This Is It

Our house is chaotic. While there's a TV blaring in one room, there's an argument going on in the next, and someone's listening to music in the next. Quiet, meaningful conversations usually take place in one of two locations: in the bedroom right before bedtime and in the car away from most of the distractions.

One day when we were alone together in the car, Biruk asked me why I adopted him when I already had three kids. I thought on that a moment, and simply said, "God told me to." Now, I don't have any more direct line to God than the rest of you do. I pray. I try to listen but am often left wondering. I've never heard God speak to me out loud, but I've experienced some series of coincidences that seem like pretty good indicators of what God wants from me.

And so it was out there. I didn't tell Biruk that I was sad because I only had three kids when I wanted five because I wasn't...and I didn't. I told Biruk that I loved my kids and that when Jerome and I kept coming across Bible verses about adoption, we decided we were meant to adopt. I told him that I knew I would love as many kids as God placed in my home.

A few nights later, as is Biruk's thoughtful custom, he questioned me more: "Mom, why are you here?"

Suddenly I felt emotionally naked. How did he know? How could he have figured out that this has always been my question, that my brain was a confused jumble of Am I supposed to be teaching? What am I missing? What is my purpose? Who does God want me to be? Is it to be a stable wife to my busy husband? Is it to write something that inspires? Is it to be a good friend? Who am I, anyway?

In that very moment, the answer became clear. I looked at his trusting brown eyes and said, "Biruk, I'm here because I was supposed to adopt you. I am here so I can be your mom."

He was easily satisfied with that answer and wandered off about the house to do something else. Later that evening, in the quietness before bedtime, he said, "Mom, I know why I'm here. I'm here to help the people in Ethiopia who don't have enough to eat."

Sometimes as moms and dads, we think the mark we make needs to happen at work. We need to make a name for ourselves, make some decent money, earn the respect of others. We forget that those we influence the most are those within our own homes, those God has entrusted to us. 

Tonight when you kiss your kids goodnight, why don't you tell them why you are here? I'm guessing it's what you need to say and probably exactly what your kids need to hear.

Blessings, friends.

Vacation Perfection

This morning I am writing my blog from vacation, from one of my favorite spots: Leech Lake in northern Minnesota. We're over halfway through our week here, where my mom met my dad over fifty years ago, and where we have taken periodic family vacations as far back as I can remember.

I love the sounds of the loons and the lap of the waves on the beach, especially as I'm sleeping. I love the sunrises and the sunsets. I love the giggles from the kids as they swim, kayak, and tromp around the cabin and the laughter from the adults as they play cards into the evening. I love watching my brother-in-law taking pictures of every bird he spots. I love sitting around the fire with my sisters and mom as we chat and read. I love feeling the tug on my line as I fish, and I love the warmth of the sun. If you haven't figured it out yet, I love everything about this place.

The problem: it's hard to go back. Even before we'd left home, I felt this uneasiness because I knew that just when I would be getting used to the feeling of being here, it would be time to go home. Home isn't a bad place to be; it's just that this setting is idyllic. It's the stuff songs are written of.

Here, one can be a kid or an adult.

Here, I don't have to pay attention to my calendar because frankly, this is what it looks like:

Is it possible that that this is God's way of hinting at what heaven will be like? Do you suppose an angel is standing there with a checklist, something like this?

Yes, I'm being facetious. 

While I can't stay at this lake forever or pack my life in a box and move it here, God promises me (and you) a place even more peaceful, more joyous, more complete. While I have a lot I want to accomplish and experience here during my life, it brings a certain serenity to know that this vacation is simply a taste of what is to come.

"Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb down the middle of the great street of the city. On each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be any curse. The throne of God and of the Lamb will be in the city, and his servants will serve him.  They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. 5 There will be no more night. They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light. And they will reign for ever and ever." Revelation 22: 1-5

Pink Security

When Jerome and I were married, his mom gave me something that was precious to him a long time ago: a security blanket. A pink security blanket. This morning at 4 a.m. I woke up Jerome and told him that I had a blog idea. (Can you believe he tolerates this? Neither can I.)  I reminded him of his pink blankie and decided to push him a bit: "Do you suppose your parents were hoping for a girl?"

