Adopted

      Friday, September 12, 2014 

      I am a pure-blooded American, by which I mean that I’m a healthy mix of Scotch-Irish, Italian, Dutch, French, and English.  I was born and bred in the heart of the United States, the Midwest.  Others may argue that the heart of the United States of America is found in its cities, such as New York, Chicago, or Boston, but I hold that somewhere among the “amber waves of grain”, fields of corn and soybeans, and flat stretches of highway for miles upon miles; somewhere in the people of small towns and farm families is the true heart of my country, what it was founded on.  I know my country is not perfect, by any means, but I have always loved it and been proud of its history and the freedom I have as one of its citizens.

      I remember discussions I used to have with my friends in grade school and junior high – we asked each other questions like, “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?” and “If you could have been born anywhere else, where would you choose?”  I hated questions like these, because I always felt like my answers were so lame.  Because, if I could choose, I wouldn’t live anywhere else.  Sure, I might visit some exciting, romantic place like Italy or Ireland, but live there?  Been born there?  No way.  I’d take my country home, cow pastures and corn fields, small-town life, over those places any day. 

       I’ve always been proud of my family heritage, as well.  Every time my parents or aunts and uncles tell stories about their childhoods I am all ears.  I wish I could just curl up on the floor at their feet and listen to them talk all day long.  My dad’s side of the family is Italian, and proud of it.  My ancestors even came over from Italy on the boat through Ellis Island, New York!  I felt like I was living right in the middle of ancient history when I heard about that.  I loved it when my dad talked about growing up calling everyone “Aunt” and “Uncle” even if they weren’t blood-relatives.  His life as a kid sounded straight out of a book.  My mom’s family is where the Scotch-Irish comes from.  They were all about tradition and faith.  They even started their own town in northern Illinois to keep everyone together, following the same rules and living the same lifestyle.

         I loved my heritage, I loved my nationality, and I loved my home.  But then I began hearing in church and Sunday School about God’s chosen people, the Israelites.  I knew I was a Christian, and that God had chosen me and loved me, but to be a part of His chosen nation?!  Now that was a heritage.  I began telling people that if I ever wanted to be anyone else with any other history, I wanted to be an Israelite.  I was still proud of my own family and origin, but it was my dream to have been one of them. 

          So when I first heard a lesson on Romans 8:14-17 I was so ecstatic I could hardly breathe.  I was one of them.  I was.  Not by blood, no, but through adoption nonetheless.  I was adopted by God.  I was His chosen child, one of His chosen people.  A fellow heir with Christ.  I could hardly believe that my dream had already come true, and I hadn’t even known it.  I’ve always loved the idea of adoption and greatly admired those who are courageous enough to take part in it.  But I couldn’t ever understand being on the other side…being the one waiting to be adopted.  Wanting to be chosen.  And then the joy that comes when the adoption process is finalized, and they finally belong.  Though I will never fully comprehend that, feeling a desire to be part of another heritage has helped me come a little closer to understanding, and putting myself in the shoes of such children.  Adopted.  I am not only BLESSED and CHOSEN; I am ADOPTED. Adopted into God’s family, God’s heritage, God’s people.

“He predestined us to adoption as sons through Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the kind intention of His will, to the praise and glory of His grace, which He freely bestowed on us in the Beloved.”

Ephesians 1:5

Chosen

     Tuesday, August 12th, 2014

      Remember when you were a kid, standing in a line, back to the wall, as you waited for one of the team captains to pick you?  Dodgeball, tag, capture the flag; no matter the game, that wait was always the worst part.  Nervous sweat running down your face, hands clammy, stomach churning in turmoil.  Names being called, kids leaving the line on both sides...would you be picked?  Would you be the last one standing there?  Did anyone even want you on their team?  Your breaths came faster as you started to panic.  Then finally, you heard your name.  Relief flooded over you, nearly weakening your legs to incapacitation.  Somebody wanted you.  You had been chosen.

       Though I was always one of those whose turn to be picked varied (sometimes I was first, sometimes I was last), I know that feeling well.  That feeling of relief, joy, and pride that washes over you when you know someone wants you after all.  Someone thinks you are worth choosing.  It is also the feeling I get when I read the following passage:

"'You are my witnesses,' declares the Lord, 'and my servant

whom I have chosen, so that you may know and

believe Me and understand that I am He.'"

Isaiah 43:10

 

        This isn't just talking about a game of tag.  This is the God of the universe speaking, and He has chosen me to be on His team.  Lil' ol' me.  Just as the knowledge that I am blessed humbles me, this truth uplifts me and gives my life meaning.  If I ever again wonder what I'm doing here and why in the world God ever chose me, the answer is right there.  He chose me so that I may know and believe Him.  So that I may understand who He is.  If I am working toward that goal, as His chosen one, nothing else matters.  He has chosen me.  I will choose Him.

