A Family Tree

A seed of love, hidden deep in the dark,

Gives way to a spark of life.

Tender and fragile,

It stretches upward, face to the sun.

Drinking in warmth,

Life grows and spreads –

A shoot here, a leaf there,

Becoming more than what started.

A decade passes, then two,

Then a century.

Tenderness gives way to strength,

As branches thicken and leaves spread

Into a wide canopy.

There is shelter here –

Cool shade and sound fortitude;

Shared roots.

Seasons change and storms come;

Branches blow apart in the wind

And back together again,

Each anchored to the whole.

Stretching upward, always upward – 

Ever green, ever strong, ever one,

As deep beneath the soil

The single seed of love lives on.

Faith Steps

A step of faith always feels like a free fall to me.  One big, bold step followed by stomach-vanishing, heart-in-throat, where’d-the-ground-go? panic.  I used to think that after this many years of trusting Jesus I’d be able to shake that feeling – that my steps into thin air would begin to feel confident and sure.  Matrix-like.

I’m still terrified.

God has proven Himself over and over again in my life.  He is faithful, and not just on paper.  He has been faithful to me.  In my need, He has been sufficient.  In my weakness, He has been strong.  He has taken my impossibilities and turned them into strength and beauty.  He has held me close so many times.  I know Him.

I know Him, but I’m far from understanding Him; and I think that’s the part that scares me.  He still moves in ways that baffle me…horrify me even.  I’m sure of His character, but His ways?  He busts out of my boxes All. The. Time.

The more I learn of God, the more I understand that faith doesn’t always equal rescue.  And no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to figure out His rescue/not rescue formula.

Hebrews 11 is filled with stories of men and women who trusted God.  These Biblical heroes who stepped out in faith, “subdued kingdoms, worked righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, out of weakness were made strong, became valiant in battle, turned to flight the armies of the aliens…received their dead raised to life again.”

Yes!  Victory!  I love following God!

“Others were tortured, not accepting deliverance, that they might obtain a better resurrection.  Still others had trial of mockings and scourgings, yes, and of chains and imprisonment.  They were stoned, they were sawn in two, were tempted, were slain with the sword.  They wandered about in sheepskins and goatskins, being destitute, afflicted, tormented – of whom the world was not worthy.”

Umm, God?  Was that in the fine print?

When it comes right down to it, I think that faith clings to the fact that God is good, even when His definition of good is different than mine.  I think that honest believers hold up God’s unfathomable will in one hand and their own containable will in the other and ask themselves this question, “Can I trust that God’s will is ultimately, infinitely better than my own?”  True faith answers, “Yes.”

The truth is, when I walk by faith, I have no idea what circumstances I am going to get.  My faith isn’t based on that kind of result.  My faith is based on God’s character, which I already know for sure.  Character which doesn’t spare me from the possibility of failure or shattered dreams, but always replaces my goals and dreams with something infinitely better:  Himself.

When I say, “I’m afraid,” God says, “I AM your shelter.”

When I say, “This hurts,” God says, “I AM your comfort.”

I’m too small for this…I AM a Mighty Warrior

I don’t know where I’m going…I AM the Way

I’ve lost my bearings…I AM the Truth

I can’t breathe…I AM the Life

I would love a Red Sea kind of result to my faith.  Walls fallen, lions tamed, fire quenched…that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!  But I would also like to be able to stand alongside Job, faith-filled and able to say, “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.”

I am so weak…I AM strong.

Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.

~Mark 9:24~

His Voice

In the beginning, His voice filled the silence.  His smallest whisper called forth substance from nothingness.  When He spoke, waves swelled and crashed against shore, mountains thundered forth from the deep, and galaxies burst into being.

At His word, the universe was formed; and by His word, He sustains it all.

Upon His continued command, planets spin, birds take flight, lightening flashes, and lungs draw breath.

It is at His charge that day follows night; it is by His decree that winter gives way to spring.

His voice alone commands the demons, heals the sick, beckons the dead, and quiets the storm.

                       

The simple utterance of His own holy name throws an army of soldiers to the ground.

And as His body hung broken, weighted heavy with the sin of the world, the same voice that had birthed the cosmos sounded the final victory cry:

"It is finished!"

At His declaration, the earth quaked, rocks were split, graves were opened, dead men walked, the veil of separation was torn in two, and the purchase of our freedom was complete.

The whole of creation answers back:

"And every creature which is in heaven and on the earth and under the earth and such as are in the sea, and all that are in them, I heard saying:  'Blessing and honor and glory and power be to Him who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb, forever and ever!'"  (Revelation 5:13)

Have you lifted your voice and joined the universal chorus?

The Dance

We dance together, He and I.  He gently leads as we twirl and weave through fragrant meadows, across whispering streams, along deeply wooded paths, past hidden glades.  His gaze never leaves my face; His eyes infinite pools holding deep and ancient secrets.  I belong to Him, and He is mine.

