When Your Children Need Something You Don't Have Any More of: Grace

I quit!!

Many times on hard days, these words screech in my mind.

But I can't.

I am Mom, and there is no substitute.

The five month old needs me. The two year old needs me. The six year old needs me.

They need me for full tummies and clean bottoms. They need me to help them learn colors and numbers and state capitals and scriptures and table manners. They need me to play, and praise, and sing and dance with them. They need me to wipe away their tears and kiss their bruises and hug them long.

The need me to teach them how to share, and how to give generously, even sacrificially. They need me to look into their eyes, and smile in their sweet faces, when they are talking to me. They need me to teach them how to have a quiet time, how to maintain a routine, how to value making healthy choices for their God-temple bodies.

They need me to set the example of how to be patient. They need me to show them how to pray for the family of believers, our sponsor children, and those blind, deaf, lame and lost in darkness with discernment, but not judgement. They need me to discipline them, encourage and direct them. They need me to model the freedom of following God's commands. They need me show them grace.

They need. They need. They need.

And this Momma... she runs empty... as dry as a bone.

Come over here to read the rest?... My friend Lindsey's amazing blog Out of Alabaster... 

His Daughter

She was three and a half years old when she walked down that aisle of grass, dropping petals just perfectly as practiced(and practiced and practiced).



And before my beloved and I slipped on rings and vows he scooped her in his arms and she laid her head right down, leaning safe against his heart.









We had promises for her, too.

Prayed about, written, a critical part of this public commitment my soon-to-be and I so longed for.





And the only Daddy she's ever known, these were his words to her:

"Selah, we promise to love you well...
By telling you we love you,
And by showing you our love.
We promise to protect you,
and take care of you
To the best of our God-given ability.

We promise to teach you
By words and by example
How to live your life for Christ,
and how to develop a relationship with Him."






Then I smiled into her sweet blues:

"We promise to pray for you,
and with you.
We promise to play with you
and take time for you.
And to encourage you to be
the amazing girl God has called you to be.
And to remind you that we think you are wonderful!"



She echoed each word we said.



We always told her that someday, we would have a special ceremony to change her last name, too. Some celebration publicly declaring that she is specially loved by him, too.



We've talked long about those God had great plans for who were not raised by a biological parent.

Esther. Moses. But Samuel and Jesus are her favorites to talk about.

After a year and a half of legal process, it still felt all-of-the-sudden when the time came to go to court. It was on the morning of her Daddy's 32nd birthday, and we all prayed there would be another reason to celebrate the day.



And shortly before those special words that made us all legally bind and belong she crawled in his lap, so grown and beautiful, and laid her head against him again, wrapped safe in her father's arms.


"Why are you so excited about having your new last name, Selah?"

"I wanted people to know that I belong to him..."

Where Did All the Beauty Come From?

“It was when I was happiest that I longed most...The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing...to find the place where all the beauty came from.” 
― C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces






































 

"He has made everything beautiful its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men..."

~Ecc. 3:11

When You Don't Know What God Wants You to Do

We pull up to a green metal building. I crane my neck looking for a sign,"this is the church?...".

I like it immediately. Churches that don't look like churches. Maybe because I don't look like what a stereotypical church-goer is thought to look like? Formal is out of my comfort zone.

Across the street are more metal buildings, maybe apartments? Like houses cut in half their roofs are slanting triangles jutting against the evening sky.

We park, go into the cool air conditioning and out of the Houston humidity. We walk upstairs and sign in on iPads. Grab some snacks, a water bottle, and settle in the back row for an easy exit should the four month old need attention.

We are here to watch Nefarious, a documentary about human trafficking. And mostly, hopefully, to learn ways to become involved in bringing it to an end.

I hold Haylee closer, snug against my womb. Since I was 8 months pregnant with her God has been ever-burdening my heart for those trapped in cages. Those used and abused and utterly violated. For those who are bent on destroying the beauty of what sex is meant to be. For those women and girls and boys whom the devil is so intent to steal from, kill, and destroy.

I had no idea how hard it would be to watch while holding my daughter.



The documentary first focused on all these children from Moldova. Children entirely disregarded by their parents.

They abandoned them for work.

Their parents just left them to figure out on their own how to get their needs met.

Many of the children, not knowing what else to do, went to orphanages. Their parents were living... but they were forced to live as orphans.

The directors of the orphanages then sold them to those who wanted to exploit their vulnerability. No one would notice... except the other kids who were equally alone and unprotected.

The stories continued and I don't think anyone was freely breathing... this tightness settling in around the throat and heads shaking down tears of disbelief.

It wraps up and a young man with the staff of Exodus Cry begins to expound on the importance of our involvement. I stand and softly exit as Haylee squirms her warning of the hunger-cries soon coming.


I comfort the baby and sway and pray and just try to breathe through the images and information pounding in my brain.

You don't have to convince me, I am IN, I just don't know what to do... 


I have all this passion to help and I am not afraid and I want to be as bold as a lion but I hear, as I have so often before, it is not good to have zeal without knowledge, nor to be hasty and miss the way. 


He speaks gently, cooling the flush in my face. When you don't know what I want you to do, don't forget to tend to what you KNOW I want you to do. 

He brings my thoughts to the beginning. All those children abandoned and left vulnerable. For work.

My eyes drop to the clear blue of hers, my sweet baby so satisfied in my arms. She grins toothless joy clear into my muddled heart.

"I am called to raise you..." I smile into that precious soul. I say it out loud to myself, to her, to acknowledge that I heard Him. "You are a big part of whatever my life-long ministry is... to help you understand that God loves you. You, and your sisters."

Called to be a shelter for their vulnerable, emotional hearts. A safe place, and encouraging someone for them to learn with, to dream and grow, and ask, and seek, and stumble and be held and loved anyway. Called to be a voice that speaks His heart for them in sound waves they can hear.

I am called to not abandon them for work. Any kind. 


I am called to not leave them alone to figure out how to get their needs met. 


I am called to not leave them to the mercy of those who seek to exploit their vulnerability.


I am called to notice... not leave that only to other kids who are equally alone, and lonely, and unprotected. 


I am called to not leave them as emotional, spiritual, soul orphans. 


They have a heritage. They have family. They have a loving Father. 


As long as I am living... I have the privilege, the responsibility, the joy to lead them to the only One they will ever and always be completely and wholly safe with. 


And if I leave them exposed while I go do other work... even good work... who will do what I am called to? No one else is their Mother. 


I smooth down her baby fine hair, lay her head against my shoulder and pat and bounce to work it all to the surface.

"Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much..."

She is comforted. I am too. I pray it sincerely "Lord, I will do whatever You want me to. I will do it whenever You lead me to do it. Help me to be faithful and trustworthy now with what I know You've given me to do..."

"His master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!'

~Matthew 25:23