Ethiopian Orphans

Ethiopian Orphans from Simon Scionka on Vimeo.

Adoption update

Someone asked for an update on our adoption, so I'll fill you in quickly.

I haven't given y'all any news because, well, there is no news. We are in the hurry up and wait category. We've been on the wait list now for five months.

A 'referral' is when the agency calls us and says, go to your computer so we can send you photos of your baby. We were hoping to get that call in April. Now, it is looking like May, maybe even June.

Sigh.

We were hoping to travel for our court date this summer, but the chances keep getting slimmer. My hopeful expectation is having her home by August. My realistic expectation is sometime in October, after the Ethiopian courts reopen for the rainy season. My worst case scenario is closer to Christmas. But I DO believe that this past Christmas was our last Christmas without her!!

All my conjecture means nothing, however, because God's in control of the whole thing. And in international adoption, things can change on a dime. And have.

The question everyone who sees me asks is, do you know who she is. The answer is no. I am assuming she is soon to be born, but probably not born quite yet. We asked for as tiny a baby as possible, so in my completely fabricated timeline, she will be born in February or March. That would make her come home at around age 6-7 months. It will be fun to see how off I was when we finally get a referral.

When our name is at the top of the list (Gladney does not give you an actual number, you just kinda figure it out), we will be matched with a baby girl who is available for adoption. Then we will be assigned a court date, which we will travel to. If we pass court, we will travel again, hopefully about a month later, when we have been assigned an appointment at the American Embassy for her visa. Then we bring her home!

Logistically, it would be easier on the whole family if this did not happen until school started, because it is easier to ask people to care for my kids when they are in school most of the day. So I keep telling myself.

If you want to pray for us - and we covet all prayers - then please pray for her healthy development, and for the heart of her mother who is now or is about to be in the most agonizing situation. I cannot imagine the anxious thoughts that may be going through her mind as she feels this baby grow inside her.  I constantly pray that she will feel a supernatural peace regarding her child, that God will assure her soul that her baby will be so indescribably loved and cared for.

As for me, I'm fine. I tend to worry about things categorically and chronologically. I am speaking at a women's retreat in Kansas in early April, so that is consuming my extra thoughts. Once that is past, I think I will become a little obsessive about getting The Call.

There's the update on our adoption.

While we're on the topic, I'm thrilled that Park Cities Presbyterian in Dallas is having an adoption conference next month. PCPC, as the kool kids call it, is the mother church of our church here in Houston. Our buddy Dave Stotts did a beautiful video for the conference:

(You can see it better if you click here)



Walker did comment that it made him hum Take My Breath Away. And if you got that joke, you're officially old.

Eleven signs you might be addicted to Words With Friends

1. You make a "glub glub glub" sound when you walk
2. Your favorite words in the English language are QI and ZA, even though you have no idea what they mean
3. You've wrestled over the ethics of using ScrabbleCheat.com
4. You've wrestled over the ethics of playing a really naughty word that would land you a lot of points
5. You've tried to get into the minds of the arbitrary Powers That Be. QUO. It's a word!! And you don't know why Zaire is the only nation recognized, but 29 points says you're glad it is
6. The little "You've beat soandso" song makes your day
7. You've texted, emailed or tweeted an incredibly high score you got (or blogged about it. 69 points for 'weenie', y'all. 69 points.)
8. You suddenly have an ongoing, very intense, very competitive relationship with someone you haven't seen since high school (if ever)
9. You've never felt competitive against your spouse...until now, when the urge to bet him/her is an all consuming fire
10. You understand the term "accidental resignation."
11. Bathroom breaks are taking a lot longer now

The first step is admitting the problem.

Hi, I'm Missy...and I'm a WWFaholic.

Mom to Mom: The joys of child labor

Seriously, why do I ever put myself on a blog deadline? It is a surefire jinx. Since I was going to post my mom tips today, 5/6 of my family (so far not me - please Lord, not me) have gotten sick. Flu? Strep? Croup? Not sure but everyone is home today in varying degrees of aches and whines.

So I will just post one of my mom tricks but I have to tell you, this is my fave.

I did not come from a large family, nor did Walker. So I constantly feel like I am reinventing the wheel. I realized sometime last year that we had fallen into a pattern of me doing 90% of the work to make this household run. Which meant I was constantly exhausted and guess what - bitter. Resentful. Aggravated.

Not the best ingredients for creating a joyous home.

