouse. Tragic accident that changes everything. But I think I’ve been through a few small grassfires.

Bookguy’s Uncle Tommy lives in Texas and owns a ranch. And it burned down last week. He lost almost every material possession. (actual pictures from Uncle Tommy's house)

As we grieve our ‘fires’—our disappointments, fears, worries, failures—it encourages me to consider the growth that has already begun to sprout, deep in our hearts, in places we don’t yet know. We cannot see the little buds hiding beneath the burned ash. But they are there.

I hope it encourages you in wherever you are at right now--if you find yourself in your own fire. For after the sun goes down and all is black, it rises once again and shines radiant restoration. And the resurrection is the happy ending of the story.

God desires to restore you and me.

Orphan Sunday

2011-09-12T07:38:00.000-07:00

I'm talking with our church about Orphan Sunday. Are you? (I love this darling video).

Orphan Sunday 2011 from Christian Alliance for Orphans on Vimeo.

Conversation Starters and Pedicures

2011-09-10T07:35:00.000-07:00

Look! I share the new and latest trend here in the OC (which is the mecca of all things fashionable for toes--blech) because I am a good friend, and I've promised Susan I won't leave her out of the loop.

About 5 months ago I bought these toe decals at Target. They cost me $6 that day. I never affixed them until two weeks ago, which was the first time I had done my toes in months (and I don't pay for pedicures anymore).

Next to Obama's televised 'plan' to stimulate our economy, the start of football season, and first days of school, these toenail decals have been a most excellent conversation piece with total strangers.

FIVE people asked at a park, "Where did you get your toes done?" "Oh, it's a sticker," I say. "I bought it for a few bucks at Target." They bend over and examine my toes, spurring on a most excellent conversation about kids and parks and school and naps. The day before the park I had FOUR strangers comment--at the library, at lunch, at the grocery store, and at a playdate.

Tomorrow night some friends are coming over and we are talking about how to reach out into our community. I'm thinking we might make it a decal party.

Ethiopian Adoption Network (OCEAN)

2011-09-09T11:41:00.000-07:00

On Sunday this past weekend the OCEAN (Orange County Ethiopian Adoption Network) gathered together for a family picnic. I cannot TELL you how much this means to me. Really. I love this group. There were some new faces and several old, but our hearts mesh and intertwine over a mutual love for Ethiopia and adoption. 19 grown ups, 26 kids, and 2 still waiting to come home!

I look around and see smiling faces and I remember when we were in process, when we NEVER thought we would travel, but how far we have come! I remember three years ago when Kendra and I were on the phone impatient and frustrated. And when Laurie let me cry on her guest bed. And when Carrie and I dreamed of summers swimming with our Ethiopian boys splashing and giggling. How far we’ve come! Look at these sweet children who needed a family and now they have one. Look at these parents and siblings, who longed for another child, and they have one. I am overwhelmed at God’s faithfulness. Up close we don’t always see. But pull back and open our eyes and watch how His hand has moved—it’s breathtaking.

Dirty Looks and Angry Eyes

2011-09-01T08:00:00.000-07:00

We’ve been talking a lot over at the Yates home about ‘angry eyes.’

Angry Eyes [ang-gree][ahyz] n. noun: When your child (or another human being) gives you the look of death.

Turns out, Kenny Loggins has a song called Angry Eyes. He must have had a 3 year old too.

Parents, it is YOUR job to socialize your children. And it is MY JOB to do the same with my own.

Looks can sting just as much as words. It is MY RESPONSIBILITY to teach this adorable, spirited child how to interact with others.

I can nip things at three that are significantly harder to nip at 10. Is he going to go to preschool and when the teacher asks him to pick up his toys, shoot fire darts out of his eyes at the person in authority? Or, will he say “Yes, Mrs. Lee” and clean up alongside the rest of the class? If a child at the park approaches him and tries to play with him (as many friendly children do), is he going to stare them down with his angry eyes, to the point the child runs away frightened? Or will he put on his ‘welcome eyes’ and make new friends? When his mommy says “It’s time to go to bed,” will he launch fiery missiles from his corneas? Or does he submit to the authority of his mommy and say, “Ok mom.”

Anger is not a forbidden emotion in this home. Even God feels anger. Jesus turned over tables. But tantrums, hitting, kicking, biting, and evil glares are not respectful, ever.

This morning I do not give him the answer he wants and his little brown eyes glare at me, shooting bullets.

He’s aiming to wound. He wants me to know how very mad he is. He’s giving me the angry eyes.

I can feel my own anger welling up. How can you give your mother a look like that, when the entire morning has revolved around pleasing YOU, sweet gregarious Bean?

“Let it come out, Jesus,” I murmur under my breath. “And give me the wisdom to coach this.”

As I walk towards him he starts screaming. Because he knows I’m going to rebuke it. He’s screaming so loud I cannot hear or talk to him. I grab his arm and he drops like a dead weight kicking and protesting. We are outside in the front yard, and it’s loud and now he starts shouting DAAADDDDDY DAAAADDDDY, looking for anyone who would save him from this moment.

We come in the house and I let it all come out in the ‘whining room.’ I give him permission to ‘get his anger out’ with the washer and dryer as his only listening audience. When he’s done, we sit on the couch together and I try to talk it through.

“I so so so angee atchoo mommy. Dat makes me so so so angee.”

“Mmmhmmm,” I say.

“You said no and I wan to go swimm width my fend Benner and you say no and that makes me so so so angee.”

I repeat it back, “It made you so angry that you didn’t get to swim with Brenner.”

“MMMhmmm. So angee. I don like dat.”

“It’s ok to be angry,” I remind. “But it is not ok to scream. It is not ok to give mommy angry eyes. It is not ok to kick.”

He nods. I nod. We make sweet eye contact again.

He climbs on my lap and we snuggle and I tell him I love him and he says he loves me.

I could let the angry eyes slide, I could. (And boy am I tempted on my tired days!) But I CANNOT and I SHOULD NOT. And neither should you. It is my awesome, overwhelming, important responsibility to train up this child. And I KNOW in my gut that this moment I cannot be idle and I cannot be soft. EVERY CHILD needs a mother to protect them and teach them and love them AND DISCIPLINE THEM!

Praying for all you mommies out there who hold the line EVERY DAY!!

Ethiopian Families Get Together

2011-08-30T08:30:00.000-07:00

ETHIOPIAN ADOPTIVE FAMILY PICNIC

All are welcome!

Those who have adopted or are in process of adopting from Ethiopia

and live in Orange County, CA,

to a family picnic.

Sunday, September 4

4:00 PM

Cedar Grove Park

11385 Pioneer Rd

Tustin, CA 92782

Bring your own picnic for your family.

We hope you can come!

If you are interested, please leave a comment with your email and I will forward you the evite.

This is a great chance to connect with Ethiopian adoptive families in our community.

So far there are 6 families attending!

Book Review: Loving Jesus, by Mother Teresa

2011-08-29T08:29:00.000-07:00

You know a book is good when you tap your husband on the shoulder multiple times mid flight to read outloud a profound statement from its pages. And so it was with Loving Jesus, by Mother Teresa.

This little book of 165 pages is a compilation of addresses, speeches, sayings, and comments of Mother Teresa of Calcutta. It also contains very broad biographical information on her life and role with the Missionaries of Charity. It took only a few hours for me to read, but I went back and reread and reread.

I HIGHLY recommend it.

I can make my faith pretty complicated sometimes. I don’t think that is altogether “bad,” but I found this book extremely refreshing and simple. She’s sharing about complex, hard-to-swallow things—leprosy and AIDS and the poor and the orphaned child—but her words are profound, and everything boils back to loving Jesus.

“The world is not only hungry for bread but for love. You may not see in your country the sick eaten away by worms, but there are other kinds of worms that gnaw at hearts.”

“God has made you and me for greater things: to love and to be loved. We are not just numbers in the world.”

“If in your family, your daughter or son has done something wrong, forgive them. Show them the forgiving heart of God.”

“When you are cooking, washing clothes, working hard in the office, do it all with joy. That will be your love for God in action.”

These Worthless Eyes

2011-08-22T10:19:00.000-07:00

I yell loudly, “Have mercy on me!”

They tell me to shut up. They tell me to be quiet.

I feel small and stupid. He’s walking by—I’ve heard the whispers and rumblings of miracles. This is my ONE SHOT. This is my chance. I’m not going to let it slip by because some neighbors slighted me.

I cry out louder, “Lord, have mercy on me!!”

He stops. And turns. And He says, “What do you need?” (because that’s what a loving God does).

And I cry, “I want my sight!”

His eyes fill with compassion. He reaches out his hands and touches my face. He strokes these worthless eyes. His skin is warm. Nobody has touched me like this before.

And immediately I receive … my sight.

I’m begging that I see with these new eyes. God at work, Jesus in the brokenness, His extravagant love in my neighbor, God’s generous grace in the faces of my mini-people, His detailed plans in the unknown, Him in the everything.

SO SO SO SO grateful.

Sacrifice not Charity

2011-08-20T08:29:00.000-07:00

"We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give."

Winston Churchill

You can give more. Yes, even more.

That’s what the Holy Spirit spoke to me, as my eyes were welling up with tears.

Borders went bankrupt and nearly 11,000 people are losing their jobs. For those of you that don’t know, Bookguy is in the book business. The collapse of what was once one of the biggest retail bookstores (the one that chewed apart and digested the little bookstores) reminds me that we are in a different economic season.

The children are going to a new school next year—Spirit Academy. It is 2 days a week at school, 3 days a week at home with me as the co-teacher. The door of the old school was SLAMMED shut—not an option at all. I’m excited about the extra time I will have with the children every day, and scared.

I’m working about 30 hours a week right now for an organization I love. And I praise God for letting me work for Him, and for the income, and for the grand privilege of participating in what He’s doing in Uganda. But working from home during the summer when my three children are home (and I enjoy them so much) has been a logistical challenge.

How will I do it all? HOW? I am one person. One.

Bookguy works around 55-60 hours a week, and I confess that I’m jealous when I hear about other husbands pulling in the driveway at 5 pm.

I praise Jesus for the pressure cooker. I really, really do. And I miss my sleep. I really, really do. :)

My natural inclination is to cut back. To pull everything back. To cut back our pocketbooks. To cut back commitments. To cancel. To not sign up. To say no.

But what God said today was: You can give more. Yes, even more.

To give when we have room, when we have time, when we have money, when we have margin and reserve and desire, that requires hardly anything. It’s an easy yes. It’s charity. But it is NOT sacrifice.

Sacrifice is what Jesus did. It’s how He lived. Every day, for the purpose of Another. It’s every day, laying aside Himself, being fully dependent on the Father. It’s every day, trusting God would give Him enough for today. Abundant sharing. Extravagant generosity. Every day in the pressure cooker. Every day giving more and more of Himself, until He gave it all.

How will I do it all? I'll just put one foot in front of the other and give extravagantly today. Tomorrow will take care of itself.

Learning Activities for Young Children

2011-08-18T07:52:00.000-07:00

Some "school" we are enjoying these days ...

You multiply the white dice by each other to make a product of 80. Then you take the three blue dice to try to make 80 (or as close as you can get) in as many formulas as you can. 6(4) x 3=72 (for example) Try to avoid addition and subtraction for a challenge.

I love Explore the Code. If you have a new reader or a child who doesn't love reading, I highly recommend this phonics based workbook that breaks down phonetic sounds and spellings and sentences. Let your child feel the success one page at a time!

Kanoodle: Brain twisting solitaire in 2 and 3 dimensions. Great for kids 5-8 years old.

Counting animals. Every family with preschoolers should have them. Sort by color. Sort by animal. Count each animal--which has more, which has less ...

She's been begging me to teach her to braid. But it takes practice. Find yourself three pipecleaners and watch her learn!

Give them a tape measure and write down a list of things for them to size up. Measure the coffee table, the circumference of a watermelon, their waist, how tall, wide, long, how fat, how skinny, how short ... for an extra challenge, have them measure in inches and then make them convert to centimeters.

And this one is for me: Super Teacher Worksheets. I'm not in love with worksheets, but I was looking to give Pumpkin a little challenge, and there I found some grammar he could dissect, some fractions he could reduce, and some brain teasers. Highly recommend if you are trying to refresh your child before school starts.

My Pop, My Husband, My God: Being "Fully Devoted"

2011-08-16T08:44:00.000-07:00

This is a very personal blog post, but I love it, and I want to document it. :) Sorry it’s a bit long.

My husband, my daddy, and I have been emailing about what it means to be a ‘fully devoted follower of Jesus.” The initial discussion started at Lake Almanor over our summer vacation. It continues still. I love that the two men in my life are emailing about the big Man in my life.

So the emails started with Bookguy asking my Pop how his small group discussion went at church. This was my dad’s reply:

The discussion turned into about a "discovery" process that we still haven 't finished. The first couple of weeks, we had about 20 people discussing the definition of a Fully Devoted Follower of Christ. In the next weeks, we had people coming and going too much - probably we should not have done this during the summer. But in the end, I do have a definition (more like a list of attributes) that we would use to define a "fully devoted follower of Christ". Our really serious discussion was around the word "fully". We did not really agree on that .... some people saying that "fully" means completely sold out and other people saying that "fully" means something like "as much as can be expected in today's world". The other questions (How did you learn the fundamentals of Christianity? and How did you learn to apply the fundamentals of Christian living?) really pointed to the importance of being discipled and being a discipler. The difficulty is to take it from the abstract and talk about our personal walk. Exactly who am I discipling? Exactly who (by name) is discipling me?