He laughed, of course, and said, "Even then I was man enough for pink.”(He also let me know in no uncertain terms that the blanket started off white.)

As the story goes, Jerome was so attached to his blanket that his mom had a terrible time getting him to give it to her so she could wash it. Eventually she had the idea to cut the blanket into pieces and wash one piece while he walked around with the other. This was the reason why his blanket, which we still have, is a mere 18 inches by 18 inches.

Jerome and his security blanket remind me a little about us and how we hang on to our past.

Every one of us, at one time or another, has had an issue that has brought us to our knees. For me, it was the tragic death of my brother. For you it may have been your parents’ divorce, your alcoholic relative, your own addiction, a serious ongoing medical issue, an absence of friends, depression, or lack of purpose. Every one of us has had an issue. No one seems to sail through life trouble free.

What really gets me is how we grasp on to these problems and hold on as if they were feeding us instead of holding us back. I’ll admit that these problems are really quite useful at times. When we have a hard time at work or make some kind of mistake relating to a friend or loved one, it’s handy to reach into our back pocket and pull out past hurts. Those hurts explain everything. They even vindicate us sometimes, helping us and everyone else to understand why we are the way we are.

The trouble with that is that we know we have a God who washes away even the dirtiest of secrets and deepest of sorrows. We know that when we come to Him in humility to express remorse for what we’ve done wrong or to express exhaustion for how we’ve suffered at the hands of someone else, He can wash all the gunk and grime off and give us new life. He can help us to start over, to mend friendships, to even change our own outlook. He is the God of miracles.

Yet in our confusing, human way, we hold tight. We give God the credit to forgive but not the control to take over.

Isn’t that getting old?

I wish that when we handed God our troubles, they would disappear from our memories, but they don’t. Jerome’s security blanket is packed away in our storage room in a Rubbermaid tub of childhood memories, but it’s just not as important as it once was. My brother’s suicide still haunts me at times, but more often than not, when I think of him, I think of his infectious laugh and all the ways I’m thankful he was in my life.

Instead of holding on to the tiny pink blanket of our fears, God wants us to reach out for Him, to hand our lives over. And that’s when new life begins.

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” –2 Corinthians 5:17

Planting Seeds

This morning instead of going to our regular worship service at Bethany, my family hopped into the Suburban a little earlier than normal and headed to Newton Hills State Park for the 9:00 outdoor worship service. Even though we live so close, we only get to this worship service about once a summer.

Today was Biruk and Tadesse's first time ever visiting the state park, and as I settled down on the bench and got ready to listen to the beginning praise music, Biruk said, "Mom, who plant all these trees?" First, I simply answered that God had, but when Biruk pointed to all the cottonwood seeds floating down under the canopy of trees, I knew I needed to give a more complete answer. 

Earlier this week, Biruk and I had sat in our friend and pastor's office. Biruk had some really tough spiritual questions, questions I knew the answers to but didn't feel like I could explain adequately. So while Tadesse was at his daytime baseball practice, Biruk and I plopped ourselves down across from Pastor Al's desk, and Biruk peppered him with questions.

He asked him if salvation can be taken away, whether someone can ask Christ into his heart but then not be saved later because he had changed his mind. I had tried to explain that some people ask Christ into their hearts but don't really follow what the Bible says, so Al explained that there is a difference between a believer and a disciple of Christ. A believer understands and accepts that Christ is the Son of God and that He died for our sins. A disciple tries to live by the example that Christ set, and a disciple shares the good news with others. He went on to explain through the parable of the sower, how not everyone who hears about Jesus will come to know Him as their personal Savior. We figured out together that Biruk is concerned for those he left behind in Ethiopia, those who have maybe heard of Jesus but who don't know about forgiveness and grace and eternal life.

This morning as the worship service began, I noticed Biruk's arms waving in the air as he tried to catch cottonwood seeds. Inside I chuckled and reminded myself how nice it was to be at an outdoor service where distractions like this were not as—well, distracting. I saw Biruk toeing the mulch under us and gently placing one of those cottonwood seeds in the hole. Just a few seconds later, he noticed a tiny green weed growing out of the mulch, and he looked up at me, asking me if that was the tree he just planted.