Ike's former speech therapist came from a poor family in the Texas Valley with five kids. I asked her how her mom handled it, and she said, "My mom always said: More kids doesn't mean more work, it just means more workers."

That moment should be the main exhibit at the Missy Lightbulb Moment Hall of Fame.

So, after a long discussion with Walker and a long discussion with Dr. Google, I developed chore charts.

I was under the mistaken notion that my kids, ages 4-7, were too little to really help around the house. And, in a lot of ways, they are. They can't tackle any of my big chores like cooking and laundry. But there are about eleventy million little chores I do all day long, and just delegating those little chores has made a huge difference in my life.

The kids are making their lunches now. They are putting away their own laundry and unload the dishwasher - my two least favorite things to do. They brush their teeth and clean their rooms without me having to say it 20 times.

And the toilets get flushed. 

If I added up the time it takes for them to do these little things, I bet it shaves an hour off my day. And that deserves a hallelujah.

Each child's chores are tailored to their developmental ability. Some things have proven to be too difficult (like loading the dishwasher) so they were removed. Maggie's chore chart has pictures since she is barely reading.

I also added things in there for my own reminding. For instance, read a book to mom. Say memory verse. Hug everyone in your family. And best of all, no matter how hectic our mornings may be, each child is individually prayed over by me or Walker.

I made the chore charts in a Word doc, and I print a morning and an afternoon list once a week. This makes it very easy to add or remove chores as needed, like, write a thank you note for birthday presents, or take medicine, like Erin mentioned. (I think I'm gonna add 'take your vitamins' because we always forget that.) I print the charts on the back of the endless papers they bring home from school cause I'm a reduce/reuse/recycle kind of girl.

At the top of the page, I cut and paste a picture by doing a google search for 'black and white line drawing images' of princesses or whatever.

How are the chores enforced? Well, my kids can quote the last half of 2 Thessalonians 3:10:

If anyone will not work, neither shall he eat.

Chores must be completed before breakfast and dinner. And what if they aren't? Feel free to ask a certain cute blond girl if she likes going to bed without any supper. 

I managed to turn the word docs into jpegs (pretty proud of myself) so you can see what our's look like.

So there ya go.

Last week y'all left some of the BEST tips - be sure and go read the comments here.

If you want to link up, do so below. Be sure to link up to a specific post - not your blog url. Or just leave some more fantastic comments.

Link-a-dink-dink

{Insert a Jed Clampett Oooooo, doggy here} I got links coming out my ears.

First off, my friend Jen Crockett Smith - seven kids ago and two husbands ago we used to be single skinny BSF leaders together -  well, she's still skinny, because of the reason I am about to tell you - is running in the Houston Marathon this Sunday (skinny) and she was chosen by KSBJ to run for Living Water International! Living Water digs wells to help those in the world who don't have clean water.  

5,000 children die a DAY for lack of clean water.

Jen is collecting donations and you can click right here to donate. We'd LOVE for you to put the button on your blog too - you can get the html code here. 

And then please go here and vote for my dear friend Carol's baby. Just leave a comment saying TRENT! She has promised to give me some Dr Pepper if he wins. My sugar high is in your hands.

I loved this post by my friend Kelly at Love Well. I loved it well HA and it convicted my pants off.

Yea Lysa!! The Words Escaped Me

I sobbed through this one about meeting birthparents

Russell Moore says Jesus has AIDS.

If I could force someone to be best friends with me, it would be Amy Sedaris. Walker says she is a grown-up Maggie. Amy has written a book called Simple Times: Crafts for Poor People and demonstrates them here. Prepare to giggle, especially if you are the anti-Martha like I am.

I was telling Walker how oddly Brits pronounce "aluminum" and we came across this site, Forvo, which has different pronunciations and languages for words. You enter a word, like schedule, and hear it many different accents. Oh, the hours I could waste.

In the incredibly random category, David Gilmore from Pink Floyd has a gorgeous boat.


I have more but I will save them for next time. OOooooo, doggy, I got more.

Recipe:
My new year's resolution is to eat more cabbage. I know, I know, me and everybody else! Seriously y'all, cabbage is 20 cents a pound, incredibly nutritious (more vitamin C than oranges - who knew?) and my kids happen to love it. Although it does fall in the magical fruit category (the more you eat, the more you...) we're on a cabbage kick.  I found this recipe, and it is delish. If you have any more, please share.

Book I'm reading:


Fas.cin.nat.ing.












YouTube:
I'm gonna have you click again, but you won't want to miss this, or what Melissa said about it. Go here.

