The body remembers...

7 years today I held my 12 pound one year old son in my arms for the first time. I met my shy, scared 4 year old. I can bet you neither of them remember the date, but their bodies remember. A brain somehow etches into permanency the trauma of adoption. So many people idealize adoption, and while it is beautiful, it is tragic, it is trauma, it is devastation. I cannot imagine being a 4 year old and being told, "Go, this is your mama now". That is all Maran was told in her language. She had not seen a white person, she had not heard the English language, and in the orphanage, she hadn't been caressed or changed or tucked in. And now here is this woman and man she has never seen that are doing these things. I cannot imagine the fear and confusion. The mind may forget the details but the body remembers.

This month has been hard, plain old hard. Trauma rears its ugly head in whining, attitude, discontentment, anger, uncontrolled outbursts, lashing out with words, and regression. Bed wetting, sibling arguments, ungratefulness, negative attitudes. And when you bend down and look in their eyes and say "This isn't you, whats going on in your heart?" The response is I don't know. The mind can't put it all together at this age I guess, but the body remembers. The body remembers leaving the orphanage, the place where 4 "mamas" cares for 35 kids, where one meal a day was all you got, and even that was often sautéed leaves and worms and a ball of dough called Fufu. The orphanage was the place where 6-8 kids slept on a queen mattress on the floor, where they would bring a bucket in at night and you would sit your bottom on the edge of it and go to the bathroom before bed. The orphanage was the place where the older kids would target the younger to take their one meal a day because they could push a baby out of the way to get a double portion, the scar still protrudes on Levi's head to prove it.

I can't believe it has been 7 years. Part of me wondered if at 6, 7, 8 , 9 years home that they would forget the painful memories of trauma, but the body doesn't forget. Doctors say continued hunger and malnutrition in the first 2 years of life creates a trigger in the brain that can rarely be reversed. Food equals nurture from that day until forever, which brings its own set of issues. Food is intensely triggering during these periods of grieving. This year for my child's birthday I got the most special breakfast, I brought their favorite treat to school to share with friends, I had an expensive rare treat waiting for them as an after school snack, I cooked their favorite dinner and dessert that evening, but it wasn't enough. Why didn't you do this mom? Why did I not get celebrated enough mom? It is a vacuum that cannot be satisfied. It is exhausting and so hard to parent through that from a place of patience and compassion.

I think the hardest part about walking with someone through grieving is when grieving doesn't look like grief, it looks like anger, apathy and irritability. Give me tears and "this is hard" and I am there by your side echoing your hardship and comforting and affirming. But the alternative form of grieving stirs my default reaction of stress, frustration, impatience and a lack of compassion. I am trying to take a step back each day and ask God for just what I need for that day, not get afraid of the future or how long this will last, but just enough grace to give my kids for today. I ask him for eyes to see their regression and anger with compassion, because it stems from them sensing that their world is not as it should be. And that is a true assessment, it is not how it should be. No kid should lose their first family.

But as I tell them as I tuck them in, 'our family is forever', 'it is ok to be sad and mad', 'mom still loves you and always will no matter your behavior', 'I am sorry I got frustrated with you today, that was not kind of me'. Affirmations, apologies and vulnerability do go a long way in the midst of grief.

As I am learning from my diagnosis, people don't tend to do well when there is no "end" in sight to suffering, when there is no promise here on earth that this will tie up with a pretty bow and you will just say "Wow wasn't that worth it all". Not here, no. In heaven, all the sad things will come untrue and all of the suffering will appear as a brief second in time that had complete purpose filled with love and intentionality.  But in the meantime we will put one foot in front of the other, love when we don't feel like loving, ask God to help us to endure well, and enjoy the lives He has given us. Happy 7 years together to my sweet treasures.