The song is His own, and as my eyes rest steadfastly on His, I sway freely to its refrain.  Bound together by the chorus, we move as one ~ every step in perfect rhythm.  The course of the dance is not mine to fathom; only He knows the way it will take.  The strength of His arms and the surety of His steps are my refuge.

As trees give way to open field, the sunlight spreads warm across my cheeks.  Lyrical strains unfurl into boundless sky.  Enchanted, my eyes wander to the beauty surrounding us:  brilliant blossoms waving lazily in the sun-soaked breeze, swallows diving low and skimming tall grass, an endless sapphire sky stretching high above.  The melody plays airy and whimsical, and I close my eyes, swinging lightly to its lilting tones.  I could dance here forever.

It only takes a moment to stumble.  With my eyes no longer fixed on His, I've missed the subtle shift. Enraptured by the loveliness of this place, I've stopped following His lead.  One missed beat and I falter, our cadence thrown out of rhythm.  His steady hands restore my balance, but my head still spins, disoriented.  Only as His eyes once again catch mine am I able to hear the transition I missed ~ the music is changing.

Why does this trouble me?  His symphony is ever-changing, and His dance ever-moving.  This is the profound mystery of His exquisite song.  It's just that I've grown fond of this present movement; its rhythm and harmonies suit me.  And I wonder where the dance might take us from here.  Will we spin and glide our way into arid desert, accompanied by harsh tones and minor chords?  Will barrenness surround us?  Will the strength of His embrace be the only beauty that remains?  The only beauty...

My wayward heart strikes a dissonant note.  How could I have forgotten my first love?  Hasn't His embrace always been enough?  We've traveled foreign terrain before, He and I.  When did the sweetness of the music and the ease of the dance take His place in my heart?  His is the only beauty that I need; the steadiness of His gaze the only oasis I require.

Our steps realign as I raise my eyes to His, finite meeting infinite.  My heart remembers its one true treasure and swells with joy.  My soul finds the meter of his anthem once again, and with hands entwined, we dance on.

The Great Exchange

I know who I am.

I've seen beneath my fragile wrappings, and I know the depths of me.  I'm not blind; I will not close my eyes.  I have seen the swirl of inky darkness within myself, and I know what it means.

I'm ravaged, like all the rest.  It only took one invitation for evil to enter the world, and when it did, it devoured everything.  Whatever loveliness once existed, whatever joy or hope, is gone.  Now, there is only darkness.

The very first of us believed a lie, and every one of us since has fallen for it as well.  The same lie still hisses from the serpent's mouth into every ear:  It is not enough.  We bought the lie, and it ruined everything.  I bought the lie, and it ruined me.  This is all that remains.

I know who I am.

I am Eve, the rebel, who shattered the entire world with her own two hands.

I am Rahab, the sinner

          Ruth, the outcast

                    Tamar, the desperate

I am Mephibosheth, the orphan

          David, the fallen

                    Peter, the coward

                              Saul, the destroyer

I am the lost Ethiopian

          the broken Prodigal

                    the guilty Adulteress

The lie I believed has become my identity:  I am not enough.  I am shrunken and wasted, far less than what should be.  All that remains is what I am not.

And this was to be my end...until the day that He came for me.

The great I AM, the One who is everything, came and offered an exchange:

He would take my sin

          my brokenness

                    my darkness

                              my insufficiency

                                        my death

And, in exchange, He would give me His righteousness

          His wholeness

                    His light

                              His sufficiency

                                        His life

With shaking hands, I gathered up the wretchedness that I had become, timidly placed it in His arms, and watched Him take it to the cross.  There, the sky turned black as He bore the hell that I had created.  His death paid my ransom.  And as life returned to His lungs that resurrection morning, true life filled mine for the first time.

The exchange is complete, and I know who I am.

I am Eve, returned to the Garden

I am Rahab, the rescued

          Ruth, the redeemed

                    Tamar, the blessed

I am Mephibosheth, the adopted

          David, the cleansed

                    Peter, the restored

                              Paul, the called

I am the enlightened Ethiopian

          the returned Prodigal

                    the forgiven Adulteress

He has called me by name, and I am His.

I know who I am.  My name is Grace.

"For He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him."

~II Corinthians 5:21

I'll Do My Best

Fifteen years ago, my husband and I returned from our honeymoon, tan and madly in love, and spent the next month choosing a church together.  We knew it was a huge decision, one that would be central to our marriage and our family.  We settled in at a church that was similar to the church we had attended throughout college - one whose pastor preached the Word of God with conviction, clarity and uncompromising zeal. He still preaches like that today, and I am so deeply grateful.