I continue to be amazed at the faith lessons that God puts right in front of me.

As we walked up the trail following the service, I tried to continue Al's lesson: that even though all of these seeds were falling and how we can tell all sorts of people about Jesus, the seed has to be just right and the soil has to be just right in order for a tree to grow or for someone to accept Jesus into his heart. I explained that we are supposed to keep planting even though we really don't know if this particular one will grow.

Like Biruk, I tend to want the seeds I plant to sprout immediately and to bear fruit. I ask "How many days?" not aloud like Biruk does, but I do wonder. When will I be able to see the fruit of the small seed that I've tried to plant but that has been warmed, watered, fed by the Holy Spirit?

My little boy Biruk has a heart of...believe it or not, I was going to write gold, but my fingers typed...God. And that's true. Through the conversation with Al and subsequent conversations, I finally realized that this eight-year-old wants to go back to Ethiopia sooner rather than later. He wants to tell Ahlem (his mom) and Yeshiwork (his sister) about Jesus Christ so that they can go to heaven someday. His words? "Mom, my mom save me. Now I need to go back and save her."

When I was eight, I was playing with kittens and trying to make forts and riding bike around the section. This little boy is being a missionary.

I am being blessed right here, right now by watching this boy grow, learn, and bloom. Thank you, God, for the seedlings You've planted right in my home. Thank you for allowing me to be a part of it.

Something Beautiful

This morning I took my somewhat customary stroll down the driveway with Elijah's dog Shadow. As she frolicked about and sniffed at every snake hole she could find and I listened to my iTunes playlist, I was mesmerized by the beauty of the morning: how the sunlight penetrated the clouds and seemed to come down in single rays to the ground, how the shadows fell gracefully on some parts of the Sioux River bluff while others were illuminated, and even how the grass and dandelions danced in the breeze.

I see something beautiful every time I go on a walk, even every time I look outside.

When I look at people, I don't always see beauty. Sometimes I see through my Coke-bottle judgment glasses. Sometimes I see stubbornness or laziness or dishonesty. Sometimes I see manipulation or disrespect. Granted, there are those people whom I'm impressed by constantly, but like a personality editor, I have the propensity to spot little inconsistencies in character. That, my friend, tells you more about my character than about those whom I am judging. For the record, I do the same thing with myself.

It's hard for me to imagine a God who loves us regardless.

I am amazed by a God who loves us before and during everything: before failed marriages, during parenting mistakes, before brushes with the law, during alcoholism, before our faith, during our weakness.

In my humanness, I cannot understand, but I am thankful for a God who does. God can and does work through our weaknesses: "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me" (2 Corinthians 2:9).

Where we start, God does not leave us. Rather than be complacent with our problems or judgmental of others' issues, we need to see through the rose-colored, blood-soaked, redemptive eyes of Jesus Christ. We are not alone. We are not worthy; we are made worthy through God's sacrifice of His son. Once we truly understand this (and I have a long way to go), I have a hunch that we will see beauty even in all people.

Atta Boy!

Yesterday afternoon my son Caleb graduated with a bachelor's degree from Iowa State University. Besides the fact that he looked dapper in his cap and gown, I was proud of him for other reasons. His program of study was difficult, and he persevered. He made a series of good choices and now will have a career that is just right for his gifts. Not least, he is a terrific role model for his younger siblings.

During the ceremony, we waited for probably a thousand graduates to walk across the stage before it was Caleb's turn, and in those few seconds, we whooped. We hollered. We whistled. Yes, we lost all sense of decorum because we were so proud. We couldn't contain it, so it just spilled out.

I've been to a handful of college graduations and a plethora of high school graduations before, so this was really nothing new. Let me tell you, though, that it took all the self-control I could muster to not stand up and yell, "That's my boy!" because yes, this was different. This one was my child.