Have a good weekend, invisibles!

Sharing our mommy tips was supposed to be today.
I'm moving it to Monday.
Why?
Cause this mommy doesn't have her act together.

(And, because of Joanne, I've been re-evaluating how I spend my time a lot more lately.
Which means the blogging has been a little usurped by, you know, my family.)

So get your ideas all ready, preferably with visual aids, and come back here to link up on Monday.

Have a blessed weekend, invisible friends.

Blessed are the Booty Hearts

 I ran this as a WFMW back in like, oh my word, 2008. But when I learned Ashley was un-Seeded, I had to run it again. Let me just say that Seeds has blessed every person in our family in eternal ways.

So do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

Did you feel the need to say anything out loud after you read this?

Maybe a Hallelujah, or an Amen?

Well, if you were Eva Rose, you would have cried out, "Mom! My bottom is dancing!"

Isaiah 41:10 makes my daughter's bottom dance.

Praise be to our Lord Jesus Christ.

For a long, long time, eons it seemed, I searched high and low for un-annoying Christian children's music. In vain. In vainy vainy vain.

I just wanted some good tunes, fun for kids, while not simultaneously making mom want to bang her head against the dashboard. So much good stuff exists in the secular world, I could not fathom why it was so impossible to find a Christian Laurie Berkner? Or a Dan Zanes for Jesus?

Wanting my kids to learn the good old songs and hymns I knew, I settled for listening to melodramatic children's voices accompanied by a synthesizer played by a guy whom I imagined to have Flock of Seagulls hair. (With the Christian music leader frosted tips, of course. And a goatee. Probably wearing some Toms. And sporting some tats.)

And then, something beautiful and magical happened....I discovered Seeds Family Worship.

And now, if you are experienceing a little anxiety, I am not likely to quote scripture at you. Oh no.

But I will sing it at you.
(Walker might accompany with an interpretive dance, should you happen to be exceptionally blessed.)



Lord knows I serenade myself with some do-not-be-anxious, like, well, pretty much every day.

Cast your cares, sister.



These CDs, which are also available on iTunes, totally rock, and I mean that literally and figuratively. The band takes great bible verses and sets them to great music. After listening to them, God's word will be hidden in your child's heart - and your's. Because get this - are you sitting down - I find myself listening (and jamming and singing very loudly) to Seeds even when my kids are not in the car.

And if you ever hear someone singing "It is by grace you have been saved, through faith, it is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God, it is the gift of God....la di DA. La di DA, ohhh, not from yourselves..." while goosing cantaloupes at Kroger, well, that would be me, and that would be Ephesians 2:8. Which I now know by heart. And which my bottom now dances to.

Now, one caveat - if you buy this CD, you will find yourself trying to explain things like, "Why is Jesus da wight of da world?" and "What is wages of sin?" or, "What's a new cweation mean?" to three and four year olds. So have your coffee ready.


But can I tell you how my heart rejoices while I try and explain theological concepts to my preschoolers that I did not learn about until I was almost thirty?

Shepherd and Eva Rose's all time favorite is Booty Heart. "Play the Booty Heart song, Mom! Booty heart!" Did you not know about the booty hearts? Well, they will see God. Jesus said so in Matthew 5:8: Blessed are the booty pure in heart, for they will see God. Blessed, yeah yeah yeah, blessed, yeah yeah yeah...

Mom to Mom - show me what's in your Momma bag o'tricks

We haven't done a Mom to Mom in a while, and I have an idea.

I want your mom tips. The things that you have found that make your life go a little easier. It can be anything from organizing the playroom, to chores, to money, to books, to closets, to surviving a restaurant...I want to hear about those V8 moment ideas.

Whether you have one child or ten, we've all found shortcuts. The best ideas I've ever gotten on how to make my day run better have come from other mommies. Lay 'em on me. And I'll share mine.

I will provide a linkup so you can link back to your blog, or you can just leave us a nice long comment.

Let's do it next Thursday, the 20th.

To see Mom to Moms I've hosted in the past, click here.

And now I leave you with this little insight I found in a certain kindergartner's backpack.

So if you have any tips on how to de-boy-crazy daughters, be sure and include those too.

I need them desperately, you no.

And now a bloggy public service announcement

We all love a link. All bloggers love to be linked back to. It makes our little bloggy hearts happy to receive such a compliment.

You needn't ask permission to do this, it's the way the whole blog community works. A link is the bloggy equivalent of a high five with a mani/pedi thrown in. Same for a facebook post or a tweet.

