A New Name

It takes quite a lot of effort to really remember my life before her.

This beautiful little girl, entrusted to me to steward, parent, play with, grow with. What kind of wild, unrestrained, staggering Grace is given me?

He pierced my heart with her and poured Himself in. He gave me a new life, New Life, adopted me as His own. He gave me His name.

Now it is time for her to take my Husband's name, the only Daddy she's ever known.

And we've talked about Moses, Samuel, Esther, and Jesus... all beautifully planned "adoption" stories.

He planned this beautiful, intentional, redemption story, too.

I don't know what all this story will hold, but I know it's going to be glorious.

Counting thanks today with all my lovely, adopted Christ-family from A Holy Experience...

#107 the privilege of being a mom

#108 celebrating advent for the first time as and adult, thank you, Ann!

#109 unexpected, encouraging text messages from my sweetheart Husband of almost two years now

#110 baby saying "na na na!" over and over so I will tickle her and play with her, toothy grin and all!

#111 Selah choosing to re-write certain things in her school, because she wants to do so well, wants me to be pleased. I am pleased, Selah! So proud of you.

#112 that's it is time to write love letters again!

#113 having too many cute pictures to choose from

#114 roof to protect us from the rain

#115 bearing His name

"No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him"

~1 Cor. 2:9

Even If You Only Have One Talent

She asks again, I have lost track of how many times, could I check to see if the mail has come?

She has learned that now is the season for Christmas catalogues.

When the mountain of pretty pictures of smiling children and shining toys finally arrives she glows and grins and pours over them, circling the items she likes, x-ing out the ones she doesn't.

And I have talked with her, and she knows Whose birthday we will be celebrating, and while at first I was torn about how to handle this I don't fuss and frustrate and squirm over her picking almost every gift in every catalogue to go on her "wish list" because I watch her close, and we talk long, and what is growing is her imagination, not a root of consumerism.

This is our first Christmas season as our own little Hurd. What precedents will be set?

And it presses on me, just like it did last season, that I want to give more than receive, and I want to meet true needs. There are many types of need, especially among the wealthy, and we are to encourage the family of believers daily, even more so during this season of celebrating that He did come, and lived and died for us as the greatest love gift ever given.

But what does that mean for us? What should it look like to celebrate this gift, celebrate HIM?

I wrestle as she rustles pages, happily humming her way through thousands of dollars worth of options.

But there is one she talks about most, one she knows her circling will mean something. Every year we give, and she plans and talks and we pray about where and how to meet some of these needs.

It is the one with a miserable faced little boy bearing a swollen belly full of biting worms. She has put big fat x marks over the horrible contaminates that lurk in the water so many children have no other option than to drink.

She wants to give everything, so aware of the need, she even circles the goat on the front cover.

I love her for her passionate outward expression of all that swells in my heart. I laugh(maybe sometimes a Sarah laugh?) because without divine intervention we could never provide even a tenth of the gifts she has circled.

And I question what I should buy for our home... do we really need salt and pepper shakers? When others don't even have clean water? Pillows to make the couch a more comfortable place to lounge?

And I think about Selah's proceeding step-parent adoption, and how the lawyers say it will cost a minimum of $2,500(the lowest quote I've received). I think of flatworms and cholera and list items on craigslist.

And I look at all I have and all I don't have. And the needs and the wants press harder and deeper. I feel overwhelmed. I want to cry.

So I cry out. To Him. My gloriously rich Father. There are no bottoms to His pockets.

And He speaks to me of giving generously and trusting Him for what I truly need. He speaks to me of being willing to give everything should He but ask. He speaks to me of being a wise steward with what I have. He speaks to me of Job, His extremely wealthy servant whom He called blameless and upright. He speaks to me of worry, and His love that meets needs deeper than I have eyes to see.

And He speaks to me the parable of the talents. And I admit that I am afraid, and I don't want to misuse what He's given me. I see what others have done and are doing and I don't know exactly what He has for me, what He has for my family. What do you do when each member of the family have different convictions? I don't want to force anything, that would surely be counterproductive. And I can not do nothing, I know, love, and serve Him to whom I must give an account. And the not knowing hurts and the needs are so real and I am not calloused to the starving bodies or starving souls. I don't know for sure how many talents He's given me but I am not going at once to invest it so I maybe I am not entrusted with five or two but maybe only one? I am overwhelmed with my weakness and this wealth He has placed in my hands.

He whispers so I won't be afraid. He draws me close as He gently, lovingly says it over and over.

"Don't bury it my love... don't bury it"

Little House and the Spacious Place

We had walked through rooms and discussed floor plans and used lots of imagination. We smiled and nodded and explained big things in four-year-old sized words to our ever curious daughter. Well, Selah sized words anyway. Ok, we ended up discussing the potential move with her like the miniature adult that she was and is.

Even so, she pointed it out right away, the only unchangeable factor of our prospective home.