Its funny you're asking about this because I just finished playing golf with my pastor and we talked a lot about next steps. He is just back from Uganda. The hard part of this discussion will be transitioning from an interesting discussion and brainstorming to actual personal application.

Then Bookguy responded:

I found it interesting that there are some in the group who think "fully" ought to be defined as "as much as can be expected today." I wonder if they can actually hear Christ suggesting such a standard.

Our client, David Platt, who wrote Radical and Radical Together (the books I once gave you to give to your pastor), talks about the role of Christians is to make disciples who make disciples who make disciples. Sounds a lot like what you guys are trying to figure out. I think it's a worthy pursuit.

Then I chimed in:

Perhaps I am over simplifying, but I think most of the time we know, in our gut, what He wants us to do. Don't you think? If we are seeking Jesus truly, as in, reading Scripture and in prayer with the Father, and tapping into Him throughout our day, the Holy Spirit, who is inside of all of us, will tell us what He wants us to do. It is not 'fully devoted' when we choose to say no to the nudge. It is not 'fully devoted' when we ignore Him. It is not 'fully devoted' when we take excursions off the Cruiseship to explore what else is out there. (and then come back for buffet dinner).

The nudge can very well send us out on Lake Almanor for rest and alone time with Him and quality time with our wife or our pastor. The nudge can tell us to speak up at Elder meetings on a point that will bring controversy. The nudge can tell us to volunteer in this capacity or that capacity. The nudge can tell us to invite a couple over for dinner (a couple we cant stand) or give away $2,000 to a charity in Omaha. or sell everything we have. Or change jobs. Or simply keep doing what we're doing. I think 'the nudge' starts first as very subtle and there is not enough cultivation of listening in our lives--because they are congested, because the Church has not taught it. And I think most of us might subconsciously be afraid that 'fully devoted' will tell us to do something asinine and crazy, like lay our Issac on the altar. Or that we'll end up crucified by our ankles.

Where I feel convicted (and where a church should be terrified) is when we sense the nudge, when the HS speaks, but we don't yield. That is not "fully devoted." We all have acts of rebellion in us. I see the Bean's temper tantrums and his protesting, and we do the exact same thing with God. He says "Come here right now" and we say NOOOOOO. He says "You must share" and we say NOOOOOO. He says "Do not argue with me" and we say WHHHHHYYYYYY. He says "Be kind to one another" and we say I DONT LIKE HIM. etc etc.

Sure would love to be a part of these discussion Pop. You are a good facilitator for these kinds of conversations!

Pop came back:

I just had to share with you guys .....

Today's lesson was great. People are actually thinking about the definition of "fully devoted". We started a conversation today and one person said that a "fully devoted Christian" might be compared to a marriage. Their reasoning was that a husband and wife can be fully devoted to one another - but life goes on. They are not always hanging on every word or every wish of one another. They do not think of one another constantly. But, each would say that they are "fully devoted" to their spouse.
Another person in the group gave the example the Bible Verse that says "pray without ceasing". His point was that this does not mean we should literally be praying 24 hrs. a day. We must have room to do other things. But, it does mean "pray alot" and "talk with Him a lot."
These two analogies are along Karen's line of thinking. "Fully devoted" may not be achievable in the literal sense of the word "fully". It may not even be that the disciples (who dropped everything to follow Him) were "fully" devoted. But, it does mean "fully" in the sense of spending a lot of conscious time and thought with Him and having Him be the filter of our thoughts, words and actions.

Anyway, its nice when folks are actually thinking about the discussions we have. I was encouraged. I'm still not sure of the definition of "fully devoted". But I like that people are thinking about it from week-to-week.

Bookguy:

That's fantastic. As I was reading the analogy of the married couple, one thought that came to mind was, they do not think of one another constantly, but they make all their decisions (especially the important ones) with the other in mind. I didn't get a chance to chime in last week in response to Karen's email, but I certainly liked what she said. I don't think being fully devoted to Christ means that we never have any fun or do anything other than pray, read the Bible, worship, and serve/evangelize. A client of mine wrote a book a couple years ago called Pure Pleasure: Why Do Christians Feel So Bad About Feeling Good? One of the major premises of the book was that God designed the Earth for our pleasure. Look at Eden before the Fall. It was all very good and for man's enjoyment and dominion. Yes, Adam and Eve walked with God in the Garden, but not every moment (otherwise He would have been there right next to them as the serpent was tempting them). And the Garden was there for them to enjoy. A key message of the book is that if we don't build enough healthy pleasure into our lives, we will be far more likely to be attracted to and give in to the illicit pleasures that are harmful to us (even if we know they are harmful). He gives some great examples that I won't go into here, but I found his point very compelling. If we have a sufficient amount of healthy pleasure in our lives, then the illicit pleasures/temptations won't really be tempting to us. Our bodies/souls/spirits won't be so starved for pleasure that we'll make foolish choices just to experience some pleasure. I think God wants us to rest (Jesus certainly needed to pull away from the crowds to be refreshed) and He wants us to enjoy the wonderful things He has created (like golf and fishing; and I think He wants us to bring Him with us into those things, too). But I also don’t think He wants us to go on a permanent fishing (or other leisure activity) vacation. I think there's a balance to be struck for the "fully devoted follower." Without that balance, I think even the fully devoted follower can end up burned out or falling into the kind of temptation that leads to a major fall (see any number of major Christian figures as an example). Anyway, I love that you guys are having this discussion and that people are thinking about it. And I really wish we could either participate or at least be flies on the wall…

OK, me again … It’s my turn to respond to these email threads, but I thought this was such an interesting dialogue, I’d plop it up on this blog and see if anyone wants to chime in with their thoughts. (Chris Estoll, this is perfect for you and I’ll be disappointed if you stay silent--hee hee). What does it look like to be a ‘fully devoted follower of Jesus’?

I am a Clueless Mommy

2011-08-12T09:32:00.000-07:00

Yesterday the Bean had two ginormous tantrums. The first lasted for about 45 minutes at our home and seemingly came out of the blue. The second lasted about 20 minutes in the frozen food section of Trader Joes.

I am not a perfect mommy. I am a clueless mommy.

These days, that the Bean was adopted doesn’t really surface in my mind much. We are 3 years post adoption. We are fully integrated. When it does surface, it’s usually the work of the Enemy jabbing me with fear.

Will he resent me?

Will he believe he was born for a purpose?

Will he feel like an outsider?

Will he one day reject me as his mother?

Will he rebel in his teenage years?

For Pumpkin and Peanut, tantrums at 3 meant ‘the terrible threes’ had reared their ugly head. Why then, with the Bean, do fits of rage ignite the kindling of adoption fears?

Aren’t I really clueless with all my children?

I don’t mean to negate or dismiss the very real struggles adopted children can face. Adoption social workers encourage and educate parents to lookout for identity, attachment, and anger issues in children who come to a family through adoption. And it’s good to be prepared and aware.

My point is, we worry about all our children. We feel inadequate and dumbfounded as broken people entrusted with the extravagant task of raising broken people. I mean, what a joke, right? We are so ill qualified for this job, and yet, why does God give it to us?

To BLESS us. And to GROW us.

So I take the blessing. The delight. I accept this privilege—I get to be mommy to three children. I get to snuggle them and rub soapy water on their cute bodies. I discipline them and teach them to count to 10 and sing ABCs. I show how to reduce fractions and I comfort when she has a fever. He tastes the cookie dough and asks why people are homeless. I show how to hold a pencil and rebuke over harsh words, and I toss him into the swimming pool, and we lay on the bed playing “would you rather.” These sweet moments are all mine—given to me by my own Father. I get to raise His children.

And I take the opportunity to grow. Every day this is His gift to draw me closer—to nuzzle me. The magnificent practice of taking every thought captive, to give Him every worry and every anxious question, to beg for wisdom from the Holy Spirit, to plead for abundant patience and grace, over and over. To not sin in my anger. To be humbled. To be confronted with my own selfishness. To fall on my knees and confess that today I’m worried my son, who was adopted, might reject me in ten years, and allow my Father to scoop me up in His arms and whisper, “I have given you Me, to guide you through this, and I will not leave you or forsake you.” To feel the weight of cluelessness, so that I run to him and run FAST.

Eucharisto.

Dear Recycle Scavenger

2011-08-10T08:13:00.000-07:00

I’m around the corner from my house when I see a cop chatting with my neighbor in the middle of the road. I drive by and ask, “Is everything ok?” “Yes,” neighbor shares. “There’s a guy stealing from our recycle bins. So I called the cops on him.”

He must have read my expression. He continued: “I already caught him going through our recycle bin before. And we are required by law to recycle 20% of our trash, or we might have an increase in our recycle bill.”

Still speechless, he persuades: “It’s stealing. Those are our recycle bins.”

A-hem. Excuuuuuuse me, but did you not throw out your object because you no longer wanted it? Did you not want to recycle it, as in reuse? Is there nothing more serious for this police officer to do? Shall we start ticketing and scolding and arresting people for these sorts of minuscule, harmless infractions? How much, realistically, will your recycle bill increase? And are those objects yours to begin with?!

I have a note on my recycle bin now. It reads:

Dear Recycle Scavenger,

You are welcome to taking anything you want out of my recycle bin and trash can. You must need it. And I've tossed it out so I obviously I don't. I hope it serves you the way it served me.

Intentional Parenting

2011-08-08T07:34:00.000-07:00

I was talking with some Atlanta friends last week, and I was inspired.

Two things God is teaching them. To become more intentional parents. And to let go and listen.

My heart. My heart.

Right now the Bean follows me EVERYWHERE I go. If he’s not following me, he’s following Pumpkin. I can’t pee by myself. If I’m cooking dinner, he’ll be sitting at my feet banging tinker toys on Tupperware. If I’m playing with another kid, he’ll be by my side demanding his turn.

All I want is for him to become 10% more independent, so I can think and cook and so I can take a shower and spread the wealth of my attention.

Then though, I look at Peanut, who is fast becoming so independent I beg her to let me strap a brick to her head so she stops growing.

And I see Pumpkin only needs me for the big bruises and the big wounds; he’s too independent.

I probably have 4 or 5 years left before Pumpkin is completely over me. Before I’m the Gatorade shuttle driver trying to pry out of him remnants of his day. Before girls start crushing. I climb onto the top bunk tonight and he’s shirtless in pajama pants reading Harry Potter. I start tickling his back. He sets down the book, closes his eyes, lays his head on the quilt and mutters, “I like it when you softly scratch my back.” I breathe deep and smile.

I probably have only one year left that Peanut can sit on the counter and watch me cook. She’ll be standing on the ground soon, eyes peering over. And in a year or two she’ll probably start caring whether her outfit matches, and she’ll ask for strappy sandals with a tiny heel. She’s in the paisley chair snuggled in a ball, chilled from the evening breeze, so I scoop all 41 lbs of her in my arms and grab the blanket and we read “The Princess and The Kiss.”

In two or three years I could take the Bean on his first trip to Ethiopia. He’ll be tying shoe laces and playing tee ball and getting his own cereal. But today we pretend he’s a puppy named Sandy, and he crawls on all fours about the house with his tongue out, panting. He falls asleep in my lap at 4 in the afternoon at a friend’s pool, and I smell his hair and his finger twitches while I rock.

Savor.

It goes SO VERY fast. I want every bite to matter—every taste of this precious time with them to be devoured as gift. Maybe the first and best step to becoming an intentional parent is simply to try.

Why You Should Go on a Short-Term Mission Trip

2011-08-05T10:33:00.000-07:00

When I worked at Open Doors I had the unique privilege to meet pastors and church leaders from all over the world.

Though much separated these believers, (culture, language, doctrine, theology), they modeled unity.

Because they had to.

When your religion is .01% of the population, you're just relieved to encounter someone who won’t betray you, throw you in jail, or beat you up because you hail the name of Jesus.

I used to think Jesus was American. I didn’t know that’s what I thought, and I wouldn’t have said that out loud, but when I pictured how He operated, how He moved and worked, I envisioned Him in my land. I knew in my head, of course, that God was God for all people. That Jesus came for all men and all women. But red and yellow, black and white, we are all precious in His sight, except He happened to be white like me, and brown-haired, like me, and he spoke English and wore flip flops, like me.

In ways I don’t even realize I still do this.

It’s western Christianity to have a church bulletin. It’s western Christianity to assume someone needs Prozac, rather than thinking he might have a spirit of discouragement/death hovering over him. It’s western Christianity to repeat the tag line of your worship song 3 times at end. It’s western Christianity for your church to have a bookstore and coffee bar, and for your service to end 1 hour and 15 minutes after it starts.

These are just a few.

