Movie Madness with the Van De Stroets

Last night my family went to the movies. Now, in interest of full disclosure, I'll let you know that I had planned to go with just my daughter to Mockingjay as sort of a girls' night out. However, since our sons had been asking to see Annie anyway, Jerome took them to the musical (there's irony in that) at the same theater.

Because I hate standing in last-minute lines for popcorn (and one has to buy popcorn), I asked Jerome to drop me off a little early so I could get the tickets and stand in line. After all, I love movies so much that I hate even missing the previews. Biruk and Tadesse went with me to help me carry the food and drinks and so they could spend a couple of their quarters on the video games before the movie started.

Response Requested

Yesterday I wrote about how I made the mistake of using a disciplinary system that was inappropriate for my kids and how learning to love my kids first, before expecting any kind of good behavior, really made a positive difference in our family life. Then I explained how God also loves us no matter what.

There's always more to a story than first meets the eye, isn't there? Every fight takes two. Every relationship takes commitment from both partners. Yesterday I wrote my blog on my phone while waiting for one of my sons at an appointment. As I drove home, I decided that I needed to write a part two, the rest of the story.

Learning to See Beyond Red

Back when we first brought Tadesse and Biruk home, we struggled so much to communicate. Behaviors that were acceptable in Ethiopia were not acceptable here, and without the language to explain it, we struggled. There were the big things like hitting and kicking, yes, but also a myriad of smaller behaviors like sitting on a stranger's car or grabbing a toy a sibling was playing with. 

We made a mistake—one of many, in fact—in those early days of our time together. Knowing that elementary teachers use a card system of green, yellow, and red to indicate when a child was doing great (green), when one was starting to show patterns of misbehavior or sometimes pushing our buttons both figuratively and literally (yellow), as well as when the child had really messed up (red), we decided to try it. Once  a person's red card was up, he or she lost allowance for the week. Even without the benefit of a common language, my two new boys understood very quickly how the cards worked.

Defaulting to Joy

When I was a kid, probably more specifically a teenager, I remember my mom constantly reminding me to smile. It drove me nuts. Why smile when I wasn't feeling happy? I had a whole rainbow of emotions: indifference, irritation, satisfaction, boredom, insolence, curiosity, contentment. According to my teenage self, only happiness called for a smile. The rest just didn't matter, and I could keep my countenance on any random expression.

The older I've become, the more I've realized how right she actually was. For your viewing pleasure, I Googled scowls and came up with these beauties:

What I Need, When I Need It

When preparing for Tadesse and Biruk to come home from Ethiopia, one of tasks I really enjoyed was purchasing the shoes, clothing, bedding, and a few toys that I anticipated that they would need. One part was difficult, however; we were advised not to start them off with all the items that our other children possessed. After all, the possessions of our other children took years to accumulate. Caleb, Kaylee, and Elijah earned and saved their money to buy electronics and toys. Relatives gave them additional gifts for their birthdays and at Christmas, resulting in bedrooms almost bulging in kid stuff.

When Tadesse and Biruk came home from Ethiopia, we consciously provided them with everything they needed but allowed room for them to acquire the things that they wanted.

This is more difficult than one would think. How many pairs of shoes do little boys need? Tadesse and Biruk went without shoes until they went to the orphanage in Wuchale. (Can you imagine getting used to shoes at the ages of eight and eleven?) We purchased them three pairs each: two pairs of tennis shoes and a pair of church shoes.

When November rolled around and the weather turned colder, I was perplexed by a demand from Tadesse, who was learning basic English: “Mom! Shoes, me! Shoes, me!” I would take him to his basket of shoes and show him the three pairs that I had purchased. He kept insisting, “Shoes, me!”

So I did something I can do pretty well. I became frustrated. To me, this son of mine was expressing ingratitude. I had bought him three (high quality!) pairs of shoes, and he was already nagging me for more. The nerve.

The weather that week continued to worsen, and after a few days, I finally realized that Tadesse was just asking for snow boots. When I explained that I would get them soon, he was satisfied. Still, as a parent who provided for him, I was exasperated that he was asking for more than what I had already provided. I wanted him to trust me that I would provide exactly what he needed precisely when he needed it.

I am much the same as my dear son Tadesse. The other day I purchased a National Geographic magazine called Best of Europe: 100 Must-See Destinations. I paged through it, thinking of dreamy vacations in gorgeous locations.

Now, I have had more travel opportunities than many; I took five of my students on a ten-day, four-country excursion through Europe. I visited Mexico and Canada with my parents. I went on a short-term mission trip with my in-laws to Haiti. I went to Ethiopia not once, but twice. Yet my travels still seem to whet my appetite for more. 

I mentioned the magazine purchase to one of my friends, who said, “Just pull a C-note from the money tree, Tami.”

This was a much needed wake-up call because if I happened to have a money tree growing in the back yard, I am quite confident that I should not spend that money traveling. Or buying myself the granite countertop I’ve been thinking about. Or buying a brand new Suburban.

I thought back to Tadesse and the shoes. I had provided and sacrificed for him, yet when he asked for more (even though I had planned to provide him with those snow boots), it somehow hurt that he was asking for it.

I need to trust God to provide for me—just what I need, precisely when I need it. 

The world is filled with hurting people who don’t have shoes or the means to provide their families with shelter. I am buying National Geographic magazines highlighting exotic travel locations.

There is something wrong with that, and there is something wrong with me constantly pining over things I don’t need. At least I know just where to go to get the help needed for me to change.

Heavenly Father, thank you for not only providing for my needs, but for blessing me with incredible experiences and people who love me. Help me, Lord, to be grateful and content with what I already have. Amen.

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.