Here's what's not so sweet.

Please don't copy and paste entire posts of other bloggers' onto your blog.

Really. Please. Don't.

If you did this because it was a rookie mistake, I so get you. We were all rookies once. We all made mistakes.

Now you know.

If you do take it upon yourself to copy AN ENTIRE POST that took hours/blood/sweat/tears for that other blogger to pour out her soul that was written by another blogger, then please, be so kind as to give them credit and provide a link back to their blog.

But rest assured that blogger would have much rather have a link than for you to copy VERBATIM their entire post on your blog.

Yeah, it's illegal. It's called plagiarism. It violates copyright laws yada yada.

But more than that, it's also just, well, rude.
With a side of uncool.
The Golden Rule and all that.


Same thing goes for pictures.

That is all.

Why He came

"My son died."

That's what Mitzi said when I called her back. Just like that. "My son died."

Before I could pull into the parking lot I began to sob that deep, soul coughing sob that I've only done a couple of other times in my life. Which frightened my children. But my cell phone had died, so if I stepped outside the car, I would be unattached from the umbilical cord that connected it to the life of the cigarette lighter. The children began to cry too. We all cried, all of us questioning why, in the parking lot of the Kinkos.

In between sobs, I heard that the baby I had just cooed to days earlier through the layers of cotton and skin that separated me from him had quit kicking her. She went to the hospital on Sunday, and they confirmed it. He was gone. They cut open her womb and removed his body. He was five pounds one ounce. He was beautiful. He looked perfect. And he was gone.

Born still. Born into heaven. Born asleep.
He died.

She has grieved well, my friend. She grieved well from the very beginning. I've never felt so blessed to call another woman friend as I have felt blessed to watch her grieve. She's been prepared for this her entire life. Her God revealed Himself to her long before this and she knows Him. She knows that He is good even in this shadow of this very, very bad. She clings to Him desperately as she wades through this season.

But now the holidays are here, and he is not. He would be four months old, if all had gone as we thought it would. He'd be chubby. Maybe cutting a tooth. He'd be smiling a lot. He'd even be laughing. He'd be dressed in a little red Santa suit and Mitzi would be struggling over what to buy an infant for Christmas. He'd be a joy.

But he's not here. And the grief comes in waves. Tsunamis of sorrow. And the joy is hard to catch. And if it is caught, it only lasts a moment before it slips away again.

Everything reminds her of him. Everywhere she sees baby boys who belong to other mothers.

I stand in church and my husband points to the list of poinsettias. The one I paid for weeks ago says In memory of Christian Graham Wells. Memory. I bury my face in my husband's jacket and cry. Then I erase the smeared mascara with a clean white little boy sock because that's all I can find in my purse as the words of a Christmas carol I've known all my life sound completely new to me:

Mild he lays His glory by
  born that we no more may die
  born to raise us from the earth
  born to give us second birth

THIS is why He came.

He came, as a baby, because babies die.

Babies typically smile at six weeks old. I assume that by the time Mary brought Jesus to the Temple, her Son had just redeemed His first several weeks of sleeplessness by finally smiling at His mother. And at that smile, Mary, who could not believe that she could love Him any more, immediately loved Him more.

Knowing the crippling power of this love myself, I have often wondered how Mary responded when she proudly presented her beautiful Son to Simeon, and he told her, And a sword will pierce your own soul too. I imagine the smile sliding off her face as her heart begins to pound and she questions why.

THIS is why he came.

He came as a Son, because sons die.

And, like Mary, Mitzi is well acquainted with the aches of a soul piercing.

But the Baby who smiled and walked and talked - who did all the things Christian did not do - He also grew into a Man who proclaimed that God was within reach, available to be grasped and clung to and for that, He was crucified. He died.

But after he was murdered and buried, this Son of Man rose again. And He goes to prepare a place for us - He had already prepared a nursery for Christian - He has also prepared a place for Mitzi and for me and for you where we will one day hold the living body of her baby son while we behold the living body of Mary's Son and then, then we will find joy in the complete understanding that THIS IS WHY HE CAME.

Hark, the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn King!

Parenting a feral child

Maggie Week continues.
From September '09 - the one you've all been waiting for.  
{Insert impish laugh.}

If you have been reading for a while you know that Maggie, age 3, is adorable and sweet and funny and cute. Her speech impediments only make her cuter. Mags is her own little person. She marches to the beat of a different drummer.

And sometimes, I wonder what that drummer is smoking.