I’ve come to think that maybe one of the greatest benefits of a short term mission trip experience is the participant’s exposure to a Christianity that does not belong to Western culture. It’s seeing the universal language that is Jesus. It’s witnessing the children in Uganda, dancing and singing and reciting the Bible from memory. It’s witnessing Hanna Massad pastoring his struggling, suffering Church in Gaza. It’s seeing workers praying earnestly in an orphanage in the Ukraine. It’s seeing Chinese underground church pastors like Mr. Jin stand up for the freedom to worship God.

Worship Center in Masese, outside of Jinja, Uganda

Participating in prayer with another believer who does not speak your language, that will grow you. Watching him turn the pages of His Bible right to left (instead of left to right), you learn. Seeing him on his knees for a 3 hour church service. When he’s baptized in a blow-up kiddie pool … when the church’s children and babies and elderly sit under an Acacia as the pastor teaches … when they shout “AMEN” in the middle of your prayer …

The benefit of a short term mission experience, I think, (apart from all the ‘helping’ we think we are doing), can be a good dose of ‘majoring in the majors.’ When the Church becomes bigger, the outcome can be that those things which divide and separate the western Church become significantly smaller. (or so I hope). The more we experience how BIG and WIDE and INCLUSIVE His Church truly is, the more we discover the depth and breadth of His Body and His ways and His Person. And while it may be comforting and natural to think of God being American, grasping that His character is as universal to every person as the Sun or the Milky Way is a generous, bountiful offering we give ourselves and our Western Church.

Rest

2011-08-02T07:08:00.001-07:00

It’s time to plug back into the Matrix. I’ve been in South Dakota, out of cell reception and with limited free time. And it’s been nice.

Before we left, I was feeling really overwhelmed. So overwhelmed I didn’t want to go. I wanted to hole up in my house and cross things off my to-do list.

And I was tired. I had pulled several nights of limited sleep trying to get it all done.

Thank you Jesus, for removing me from the pressure cooker.

“Do not let today’s troubles become tomorrow’s burden.”

Everything that seemed SO. VERY. URGENT. last week is still there. But the difference is, what seemed huge, insurmountable, overwhelming, and scary last week seems a whole heck of a lot simpler today.

I finished Loving Jesus, a collection of Mother Teresa’s writings. I gazed into the campfire. I stayed up reading by book light while my whole family slept within 5 feet of me. I smelled pine and ate ice cream. I marveled at the four great presidents chiseled into rock. I chased a squirrel. I threw the frisbee with an honorable, loving, hot man. I slept probably 9 hours each night.

Rest. I needed it.

Family Reunion

2011-07-30T08:29:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of Yates. And we're all spread out all over the country.

So we're meeting up! At MT. RUSHMORE! Hiking, swimming, campfires, and lots of catching up to do! Kids are super duper excited!

GOTCHA! (3 YEARS AGO!)

2011-07-28T07:25:00.000-07:00

Happy Gotcha Day to our Bean! I sat at my computer sifting through photos of our trip to Ethiopia. And I started welling up. This is how it all started.

What an amazing delight the Bean is to our whole family. I cannot imagine our lives without his joy, laughter, mischief, energy, incredible sense of humor, musicality, and affection. I am SO blessed to be his mother.

Here is an excerpt taken from my journal, written on the plane to Ethiopia, three years ago this day.
I've been told adoption is a huge faith journey. Faith is not always able to allow the space and time to process what you are being asked to do. Many days dont afford digestion of all we're learning. You just walk forward. It started with a persistent nudge, to a longing in my heart, to a burning fire, to confirmations in dreams, people, and circumstances. You can't think too deeply or too much--we just respond . . . and now we are on a plane to Ethiopia!! At times in this I have felt very uncomfortable, and other times I think I am still getting off easily. I don't ask in anyway for hardship, but when you are a parent, you know it is always worth it . . . your children are blessings. My children are gifts from the Lord . . . treasures I've been asked to love, care for, and raise. What a privilege! Thank you God for allowing us to do this again--to grow our family and have another son! I'm sooo grateful.

Karimojoa

2011-07-26T07:47:00.000-07:00

It's 12:31 am. I just finished a work project; I'm tired. But before I crawl into my bed, I've been meaning for days to share this ...

When I was in Uganda, I met two ladies, Michaela and Kristi. And I've been reading their blogs. They work in Karimojoa (not near Katie). It's a place of terrible suffering and heartache.

In Michaela's last post she says they need workers. She says if anyone wants to come, please email her. This is her blog: http://ourheartfortheleastofthese.blogspot.com/

This is Kristi's blog: http://www.williamsinthewilderness.com/index.html

I wish I was there and could help. And I'm not going to lie, the thought did cross my mind to list our house on VRBO and pack our bags and head over there for a few months ...

Here is an opportunity to serve a tribal group who does not know Jesus, to encourage a team of people who have been building rapport for a year, to see another face of God's world, to be the hands and feet of Jesus, and they are asking for help. They aren't asking for your money (although I'm sure they could use donations). They are asking for you to come. Can you? Will you?

Shane Claiborne on What It Means to Be A Christian

2011-07-20T08:16:00.000-07:00

He's such a cool person. Love this.

The Comfort of Mother God

2011-07-18T08:11:00.000-07:00

He used to come to me with every cut, every scrape, every bruise. He’d come running down the street or barging in the kitchen, tears streaming down his face.

And I would grab a wet paper towel and set him on a chair and put wetness on his wound. I’d wrap my arms around him and say I was sorry, and tell him it would get better, and that God made our bodies to heal. We’d snuggle together till the tears went away.

I would bathe him at night and rub lavender soap on his body and see the scratch from the rose bush, and the skinned knee, and I’d tell him how the bubbly water was good for owies. I’d help him put on his PJs and I’d kiss his chunky legs and zerbert his belly while he laughed, till he forgot about the owie, or till he felt a little bit better.

I knew every wound.

Now he’s going to be a third grader, and I’m rubbing sunblock on his back and his elbow is scabbed. “How’d that happen?” I ask. “Oh, baseball.” And then I see him swimming with his shirt off and see a large scab on his hip, “Did you hurt your hip?” “Mhmm …. Sliding into second.”

I grieve. He’s getting older, and he is beginning to take on his wounds all by himself—the ones on the outside, and the ones on the inside.

It dawns on me. Perhaps my Father feels the same about me. He grieves: “I see that scrape and I see that bruise. I want to be your Comforter. I wish you would bring me your tears, offer me the bad dream, run into my arms when you’re bleeding and in pain. I love to comfort you. I love to hold you. I love to take your wounds onto myself. Won't you let me Mother you?”

The End of Poverty

2011-07-13T15:52:00.000-07:00

Does it feel hopeless? It is NOT hopeless. We are making a difference. We are half way there! We need to be reminded more often the strides we are making!!

Jean Vanier on the transformative life

2011-07-09T07:24:00.000-07:00

I copied this from my friend Chris Heuertz blog. If you read it, you'll understand why it touched something deep in me (considering we are re-adjusting after Uganda).

"A couple of years ago I had breakfast with Jean Vanier, the French Canadian founder of the L’Arche movement. L’Arche is an international network of communities made up of people with disabilities and those who come to share life with them. Jean Vanier has spent the last 40 years living in such communities. I asked him, “What’s the hardest part?” I was expecting he’d say “Sometimes I get fed up of being with developmentally disabled people and I just long for a normal life,” or something like that. But what he said was this. “Sam, if you really want to know, the hardest part is when young people come from college and they stay with us for a summer, or maybe for a year. And they say ‘This has been the most amazing experience of my life – I’ve learnt to see the world so differently and value things so truly and ponder things so deeply.’ And they have this word they like to use… ‘transformative,’ that’s it. They say it’s been transformative. And then they leave. And I think, ‘If it’s all been so fantastic and transformative, why are you leaving?’” And I said to this great man, maybe the greatest man I’ve ever met, “Ah, but don’t you see, if life is fundamentally the accumulation of experiences, you have to leave, otherwise you’d have to rethink your whole life.” “Oh,” he said. “So people leave, because they’re frightened of who they’re becoming if they stay." — Dean Sam Wells, Where Are You Staying? (via invisibleforeigner)

Lake Almanor Highlights

2011-07-08T08:18:00.000-07:00

You may not be aware that there is a small percent of the northern California population that wishes to succeed from southern California. I have no political or societal or economic reason to support it. (haha). But California is rather big and diverse and on the brink of bankruptcy and our schools are in the toilet … I’m just saying, perhaps it might be time for change?
But I digress.

Growing up in northern California during the summer we country folk went to the river or the lake. Every summer Bookguy and I venture to Lake Almanor with my parents. A 10 hour drive from our house in South California and nestled at the foot of Mt. Lassen, we eat smores, sit by the lake with inflatable rafts and tubes, fish, wakeboard, read, chat.

Highlights from our trip:

1. Fishing with my dad—I love waking up slowly to the sound of lapping water against the boat, watching my pole, talking with my daddy. I feel so incredibly blessed to have grown up in a home of love.

2. Two short runs in the evening pine.

3. Zilch with my mom and dad after the kids are in bed.

4. Ping-pong with Pumpkin.

5. Many Pine Shack Frostee ice creams.

6. A hostile deer almost ate my parents’ dog. (I had to throw that in because it was the oddest thing I’ve seen in a really long time).

7. Setting 20 crickets free—leftover bait escaped certain drowning. Boy did the kids love the chaos.

8. Finishing The Glass Castle and starting Beautiful Outlaw.

9. Watching the Bean tube. He’s three. He has no fear. He is SUCH a stud.

10. Building sandcastles with Peanut (who, these days, is insisting I call her Strawberry (but I’m not having it)). We had a moat and a church with a steeple and a bridge—quite impressive.

11. Smores with the whole family.

12. Shooting guns at cans, targets, bottlecaps, and peaches.

13. Conversations about discipleship and simple spirituality. Makes my heart swell that I can talk with my parents so openly about the Love of my life.

14. Fireworks with my sister and her family. I really enjoyed catching up with them. I think she and my brother in law are excellent parents, and I watch them and learn so much. My neice and nephew are pretty stinkin' awesome.

15. Lunch with Great Mama. She's getting older, and its sad. I watched the Bean give her snuggles and Peanut asking about her kitty (affectionately named Baby). When we got home yesterday, Pumpkin went to his room and came down with a letter he had written for Great Mama. It said, "Dear Great Mama, I am so glad I got to have lunch with you. I am excited to see you at Thanksgiving. Love, Pumpkin." Short, sweet, simple. But his very own, also unprompted. We addressed it together, and moments like this make me think I must be doing something right as mommy. What fine children I have.

I hope you all are finding rest this summer. ;)

Happy Birthday America!

2011-07-04T14:17:00.000-07:00

I'm so grateful for freedom.

reverse culture shock

2011-06-25T10:16:00.000-07:00

Americans smell lovely. Or at least all my friends and family and acquaintances. Even the grocery store checker smells like vanilla. :)

I take a Boda ride in Uganda and my driver smells like BO. Lots of people smell like BO, actually. And the air smells like a cross between trash, smoke, coal, and exhaust. When we first stepped off the plane, I noticed the smell immediately. But after a few days, not so much.

The nice thing about people not smelling like Elizabeth Taylor is that when you smell, it’s perfectly kosher.

Dad and I went to Costco today, and while he dropped off film, I stood looking at the electronics. A TV for $2,999. And that was not the most expensive TV.

I also stumbled across this pet store: the Whole Foods for dogs and cats. I know that animals are special and pets are important, but I see no reason for your dog to be fat or require organic dog food when there are human beings, created in the image of God, across the world and right here in America who are starving, thirsty, without medicine, and without Jesus.

I live pages of people, things, activities, and I search for what matters most. If I had to cut out this or that, could I? If it is cut-out-able, do I really need it in the first place? What do I want to cut out and what does God want to cut out? And am I willing to cut out what He wants at the expense of what I want? And conversely, am I willing to add what He wants if he means pinching out what I want?

For only $7 you can put a feather in your hair and look like a supermodel. Everybody's doing it.

Peanut had a playdate and I learned about Hinduism. I think I am more equipped to talk about Islam with a Muslim than I am Hinduism with a Hindu. “You should go into a temple sometime,” she said. “There are so many idols. Idols everywhere.” “What do you do with them?” I asked. “Do you worship them, or pray to them, or what?” “All of that,” she said.

I don’t have to go into a Hindu temple to find idols, though. They’re everywhere.

A mailer arrived at my door. Turns out I deserve Lasik. (Actually, I’ve been told for about a decade that Lasik was created for people like me. I’m legally blind, and I have worn glasses/contacts since the third grade, and the thought of waking up one morning being able to see my alarm clock is quite tempting).

But do I deserve it? No. None of us deserve anything but the worst, and yet God gives us the best. Always His best. In His grace, because He is good, because He loves us, we have EVERYTHING. Everything we need for today's daily bread.

That I may realize without Him I am nothing.

Special Dad

2011-06-23T09:21:00.000-07:00

For Father's Day this year, the children wrote and illustrated a photo book for Bookguy, as well as a photo frame for his office. It was so sweet the way the children took their time to creatively think through the book and what they wanted to say.

Greatness

2011-06-20T08:06:00.000-07:00

It’s been more than two weeks since we’ve been back, and I’m troubled with how quickly we’ve reentered the rat race.