If you know me well, you know that I wake up a lot in the night and think. Something about the quiet evidently spurs my brain to decide now! and my thoughts tend to tumble out through my pen or my keyboard.

In the early hours of this morning, I can't help thinking about what it is like in heaven when any one of us makes our Father proud. Now, we know from Psalms that we have angels sent to minister to us: "For He will command His angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone" (Psalms 91:11).

I like to imagine those angels walking around with cameras to record every moment of goodness: those times when we've encouraged a child, the times we were busy but stopped to help a stranger anyway, the times we've volunteered at a homeless shelter. It makes me wonder: how many times have we made Jesus jump up from his place at the right hand of God, pump His fist, and shout, "Yes! Did you see that?"  Do you suppose there are instant replays in heaven? Does our all-knowing and all-seeing Father gather everyone around to celebrate those victories?

The fact that our Father knows should influence us to act in ways that are pleasing to Him, and I love contemplating how He sees each of us as special and gifted. I don't know about you, but that gives me incredible hope as well as a determination to do my best.

Thank You, Jesus, for my son Caleb. Thank You that just as I am proud of him, You are proud of all of Your children when we do something pleasing to You. Please be with us and guide us, that we will act in ways that are holy and upright and loving. Amen.

Faith Words

Last night Tadesse and Elijah played a made-up (Elijah's forte) football game (Tadesse's forte) using a balloon. This is unusual because in our family, the last two people to choose to hang out together are Elijah and Tadesse. Maybe it's because they are in the same grade and get tired of one another, or maybe it's because they are different in so many ways.

When Tadesse came home in October, we noticed immediately how athletic he was. When he picked up a basketball for the first time, he made a basket within just a few tries. When he started playing football, we noticed that he can really throw the ball. Tadesse is a fierce competitor and wants to be in almost every sport, which is rather shocking to our family since none of us are especially athletic or competitive. On the other hand, Elijah mostly likes to read, play video games, or chat with people.

So when I thought about Elijah and Tadesse being in the same grade and with one being perhaps overly competitive, I was a little concerned for Elijah. I didn't want him to constantly live in the shadow of Tadesse. I wanted him to stand out in his own way. Within a few months of Tadesse and Biruk being home, Elijah challenged Tadesse to an arm wrestling match. It may sound dumb, but I felt relieved when Elijah beat Tadesse. It turns out that even though they both weigh the same, Elijah is stronger, but Tadesse has more endurance.

When I go to the gym (which isn't often enough), I find that I have strength to lift pretty decent weights for an average woman (though I still can't do presentable push-ups). Even so,  I can't run a mile. I don't have the endurance. So in my estimation, endurance is different. To have endurance, it takes the stamina to breathe through the fatigue and sore muscles.

As I was driving home from Inwood this morning, I was thinking a little on those two ideas and how much more important strength and endurance are to our spiritual lives.

When someone speaks unkindly, we can have the strength in the moment not to snap back. It takes more strength to walk away, and it takes endurance to be kind to an unreasonable person day after day. It takes strength to get through the day when a loved one dies. It takes endurance to pull yourself out of the grief and to move on. It takes strength to take a child to the doctor for an unknown diagnosis. It takes endurance to spend months in testing and treatment.

At Augie, I took an advanced composition class where our professor insisted that we work on expanding our vocabulary. I still remember reflecting on the word fortitude, which means strength of mind in the face of pain, and attaching a mental picture of my aunt Marilyn who was battling terminal cancer at the time. While endurance and strength can be something that we exhibit through both good and bad, fortitude is something we specifically need for the bad times.

You know, some people think that when we give our lives to Christ, we have signed up for a life of comfort and complacency, that it's smooth sailing after one invites Christ into his heart. Many people's idea of God is shaken when they realize that He doesn't just fix everything for us, that our lives still aren't easy, but I submit that their ideas about God were mistaken, then, from the beginning. In the Bible, it says that we will be challenged.

Because when I think of my physical lack of endurance and my ineffectual breathing when I (try to) run, I find it interesting to consider another word: inspired, which means God-breathed. So, when thinking about those trials in life, when we are continuously knocked down, what if we considered ourselves pushing through (enduring) with fortitude (strength of mind in the face of pain) through the inspiration (breath) of God? What if, before we reach that moment of despair or defeat, we remember that we are never running alone? What if faith is the answer to it all?