Her antics are always messy, frequently annoying, and occasionally deadly. Lately, they are also a bit concerning. Because if future behavior can be predicted by preschool activities - please pray for us.

It all began on July 4, the day of her cousin Hattie's third birthday. I was home sick so Walker took the kids to the party. Maggie disappeared back into Hattie's room to play dress up.

Then, while Walker stood standing with some guys he only kinda knew, he heard a loud "TA DAAAAAAAAAA!!!" He turned around, and there was Maggie.

There was Maggie, stark naked.
There was Maggie, stark naked, save for a pink feather boa.
There was Maggie, stark naked, save for a pink feather boa, shouting "TA DAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"

Walker stumbled and bumbled and swooped her away from the random onlookers and made her presentable again. Later when he relayed it to me, we laughed, you know, thinking it was a cute story, ah, that crazy Mags.

Till about two weeks later.

Two weeks later when I sat the kids down to fingerpaint at the kitchen table. Now I have learned that the Magster is not to be left to her own devices whilst fingerpainting. So why did I take my eyes off her for 45 seconds? Because I needed some ice tea, that's why. A mother needs fuel to function. When I turned back around, all exposed Maggie skin was covered in paint. Of course.

I scolded her appropriately and sent her into the guest bath to clean up. Then I proceeded to clean up the paint. That's when I heard the words I never really expected to hear regarding one of my girl-childs: "MOM! Maggie is PEEING in the SINK!!"

Indeed she was. She had crawled up on the counter and was straddling the sink, peeing into it through her panties, like a drunken frat boy.

At which point, a mother can only cry out, "Why? Maggie, Why??"

"Be-cau." Which is her answer to everything. Becau.
Then she laughed. Impishly.
And I prayed to Jesus.

I stripped her down, and told her to put some more panties on. Angrily, she obeyed. She put the panties on.



And left them there for at least an hour.


Couple weeks later. I sent Maggie upstairs one afternoon to nap, and soon afterward the doorbell rang. It was Fed Ex, delivering two large boxes. As the elderly African American man lugged them inside, he said, with a troubled look and a strong New Orleans accent, "Ma'am, your daughter ain't got no clothes on."

Blinking. "Pardon?"

"Your little girl is in the upstairs windah, and she ain't got no clothes on. Sho 'nuff, the whole street can see her."

"Oh. Thank you. Sure is hot out here. Can I get you a glass of ice water?"

He declined.

I shut the door and raced upstairs. Sho 'nuff. Maggie had gone to the potty and stripped naked as is her custom (are you noticing a pattern?), then climbed up on the window sill, from where she commenced to waving joyfully at the poor Fed Ex man.

"Why, are you in the window, Maggie? Why??"

"Becau!"

And she laughed.
Impishly.
And I prayed to Jesus.
As is our custom.

If your fish died tonight, would he go to Heaven?

Maggie Week(s) continues
To see previous posts, click here




Last Wednesday Shep's sweet teacher sent out an email that said this: "Dear moms - as an end of the year gift, and to coordinate with our ocean unit, I want to send all the boys home with a goldfish. Please let me know if you would prefer not to have one for some reason."

Who, me? Me prefer not to have one more living creature in this household to clean up after, feed and care for?

Oh, little goldfish, how I do not love thee, let me count the ways.

Images ran through my head of Shepherd in his classroom, watching all the other 5 year old boys receive their fish, a solitary tear running down his face as his little chin quivered - and I debated whether or not to say no. But, as one of my goals in parenting is to avoid any of my own children starring in their own personal After School Special, I bit my fingers. And sighed. And emailed all my friends instead, asking, what do I need for a goldfish?

Oh my word, the fish horror stories that filled my inbox! Stories of them ending their fishy misery by flopping out of their bowls! Stories of gills turning black! Stories of preschoolers dumping a whole can of fish food in and killing all the gluttonous fish in the aquarium!

(Oh wait, that last one, was not a story. It was a personal memory. The fish were my Grandma's. She handled it well.)

Traumatized by a MOPS group of fish tales, I began to get less and less excited about the newest member-to-be of our family.

Friday, when I picked Shep up from his last day of school, he proudly held up the ziplock of water in which swum his pride and joy. "I got a fish, Momma! Look!"

"Awesome, Shep!" I feigned excitement. "So cool!" I faked some more. "What's his name?"

"Buxton."

"Pardon?"

"Bux. Ton."

"How on earth did you come up with that name?" I asked.

"It's cool. I like it. That's how."