Bogged by a congested schedule, the kid’s needs and being on summer vacation, volunteer opportunities, catching up on job stuff after being gone, school stuff for next year, I feel like I jumped into a cold pool. And it isn’t refreshing. It’s freezing.

I periodically pull myself out of the tailspin with gratitude.

*sincere words of love on paper
*9 uninterrupted minutes on a baby grand
*patio Bratwurst with friends
*red koolaid taste buds and grins
At church today the pastor spoke on inspired living. Most everyone I know wants to live an inspired life. Few people shoot for middle management. Mediocre family. Average friendships. Forgettable kids. A sub-par house in a blasé community in a tile-roof town.

No.

They want greatness. They want to be a part of something bigger.

We want to stumble upon God in a burning bush, and be the one He picks to turn water into blood. We want God’s finger to reach out and touch our mouth so every word we speak is ordained by Him alone. We want to sit with Him at the last supper and break bread and be in His presence. We want to build a Great Church and lead 3,000 people to faith and baptism in a single day. We want to be on the road and a great light speak to us a new name. We want mountain top moments—all of us.

But with the burning bush comes the murder.

His finger on our lips means we have few friends and are despised as the ‘prophet of doom.’

After the last supper we are tracked, hunted, practically our whole group of friends are horrifically murdered.

We build a great church and our thanks is not fame or fortune or influence but death upside down on a Cross.

A light shines a new mission and reason for living, but the result is blindness, three exhaustive missionary journeys as a vagabond, imprisonments, beatings, hunger, loneliness.

This is greatness.

When Jesus ascendended into heaven, He sent the Holy Spirit to enable ordinary men to greatness. I have the potential to greatness. So do you. If we empty ourselves of everything we want, in exchange for everything He wants.

And that's the challenge, yes? What if He wants you to tithe 50 percent of your income and not 10? What if He wants you to change jobs? What if He wants you to cancel your remodel? What if He wants you to homeschool your children? What if He wants you to adopt a child, even though you have no idea how you'll pay for it? What if He wants you to move to the third-world where you will have no electricity and no running water and no good hospitals for your children?

Whatever You want, Lord. Whatever You want.

To surrender to Your Greatness--that we may be a part of something bigger.

Do I mean it?

Wherever You Are, Be All There

2011-06-14T07:42:00.000-07:00

I’m wearing over 20 silly bands shaped like cupcakes, castles, and Mickey Mouse.

It strikes me all the toys my children have. And I think many people would say our kids don’t have loads of toys. But we have a playroom full of puzzles and developmental toys, blocks, tinker toys, coloring supplies and art supplies—whatever we might need to create and build and explore—and if we don’t own it, we can buy it from one of 10 stores in a 15 mile radius of our home.

Earlier today I was on one of our three computers printing out worksheets of long division and improper fractions.

I notice all these things now.

We ventured to the library for new books and the children played on the computer while I rummaged through rows and rows and rows of children’s books: Harry Potter, Limony Snicket, Junie B, all about butterflies and volcanoes, and a book about manners.

Coming home is like climbing into a warm bath. Of course it feels comfy. But stay in it too long, we might get wrinkly and the water might grow cold.

I’m praying I stay soft and pliable and open and aware—that I hold on to nothing as my own, including my time and my money and my possessions.

A few nights ago I was talking with a friend about our trip. And he said something along the lines of, people who are poor do not miss all the things we have (material possessions) because they never had them. What they really need is Jesus.

And I know what he’s saying. I hear him. And I agree.

But the flip side of that argument: When she’s laying on the couch listless with typhoid and she can’t even open her eyes because her fever is so high, how can you tell her about Jesus? When he drowns out the pains of his third degree burns with alcohol and he’s so drunk from having his flesh scrubbed to the bone, does he have ears to hear about Jesus? When she has no more milk and cannot feed her crying baby, and she’s lost several babies already, does she have ears to hear about Jesus?

Sometimes we need to restore first. Show love so they can receive their Lover. Offer healing so they can receive the Healer. Comfort so they can receive the great Comforter.

Pumpkin won the all-stars, and so we had a big party at the coach’s house. They live in the hills, one of the wealthier areas of the wealthiest counties in the wealthiest country. Walking in, I determined to love and care for these people just as much as my heart broke for Kapate. I would pursue them and find out who they were, and I’d accept the spritzer they offered, and I would glean from Jim Elliott: “Wherever you are, be all there.” We’ll talk about vacations, school, kids, friends, baseball, epilepsy, blended families, and I will not label one person as more deserving of God’s love than another, or assume one is more winnable than the other. And though my heart is more drawn towards the physically poor, Jesus heart was for all men. I praise God for growing me—for taking my grumpy heart toward the rich and convicting me. Nobody deserves what He gives. Nobody. But He extends it to everybody. Everybody. To the rich and the poor, the slave and the free, the Greek and the Jew. My attitude should be the same as that of Christ, who made himself a servant and humbled himself, and became obedient to the Father, even to death.

Reflections on Uganda

2011-06-10T07:27:00.000-07:00

I'm late everywhere I go this week. I'm not alloting for traffic or slow children or road closures. Shoot.

In the OC, there are dozens of freeways to choose from and almost every freeway has 5 lanes across. People drive 80, in the slow lane.

Asthetics matter. I mentioned to my neighbor that in Uganda I didn't look in the mirror except for once in the morning to put in my contacts. Now I'm back, and I'm supposed to be cute when I run and grocery shop and fold laundry.

There are loads of regulations here. For driving. Fences. Car seats. The number of chickens you can have. How many kids in a classroom. Plants you can import. Foreign exchange students you can house at one time. Number of Starbucks in a 3 mile radius (just kidding).

Katie has a dryer but it takes 4 hours to dry one load of clothes, so she uses a clothes line or lays the clothes on the grass. And they dry just fine, faster than if they were in the dryer. She also has no dishwasher, so after she feeds 20 people dinner, everyone clears the table and we hand wash while singing or talking. She also has an empty fridge and pantry. It's because she shares everything she has and there are never leftovers.

When you have nothing, you share everything.

I can't recall coveting at all while we were there. Or comparing. Or envying. Isn't that interesting?

I can't recall hearing bickering over things--tv shows, games, possessions, food--things my kids argue over every day--who gets to eat the last bowl of cereal or whether we'll play yahtzee or sorry or what movie we'll watch on Friday night. The buffet of options is quite limited when you do not own a tv, when you don't own board games, when you have no toys, and when the pantry is bare.

I can't recall that 'oh so stuffed feeling.' My stomach shrunk after I fainted on the blue-tile bathroom floor and suffered bouts of runny poop for 12 days.

The 4:00 news lead-in tonight was: Weiner's Weiner Exposed! I kid you not.

My schedule the last few days is so. very. full. and I'm not very available and nobody swings by because we Americans are supposed to call first or make an appointment or arrange a playdate. That is because EVERYBODY has a full calendar. We're going to fundraisers, graduation parties, weddings, baby showers, dinners, baseball games, boy scouts, ballet, church, and all sorts of great things--things that suck dry every ounce of flexibility and possibility for the Spirit to move.

But when we were in Uganda I saw people with very full lives, wth little structure or definition to how they would spend their day. Maybe this was just the community I encountered. But I noticed. I noticed how they walked into each other's homes unannounced and sat on the couch for a visit. Or dropped off some groceries in the middle of the morning. Or stopped by to pick up a baby or drop off a baby, help with the children or simply meet the new girl from California. And when two typhoid victims show up on your porch, you can say yes. When someone gets in a motorcycle accident, you can sit at their bedside for a while. When someone needs blood, you drive all over Uganda trying to find it. I liked the organic nature of community and taking each day for what it is. It's rare to find.

Everything is dirty, and that means nothing is clean. Nothing clean means you don't fret if your fingernails are disgusting. If you haven't had a pedicure for 3 months. If you forgot to put on makeup or your white shirt is stained. If your bathroom has footprints on the floor and toothpaste on the mirror. There's something freeing when you don't have the pressure of an emaculate countertop, of perfectly folded and put away laundry and of two accent pillows on your duvet.

There's a lot to learn when you think through how other people do it. And if I had more energy I would keep writing. More tomorrow, I hope.

Seeing

2011-06-08T07:04:00.000-07:00

We arrived home on a Saturday night at bedtime to a garage decorated with Welcome Home, three giggling children, a full fridge, and an immaculately clean house. I'm overwhelmed.  Thank you to our family and friends who cared for our kiddos. As God would have it, our bags were delayed making us unable to unpack straight away--which allowed us to climb in bed and sleep.

On Sunday Peanut had a birthday party and Pumpkin, a baseball game. Me and Peanut went to Target for a birthday present, and I walked the aisles looking at a smorgasbord of material things.

Confession: Before Uganda there were several things I wanted. A new purse, for one. I've used the same black purse forever. A new camera lens. The one I have only goes to 85 feet and I didn't think I could capture good photos in Uganda with it. (Because (enter sarcasm), you know, the people there need me to spend my money on a good camera lens so I can take good photos of them more than they need me to SHARE my money so they can eat.) Cute new socks. Because I love them--fun socks. They make me happy. A pair of fun socks is like a new lipstick for me.

Now I walked through Target, and these wants seemed ridiculous, and I felt shame. How much changed, and I wish I could get that red dirt back so I don't find myself forgetting.

All my senses are heightened. The noise in the car. The lights in Target. The traffic, and I swear 10 cars swirved around me, irritated at how slow I was driving.

Peanut's friend's birthday party is a pony party, of all things.  There were platters of veggies and fruit and ginormous bowls of chips and a big ice chest full of cold sodas. Little girls picked a pony and would ride, and I sat with moms talking about summer vacations: Cabo, Carribean, Hawaii, Florida.  Nobody knew that my heart wished I was somewhere where we couldn't hide behind tropical vacations, pedicures, and diet cokes.

Pumpkin's baseball game: the moms are SO very pretty. They're thin and tan and in sundresses and rooting for their boys, and we silently cheer when the other team strikes out and I can't remember why this matters. The Bean has a meltdown and falls, scraping his elbow, and a nice fireman lends a bandaid and it's the best part of my day, because he looked me in the eye, and smiled.

What is the definition of luxury and who defines it?

I do not mean to be down Little League or my neighborhood. The people at the pony party and the pretty mommies on the field matter just as much as the people I met in Uganda.  But the wealth of all that we have, and we don't even realize it, how congested our lives are, with things that aren't really, in the grand scheme of things, that important ... we lose sight. Or maybe we never saw to begin with.

I want to keep seeing.

"Teach me to do your will, for you are my God; may your good Spirit lead me on level ground." Psalm 143:10

8 hours

2011-06-05T07:10:00.000-07:00

The flight from Entebee to London is long. About 8 hours. I wrote a 5-page memo, a blog post, finished a book, and started and finished a second book. We landed in London and I was exhausted. The only reason we spent the night there was that we couldn’t find a flight back to the Sates on the same day. But in the end it was a good idea, for jet lag, for processing, for our bodies physically.

Dinner at the hotel I had my first salad in 10 days—a caprese salad, so beautifully decorated. A stone with a candle inside was our centerpiece. Everything felt formal again. I had a linen tablecloth, two forks, two spoons, and a knife. My main course was vegetable risotto. This is the biggest meal I have had in 10 days and my tastebuds are happy, and I’m thinking about my Ugandan friends who eat rice and beans every day. It’s slightly humorous how many of our conversations turned to missing the tastes of foods—from Mexican to Chinese to sushi to spices to cheese to milk to yogurt to veggies and fruit. I feel a little guilty.

I took a bath in a hot tub. I ran my toothbrush under the sink water. There was a plasma tv in our hotel room inviting us to buy unlimited tv and movies and porn for 25 pounds a night. I walked by people and whiffed perfume and cologne, and the women were in high heels looking fashionable. For the first time in 10 days I felt frumpy and realized I desperately needed make up.

Me and Bookguy are processing differently, and he’s reading the newspaper catching up on sports and the Wall Street Journal and I just want to … cry. He’s being a guy, compartmentalizing, detached, and I’m being a girl, analytical and introspective and emotional.

I can’t articulate anything. I can only notice contrasts. I don’t even feel like talking, even though we try to dialogue over dinner about it all.

David Platt shares in his new book Radical Together: “The gospel compels us in the church to go to God with everything we have and everything we do and ask, What needs to go? What needs to change? What needs to stay the same? And then wait for God to answer.”

And this is what I’m doing as I crawl into a hotel bed with 6 pillows and a down comforter.

Breakfast buffet in the morning was all-you-can-eat. There was an area for waffles and pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage. There were baked pastries, yogurt, berries, plums, bananas, oranges, all sorts of cereal, jams, butter, nutella. I sat at a beautiful table where a man in a suit poured my coffee and criticized Obama for being in London when the Missouri tornadoes struck. I looked around at the comfort and the excessiveness of it all, and thought how I didn’t need it. I remembered the feeding program and what those kids would do for an orange or a stack of waffles.

We called for a taxi to the airport and somehow got a towncar with tinted windows and a middle eastern driver in a fancy suit.