Ramblings of a White mom with Black kids

(One of my friend groups in 6th grade)

My first encounter with my whiteness occurred my 6th grade year. We lived in Tampa and they were trying to integrate the schools (click the link for a great video explanation of redlining and current day segregation) so they were bussing our suburban neighborhood into the inner city. My mom gave me the choice if I wanted to switch to private school that year and I chose public. The first day of school was the first day I ever was the minority. It was a predominantly black school situated across from the housing projects of inner city Tampa. I remember not feeling afraid, just aware. I remember that year noticing the different ways teachers treated kids of different races. I was given the benefit of the doubt, they typically weren't. I could get away with talking in class, they got a consequence. Most of my friends were black. That year changed a lot in my heart. We got out of school frequently for shootings, the projects being on fire, etc. I remember thinking, this isn't fair.

Fast forward a few years, God set something deep in my heart for reconciliation. I remember strangely having a heart set for Africa. I wanted to move there, I wanted to adopt. In my sophomore year of college, I met my future husband John. He was the punter on the Auburn football team. His best friends were mostly black. His roommate was black. He grew up in Brazil and had a perspective on the world I found wildly interesting. I told him "Don't ask me to marry you if you don't want a multi-racial family"... we were engaged a few months later. Our first neighbors were black. I would have afternoon conversations with her that opened my eyes more to the black experience as an adult. She would tell me about bias in her job, bias she experienced while shopping or dating. I was shocked, and it hurt my heart for what she had experienced.

Fast forward a few years into our marriage, we had a 3 and 4 year old, lived in a suburb of Raleigh, and were looking at schools for our kids. We decided then that public was the route for us. We wanted our kids to see the world and all the differences in it. We wanted our school to be a place that represented the diversity of the world. We soon journeyed into international adoption from a Central African country. Bringing these two beautiful children into our family stretched me more than ever before. I educated myself on everything from moisturizer, to hair care, to adoption issues, poverty, struggles of a transracial adoptee, and raising children with trauma in their history. I pressed deeper into the black community for wisdom and advice. I intentionally expanded my community to embrace and authentically love people of color. I wanted our children to grow up with role models who looked like them. My own inadequacy grew as I am a white mom raising two black children. I don't know what it's like to be black, yet I am raising two black children.

As my kids got older, and I listened more to the black experience of society, it was no longer an "out there problem". It was my problem. It was my son who could've been shot while ringing a doorbell looking for directions. It was my son who could have been shot while being pulled over and reaching for his license. It was my daughter I would have to tell to be more cautious walking through a store. I grieved and feared as I realized I would have to raise my black son to be more careful in neighborhoods, driving, stores, etc. I realized my black son would most likely receive less of a second chance, more of a "guilty until proven innocent" mindset where my white son would most likely be given the benefit of the doubt and assumed "innocent until proven otherwise". My fear escalated and I reached out to moms of color and asked for wisdom. I didn't want to parent out of fear of who society would see my son to be, but yet the racial climate in society is clearly tense. How do I not teach my son to live afraid but at the same time realize he has to be more careful than his siblings when sitting down at a coffee shop or while driving a car? It honestly makes me sick, my heart truly laments what I have to tell my children as far as history of the black experience and the current status of race in America. It should make us all sick. This is not a "black people problem" it is all of our problem.
We have grown up hearing a narrative about race. We need to dig deep and explore the narrative we believe. We need to have ears to hear hard things. We need to repent of our own prejudiced hearts. We need to examine our thoughts and fears when it comes to people of a different skin tone. We need to build geniune relationships outside of people who only look like and think like us. 

The same evil that fueled the Holocaust is the same evil behind slavery, lynchings, Jim Crow laws: the essence that you take someone's humanness away, rejecting that they were equally made in the image of God as an expression of His beauty, and treat them as lower than an animal. There were centuries of oppression, injustice, murder, hatred. How do we think so wrongly that 60 years of "progress" in this racial injustice has changed centuries of hate? 