The youth pastor at the time was in the midst of trying to get an AWANA program off the ground.  AWANA is a program that reaches kids with the gospel of Christ and trains them to serve Him.  AWANA does this through extensive Scripture memory, Bible teaching, discipleship, mentoring, and some games thrown in for fun.  Somehow, word got out to this youth pastor that my husband had significant leadership experience in AWANA, having volunteered in the program as a teenager and throughout his college years.  Before we could blink, he had taken my husband out for pie and asked him to head up the T&T portion (3rd - 6th graders) of the AWANA club its first year.

Approved Workmen Are Not Ashamed

My husband enthusiastically agreed, holding a deep-seated passion for teaching God's Word to kids.  I had no AWANA experience whatsoever, but I was newly married with stars in my eyes and wherever my beloved husband went, I was sure to follow.  I signed on to be a small group leader for the T&T girls.  No one kept records of numbers back then, but we couldn't have had many more than 30 kids in the program that first year.  I fell head-over-heels in love with my T&T girls, and God planted a burgeoning passion in my heart to match my husband's.

The next year, the youth pastor handed the AWANA program over to my husband in its entirety, and he became AWANA Commander over the whole preschool-6th grade deal - a position he holds to this day.  I loved working with the 3rd-6th grade girls so much that I decided I was there to stay as well.

After two years of marriage, we had our first baby.  We placed her in her little carseat carrier and carted her off to AWANA with us each and every week.  When the time of night came for me to meet with my small group of T&T girls, I would tuck her carseat next to the AWANA secretary's desk, and the secretary would kindly keep an eye on the baby for me while I met with my older girls.  Later, during game time, our little munchkin would contentedly suck away at her bottle in the middle of the noisy chaos.  Each child that came into our family after that lived the very same story.  AWANA has been a part of their lives since the day we brought them home from the hospital; it's in their blood.

Nine years ago, that first little munchkin of ours was finally old enough to enter the AWANA preschool program herself.  She donned her little blue and red vest, looped her AWANA bag over her shoulder, and trotted in to her very first night of Cubbies.  Just last night, she graduated from the program as a mature and lovely 6th grader.  Where did the years go?!

I've seen incredible things these past 15 years in AWANA.  I've had the privilege of praying with kids to receive Christ as their personal Lord and Savior;  I've seen little, tiny Cubbies grow up to be God-honoring teenagers and adults; I've seen our church surround and provide for a family in need because their daughter mentioned to her AWANA leader that her mom didn't have enough money to give her for school lunch the next day; I've been led by the Holy Spirit to teach a large-group lesson on the hope and joy God offers us in the midst of suffering, completely unaware that a girl who lost her mother to cancer that very afternoon sat in the room; I've seen adult AWANA volunteers come to the realization that they don't have an authentic relationship with God and decide to turn their lives over to Him; I've seen a young girl who was invited to AWANA by a neighborhood friend choose to make Jesus her Savior, then invite her parents to attend our church on the weekend, which led to her parents also accepting Christ, which led to their marriage ultimately being rescued from the brink of divorce (and that's a story I've seen repeated before my eyes on several different occassions).

In addition to all this, God continues to bring more and more kids to our front door. What started out as a small and humble group that first year has now grown to a group of over 350 kids on an average AWANA night, along with over 100 volunteers who love and support them.  Each year that number increases significantly.  We are absolutely bursting at the seams with these kids, and we're thrilled out of our minds about it!

Each year of AWANA ends with an awards ceremony that honors and celebrates the kids' accomplishments for the year. These kids are simply amazing. The amount of Scripture that they have to commit to memory to complete just one AWANA book is incredible. Since those early years, it's been so much fun to watch the kids that we know and love grow in God's Word. Some of the girls I had in my very first T&T group are married now and working on families of their own. Last year, one of my girls who was finishing up her last year of AWANA wrote me a note to tell me that she plans to let me know when she's an AWANA leader with a group of her own someday. Oh, the joy!

The past several years, we've ended the awards ceremony by bringing every single one of those crazy kids into the sanctuary at the same time.  They pack the stage, the aisles, and every last corner in that sanctuary until I'm sure we're breaking at least five city fire ordinances.  And then, together, they sing praises to Jesus in front of their families and friends.  My heart fills to bursting every time, and I'm helpless to stop the tears streaming down my cheeks.  How on earth did we gain the privilege of teaching all these piles of children about Jesus?!  If you add them all together over the years, they number in the thousands.  If what we teach them sinks in and sticks even a small percentage of the time...I can't take in the result.  I long for the day in heaven when one of our AWANA kids approaches their old AWANA leader and says, "I'd like you to meet my great-great grandchild.  She's here today because I met Jesus in Cubbies all those many, many years ago." 

Glory!!