8 hours. From there to here. Or here to there. 8 hours isn’t very long, and yet so much separates us.

I think when I see my kids I will burst. I miss them so much.

Thursday Feeding Program and Goodbyes

2011-06-03T11:42:00.000-07:00

It’s Thursday, and our last day, and there’s pressure to talk about everything we need to talk about, and to see whatever we haven’t seen, and inside I just want to absorb. I am done talking. I want to sit next to a friend and not say much because I don’t need to, but it’s the last day and everything is easier on the couch compared to a text or an email or across a 10 hour time difference.

We drive to Masese and I recognize streets and wave at the children, and they are shouting Mamma Katie! Mamma Katie! We park our van at a school and are met by swarms of children … swarms. I counted 14 children grabbing my hands and arms--one child on each finger and two on each arm. Bookguy is covered too, like ants on a grapefruit, and we cannot grasp what we are seeing. Hundreds of children. I’m told roughly 1,800. That's more than my highschool. And more than Westmont College.

A child bites another child vying for access to my white finger. I, like a silly American, bend down and scold Biter in my strange Ugandan English accent: “You do NOT bite! That is not nice.” And I remove my finger and offer it to the victim, who accepts.

They are fighting over my finger?

Masese children line up first. Some wear only a t-shirt and are dangling out. Toddlers strap infants to their backs. Many sweat and all are filthy. Hardly any have shoes. I see an almost seven year old smaller than the Bean. Snotty noses and big tears and dirty hair and flies on toddlers who don't swat them away. Their line is disorganized and many children are aggressive while many wait patiently. The hungry ones are quiet and withdrawn and pushed to the back by sin’s greed. I hold back tears.

One by one they receive a plate of posho and beans. They sit and partake.

Out come the Amazima preschoolers. What a difference. These children, with a teacher and with order, are in a line, and the teacher calls to come and they come running. They are clean. In school they learn to wash every day, and are taught why, and teachers expect respect. These children eat next, still eager for lunch, but clearly these children are not starving. They are not neglected.

And finally the grade school children in yellow uniform. These big kids are more interested in engaging. “What is your name?” they ask. “What is your age?” And they are staring and commenting to each other about me, I know it. I wore my wedding ring and oh gosh, I’m wearing neutral lipgloss.

I’m thinking how can I capture this—what it means to feed 1,800 children every day, Monday through Friday. What it means to buy all that food and haul it and cook it and serve it and pick up dishes scattered. And I feel compassion on the servants, back bending laborious work to feed children and hearing the noise of 1,800 hungry peeps.

We leave for our own lunch and I sit in the car with Katie talking Amazima and life, and every day I’m here I grow in understanding and perspective.

How to really help is so. very. complex. But I refuse cynicism. And we all should. Better to do something than nothing. Better to give it all than give nothing. If we are living Love, that means living. As we live we learn, I think. We don’t launch the best every time. We launch and adapt and adjust and pray in submission and God takes our best talent and multiplies it as He wills. But we must offer the talent.

Great conversation with friends who stop to say goodbye and Kapate is on my lap again, and I will hold this moment.

Katie has a brilliant, refreshing, and very needed idea to pay a fisherman to take us out on the Nile with her family. We cruise to the Source, which is INCREDIBLE to see. We say that God made the Nile flow south to north and what else can He do? I breathe deep.

We eat dinner and people are stopping by to say goodbye and I hate it. Conversations linger. Everyone here is incredibly hospitable and generous.

I am emotional.

We get back to the hotel to pack at 10:30pm. At midnight I shower the red dirt from my feet one more time, and I see dozens of mosquito bites and it’s the warmest shower I’ve had in 9 days, and the best internet connection. Climb into bed around 1:30am. Our driver picks us up at 4am for the two hour drive to Entebbe. I eagerly anticipate big hugs and snuggles and Eskimo kisses and finger touches and kissing my cuties over and over and over again. I give God thanks.

Slow Down Africa Time

2011-06-02T15:25:00.000-07:00

The pace of life is so different here. People walk, long distances. They meander after meals. They stroll along the streets. There are few tvs. “Africa time” allows for flexibility and change of plans. I will miss that. I think I need more of it.

Every morning we exit our hotel and 5 pikis come tearing down the lane toward us. First one off the line gets to fish for business. Today we hitch a ride (our first) into town to meet a friend for breakfast and see the new Amazima office. Unfortunately my bum sat on a metal handrail and I winced through most of it. (lesson learned, get two pikis).

Let me tell you about Amazima—they are so frugal and compassionate and principled and not flashy. It makes me proud. Their new office is a room smaller than my kitchen, where they will keep two desks, and a small bathroom is attached. There is no seat on the toilet. There are two small, screened windows so high you cannot see out. There is no a/c or carpet or taupe paint on the walls. It is, essentially, a glorified closet, especially compared to where I am from in Orange County. But it has everything we need to set up shop in a more central location, secure, near some other NGOs, convienent to where staff lives.

Hassan is a 15-year-old street boy, and he prefers his life that way. People have tried to get him to school and he has family, but he chooses the street and has friends to see every day and creative ways to earn money (like a scale he charges people to use). He’s friendly, engaging, has a great smile, and is slightly annoying. He makes a visit at breakfast time and I watch him hold hands with my grown up friend Joe. Two boys, holding hands, in a not-in-anyway-gay way.

Kapate is 4 or 5 and I snuggle him and we read books in a quiet place. I’ve snuggled him many times in the last week but today was my first day hearing his little voice. “This one,” he says, and points to the book. Everything becomes ‘this one’ and I melt. He has a dimple on his left cheek and a beautiful smile and big curious eyes, and I wonder if I like Kapate because he is so beautiful, or if I like him because he is sweet, or if I like him because I truly like him. I judge his mother, who isn’t around much, as I watch sister carry Baby Katie and Kapate wanders around freely: Why does this mother let her children wander? They are only children. They are so neglected. And then I tried to take it captive because what I really wanted was to point blame … to make someone responsible … and to ‘fix it’ … and I don’t know her suffering and I don’t know her heart and I don’t know her culture. What I do know is that Kapate is here right now in my lap reading a story and I soak.

Derek shows up at the gate because he was suspended from school unjustly. He has walked a long distance, and he would like help getting to his family 2 hours away. Bookguy’s heart is soft and he listens and asks many lawyerly questions and comes to believe the boy. We give him help to where he needs to go, and strike up a conversation. His English is excellent, and he tells us he wants to be a lawyer (without knowing Bookguy’s profession) and that he intends for university because there is no hope for a job without a university education.

We skyped with our children and I wanted to cry for missing them.

Dinner with some friends and today turns out to be full of rich conversation and learning, and I think it’s probably best after dogbite Tuesday, knowing tomorrow is Masese and our last day in Jinja.

Every night when I put my head on the pillow I am so dang tired. I’m really enjoying it here.

Dog Bites, Crazy Woman, and Typhoid

2011-06-01T15:35:00.000-07:00

I have sweet blood, I think. Because I have many mosquito bites and my hubby has none.

We are feeling so much better. Not 100%, but better.

Hard to capture today.

We arrive in Masese around 10:30 and are met by many children, and they pull on our backpack and pinch Bookguy’s legs and feel his pockets. I seem to have the more gentile children (lucky me)!

It does smell, like a combination of body odor and trash and coal and booze. People live in mud houses, and children’s eye whites are yellowish-orange. But they smile.

People begin to gather, and women carry benches to a covering area where we sit down in a square.

As we wait for everyone to arrive she’s telling me about the group and I take mental snapshots because I’ve determined no cameras for this. It just feels too personal and too strange to whip out my iphone and take some pictures.

Little Boy has latched onto me and I sit on a bench (because I haven’t eaten more than a banana in 24 hours) and he puts his two little brown hands in mine. He must be about 5 years old. How long has it been since he’s eaten? He’s trying to connect with me and I have nothing to offer but a smile and my hands.

After everyone sits down, Katie asks if anyone has prayer requests or praises and the women each began to share, clapping a celebration for reports of thanksgiving.

“I thank God for you, that you buy my necklaces, so you give me money,” she says, with a tiny 2-year old at her exposed breast.

“I do not give you money,” Katie corrects. “You earn your money. You work for your money.” And she smiles and looks down proud.

One woman mentions her neighbor who needs transport to a hospital. Transport will cost 35,000 shillings. It is clear they wait to see if someone else will help. “There are twenty of you. I will pay 25,000 shillings if this group pays 10,000 shillings. Who will contribute to help? Each of you would need to pay 500 shillings.” There is a long pause.

Getting the community to care for one another, to look out for the interests of others, is a challenge.

“I will give 1,000,” a woman shares. We wait for more volunteers and there are none (we tossed in 1,000 too). Katie leaves the topic saying, when they get the 10,000, let her know and she will make sure the man has the transport he needs.

I’m proud.

The women speak Luganda, Karimojong, Swahili, and English. We’re switching back and forth between languages, and I can’t keep up.
Man walks up to us and pulls up his pantleg revealing an infected, pussing wound. Dog bite. This must have been a big dog, I think, because it was 3-inch-long gash.

Crazy, big woman walks towards us like she wants to rip our heads off. And she’s ranting. She’s making eye contact and telling us something we don’t understand. All the woman are looking at her like she’s a space alien, and as soon as she starts walking away they begin laughing an inside joke, except I can tell they are laughing about crazy woman. I feel in the circle of an inside joke with a group of Karimojongs in Uganda. That’s pretty frickin’ awesome.

We moved into a prayer chapel for prayer and purchasing because a man said we were on his land and we didn’t want a scuffle. Carrying the bench up the hill I felt light headed. Katie asks me to pray for the group and I consider it an extreme honor and try to think, in one second flat, how to encapsulate the requests, the vocational program, the spiritual lives, into one blessing and I don’t even remember what I prayed, which can sometimes mean it is coming from somewhere not you.

We load into our van some people who need medical care and drop treatable patients off at a clinic. Arriving at Katie’s house there are several new visitors in the yard. Counting them up now, I believe we had 30 people, but I might be forgetting someone.

Two drop offs are children laying listless on the futon with what we think is typhoid. They need to go the hospital. I have on my lap a sweet Karimojong boy I love who is feverish, and I give him chewable Tylenol before he takes a nap on my lap. Eden is crying. A mzungu (white man) interested in nursing wants to observe Katie and he is writing a thesis paper on nonprofit organizations and the third world, and he wants to pick my brain. Katie is treating Makere’s burn, and it needs to be scrubbed, which means pain. And the girl down the street comes over for a playdate. There are so many people at her house and the craziness of it all, I want to get out my flip and record it so that when people complain about her not blogging we can share the footage.

We go home and rest because Bible study is in a few hours and we are tired from the day before.

We sat in a room with about 15 people studying Nehemiah 6. Strengthen my hands so that I may … love more. Give more. Serve more. Share faster. Offer in gratitude. Extend grace. Be more creative. Multiply. We pray for one another and by the time we climb in bed I can hardly move.

Sick with the Flu

2011-05-31T18:46:00.000-07:00

Monday was spent the entire day laying in bed, both of us raging fevers and chills. I fainted on the toilet. Woke up with my face on the cold bathroom floor, pants around my ankles, my shirt was drenched through. I crawled on all fours back to the bed. We slept the entire day and night and woke today feeling weak but improved, no fever. I continue to have tummy issues. We started a round of antibiotics just in case we somehow picked up a bacteria.

We had texts and visits from friends to make sure we were ok. Malaria was negative. (We really didn't think this was it since both of us were sick on the same day and we are taking malerone).

Today we showered and Bookguy had toast and I had a small banana. Our first meal in 24 hours. Knowing that today was the intended day for Masese, I didn't want to miss it, but didn't want to get there and be sick either. We decided to take a short(er) trip into Masese, and then perhaps return another day when we have more endurance.

We were told we could call in the middle of the night, delivered ibuprofen at 10 pm, received texts from people here saying 'we are praying for you.' love how these peeps love on eachother.

Would appreciate your continued prayers for improved health.

Sabbath Sunday: Feeling Sick

2011-05-30T18:00:00.000-07:00

We attended a church in the morning, comprised of missionaries and ngo heads and nationals and random people from off the street. Sitting on white plastic chairs (like the kinds we use for our lawn parties) and under the shade of several lush trees, we sang ‘a new song’ called Our God Is Greater. Lyrics were on a large poster board, led by a Ugandan man on guitar, a white lady, and a Ugandan in the front row with a drum.

We studied Matthew 14 and talked about Jesus feeding the multitude with fishes and loaves.

Many people had children in their arms. The pastor had no microphone, and I felt compassion on him for how challenging it must be to build community within a transient group of mixed cultures.

I met new friends and saw familiar faces.

After church we have lunch and take a Sabbath. I went for a long walk and had great conversation.

We came back to the hotel and my tummy has been upset ever since. Six pepto bismols and one immodium later I think I might be improved, but I’ve been up all night. I have tried to eat safely, but think I must have had something I shouldn’t have had.

Bookguy is also sick but a different kind. His whole body hurts and he’s had fever and chills and headache, and we google malaria symptoms and decide he should have a test today just in case, even though we don’t see any bites on his body.