When a murder happens like Stephon Clark, Eric Garner, Charles Kinsey, why does the white community so often respond with questions about circumstance instead of empathy? Shouldn't loss of life be worth mourning no matter the circumstance? Shouldn't we take the time to listen why these instances spark fear in the heart of our black neighbors? Aren't we supposed to love our neighbor as ourself? The problem is our neighbors look a lot like us, only like us, and we have redefined neighbor to sameness. We are not reaching across our differences and asking questions, leaning in, listening, mourning with those who mourn. 

Explore the narrative you have lived and heard your whole life, where has it taken root in lies? Examine your community. A pastor at our church so wisely said, 'Uniformity is not unity'. The root of surrounding people who only look and think like you is self-love and selfishness. Lean into the discomfort. Fight for reconciliation. Explain race in a gospel centered way to your children, color-blindness is just another form of racism. They see color just like we do, so showcase it in all of the beauty God intended. Diversify your dolls, your bookcases, your discussions around the dinner table.

Is the ground level at the cross? Yes. Did Jesus die for this reconciliation? Yes. Is his blood enough to break down this racial hostility? Yes. Does he already have victory over the evil and hate that divide us? Yes. But we are still living in the in-between. The not yet. I feel like the disciples on Good Friday. That did not look or feel like victory to lose your savior who was supposed to bring peace and have victory over evil. That looked like defeat. 'Surely this isn't how it is supposed to end' they must've thought. 'You can't leave us like this Jesus', they must've felt. I thought you came for peace, I thought love covers a multitude of sins? Yes. It does. But his kingdom isn't on earth yet in its fullness. It isn't on earth as it is in heaven. Yet. So until that day comes I will keep raising my voice, using my privilege, against hate and injustice. I will fight for reconciliation, until Jesus brings it to completion, and thank God he will. But I have a role to play, and I will play my part no matter how I fumble through it, mess up, and move forward and then back again. My kids deserve it, the world desparately needs it.

Please look into these books and resources as you lean in to this topic.

A 3 part series on Race in America our church did: 

http://summitrduinstitute.com/classes/race-america-week-1-3/

http://summitrduinstitute.com/classes/7156/ 

http://summitrduinstitute.com/classes/7156-copy/

Books:

Just Mercy, by Bryan Stevenson

White Awake, by Daniel Hill

Under our Skin, Benjamin Watson
Oneness Embraced, Tony Evans
I'm Still here, Austin Channing Brown

Blog post on White Privilege 

Into the Chaos

In my mind, Christmas should be this idyllic time of tradition, joy, merry-ness, time around with the kids in the evening discussing the joy and expectation of Advent-Christ coming into the world. But if I am honest, I am limping toward Christmas, tired, exhausted, confused, and feeling like I am in the midst of chaos. I feel so overwhelmed myself, that the idyllic picture is far from reality and then I feel more guilt and disappointment that I am not at a place to provide that for the kids. A toilet overflowed that ended up costing us thousands and weeks to fix, I have been sick for over a week, I have a child whose adoption trauma is highlighted around the holidays with food issues and grieving, the school has called twice for behavior issues and a concussion, we had an unforeseen financial thing happen that was not our fault but we were financially responsible,  I had to wait 2 weeks for a potential medical diagnosis that would have changed my life tremendously, the boy that I begged God to heal died, and then my plans for what I thought our future was looking like are being challenged,  and even today noticing a passport is expiring so close to such a special international trip that sent me all over the city getting documents and paying additional fees to rush the process. All that to say, life is chaotic right now. I am tired. I am disappointed. Things aren't playing out like I thought they should in certain areas. But that is where God shows up. That is advent.

My thoughts went to Mary this morning, at the end of her pregnancy with who was to be the Savior of the world, and just as she was getting close to delivery, they have to take an unforeseen trip that pulls her out of her plans and into chaos. Riding on a donkey for days and days, ending up with no where to stay. I can't imagine her thoughts as the innkeeper said there was no room. If I were her, I would think, "Seriously God? A stable? I thought you told me I was having your precious Son who would be the light of the world and rescue and redeem us? Something must be wrong here. This can't be the plan." But that is how God works. Out of the chaos he brings order. Out of the disappointment and brokenness, He brings his presence, Emmanuel, God WITH us. This precious savior was born in the nastiest of places, to parents dealing with shame and poverty, in a climate of political upheaval and danger. And his name was called God WITH us. He didn't come as the triumphant king everyone thought he would be. He didn't come with what looked like a happy ending wrapped in a bow. He came to a dirty stable and lived heading towards death on a cross.