That is my prayer for you today, dear friends. Whatever you are going through, whether it's the simple challenges of a day, the health problems of a loved one, troubles at work, a distant child, or a rocky marriage, remember today that this is not a race you are running alone.

Through the Holy Spirit,
your God,
your Comforter,
and your Deliverer—
the same Son who died on the cross and rose again,
the same God who divided the Red Sea for the rescue of His people—
are beside you and reminding you to not be afraid.

Lighten Up

As I was driving home through the spring sunshine today and listening to the glorious sound of melting snow as it splashed up and hit the car, I was thinking about how often we are too busy completing jobs from our personal to-do lists to enjoy the beauty of each day. We are entirely distracted by time wasters and energy leeches. Here's my list of what I think you* should give up:

1. Fake friends. Spend time with people who really care about you and celebrate your weirdness.

2. Uncomfortable underwear. I'm not kidding. You know the pair. Throw it away already.

3. Wearing make-up everyday. We know what you really look like anyway, and we like you better when you're not perfect either. (By the way, for those of you who are, we'd really appreciate it if your bikini selfies would stop. It's giving us a complex, and our brains have no vacancy for additional complexes.)

4.  Waiting until the house is clean until you invite your real friends over. They'll be relieved to see that you struggle with clutter too, and you'll have more time for—well, friends. Also refer to reasoning in number three.

5. Doing everything with your spouse or significant other. You won't go out to lunch without your husband? Why not?

6. Guilt and anxiety. They clog up your thoughts and don't allow for productivity.

7. A job you don't love or coworkers who aren't nice. Please. Do it for yourself.

8. Fear. My friends and I joke about one of the images from Pinterest. You know the one: like this.  We're in taekwondo, and the seven-year-old next to me does the straddler splits when we are stretching, so I have decided to simply laugh. The only thing worse than not being able to do it is not even trying, right? Today not possible; tomorrow possible.** It's refreshing to almost not care anymore. (By the way, I still turn bright red when I get warm. Does anyone have a fix?)

9. Too many clothes. Sell them or give the extras away. Your regular clothes will get less wrinkly if you don't stuff so many in the closet. (You know you didn't like that shirt anyway.)

10. Self-help books. You don't need them. You have your real friends, your mom, and your Bible to help you get better and hold you accountable. The superfluous manuals are just telling you what your mom said to do anyway.*** Just listen to her this time.

What would you add to my list? Please comment below!

*Disclaimer: I have relied on every one of the above. I am still working on some of them, but the load is so much lighter now. Happy purging!
**I get extra credit in taekwondo for saying that.
***Disclaimer #2: I am a self-help junkie. Right now I am reading The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown. The more I read  of them, though, the more I realize that the best ones are those that teach what the Bible has already said, and my mom, being the good person she is, has repeated those things to me.

Something More

Today I am going to share something with you that I said I wouldn't. We had planned to keep Tadesse and Biruk's past mostly a private family thing for their protection. However, they have been very forthcoming about those details to many people. This is a good thing since it helps us all to deal with what they have been through.

Tadesse and Biruk were orphans not because their parents died but because they were given up by their mom Alem. She did the most loving thing she could do by getting them into a safe place with food and where they would have opportunity. Alem and Tadesse and Biruk's sister Yeshiwork are alive and living in the small town of Wuchale, in northern Ethiopia. (Yeshiwork was not given up for adoption.)

Jerome and I have told Tadesse and Biruk that we will go back to Wuchale sometime, that we will try to find their mom* and sister so they can have a reunion. At first, this seemed to scare Tadesse. Now that he understands that he is an American and would only be visiting, he can hardly wait to go. First, though, we need to wait for them to be thoroughly attached to our family in America. (If you want to go with us, start saving your money. I can't imagine how wonderful it would be to take 20 Americans to a place that needs so much help.)