We managed dinner with a few friends even though we both felt under the weather. Ordering spaghetti turns out to be disappointing. (How can you mess up spaghetti?) We talked about the struggles on their end and the struggles on mine and laughed about cultural things.

For example: nobody uses contractions here. The apostrophe is dead. “I will take you to the store when I am done” versus: “I’ll take you there when I’m done.” That half of the English spellings are in British and half aren’t. “colour” And all the whites, when they are talking to a Ugandan, talk in a strange English accent because if you speak plain old English they say “I cannot understand what you are saying.” I’ve poked fun at Curtis for his ordering, because he says, “I’ll take the hamburger.” And they look at him puzzled, but if he would have said, “I would like the hamburger” or even more direct than that: “I want the hamburger” in a bizarre Prince William accent they would nod and understand.

Then FINALLY we skyped with the kids. It blessed my heart to no end. Setting the time for our call would you believe the hotel internet was down? ARGH. So we had to walk to a nearby location and almost missed it. I wanted so badly to reach out and hug the munchkins, who are doing well (according to caregivers) in our absence. I think we are all starting to feel the length of the visit.

Pumpkin hit a three run homer in his baseball tournament and I think both Bookguy and I wished we could have seen it.

Really hope we can get some rest and that we get to feeling better. Would appreciate your prayers.

Amazima Sponsorship Program and Oral Tradition

2011-05-29T15:02:00.000-07:00

Today we show up to Katie’s to drive to the sponsorship program at Amazima. But something falls off the underside of her beaten down van. Another Amazima employee Brad, happened to be around the corner,
so we 16 climbed into his beaten down land rover, which made 17 of us sticking out the truck on the drive “across the bridge” to Amazima. There are no rules about this sort of thing.

We drive up the bumpy and unpaved road and children are waiving to us, a group of cows walking parallel to our vehicle and one of Katie’s sweet girls is playing with my hair.

As we pull up everyone rushes into the chapel. Raoul leads 400 children singing.

Then oral tradition takes hold.

There are two brothers, he says. And one brother took everything and left his whole family. But was he happy? Different children are called upon to stand up and share what they know of the Prodigal story, with one girl translating in Lugandan, and he walks with a children’s Bible showing pictures. He asks who memorized this week’s memory verse: John 14:1-10, and I think how we have trouble memorizing one verse with our six Bibles and they are challenged to memorize 10 verses with no Bible. He talks about John and the iceland of Patmos,
and he makes all 400 say “Patmos.”

I was beyond amazed and pleased and overwhelmed at the quality Bible teaching.

Katie uses a marker and places a blue star on the hand of each child sitting on each bench. She explains that children must come to the bible study in order to get a meal, and they cannot only come for freefood. I think she’s a rockstar.

Some children linger by the wire fence. I get out my camera but I feel so awkward. I hate it, and I show him his picture and it’s the only smile I get out of him, but it doesn’t make it right. How can I communicate this place, this reality, and not exploit the faces of these children, who are real people, and do I have the right to take
anyone’s photo and post it on this blog?

I see a pot of boiling eggs over firewood, and when session ends the extremely hungry children, the ones who do not smile and do not run and have glassy eyes wait on a bench under a tree watching eggs. I sit next to them and try to play and I get no expression and so we just sit and that’s ok.

They form a line and the younglings grab an egg and walk to a safe spot to peel it, and for ten minutes I become egg peeler. I think about my Peanut at home who loves eggs and we sit on the counter and peel them together for breakfast. I wonder who peels these children’s eggs and if this is the only egg they eat the entire week.

Bookguy whips out his Frisbee and fulfills his fantasy to teach as many boys he can the art of it. They spread out and play alongside a group of soccer fans, and I can tell Bookguy is having so much fun. A kid is a kid, and we all like to laugh and play.

Time for lunch and they carry a big pot of beans and a big pot of rice and a pot of cut up chicken pieces to a serving area. Children line up by grade, stopping first at a water spot where some older boys, using jerry cans, pour a cup of water over little fingers. Can’t eat without washing your hands first. The little ones eat first with a heaping scoop in their plastic bowl. And they wander to a spot, some sitting alone and some with a friend, eating with their little fingers a nutritious meal. It takes at least 30-45 minutes to serve the children, but nobody is rushing.

We both are amazed at the ‘playground’ and chapel Brad built (Amazima’s project guru). Amazed. Using all locally sourced material he has stairs of tires and old boats and swings of wood and huts covered by grass, and he tells us about the boys who built it, how they didn’t know basic addition, and by the end they are doing
construction, problem solving, and math, and he’s so proud. They at one time didn’t even look him in the eye and now they are proud boys who moved on from a playground to a large chapel. It is so. very. impressive. They received graduation certificates. And they receive skills they will use for life.

We come back to the hotel and eat lunch at 3:45, and I have a radio interview “LIVE” from Uganda which I think reeked. I was not at my best. But I was tired and I had a sunburn and I was flooded with loads of conflict. We want to help the poor. We want to serve our neighbor. But how exactly to help without creating dependency is a
big conversation swirling in my mind. And the little glassy faces of the hungry ones really affected me. And how to share the story without exploiting, without making Katie look like Wonder Woman’s long lost sister (she’s a real person), how to work as a team when you are working with nationals and westerners with ideas of how to ‘fix’
everything, and the tragedy of hard things in the middle of all the joy.

I open to 1 Corinthians 10:24 and read “Let no one seek his own, but each one the other’s well being.” And it refreshes me. Seeking each other’s well being. One foot in front of the other. I express thoughts to Katie, and she says, we do what God has us do TODAY.

We tried to skype with our kids and it didn’t work. We are starting to really miss them.

I climb in bed tired and looking forward to church in the morning.

He Gives A New Name

2011-05-28T08:54:00.000-07:00

Our internet was down for almost 24 hours.

I had cocoa cocoa puffs at breakfast (with an omlette) and the waitress asked me with pride: “Do you like our breakfast?” (I was VERY impressed!) Chinese food for lunch, how about that? (not our choice, but we were pleasantly surprised!)

Several Karimojongs live at Katie’s. One is this beautiful boy (see photo). His sister is named Girl. That is what her mother named her … girl. While I was painting her toenails, she sat so very still, and watched me so carefully. I thought how God knows each of us and he made Abram Abraham, and Jacob Israel, and Saul Paul and Simon Peter, and Girl needs a new name.

A boy came to Katie’s gate with a letter. He wants to go to school and his parents are dead, he says. How do we know his parents really are dead? I sit thinking how most 12 year olds in America do not want to go to school, and he stands in front of us asking for an education.

I have several meetings with the Amazima staff, and I see each of them and their story and how God uniquely brought them to our team. They each possess a heart that loves the Lord and loves service, and I watch them serve each other in little ways all day, from sharing advil to sweeping floors to playing with children to flicking bugs off each other. That kind of service trickles down into the culture of this place.

I also see the kinds of loops and hassles they have to endure. Interruptions in their “plans” because a girl got stabbed in the back of her head with a knife for climbing a mango tree. Because the clouds rolled in and it looks like rain. Because extra friends showed up for dinner we use a bigger pot and it takes a lot longer (Katie cooked THREE super large Pyrex dish sized chicken pot pies for dinner and served up every bite).

Our feet are red from the dirt and we are filthy and I got a mosquito bite today. Bookguy participated in a mega dance party after dinner and there was much laughter with lots of footprints on the floor.

Tomorrow we head to Amazima’s sponsorship program, and I’m looking forward to it.

First Day Impressions

2011-05-26T11:44:00.000-07:00

Today was our first day here, and everything was blurry. We landed at
7:45 am on very little sleep, met up with our driver, and finally
arrived to Katie’s house around 10:30 am. We walked up to find her
tending burns down the entire front of a man’s shin. And in my bag
were medical supplies exactly for it. Thank you Jesus.

My impressions of Kampala and the drive from the airport can be summed
up in one word: beauty. I don’t know if people realize how green and
gorgeous it is here. The dirt is clay red, and how do the people grow
food in this hard, dusty dirt? Lots of new smells and sights. The
clouds remind me of Germany, rolling in and out quickly and the
weather changing on a dime (always hot though), but in and out of rain
and sunshine.

Nobody is fat. And nobody is old. Can you imagine it?

Piki drivers (little motocycles) are everywhere and the horn is man’s
new best friend. Streets are lined with businesses trying to sell
whatever possessions they think will sell, everything from food to gas
to lumber to furniture to technology. But it doesn’t look like anyone
is buying, and how many sales can they possibly make in one day?

I love the bright colors people wear and the bright paint on all the
houses and makeshift businesses.

I ask our driver if most people speak English, and he says no. But
then tells me English is the official language of Uganda. And we all
chuckle. He’s kind enough to stop at a mart and we buy coke (must.
have. caffeine.), water, a bar of soap (Bookguy’s was removed from his
luggage in JFK), and Twix.

I see poverty, and it is what I expected to see, and I wonder, how
wrong is it that I expected to see people without shoes dressed in
holey shirts sitting in front of clay ‘houses’ with broken windows and
toting jerry cans?

And just the day before we were in London and the most crowded
restaurant in terminal 5 was the caviar bar (not joking).

I commented to Katie that unlike Addis Ababa, we were never met with
any beggars. Lots of people coming to car windows trying to sell
trinkets and phone cards, but nobody begging for food and calling us
mommy and daddy. “That’s because they pick up the beggars and take
them to a holding place where there is no food until there is enough
of them they take them to the outskirts of the city and drop them far
far away,” Katie says. “And then the people, hungry and still
desperate, make the long trek back into town all over again.”

Sigh.

I spent some time holding little baby Eden. She was referred to Katie
by the hospital, and only after Katie took her did Katie learn she was
a drug baby, 7 weeks premature, and needed special attention. Now
three months old, Eden is still smaller than both my children were at
birth, and yet when you look at her face her features are
perfect—almost doll-like. I watch Katie’s oldest daughters feed and
rock and care for Eden, soothe her back to sleep.

Katie invites us to her house to meet the Karimojong women who make
necklaces. Normally she meets us with them in Masese but yesterday
she had a medical emergency and couldn’t make her way to town. She
explains that there was a baby in desperate need of a blood
transfusion. She drove all over looking for blood, but there is no
blood in Uganda. Finally they find one pint of A positive blood in
Kampala and they speed off, with a manual oxygen mask over the baby’s
mouth, driving with one hand and pumping the mask with the other.
Baby gets the needed transfusion and pinkens up and everything is
hopeful again. But in some puzzle, he dies in the car on the drive
back to Jinja.

Bookguy has fallen asleep on Katie’s couch, and so we decide not to
meet up with the ladies today, but head to the hotel for a nap.

“Is the hotel nice?” someone asked. It’s all relative really, but I
took a warm shower and I have internet connection and I’m under a
mosquito net and those are pretty crucial things. I give God thanks.

At dinner we lined around a ginormous table, 19 of us, and ate pasta
with sauce and a roll. I marveled at it all.

We Are All One

2011-05-24T11:07:00.001-07:00

May 23, 2011

Somewhere over Kansas I started to cry. I’m listening to Greater Things Have Yet To Come, and the lady in the back of the plane has tears down her face, and across the aisle a daughter snuggles with her mommy, and I closed the pages of Ann Voskamp with more gratitude and joy than I held when I went in.

I’m on my way to Uganda, Bookguy is next to me reading Donald Miller, and I can’t help but think, how did I get here?

I was hanging out with some new girlfriends on Saturday, and the host was dressed SO. VERY. CUTE. And her house was decorated with such style. I felt frumpy and fat, and I thought I didn’t belong with these beautiful size 4s, and their parchment paper-wrapped decadent muffins. A whole room full of newbies that I am trying to engage, because it grows me, and because who knows who might need a friend, and I ask myself, am I willing to be anyone’s friend?

And then we began to sing together and I pulled my hat down over my face to hide the well of emotions—the richness of God’s family—we, so different, singing to the same Savior. We, so in need, offering worship, putting ourselves out there, reaching for communion.

He is the God of all. He brings all together.

And AP mobile just sent me an alert that 116 people died in a Missouri tornado. 116 people who are mothers or fathers or sons or daughters. Who woke up today like any other day, with to-do lists and family and aspirations for what will come tomorrow. Their one and only life—gone with ripping wind.

And I opened my email to read a note from a stranger. Carol says she reads this blog, and she shares about her life, and her decision to adopt a boy from Bulgaria. And the world just got smaller still. Thank you Carol—your email was a real gift.

I left my children to fly on this turbulent plane, and I hope they understand. I know they are well taken of, but the heart of a mother attached to her children, we cling… We hold on tight to this short life, paralyzed by the fear, worry, the unknown. But knowing that life can slip away tomorrow, should we not seize the one life we were given and truly live? How do we know what tomorrow will hold?

I want to live in Him, and I want the nuggets to live in Him. Live God’s love, not just believe in it.

And the woman down the aisle enjoys crossword puzzles and the guy in front of me has been sleeping for nearly 4 hours (he must be extremely tired). Everything seems intimately connected, like we’ve all known each other for miles, each of us burdened by our brokenness, our desire for love, looking for purpose, dreaming of what may come, good or bad.