That is the message God apparently has for me this advent. God doesn't owe me a life that works out the way I think it should. I think the happy ending is what I am promised, but it is not. My plans are not working out with a pretty bow wrapped around them. Things are messy and chaotic. But there He is, in the midst of it all, reminding me not to idealize the happy endings and perfect plans, but to find him in the chaos as he comes to bring order and peace and deep abiding joy beyond circumstance. It is what he has been doing since before creation, bringing life out of nothingness, bringing order out of chaos, resurrecting places that are dead and broken with beauty, giving us his presence in the midst of suffering. He is the reward. Not the negative medical diagnosis or the child with no pain. Emmanuel, Christ WITH us is enough.

"The Angel had said of Mary, "Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her" And this blessing isn't always what we think- the happy ending we wanted and the desires of our hearts fulfilled. Blessed is she who believes His promises. The blessing is different from blessing as the world sees it. It isn't an easy life or one of success. Blessing is, that as we find ourselves in a place that God has yet to explain, may never explain, a place or a life that doesn't line up with what we had in mind, He gives us a promise...It is the promise of Emmanuel, God with us. He will be here with us, our great reward" Katie Davis Majors, Daring to Hope. 

So maybe this Christmas isn't so Merry for you right now either. That is ok. Instead of being merry, I am simply looking for him. He is good even when life doesn't look it. When the package isn't tied up with the pretty bow, there he is. Reminding me He is for me, with me, working it all for my good. He reminds me to wait, to trust, to be expectant. The message of advent.
"And he shall be called, Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace." Isaiah 9:6

Raising kids in a Suffering-Avoidant Culture

Raise your hand if you have ever had a problem in your life. All of us. No one escapes problems. Not if you have a masters degree, live in a gated neighborhood, live in the slums of Africa, have a great family, etc, problems and suffering are unavoidable. Yet, culture points us to avoid it at all cost and keep it at arms length from ever touching our children.

As I have journeyed through parenting, even when we just had 2 young toddlers several years back, I thought, we have it all wrong. You look at your wide-eyed baby and toddlers and think "I want to protect you from ever being hurt". Yes, that is the goodness in our nature as parents, but we go about it all wrong sometimes. We coddle our kids, we cushion their lives from pain, we fight their battles, we handle the issues with friends, parents or teachers or coaches, we make sure everyone gets a trophy, we pull them out of environments that get too hard on them. Some of these are helpful and appropriate at times, but so often, this mentality protects our children so much so from suffering that when they experience it as adults it breaks them and they have no idea how to endure. 

Entering into adoption, that very first day in Congo meeting our kids, I knew we were welcoming suffering into the forefront our family. Those long days in Congo, holding a raging child, reminding a child they didn't have to steal food from my bag, rubbing a back every 20 minutes all night long from night terrors, it was suffering, for us and for the kids. A family, an adoption, love even, doesn't magically make that go away. Love and time do heal some but it doesn't leave you with the absence of suffering. 

This is why, early on in parenting, we decided we would go overseas to "hard places" with our kids. We wouldn't shield them from poverty, we would immerse them in it. We wouldn't hide their face from a bedridden mother, we would encourage her to go in and hold her hand. We wouldn't avert their gaze from the naked child on the side of the road digging through the trash, we would tell them to go to them and offer a hug and a snack. Africa, every time, changes our kids, deep in their being, to run to the hurting, pray for the outcast, and sacrifice what we have for the sick and people impoverished by hard circumstances. 