Tadesse's mom is never far from his thoughts. Over the past few weeks, he had a few dreams that are so telling of where his heart is. One was that he was Superman and saved Alem from being stabbed by bad guys. Another was that he rode into Wuchale on a horse, and he handed out $50,000 to people who needed money for food. Then Sunday he showed Jerome and me this picture that he drew of a robot:

Jerome said, "Tadesse, what can your robot do?"

Without hesitation, Tadesse replied, "This robot can save my mom."

Remember the blog I wrote while in Ethiopia about the thought that we needed to do something more, that we needed to think about all the people left behind? We feel more than ever that we can't pull our two sweet boys out from that beautiful mountainside village and forget about the people still there.

We cannot send Alem money, though that seems like a logical thing to do. It's ethically questionable (and raises red flags for international adoption) because it would look like we paid her for these two precious boys. But we can do something more. We can somehow help that community.

Enter the chicken coop.

Biruk asked for eight chickens. Don't ask me why he wants chickens! He's eight. Little boys like livestock, I guess. So Jerome ordered 70 chickens. With the gift of an old shed on skids from Jerome's mom and dad, this chicken coop is going to be pulled around our farm, and Biruk is (supposedly) going to do all the chores. I think I am the crazy nut getting stuck with washing the eggs. While most American boys would be seeing dollar signs, Biruk just wants to contribute to the farm.

As Jerome and I thought about it, we decided that this may be a way for the boys to help their old hometown. When I brought up the idea of getting donations for Wuchale, Biruk's eyes lit right up, and he said, "For the old people?" Of course, I asked about the old people, and Biruk said both old people and babies die in Wuchale due to hunger.

My boys have seen way too much.

I can't help but hope that my boys will sometime have a Joseph-like experience, where they can see their loved ones, old friends, and even old bullies again and provide them with basic needs so they will not go hungry. I hope by then they can articulate that it is not because they are wealthy Americans. I hope that they can deliver the message of the Gospel to those who haven't heard it, and tell them that they have returned because of their faith and God's calling on their lives.

For now, we are trying to figure out what the community's specific needs are so we can ascertain what would provide the most practical assistance. Perhaps it is a well or clean water, or maybe it's food that we can get directed there. Friends, here's how you can help: besides buying a dozen eggs from Biruk occasionally, you can pray for us until that something more becomes clear. We know God always has a plan. We just want to find our place in it.


*We don't bother calling Alem the "birth mom." We just tell Tadesse and Biruk that they have two moms—one in America and one in Ethiopia.

And As for the Silence...

The house is quiet. I woke up this morning to Jerome lumbering out of bed at 6:30 to go feed the cattle. No one had knocked tentatively on our door like Elijah does, no one had woken at 5:30 and stomped heavily all over the kitchen floor like Tadesse does, and no little boy was luxuriating in a long, groggy sleep like Biruk does. We just had silence.

I rolled over and blissfully read another chapter in my John Grisham book, and then I got ready for church in  a  record 17 minutes. No one hollered my name. No one asked me for breakfast. No one needed help finding socks or matching clothes.

As I pondered this, I realized that this is the life we would be living right now if everything had gone as planned.

There would have been no "Surprise! I'm pregnant!" as an announcement for Elijah's entrance into our lives. There would be no hustle of activity to get our house and our hearts ready for two Ethiopian boys to meld into our family.

There would be no dirty fingerprints all over the wall.

There would be no broken recliner.

There would be no uproarious laughter in the kitchen as one watches cartoons.

There would be no competition over the iPad.

There would be nagging for Dad to go sledding in the middle of the workday.

Schedules would be clearer. We would have no rule about food and drinks being consumed on the new carpet. As we climb into our old Suburban on the way to church this morning (if we would have a Suburban at all), we would be thinking about how many Sundays we have left until Kaylee leaves the house.

We wouldn't have funny moments like this.

Or this.

Or this.

Or even embarrassing times like this.

Today, again, I am thankful for a God who sometimes seems to laugh at our plans, but also to Him who lures us out of our comfort zone to participate in His bigger plan. Even though our lives could have been easier, they wouldn't have been nearly as much fun. Just look at what we would have missed!