Soon I will be in a village of 4,000 diseased, broken hearted, desperate people, and their skin is brown, but they are just like me (or I am just like them). We long for restoration with the One.

“Let mercy be the fuel for mission’s flame,” sings Matt Redmon. And I think it’s true. We all could use more and give more mercy.

Giving Out of My Poverty

2011-05-19T07:33:00.000-07:00

“I tell you the truth, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.” Mark 12:43-44

I read this today and felt convicted. Because, if I’m being truthful, in my poverty, I buckle down and tighten.

I see this as wise. If you don’t have the money, don’t give it (or spend it).

I see this as safe. If you don’t take that risk, you can’t fail, or feel pressure, and nobody will be disappointed in you if you just say no from the beginning.

I see this as realistic. You can only do so much, you only have so much to give, don’t make yourself sick or dead tired trying.

But what if, in my poverty, when times were tight, what if then I upped the ante? When our pocketbooks are empty we give even more. We say God will supply everything I need and every penny I have is His, and if I give away this penny He will give me another penny because He takes better care of me and my family than even the sparrows. When my schedule is cramped, I still make that meal for a friend and offer a note of encouragement and watch their toddler. When I’m a bit of an emotional mess, instead of hiding under my covers so that nobody can see the heartache, I still engage and I give EVERYTHING, in the thick of my poverty, because it isn’t the size of my offering that matters, it is my heart that matters. And my heart doesn’t have to be neat and orderly. Neither does my house, for that matter. When my talents fail me, and I lack confidence and feel the insecurity of being in a foreign, frightening situation, I still give because God at work isn’t restricted to someone experienced and sharp and perfected. I am just one woman but the Holy Spirit can work in the life of anyone willing, and am I willing? Do I give because I am misled to believe I happen to have ‘extra’ to give at this time, or do I give because there is need and the cup I drink from never runs dry?

Strength Training on a Paddle Board

2011-05-17T07:51:00.000-07:00

(FYI--this isn't me--I'm not that hot!)

If you head on over to Balboa Island or Dana Point or Newport Harbor, you’ll see these ripped, tan dudes and dudettes standing on a paddle board paddling away.

Bookguy and I laugh because it does NOT look fun. At all. I’d rather sit, dig my feet into the squishy sand, and read a good book. (or pepper a volleyball).

But my life right now feels like I’m on that paddle board. It takes a lot of balance and control and muscle to stay standing. I’m sweating. I’m getting a really good workout. My abs hurt like I’ve been laughing for the last two hours, and my back is achy. And I’m looking around at the beautiful scenery, and I’m thinking, “I can’t believe I get to live this life. This is SO MUCH FUN. God gave me a body that moves and works. He gave me a brain that thinks. He lets me live this one and only life. What an AWESOME workout! And yes, I hurt. Yes, I’m sore. BUT I’m getting stronger with every paddle.”

We are busy packing for Uganda, leaving in 7 days. I’m making to-do lists, schedules for the kiddos, buying a gift for each day that we are gone, writing love letters to the kids, working ahead on Amazima blogging and FB and all sorts of related needs, emailing teachers, preparing meals and lunches, talking to friends, trying to clear out my inbox. I’m getting a great workout!

God is so faithful. This trip feels like dripping chocolate. Sweet gesture of His love for me. I’m excited and scared and anxious and eager—all in the same breath.

Family hike

2011-05-13T16:12:00.000-07:00

I love these peeps.

Adoption Targets

2011-05-11T08:10:00.000-07:00

When we were in process for our adoption, my next door neighbor told me: “Adoption is not for the faint in heart.” I didn’t know what that meant, only that it scared me. I had heard the horror stories of paperwork, homestudies, children with attachment issues, birthmothers changing their minds. I was terrified something like that would happen to us.

This week I heard two painful adoption stories. One birthmother who changed her mind (after birthing). And another family who received an international referral and accepted it, and then just weeks before travel learned their child had been matched with another family too.

It makes me so sad for these families.

They’re just trying to grow their family. They’re just trying to help a child who needs a family. They’re just trying to be obedient. Oh it pains me!

I’m reminded that maybe the most powerful way you can support your friend who is adopting is to pray.

Because adoptive parents are leaping out in faith, because they are engaging in a process that requires sacrifice, trust, and surrender, the Enemy attacks full force. He does not want us to have more faith. He does not want us to surrender to the Living God. He does not want us to trust in God’s great plan for our life.

Satan wants us to doubt. He is always, always working against the plans of God.

I have two good friends who are about to pull the trigger on their adoptions, and after I jump up and down freaking out over another child in the arms of a loving family, and after I giggle over the faith journey they are about to embark on and the thought of them growing that much closer to the heart of God, and after I squeal over another adoptive/transracial family added to our community and my children’s lives, I get down on my knees and I begin to pray. Because I know, I KNOW, the battle has begun and my dear friends now have targets on their backs.

But here’s a thought: shouldn’t we ALWAYS have targets on our backs? If we are living in such a way where we are never targeted and never under attack, what does that say about our Christianity?

Decorating Easter Eggs

2011-05-03T07:58:00.000-07:00

Book Review: Crazy Love, by Francis Chan

2011-05-02T08:11:00.000-07:00

Would you believe that this was my first time reading Crazy Love? Now I understand all the hype. ;)

What I loved about this book was Francis Chan's message of God's Crazy Love for us.  For some reason I thought this book was going to be far more about how we should have crazy love for others. But he begins the book talking about how much God loves us, and asking if we really, really understand how deep, wide, extravagant, vast, and all-consuming His love is for you and for me.

I can sometimes forget how much God loves me. I see so many things in me I don't like. Things I would like to change. Things I see are weaknesses.  The message "God loves you" sometimes sounds like 'how are you?' and 'what's up?' Isn't that so sad to admit?  :(

So I found the first several chapters of this book to fill my heart and soul with sweet reminders I desperately need--reminders of how big my God is, how unconditional His love is, that God knows me personally--every wrinkle on my face and my ugly toes, my analytical mind, my personality (even the things I think are flaws), my talents--He knows me most, and God's purpose for me is great.

And after reminding us of God's infinite love for us, Francis Chan turns the table and says, "What is your response to such an extraordinary, relentless, all-powerful love?" He gently asks hard questions about our lukewarmness, our desire for safety, our desire for acceptance, our 'in-controlness' and self-restraint--the way we contain our response to His love, for whatever reason that we do. This is the part of the book that I wish I could have discussed in a small group study ...

SO challenging. It's the same kind of questions I've chatted with so many of you about--whether I'm really 'all in' for Jesus like I want to be? And in what ways am I holding back? And why?  Am I totally surrendered to God in every way imaginable?

I think I've mentioned this before, but in case I haven't, for over a year now I've been praying for two things for my own walk with God.

1). I pray every day for a deep love for His Word. I ask God to make His Scripture come alive. I ask Him to let it speak to me, and to give me a passion for His teaching. I ask to soak in it--to remember what I read, for it to touch my heart, for it to grow my mind.

2). I ask for the Holy Spirit to help me love God first, with all my heart, all my soul, all my mind, all my strength. In my own will, my own determination I fail. But the Holy Spirit can give me a love for God that supersedes all loves--the prioritizes God first above all else--that seeks to please Him, to glorify Him, to serve Him, to devote my entire heart to Him, not withholding anything. Love grows. Perhaps there are times in our relationships or with the Father when love is huge and present without any work whatsoever, but when I ask God for more love for my kids, I suddenly have it, and when I ask Him to help me love the unloveable, He gives. When I ask Him for a new kind of flavor of love for my husband, He provides. And it is the same when I ask Him to give me a great, pure, devoted, all-consuming love for Him. He answers!!

If you haven't read this book I really recommend that you do. It's a simple read for a wide audience. It's not too intellectual or academic. It isn't that long. And yet its message IS compelling. It will point you to God's infinite love, and invite you to a new kind of response to that love--one that is authentic and emotional and purposeful. And if you read it, I suggest you join a small group too, to share and dialogue together about what you are learning.

One Thousand Gifts

2011-04-30T15:48:00.000-07:00

My wonderful, blogger friends, to those of you mothers who are exhausted and desperate and willing, who long for those sweet, tender moments with your children, and pray for more beauty and more Jesus, and aspire, I mean truly want gratitude, soak up this video by Ann Voskamp, with excerpts from her book One Thousand Gifts. It is lovely. And then maybe skeedadle over to amazon and buy her book--it will refresh you. I know it has refreshed me.

Happy Birthday Peanut!

2011-04-26T07:38:00.000-07:00

Peanut turned 6 years old! I love this little lady so much! To celebrate we went rollerskating with some friends, and she was in la la land. Truly rollerskating is one of her most favorite activites. Some of the things I love about Peanut--she is inclusive, friendly, agreeable ... she is almost always happy. She loves to sing and hug and sit with me at the counter and cook dinner. She has many friends and enjoys all of them. She loves to paint and color, play the piano, and brush her hair. She prefers skirts and fun socks and headbands. She loves to get wet and dirty ... perhaps one of my favorite things about her. She loves bugs and flowers, gardening, snuggling, her dad's scratchy face, my little petshops, and sushi. She is my buddy, and I'm SO seriously in awe that God would entrust her to me--she is my gift.

Public Restrooms

2011-04-21T08:25:00.000-07:00

Now don’t vomit, but let’s talk about bathrooms. Public ones.

The ideal public restroom experience is one where I can escape having ‘done my business’ without touching anything except toilet paper and the button of my pants. How is that possible, you ask?

The door to the bathroom is a swinging door, not one with a handle, allowing me to push it open with my foot or shoulder. The stall is one that has a slide lock (not a turn) so I can work it with my elbow. I squat. I flush with my foot. I open the stall door with my elbow. I mosey to the automatic sink with auto soap dispenser. I use auto paper towels and I swing the exit door to freedom.

As I’m going through this debacle a few weeks ago it dawns on me: Ah-hem, Karen! HELLO?!?! You are going to UGANDA. Stop being ridiculous.

People all over the world ‘do their business’ in bathrooms like this:

I sometimes see how ‘western’ I am and it really bugs. Perspective.

Water Changes Everything.

2011-04-20T10:07:00.000-07:00

This video is excellent. It does such a great job explaining the water crisis that affects 1 billion people around the world.

Updates

2011-04-18T10:08:00.000-07:00

Oh blogger friends, I miss you!

Some things going on:

1. My precious Peanut had her 6th birthday party yesterday. It was SO MUCH FUN to see her roller skating 20 mph decorated in a purple princess hat. Photos to come soon!

2. I’m up to my eyeballs in a work project that involves data, duplicates, segmenting, and a whole lotta spreadsheets. Oh gollie.

3. I wish we’d spend more time getting to know our neighbors than on Twitter talking about Rob Bell. Enough already!

4. Two of my great friends are pulling the trigger (or about to) on an adoption. It makes my heart SWELL. Seriously makes me teary-eyed to write about it. Because there are SO MANY AMAZING PARENTS out there and SO MANY CHILDREN needing families. When the two come together, BEAUTY.

5. Writing a book review of Francis Chan’s Crazy Love.

6. Everywhere I turn, and I mean EVERYWHERE, moms are reading One Thousand Gifts, by Ann Voskamp. Which is why I bought myself a copy (and to stimulate the good ol’ book industry because it, um, kinda pays the mortgage). I absolutely love this book. Sipping it like a glass of full-bodied red—it SO deserves your time. I also bought The Glass Castle, thanks to the recommendation of Susan and Jenn.

7. Speaking of wine, I gave it up for Lent. As well as every Monday the whole family has cereal for dinner in paper bowls. This has been fantastic on all fronts. My first year of celebrating Lent and I find my heart has been anticipating Easter in new, beautiful ways. Like Advent escorts in the birth of my Savior, so Lent has brought my mind and heart into awareness of His death and resurrection. I feel an anticipation of Easter’s coming beyond buying for Easter baskets and green bean casserole. Not to mention I see it in our children too. I can’t get over how much He loves us, the sacrifice of the One He sent, and the intimacy available to me today by His wounds 2,000 years ago. Faithful. Everything points to Him.

Will write on Crazy Love, Peanut's birthday, Ethiopian and adoption networks, comfort, and Uganda soon.

Be a Better Listener

2011-04-11T09:25:00.000-07:00

I saw this picture and had to laugh. ;) These days it seems like SO much of living revolves around cultivating. Cultivating love. Cultivating gratitude. Cultivating patience. Cultivating forgiveness. Cultivating listening. Cultivating a spiritual perspective. Cultivating the discipline that keeps me from the brownie on the counter, the gossip in the pick up line, and the comparing and jealousy. Cultivating the practice of not just reading the Bible but listening to it and living it. Cultivating humility. It CAN feel overwhelming.

I laugh at this picture because today I'm focusing on listening. Not gonna do much talking. I'm going to listen when my children speak. Squat down, look them in the eye and listen (instead of mhmming at the counter while I'm fixing dinner). I'm going to listen to my email. haha. Read it with the most open mind, always presuming the benefit of the doubt to the writer, and when I need clarity, I'm going to simply ask a clarifying question. I'm going to listen to the Holy Spirit and trust that thing in my gut, that nudge and persistent voice that tells me to do what I do not wish to do. I'm going to listen to my husband ... what is he really saying versus what am I selectively hearing.