As we walk our kids through hard situations, grieving, trauma, and tough situations at school, my aim has changed from protecting them at all costs, to teaching them how to endure well. Suffering comes and it cannot be avoided. The more I act like it can, I do so at the expense of my children. So I don't let everyone get the trophy, I talk the disappointed child through what it feels like to lose but how to lose well, how to encourage the one who won when you want to get angry and storm off. I don't go in and talk to the teacher about a problem with my kid and their friend right away, I coach the child into how to handle the problem with the friend first and then how to approach the teacher about it and follow through and forgive and draw healthy boundaries with the friend. I don't look at my grieving child and say "it'll be ok, no need to cry, lets go play", I tell her being sad is an appropriate response to her story, and life is hard and sad sometimes, but look for God in it, trust he is working your pain for your good and his glory, keep fighting for truth when lies feel like they're flooding your thoughts. 

I listened to a powerful message from Jay and Katherine Wolf the other day and it has left me sitting in so many thoughts. I scribbled down these notes as fast as I could...

Do you want the gifts or the giver? Do you want deliverance from suffering and discomfort or do you want the deliverer himself? We believe the lie that if you follow and obey God into discomfort and out of what is "safe" then there will be blessings and reward for you and things will go well...but instead you've entered into discomfort and you're finding its your new normal. How do suffering and joy coexist? In suffering there is a death to life resurrection we get to witness. A picture of new life. In the suffering we anchor ourselves in the assurance of hope and joy in Jesus not in our circumstances. In American Christianity we have bought into the lie that if it is goo then it cannot be hard. That goodness must exclude suffering. This is not true. In Jesus' upside down gospel good and hard totally coexist and weave together for our goodness and his glory. The message we need to tell our kids is God enables to do hard things, don't protect them from the hard things. Teach them to endure well and to depend fully.

I had tears pouring down my face in the carpool line at school as I listened to this message and the Lord poured affirmation and truth over me. Our family has been in a season of suffering and grieving with one of our kids. It has been hard. It has been hours of exhausting conversation, heart level work, holding them while they grieve. Life is not roses and our kids know it. But in the midst of this tough place we are trying to affirm that life is hard not discount it because it is an uncomfortable conversation to sit in. We are trying to teach all of our kids how to depend on God more fully in the midst of hardship. We are trying to teach our kids how to fight lies with truth. How to comfort each other when someone is grieving. How to be sensitive that each of us have a story and maybe when we hurt each other it is because we are hurting inside too. 

I say all this as I am about to leave to pick up a child and take them to the children's hospital to receive a potential diagnosis of a problem we have seen 6 doctors for over the last 4 years. As I think on it today, I know it is more about how I think about my circumstance rather than what it is. How I frame it affects my own emotions as well as my kids. I could think that this diagnosis will be a toll on our family, our budget, and so difficult for a child to manage. Yet, I am choosing to put this in God's hands not my own or the doctors. I am choosing to trust God will not be surprised or challenged by whatever we hear from this doctor. I am choosing to believe, even if it is the worst case scenario, that God will use it to refine us and bring him glory. He will use it to put us around people we wouldn't have had the opportunity to cheer on or comfort if not for this. So with that in mind, I walk thankfully into that hospital knowing I trust the God who is before all things, in all things, and holds all things together. 