"Ahhhh, gotcha," said the woman who named her sons "Shepherd" and "Ingram".

In between protecting Buxton from his oooing and ahhing new aunts and uncle, I decided to wage a preemptive strike. I explained to them all that I had heard some sad, sad stories about fish, that they often don't live very long, that if Buxton died in a week, we should not be too disappointed, because that's just how it goes with fish.

On the way home, Shepherd stated, "Momma, I want to take Buxton to church on Sunday."

"To church? Why?"

"So he can learn about Jesus. If he dies, I want him to be in Heaven with me. So he needs to come to church."

"That's very sweet, but you know," I explained, "he doesn't need to come to church to hear about Jesus. You can tell him about Jesus, Shep!"

Shep chuckled, shaking his head. "No way, naw. He needs to come to church."

Note to self: discuss evangelism with Shepherd. Evidently he doesn't know what it means to be a fisher of men, much less a fisher of fish.

So Buxton was welcomed into our family, and Shepherd showed him around his new home before leaving him in his room while I scrounged around for some kind of impromptu fish bowl.

A few minutes later, Shep left his Legos and went upstairs to check on his new pet.

Then I heard the screams.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! HE'S DEAD!!!!!!! BUXTON'S DEAD!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"

I raced upstairs to find, there on the hardwood landing, a very cold, very stiff Buxton, his little plastic starfish scattered about him, an empty ziplock tossed nearby! Surveying the crime scene, I interrogated the bystanders. "Who did this? Who dumped him out?"

"Not me!" Eva Rose cried. "Unnhhh," Ike grunted. And pointed. Because that's what Ike does most, he grunts. And points.

"I di it!" Maggie announced, with her speech delayed way of talking that makes her sound like she should be asking if you want a pedi with your mani. "I yet him ou!" she admitted. Proudly.

"YOU KILLLLLLLLLLLED HIM!!! MAGGIE IS A FISH KILLLLLLLLLER!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"

"Maggie," I explained, "fish need water to live. They can't live unless they are in water. When you let him out, he died."

"Ohhhhh. He die? Ohhh. I sowwy Sheh," she patted him on the back. "You get nodder one."

Problem solved.

Then Maggie put her hands up by her shoulders, and hopped around, her head bobbing, and said, "He go yike dis."

At which point I almost died on the same cursed hardwoods in trying to suppress my giggles.

Shep was still screaming and crying hysterically in my arms, Maggie was hopping her dying fish dance, Eva Rose was running up and down the hall, wailing in grief, and Ike was grunting and pointing. Something had to be done. I kissed Shep's tear stained cheeks, looked into his eyes, and said softly, "You wanna flush him in the toilet?"

A look of excitement instantly replaced the tears. "Okay!" He hopped up and cradled Buxton gently in his hands. "Bye, Buxton." He slid him in the toilet, his siblings echoing bye, Buxton, and Unnnnnh. Then he slapped his sister's hand away, "No, it's my fish, I get to flush him." Just like I knew he would.

And Buxton swirled out of lives.

"Momma, I want to go to the pet store and get another one, okay? Please?"

I exhaled. "Of course we will, honey."

"And this time I'm gonna put it WAY UP HIGH where NO BABIES can get him!"

And next time, I thought, you'd best give him the gospel immediately. Because fish, they just might not make it till Sunday.

Happy happy Tuesday

Kids are back in school, I beat my friend and Words With Friends champ Roxanne, and I have beheld the glory that is this:




Life's good.

Let's go CRAZY!! in 2011

"You're crazy, you know? Oh my gah. You're so crazy. I can barely handle two. You have four and you want MORE? Oh my gah. You're crazy!"

I barely know her, but run into her regularly. She seems nice - except for this. Every time, I get the same speech.

Some people, I get the "you're so crazy, and it's so cool" vibe, but not from her. From her, I get the "You're just batpoop crazy" vibe.

I reposition my large behind in the little chair made for a little preschool behind and smile a little forced half smile and nibble my little Christmas tree cookie. She looks at another mom and says, "Do you know how crazy she is? She's already has four kids and she's adopting one more! From Africa! She's crazy!!"

Inhale. Exhale. Half smile semi-sweetly.

"Oh," the other mom says, with the raised eyebrows I know so well by now. "Why are you adopting?"

Now is the moment when I could launch into my informative, yet unoffensive, convincing, yet demure speech, as might be expected of me, Current Available Reigning Ambassador for All Internationally Adopting Mothers.