 

"The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; You hold my lot."

Psalm 16:5

 

 

 

*If this is your first time reading my blog, you may wonder what in the world this entry has to do with Haiti.  Though I am currently in the U.S.A., planning to go back to Haiti soon, I have felt God leading me to share some of the things He has been teaching me in the last few months.  Most of them might not necessarily have a "Haiti focus" but they are truths that God has used in my life to better equip me for serving in Haiti and wherever else He will call me.  Please read my entry titled "I Am Who God Says I Am" for further explanation.  If you want to read about my adventures in Haiti, please enjoy reading my older entries (beginning in 2009).

Blessed

Friday, August 1, 2014

 

 

"I will sing to the Lord, because He has dealt bountifully with me."      Psalm 13:6

 

 

     A while back I read this verse, and it became more of a challenge for me than a praise.  In fact, my immediate response shocked me.  My first inward reaction to the truth in this verse was "Yes, I guess He has, especially compared to 'so and so.'"  "Yes, I guess I am blessed, since this didn't happen to me, like it did to 'so and so.'" 

   

     When I realized where my thought pattern was leading me I forced myself to come to an abrupt halt.  What in the world was I doing?  And was this always my response to the truth that God has blessed me?  The deeper I dug I saw that, unfortunately, this was my typical response.

    

      Why?  Why do I have to compare myself with others to feel truly blessed?  Why don't I feel like He has dealt bountifully with me unless I mull over the trials others are going through?  What it all comes down to, really, is that I have an extremely inadequate understanding of God's grace.  I always have.

 

       Since I was little grace was defined to me as "God giving us what we do not deserve."  What do we deserve, anyway?  Death.  Separation from Him for all eternity.  Sounds a little harsh, huh?  Overwhelming?  Yeah, I thought so, too...probably because it is, for our human minds.  So I always chose not to give it too much thought, 'cause, well, it didn't apply to me, anyway.  I was one of His.  I didn't have to worry about all that stuff that could have happened to me.  I was safe.

 

       That's where I went wrong.  By choosing not to think about where I'd been, where I'd come from, what I did deserve, I'd become calloused to His gifts, undervaluing His blessings.  I didn't recognize His blessings because I didn't understand His grace.  I thought I had to compare myself to others in order to feel blessed.  But God doesn't tell me to "feel" blessed.  He says I am blessed.

 

        So I sat down and began compiling a list of my blessings.  Something I should have gotten around to doing long before now.  It's a long list, and still growing.  I think of more every day.  But you know what?  Even if my list wasn't long, even if it wasn't even a list...even if it only had this one thing: Jesus died for me...as my pastor always used to say: that would be reason enough to praise Him for all eternity.

 

Jesus paid it all

All to Him I owe

Sin had left a crimson stain

He washed it white as snow

 

        That is grace.  I am blessed.

I Am Who God Says I Am

     July 22, 2014

     Years ago I participated in a Bible study that took me on a journey through God's promises and also His character.  Through this study I came to realize that though I believed in God I very rarely believed Him.  Or at least I rarely lived as though I believed Him.  That study changed my life. 

      It still is changing my life, for since I am human, and lack the super power of "remembering-everything-I-learn-the-first-time-around-and-acting-on-it", God is frequently obliged to gently (sometimes not so) remind me of the things I was taught during that study.
 
      One of the truths that I most often need reminding of is that "I am who God says I am."  Contrary to my understanding that He sees me as a miserable failure, a maniac suffering from O.C.D., and socially inept (all ways I commonly see myself), God's view of me is flattering, humbling, and exhilarating.  In fact, to Him I am BLESSED, CHOSEN, ADOPTED, ACCEPTED, REDEEMED, FORGIVEN, and most of all LOVED.

       As God and I together take each one of these truths and break them down, going in deeper, until I can get them through my thick skull (my words, not His) and truly believe them about myself, I would like you to join us.  After all, these are also truths about each one of you, not just me.

       I hope you can learn something, too, and that these little musings will somehow bring glory to the One who inspires them.  That goes along with another truth God has lately been reminding me of: we're not in this alone.  He doesn't teach us so that we can keep our lessons to ourselves.  In fact, He expects us to share them with others...something I have been neglecting of late.  And so, He has told me, it is high time that I again include others in my thoughts, in my life, in my faith, and in my Journal Entries.

Something I don't want to get used to...

Thursday, March 21^st, 2013

         As much as I enjoy the privacy and quiet(er) existence the beach property offers, I truly miss the life I grew used to living right among the people of Carries after the earthquake.   I can hardly wait until the wall is finished on the property uphill so we can be over there full time again.  We have men up there clearing the land of weeds and thorn bushes and rocks…it’s coming, slow but sure.  The men are also clearing pathways so we can drive through with the Rhino.  That is what we did yesterday. 