It's that thought that keeps my husband and I, and so many others, coming back week after week, year after year.  When we're dealing with that difficult child who we'd rather tie to the back of a tractor than show the love of Jesus, we think of heaven.  When our minds wander to the 4,561 other things we could be doing with our Wednesday nights, we think of heaven.  And when those 350 kids packed the aisles last night and sang to Jesus at the top of their lungs...

I'll do my best, I'll do my best;
Oh-oh-oh,
I'll do my best for You!

...I thought of heaven.  And my own heart began to sing to Jesus:  If You will keep them walking through our doors, Lord, then I'll do my best, I'll do my best; Oh-oh-oh, I'll do my best for You.

Please listen, HERE, and let your mind fill with visions of heaven

The Heart of a Mother

Motherhood will always hold a special place in my heart as the event that changed everything.  Somehow, I didn’t see it coming.  In my pre-children state of naivete, I assumed that motherhood would simply enrich my already rosy world.  Instead, it hit me like a train wreck.

Before I became a mother, I was completely blind to the tangled roots of pride, selfishness, impatience and complacency which crouched hidden in the depths of my heart—faults which were suddenly laid out, bare and ugly, in the sharp light of motherhood.

I’m quite convinced that these four children, whom I cherish so dearly, have changed me just as much as I’ve shaped them.  Perhaps, even more.  It’s through the entanglement of their lives with my own that I’ve learned, again and again, that love equals sacrifice.  Love demands that I die to myself and live for another.

It’s been a messy process (as it turns out, my Self doesn’t really intend to lay down and die without a fight), but it’s been so worth it.  God has used these children to make me more like Himself.  He’s also used them to teach me that I’m not anywhere near as in control of things as I’d like to be.

The more I lay myself down as a living sacrifice for these four children, the more tightly my heart becomes wrapped up in their stories.  Like every mother, I find myself desperate to know that they’re going to be OK; that they’ll grow up safe, whole, and madly in love with Jesus.

Ironically, the more doggedly I strive to achieve these goals for my children, the more I realize that they’re largely outside of my grasp.  It’s a disturbing realization, until I remember the strength of the grasp that God’s grace has had upon my own life.

I couldn’t have run away from God if I had tried.  I did try, in my own way.  It’s almost comical to me the lengths that God stretched to keep me tethered to Himself.  As wonderful as my parents were and still are, they couldn’t have guaranteed the outcome of my life.  They simply introduced me to the Savior, taught me His ways, and He took it from there.

These days, I find myself frequently lifting my children up with trembling hands, and placing them into Jesus’ steady hands of grace. I pray desperately for them every day with tears streaming down my cheeks.  I pray for safety from harm and for peace in the midst of sibling strife.  I pray for purity of body and spirit and for good scores on math tests.  I pray for hearts that love justice and mercy and for courage against playground bullies; I pray for truthfulness, holiness, future spouses, and the patience needed to make it through homework time.

These kids of mine, they’re on my heart all the time.  My prayers for them are frequent; my thoughts never leave them.  These little people are woven into the fabric of who I am, and that’s as it should be.  Every child should have a mother who is obsessed with them.

But some don’t.

Several of their faces adorn my refrigerator, actually.  They are precious children whom we sponsor—sending money across oceans to pay for their food, shelter and education; sending occasional notes or gifts to make them feel special; sending a quick prayer heavenward for them at bedtime.

I have no idea why it never struck me before, but they need so much more than that.  These particular children that we sponsor, they’re orphans.  And one day, several months ago as I prayed for my own kids, their sweet, brown faces floated across my mind.  My heart jumped in my chest as I suddenly wondered, who prays for these children?  I mean, really prays—not these quick prayers we throw heavenward at bedtime.  Who prays for them every single day, with burdened heart, fervent words, and tears on cheeks?  Who obsessively prays for them like a mother would?

Being a mother equals love.  Love equals sacrifice—the laying down of one life for the good of another.  Some beautiful families lay down their entire lives for orphaned children such as these through the incredible gift of adoption.  God hasn’t called our family there…yet.  But surely I can lay down more than just my checkbook for these lovely faces that wallpaper my fridge.  How much would it really cost me to pray for these children the way I pray for the four who came from my own body?  Nothing more than another little piece of my selfishness.

You know these children, too.  Their faces hang on your fridge.  Their feet walk the school halls alongside your own children.  Their hands play at the park down your street.  They may not be physical orphans, but many of them are spiritual orphans.  Who is praying for these children?  Who is hugging them?  Who is telling them that they're incredibly special?  Can our mothers' hearts make room for one more?

Tomorrow, our families will honor us as mothers.  But, really, the honor is all ours.  Motherhood is a gift.  It’s a chance to get over ourselves and get down to the business of really loving like Jesus.  And Jesus’ heart always has room for one or two more.  Why shouldn’t ours?

Happy Mother’s Day!