But today I'm tired. And irritated. And crazy!!

So instead I state, "Because I just can't stand the thought of kids in orphanages."

And then I take a bite of my cookie as the room goes silent. Because evidently no one has an answer to that crazy!! statement.

Nibbling, enjoying the silence, I decide that this might be my ever-ready-answer. Because yes, I can tell you a slew of statistics and quote some hardcore bible verses at you but really? You really wanna know why we're adopting?

We're adopting because I can't stand the thought of kids in orphanages.
Amen. The end. Dig in.

This is my Passion, this kids-in-orphanages thing. This is the thing that makes my heart race. This is the thing I lose sleep over. This is my thang.

Looking back, I've had several passions at given times throughout my life and still do, but Unloved Children has remained consistent, and and I am delighted that it has been nailed down very specifically and proactively to "Unloved Children in Ethiopian Orphanages". Because specifics are our friends, y'all.

This doesn't make me a saint, and contrary to what she fervently believes, it doesn't make me crazy. I just think it makes me that much further along in my journey with this God I claim to love. I think it makes me that much more in tune with this God I declare to worship.

Because I believe that as we cease to be conformed to the world and are transformed by the renewing of our minds, and as we are transformed into his image with every increasing glory, God's heart becomes our heart, and God's passions become our passions.

And God's got a thang for orphans.
Me too.
(A lot of y'all just said Me three.)

What about the rest of you?

It doesn't have to be orphans. Because our God, our Father, Son and Holy Spirit God - He is a God of many Passions.

Which of His passions is reflected in your heart? In what way has He conformed you to His being? How, as Richard Stearns says in one of the books that messed me up this past year, how has God broken your heart for the things that break His heart?

Your Passion may be for AIDS, cancer, homelessness, unborn children, education. Child prostitution. Poverty. Teenagers. College kids. Haiti. Africa. Italy. Inner city Dallas. Suburban Nashville. I've yet to meet a Christian who didn't get very riled up about something that was a direct reflection of God's heart.

Problem is, I think the problem is that many of us - in America, I'll just come flat out and say most of us - let our worldly passions override the godly passions.

Like, a passion for shoes, for instance. A passion for cars. A passion for golf or Big 12 football or music. A passion for looking like we're 25 forever. A passion for the "one sanctioned Christian idol", our children (touchy one!) A passion for looking like the perfect family. A passion for looking like the perfect church. A passion for sports trophies or grades or popularity or the absolutely best looking lawn on the whole block.

I'll tell you right now that at stages in my life my passions have included Pergo floors, breastfeeding, Project Runway, abused children, granite countertops, youth ministry, Words With Friends, and eliminating the gray from my hair (I admit my strong feelings regarding the latter remain.)

Many of these passions, while perhaps not inherently evil, can quickly become so noisy that they drown out the life-changing, eternal consequence making PASSION that God has placed in our hearts to reflect Himself and expand His kingdom in this evil, messed up world!

I have found my big P Passion and let me tell you, it feels good to have it nailed down. So many times over the last year I have said to myself This is IT. This is my THANG! and I get welly every time. I've got my marching orders. It's a wonderful feeling to be in the middle of God's will.

So I'm asking you right now, sisters, as we begin this new year.

What's your Passion?

What's the thang that is gonna make the rest of the world call you CRAZY? (Oh my gah! So crazy!!)

Do you even know?

I've been all over. I've had passions, but they've been undefined. Or I've had passions but gotten off course. And I've had passions that only lasted a season.

Based on my own history of Passion Deficit Disorder, I speculate that there are four places you may camping right now:

Camp 1

You love Jesus, but you feel like you have no passion and no place in this whole Expanding-the-Kingdom stuff.

Okay. We need to talk.
Because you do have a place. A very important place.
God did not claim you from the miry pit so that you might spend the rest of your time on Earth de-sanctifying yourself via Bravo TV while jamming only occasionally to Casting Crowns, as tempting as that may be. 

My biggest advice, aside from reading your bible (oh, please, please don't get sidetracked by a passion that is directly contrary to God's word! Pleeeease!), would be to read one of two books. 

The first is Interrupted, written by Jen Hatmaker, whom I tracked down and forced to go to lunch with me so that we could be classified as Actual Friends. Because Jen messed me up in a big way, and took me out of the suburban slump I had fallen into, and reignited the fire I had in me before sleepness nights and mommafear stole it away. Just trust me, order it, read it.

Jen had already gotten in my head before Radical came out and restated all that she was saying. You can pick either book, up to you.