Today I read in James, and I rested on the verse: "But He gives us MORE grace." Ah.

Bookguy Rocks

2011-04-07T08:39:00.000-07:00

So here’s what I’m thinking:

My husband rocks.

That’s pretty much the dish.

I left on Saturday morning to travel to Nashville and help with Amazima. (And survived my first tornado while I was there! Whew. Glad to cross that off my bucket list!) Bookguy was on daddy duty until I got home last night. He took off work on Tuesday, and we had a sitter for partial days Monday and Wednesday. But in addition to his 50+ hour a week job trying to please authors and clients and communicators, he stepped in for me to pursue MY wants and use MY talents for an organization we love. He made dinner and did laundry and shuttled to baseball practices and games and dealt with tantrums and shielded me from any of his stress (because he knows I would feel guilty).

I'm happy to be home. I'm happy to be married to such a great partner and friend.

2011-04-03T08:21:00.000-07:00

Sitting at the Atlanta airport waiting for a puddle hopper to Nashville, I can’t help but notice the people everywhere. All different colors. All different languages. All different destinations.

And I can’t help but think how we are all the same, just packaged differently, wired a bit differently, given different opportunities, given different talents and gifts by our Creator. Despite all the obvious differences, I found myself thinking we are all, actually, equal.

I’m equal to the 50 something sophisticated socialite in the creme cashmere sweater. She has hopes, dreams, fears, needs, worries, joys.

I’m equal to the 20 something kid listening to Eminem on his ipod so loud I can hear it from 15 feet away. He has desires, passions, secrets, shame, idealism.

I’m equal to the officer, dressed in camouflage and shaved head, who sits cross-legged outside the KLM gate. He has aspiration, disappointment, strength, insecurity, potential.

We are all the same; we are equal. Jesus came for all of us.

It doesn’t matter what I have done and what they have done. It doesn’t matter what I will do and what they will do. It doesn’t matter my body type, my financial portfolio, the size of my brain, or my connections. There are no favorites in God’s eyes.

It’s a stretch for us to consider ourselves equal, isn’t it? Depending on whom we compare ourselves. We either feel we don’t measure up, or we feel we don’t have it as bad.

But then I remember what Philippians 2 said about Jesus. He did not consider equality with God something to be grasped. He made himself nothing, taking the nature of a servant, humbling himself, and becoming obedient to death.

Just prior to this passage we’re told:

“Don’t be selfish. Don’t try to impress others. Be humble, thinking of others as BETTER than yourselves. Don’t look out for your own interests, but also the interests of others.”

What if I walked about this airport thinking everyone (EVERYONE) was better than me? Not better at running or parenting or academics or decorating. But the all-around gold—deserving, worthy, redeemable, full of good, BETTER than me. How would my actions change?

And yet that IS the challenge we’ve been given in Scripture. We’re urged to model our lives to follow in the footsteps of Jesus. We’re told to put others ahead of ourselves—not equal to—but elevated above—taking on the very nature of a servant.

Whoa. Oh God, continue to humble me.

Hold On. Be Tough.

2011-03-29T11:46:00.000-07:00

This thing happened with Pumpkin two weeks ago. It was God’s gift, sent in disguise as a teaching moment for him, only to turn out to be a teaching moment for me.

Pumpkin loves baseball, and he’s good at it too. From the age of 1 he’s been in our yard hitting wiffle balls, running the bases, asking to play catch and practice one-hoppers.

There’s a big difference, though, between hitting balls in your front yard with your mom and hitting in a game for a coach and a stand of observing parents. The pressure goes up. The competition is fierce. And Pumpkin found himself making errors occasional errors—he overthrew to first. He topped the ball a chopper. He bobbled a line drive.

And he got mental. The poor lad got so down on himself for making the first mistake that he made a second mistake. And then he was so angry about his second mistake he made a third mistake. And then Pumpkin started saying things like, “I stink at baseball.” “I hate myself.” “I want to quit.” He hung his head low, put his glove over his face, and my big 2nd grader began to cry.

We went home and I explained ‘mental tenacity.’ I shared with him how part of baseball isn’t just throwing, catching, hitting, and teamwork. Part of baseball is your mind.

He nodded. We hugged.

That night as I was praying with a friend, God said, “Did you hear what you said to Pumpkin? That is what I say to you, my daughter. You need mental tenacity. You have all the fundamentals. But your mental game is weak. When there’s pressure, when you face a challenge, and when you mess up, you spiral downward too quickly. Be strong, my daughter. Shake off those errors. I am pleased with you.”

These days on the way to baseball games and practices I hear Pumpkin reciting to himself in the back of our van: “If I mess up, I’m gonna shake it off. If I mess up, I’m going to be mentally tough.” Not joking. It is the SWEETEST thing and melts my heart how he's trying to pump himself up. And I’m giving myself pep talks along the same line.

We WILL make errors in this game of life. And God has enough room for all our errors. It’s just usually US that run out of room—both for the errors we commit and for the errors of others. We need some mental tenacity when the errors come--and they will come.

“You gotta shake off those errors, Buddy. Baseball is a game where even the very best players make mistakes. But what makes them good players isn’t just their fundamentals—it’s their mind. They are confident. They are positive. They have the mental strength to shake off the last inning and concentrate on the next.”

Nike+ and Running Playlists

2011-03-23T08:18:00.000-07:00

My Nike+ allows me to set a "Power Up" song for whenever I'm needing a boost in a run. Let me say, if you like to listen to music while you run, and you like to track miles, you'll really love the Nike+ system. (And no, I don't have Nike shoes). There's a sensor about the size of a watch battery. It goes in your shoe, or if you don't have Nike shoes, it fits in a little pouch on the top of your shoe. (see photo) There is a plug-in that fits your ipod that "talks" to your sensor and tracks your run. I love it. (You DO have to follow directions and calibrate your sensor occasionally though). A little ways into my run I can press the center button of my ipod and it talks to me: Total distance: 2.81 miles, time: 29 minues, 12 seconds, average pace: 10:22 per mile, calories: 328. etc.

Anyhoo, I've been in a bit of a lull lately with music. So I thought I'd write down my top 20 power up songs, and invite you to share any of yours. But you have to promise not to judge me by my music. :) hee hee.

1. Where is the Love?, Black Eyed Peas
2. All In, Lifehouse
3. Somewhere Only We Know, Keane
4. With Everything, Hillsong Live
5. Float On, Modest Mouse
6. Mr. Brightside, The Killers
7. This Is Your Life, Switchfoot
8. Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol
9. Heartbeat, Remedy Drive
10. Better Days, Goo Goo Dolls
11. Crush, Dave Matthews Band
12. Hey Soul Sister, Train
13. Land of Canaan, Indigo Girls
14. Halfway Gone, Lifehouse
15. Last Beautiful Girl, Matchbox Twenty
16. Undignified, Matt Redman
17. One Who Overcomes, Phil Wickham
18. Today, Smashing Pumpkins
19. Viva La Vida, Coldplay
20. Sweetly Broken, Jeremy Riddle

I have an itunes gift card, so let me know if you have suggestions. :)

World Water Day Video from charity: water

2011-03-22T11:42:00.000-07:00

Grace When You Have A Bad Day

2011-03-21T07:49:00.000-07:00

I messed up. One minute we were blowing dandelions and the next I hurled ugly, mean words.

O Lord, WHY do I do the things I know I should not do?

My poor, sweet children.

The worst of it was that we were in public--in front of the very people that I feel burdened for--people who don't know God and don't mind not knowing Him.

"We know that the law is spiritual; but I am unspiritual, sold as a slave to sin. I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do."
Ah, if the apostle Paul, once a persecutor of Christians, whom God blinded on the road to Damascus and then used to build up the first churches, spoke these words, I should be relieved. I am not the only one.

But at the moment I didn't feel relieved. Even though I had all the knowledge of grace I had none for myself and none for my children.

After reconciling myself to my kids and to God, I still didn't feel better. Two hours later I wanted to take a cold shower, go for a run, be an extra good mommy, clean up the house spic and span, or do something, anything, to earn back what I had lost.

Whatever grace was offered me, I refused to accept it. I rewinded. I played. I rewinded. I played. I swallowed a delayed torture, wanting to feel the weight of what I did, so that I would never do it again.

I heard lies like:

"How can you love, truly love, when you behave that way to innocent children, your GIFTS, from God?"
"How can God's love be flowing through you, when you can be so unloving to your children?"
"How can the Holy Spirit truly be in you and you respond with such anger? You cannot be indwelled by God's Spirit and act that way."

I wept.

I began to hear other lies too. I heard lies about Bookguy: 'He's disappointed in you. He's not attracted to you.' I heard lies about our friends: 'They don't really care about you.' I heard lies about myself: 'You're fat. You're ugly. You have no self control. You are undisciplined. God is not pleased with you.'

Typing a text to several friends asking them to pray for me, my cell rang. My friend Susan called to bring me encouragement. I poured everything and she heard and comforted and prayed with me.

As she was praying I heard:

"The closer you get to Me, the more the enemy will attack. Stand guard, my darling."

"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood (including my own), but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms."

"For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already because he has not believed in the name of God's one and only Son."

Not strangely so, immediately after Susan prayed, specifically against a spirit of accusation against myself and lies from the Enemy, it lifted. The cloud of darkness and shame and grief over my humanity, my flesh, my sinful outburst turned truly into JOY. I kid you not. I began to praise God, thanking Him for another reason, another clear sign that He was at work in my life. His being at work in my life does not mean I'm going to be perfect. It means I will be attacked. There is no man perfect--not one. This then, is why we boast in the Cross. Because He is perfect while we are not.

"He is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not only for ours but also for the sins of the whole world."

"My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him."

Uganda bound

2011-03-16T09:10:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I booked two tickets to Uganda! I'm beyond excited.

We haven't been to Africa since we picked up the Bean in July 08! And even that trip was purposed for picking up our son, court, bonding, etc. THIS trip will be just me and my hubby going to visit Katie, meeting the Amazima team, loving on the children and serving.

I'm REALLY happy me and Bookguy are going together. I'm REALLY thankful for our friends and family who are going to help with the kiddos while we go.

My friend Joe Terranova (who lives in Uganda) and Katie and I have been working for months on the new Amazima website. Yesterday it launched LIVE. I was sitting at my son's little league game when Joe texted "And we are LIVE!" I looked around and I swear I could have hugged every person standing within a 300 yard radius. Such a labor of love. Of course late last night I had found a few typos, but that will all get sorted out soon.

This morning I felt incredibly humbled. God doesn't need me. But He is at work all around me. I can choose to join Him in His work, or not. I think of John's words: "The bride belongs to the bridegroom. The friend who attends the bridegroom waits and listens for him, and is full of joy when he hears the bridegroom's voice. That joy is mine, and it is not complete. He must become greater; I must become less."

Be persistent, my friends. Even if nobody sees the work you are doing unto God, God sees. Mothering your children, washing the dishes, folding laundry, trips to the grocery store and Target, unspoken dreams you have of a family vacation or a trip to Africa or adopting a child, fears you have about your child's friends, school, finances, deep disappointments in your soul over your spouse, your job, or your current situation--God sees. He is at work, I swear it.

If you need encouragement, read Hebrews 11. The whole thing, out loud.

"God had planned something better for us so that only together WITH us would they be made perfect."

much LOVE to all of you.

Daddy daughter dance

2011-03-14T09:17:00.000-07:00

This makes me SO SO happy.

Ethiopian Adoptions--video of Ethiopian Orphanage

2011-03-10T09:25:00.000-08:00

Dear friends,

I'm asking that you please take a minute and go to this link and sign the petition! I hardly ever ask you to do anything as my blogger buddies. I rarely tell you to buy something and I rarely ask for your help. But this is something near to my heart.

SIGN THE PETITION NOW

This is the note I received from All God's Children International, our adoption agency that we trust and love.

"The Ethiopian government recently announced plans to slow their international adoptions by 90%. Many children will now be forced to spend an extra 5 to 7 years behind the doors of institutions without the love and care of a family. This slowdown will also jeopardize the ability of adoption service providers to continue their donation of orphan care and family preservation assistance to over 1.2 million vulnerable children and families in Ethiopia"

Me again. It is my understanding that the rapid growth and demand for adopting Ethiopian children has resulted in a few isolated cases of illegal adoptions. The program has swelled and increased so quickly it has been more challenging for the government to track and ensure each child is being relinquished under the right motivations.

It is ABSOLUTELY necessary that these children are adopted legally and without corruption, bribes, etc. I 100% agree. BUT I can testify I saw with my own eyes government orphanages with babies, toddlers, and older children waiting day after day in rancid living conditions for a family. They are literally WAITING.

This is a YouTube video I made of one of the orphanages we visited.

I know dozens of dozens of loving, caring parents who desire nothing but to grow their family and care for the orphan--who have the purest motivations--being caught up in this. I know dozens and dozens of caring parents who are already matched with an Ethiopian child--a boy or girl waiting for a mommy and daddy. This is devastating news to my friends, and I love you all and I am praying for you.

Thanks for your help.