"Um, I don't like it because this is not big enough for our whole family!"

We were concerned this would be difficult for her. Going from a home that typically has a minimum of ten people swirling about to a household with three- a dad gone to work, a busy mama and a toddling mess of trouble that she calls baby godzilla- oh yes, there would be adjustment.

No daily dose of doting Aunts and Grandparents, no backyard of grass and green and trees.

But I encouraged her with promised tea parties, and fed imagination with stories full of what if and how about...

The remodel was a long year and couple of months and the move happened several bags full at a time. Still, it snuck up on me. One night we just didn't go back home. I mean, back to my parents home.

It's not the goodbye I was expecting.

And here we are, in this home that's "not big enough" for the whole family. But this barely thousand square foot place can feel so empty. Not in a sad or lonely way... just... spacious.

All the roar and romp these two girls of five and one can muster just doesn't fill it. The neighbors might disagree. I think the husband probably does too.

But Selah is fine, very happy even. I have discovered in these two long weeks that by far I am the one with the most complicated needs in the house. The girls and husband are easy breezy.

I have to continually go to the Surgeon, and the Counselor is always with me. For chronic attitude adjustments , the nagging, aching, frustrating perfectionism, my harsh, stiff neck and knees that I'm stretching to bend daily, hourly. I am beat up by expectations I didn't even know I had. And how, oh how, am I going to keep food from going bad?

I am the main home-maker now. Me. This home. These children. This husband. Now is the time. It is here.

And I think about this space He's brought me to, this swath of earth where I'll pray most my prayers, fighting battles from the kitchen sink and bedroom floor on my knees with face in hands.

It is here I'll spend most of my hours, working out my ambition of a quiet life, holy and set apart for Him.

And it is good, this spacious place. Now is the time for listening for His whispering echos that breeze through the window above the kitchen sink. Now is a time to glean from children how to ask questions and learn the language of the Word. Now is a time for being still and sitting at His feet. We've invited Him, welcomed Him, and have given Him back this home He's given to us.

So much has changed. But He is the same. His stability keeps me sane, peaceful.

It is good.

"He brought me out into a spacious place...I love you, O LORD, my strength."

~from Ps. 18

When You Need a Hand to Hold

The end is in sight.

Moving with the Husband and children into our townhome is now "sooner" rather than "later".

A lot more than meets the eye has been remodeled this past year.

And it makes me think about them. Family. Specifically and especially the sacred gifts given to me from God that are my parents. We've shared this beautiful, messy place called home where we have been beautiful and messy and shared meals and grace and moments that turned into years. A little over 25 of them.

And I ache when I think of endings. And I cry when I think of their love. Jesus in skin that held me and loved me and forgave me patiently, endlessly, unconditionally.

They who prayed over me and played with me as I grew. All those years and all those sacrifices I never knew, never appreciated until I wore similar shoes.

Tenderness seen with new eyes.

And they stretched with me when my skin didn't quite fit anymore... they had to stretch in a lot of ways. What a compliment from God that they were rewarded nine times. They always let us know we were rewards, arrows in their overflowing quiver, gifts, jewels. Never just a number.

And I was a model in a lot of ways, but there was nothing perfect about me. How could there be? I didn't know Him.

I wouldn't let Him in. Not really. Not to the dark places, or the broken ones.

He knocked and knocked and I opened the door... but never let Him in much past the hallway.

And when I ran away as far as I could they still prayed and loved and prayed. And prayed.

Then He pierced my heart with an arrow from His quiver.

~Lam. 3:13

And I finally agreed to walk to back home. Soul starving and lonely with an ever swelling belly I cried deeper with every step.

I was still a long way off when He ran to me. They did too.

And it was through their encouragement and strength that this girl at nineteen faced single motherhood. They stood next to me in church. They helped me set up a room with a crib. And they greeted my child the same way they had greeted me.

And when I married they gave me away and let me stay, said they loved new Husband too and we were more than welcome while we searched for a place to call our own. They didn't want us to feel we had to rush into a home.

Then a few short weeks after the wedding when it became evident there would be Baby number two they cheered and congratulated and stretched their home and hearts with smiles.

They let us stay though baby isn't such a baby anymore.

This home is where my children were born, where they took their first breaths, their first steps.

I've had a lot of God ordained firsts here. My first real steps. They've held my hand all the way.

Who can explain the value of a hand holder?

I miss them dearly, deeply... and we haven't even moved out yet.

But the thing that makes me love them the most is this:

They have taught me, introduced me, remind me of Him. He Who has had me by the hand at all times. Even now.

He goes with me everywhere. I am never alone. I am always safe. I am always Home.

Now is a good time to remember there will be no permanent ending... but always new beginnings.

"I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one can snatch them out of my hand."

~John 10:28

“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast
and have no compassion on the child she has borne?
Though she may forget,
I will not forget you!
See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands"

~Isaiah 49:15-16