            Piling in the back of our wonderful all-terrain-vehicle (with foam in the tires and 4-wheel-drive, this Rhino is the best thing we could possibly have in this country – we need a fleet of them!), we drove straight up to the foot of the mountain (the eastern edge of our property).  The air is so much clearer, fresher, up there.  When we reached the top, I turned and was amazed all over again at the gorgeous ocean view our altitude provided us with.  The expanse of the land, the fresh air, the breeze, beautiful scenery…it all makes me feel so free.   We took many detours across the land, patrolling, exploring, before we finally descended. 

              We took a different route down than we normally take, straight through the village.  I was surprised when I noticed that I’d never been to this section of Lotboray (Carries) before.  All of a sudden I began seeing lots of familiar faces pop around corners of the cactus fences.  So many of the kids in my Sunday School class, and in Kids Club, lived in this area.  When my brain finally realized what my eyes were seeing, my heart felt so heavy.  No matter how long I live here, I will never get used to seeing the conditions these people live in…especially when it’s someone I see nearly every day.  I was still wrestling with my own emotions, when Kelsey looked up at me with wide eyes and asked, “Is that where Andiana (one of the girls in our Sunday School) lives?”  I nodded my head, hoping that was the first and last question, but I should know Kelsey better than that.  She glanced back over at the blue tarp wrapped around tiny tree trucks, making a square room about 15 x 15, and continued, “But how do they sleep there?  Where do they sleep?  There’s no floor?  Where do they put their clothes?”  I couldn’t find the words, and mumbled something about “in a bed like us” and “probably in a suitcase like we do.”  Kelsey frowned.  “You mean they just sleep on the floor?”  She looked away, and I could tell she didn’t expect another answer.  She was lost in thought.     

                   Kelsey’s lived here even longer than I have, and even she hasn’t fully realized or gotten used to the harsh realities.  For a moment I was overwhelmed by feelings of guilt, despair, doubt, conviction, and sadness.  Then as I looked at Kelsey again, and thought of my own emotions, I was grateful.  Grateful God had kept me from growing used to such realizations.  Grateful she is not yet used to them, either.  Destitution, pain, evil, suffering, and most of all ignorance of God’s love and truth, are things we should never be “used to” or come to expect.  I pray that He will continue to keep both of us from becoming numb, and that we can continue to see those around us as people; people who are just like us.  People who need to know they are loved.

Flowers in the desert...

       Like a tiny red flower pushing its way through the dust in a barren, gray desert is a growing, learning, changing child.  God's Word does not return void, and the last two Sundays I've seen that firsthand. 

        One apologized to a leader he'd verbally slighted.  Apologized.  A boy from Carries.  In front of his cronies.  The other appreciated a punishment I'd dealt out...he had disobeyed in Sunday School, and as a result lost his usual privilege of drawing in my notebook or looking at a pictures of a story.  Though he snuck a few peeks when I wasn't looking, every time I reminded him why he'd lost the chance that day, instead of getting angry and leaving my side to sit somewhere else, he would grin guiltily and wiggle back into his seat at my side.  He knew he didn't deserv it, and his subconscious child-nature was begging to be disciplined.  He's not used to punishments like losing a privileg.  He;s used to a belt on his backside.  He's not used to someone being tougher, more stubborn, than him.  He's used to fighting and cussing his way out of situations he doesn't like.

          These things remind me that God is working.  That hearts are changing.  These things remind me that these are children we are working with.  Children that need structure.  Children that need discipline.  Children that need an example to follow.  Children that need to laugh and play.  Children that need to have fun.  Children that need to feel special.  Children that need to be told they are worth it.  Children that need to be loved.

           These things give me the energy to remember to loosen up, to lighten up.  These things give me the energy to stop and take a breath when I am frustrated at the children, and to change the subject instead of just reacting.  To tell that little girl her dress is pretty.  To make a joke and watch them laugh.  To tickle that little boy's tummy instead of lecturing him, one more time, to sit up straight.  To let them be a little noisy once in a while.  To let them grab my hand or lay across my lap when they're supposed to be listening to the lesson.

              Sometimes I start to be afraid that many of the things I been through here have caused me to grow up too fast.  Like I've let life change me, harden me, when I always used to suffer from a Peter Pan complex.  But now I know why God has placed me in a job where I am constantly coming in contact with children.  They do keep you young - it's true.  At least, if you let them.  If you let God speak to you through them.  I'm trying.

My Disney Life

The following entry is not an all-inclusive example of my every-day life in a third-world country. In fact, it is far from that. The struggles I encounter and the obstacles I face daily require me to search for the roses among the thorns. These glimpses are God's gift of joy that pulls me through each hardship. The attached files include a description of one of these pictures He has given me to keep me looking with eyes of innocence at the life He's given me to live, no matter what may cross my path.