Then tell me you still don't have Passion. Go ahead. Try.

(There's a serious revival going on in the Church, my friends. It's the most exciting thing I've witnessed in my life. Don't be late to the joyride.)

Camp 2

You don't really know what your Passion is. You are willing, and able, and probably more than a little emotional, but can't pinpoint exactly how God wants to use you for His glory. 

If so, here's what I suggest you do. It's complicated, so you might want to write this down. I'll wait while you get a pencil. Ya ready?

ASK HIM.

Aha!

Pray. 

Often the last resort, always the best resort. Just ask Him! Ask the Lord to reveal to you in what way He wants to take your gifts, your resources, your personality traits, your natural inherent passions to further His kingdom. Ask Him to make it clear and make a commitment to submit to the direction He leads you. Reflect on areas that have kept you motivated for years. Then just wait, and don't get impatient if He doesn't email you back by dinner.  It will become clear in good time. He will send people and books and TV shows and podcasts and magazine articles and blogs and facebook links and billboards pointing in a certain direction. Then you may start crying a lot more. Essentially you might begin to think that God is stalking you. (He is.)


Secondly, ask others what they think your Passion is. It may be so obvious to everyone but you, that you get some strange "are you serious?" looks.

(Husbands are especially gifted at those looks.)

Thirdly, test it. If you can't find bible verses that directly reflect God's heart on this issue - no gray areas, no interpretation thunk up in the last fifty years, but black and white God's Word confirming your passion beyond a doubt - then pray for discernment. Rinse, repeat.

Camp 3

You know what your Passion is in the big picture, but you haven't specified it yet. And therefore, you feel scattered and are having trouble being proactive.

Yeah. I pitched my tent here for a while. So many causes, so little time. You get all fired up about something, but then you have this like, life that keeps interfering.

Same thing applies. Pray.

As my life became busier (read: ridiculously demanding offspring) I had to develop a "don't ask don't tell" policy regarding serving God. What I mean is, I don't really volunteer for anything, because my eyes are always bigger than my stomach and I end up over committing and under delivering.

Instead, I keep my big mouth shut, and ask God to send me the opportunities, and when the present themselves, I prayerfully consider each one. This has kept me out of a lot of trouble and made it easier to narrow my focus on what God wants me to do, instead of the cool fun things I think I want to do - until I get in the thick of them and hate myself for volunteering.

Maybe you are the opposite who never volunteers for anything. Are you a bushel hider? Same thing applies.

Ask God to shut down the noise, and to focus your eyes and heart directly where He wants you to focus. Pray for wisdom. “If any of you lacks wisdom, let him (her) ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him (her).” That would be James 1:5.

I do so love me a scriptural guarantee.

Warning though, praying for wisdom can mess you up.

Mess you up good.

And by good, I mean, Good.

In fact, I dare you to Scotch tape that James 1:5 verse to your bathroom mirror. Hang it in a ziplock from your shower caddy. Postit note it to your dash.

I double dog dare you.

(duck!)

Camp 4

You know exactly what your Passion is and exactly what you want to do and you believe wholeheartedly that God is calling you to this, but the timing isn't right.  Oh, sister, this is an especially hard place to be. I know. This is when you must remind yourself constantly and loudly that God's timing is perfect. His ways are sovereign, and your's - are not. Even though you think they are, cute little control freak that you are.

In this case, you must do the hardest thing of all, that is, sit and wait on God. I know, wait is a four letter word, I know!

But one thing I have been blessed to learn is that God's timing is perfect. Take comfort in Psalm 40.
Sing it. Download it. Know that the Lord does intend to use you, when you are ready, when He is ready, when the world is ready.

Until then, immerse yourself in the Word. Prepare your heart, your mind, your soul for the journey ahead.

Go fold a load of laundry while you wait.

Be still. Know, that He is God, and your time - His time - is coming.

And - brace yourself. Fasten your seatbelt. Every other cliche you can call to mind.

Because it's gonna be a crazy ride. Crazy!! Oh my gah, crazy!!

A good, good, crazy ride.


Happy New Year, my precious invisible friends.

I can't wait to see what the Lord has in store for us.

** For those of you who are wondering where you might be needed, may I please point you to Child Advocates/CASA (click here for the Houston program), one of my favorite, hands-on ways to help hurting children. **


Related posts:
I don't want my children to be happy
Blessed to be a weirdo
The Theology of Adoption

HAPPY 2011!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Sheesh we're old.