A new identity

So back a few months ago I listened to the Labelmaker series from Passion City church. It was a powerful series on our identity in Christ as written out in Ephesians 1 and 2. It was so impactful for me and it really challenged the ideas engrained in me as a child.
Growing up in different churches, the way I interpreted the message until high school was behave, be a good girl, be nice to others, and somehow that all pleases God. Maybe I didn't go so far to believe I could earn my own salvation but it was pretty closely tied up in my behavior. Through the teaching in college, and our church in Atlanta and here, I've learned and grown so much in my understanding of grace and freedom and have tried to continually sacrifice that idea of behavior earning me any sort of position or good standing with God. I digress...so this series I listened to explained it all so concisely as it went through each "Label" God puts on us. Child, Heir, Holy, Able, Alive, Purposed, Chosen. Such powerful labels that contrast with what the world says or what I say about myself. So I decided to walk through it with the kids and translate it a bit into their language. We started on the first night talking about what a label is, kind of like a name-tag we wear. We asked them what kind of name tags we put on other people or have been put on them. They answered, smart, sporty, kind, brother, daughter, rude, brown skinned, white skinned, small, not sporty, etc. We talked about how some name-tags are good and some are hurtful, some are true and some are not. But the most important person we should let label us is our Creator. So we began to look through Ephesians 1 and 2 to see what God calls us. They got busy high-lighting all the name-tags they could find. You could see their faces light up in encouragement of what God speaks over them. Saint, faithful, holy, blameless, adopted, chosen, heir, alive, purposed. The following nights we talked about a name-tag one at a time. We started with 'Heir'. We talked about how a King and queen have a child and that baby becomes an heir to all the king and queen have. That child gets all the riches, power and authority that their dad had. Same with God, in Christ, he gives us all power and grace and forgiveness and eternal riches that he gives Jesus because we have now become his heir through what Jesus has done for us. The next night we did 'adopted'. We talked about the similarities and differences in our family's adoption and the way God adopts us into his family.
The similarities: it costs a high price, the person you were adopting can't pay for their own adoption, that person is brought into the family and treated as a true son or daughter and given the same inheritance, they take on their family's name, etc. The differences were our adoption is a faulty picture and just a shadow of the adoption we have in Christ. He paid a price beyond any amount of thousands of dollars, he paid with his very life. But in both there is a waiting and a pursuing. The next night we came to 'Chosen'.  We talked about how each of these name tags we don't earn by our behavior or our performance, but only as our position as God's child. As we talked about what it meant to be chosen for a team or chosen for a game, John talked about how he knew he wanted to marry me and he chose to ask me to marry him. But he couldn't just choose me, there had to be a receiving of that choice and a choosing back. He explained that if we would have both showed up to the chapel on that day, dressed in our wedding clothes, showing up in the chapel didn't make us married, us vowing to choose each other did. Making that choice of the will toward each other now entered us into a covenant relationship. Same with God, he chooses us, but there is a choosing back that has to happen. He can't force us to love him. He chooses us and waits for us to accept his choice to enter into that relationship. At this point in the conversation Maran shouts, well I want to choose Him so we can be together forever! Wheeler responds, "Me too! I want all these name tags to be true about me!"So we stopped right there and talked about what it means to choose Jesus, that is doesn't make life perfect or easy but that it guarantees we aren't alone.
It gives us hope. We get a new identity. We trade in the name-tag of sinner for the name-tags of holy, adopted, heir, and chosen. They prayed a sweet prayer in their own ways of understanding the choice they were making. It was a powerful moment as a family. A few weeks later they were baptized and it just so happened to be on the 4 year anniversary of Maran and Levi landing on US soil and becoming citizens and members of our family of 6 forever. God wrecked my heart as I watched that girl go under the water, symbolizing Jesus dying and being buried and then resurrecting 3 days later and him giving that to her as a gift. I thought about that orphan girl I met in Congo 4 years ago, with nothing to offer, who just wanted to be loved and cared for. That day 4 years ago she received our family name, a new identity as a daughter, all that we had financially and emotionally to give to her. Now she is taking on a far more important identity: his daughter, adopted into his family, his heir.

What a powerful picture of death to life, beauty from ashes. When our church baptizes people they ask them two questions. 1. Do you believe Jesus has done everything necessary to save you? 2. Will you go wherever he asks you to go and do whatever he asks you to do. That is the prayer I will pray over my kids: that each day they answer these questions with a yes. That they trust fully that their salvation rests in Jesus' work, not their own. And that they will say yes to God wherever he takes them, whether to a war torn country or a cubicle in the city.

A lesson for me in sports....

As a kid growing up, I didn't do sports. My parents more ran with the philosophy of play outside and come in for dinner or come in by dark. As I got older my parents got my sister and I into music but never sports. I joked around with my mom because she signed me up for a trial of gymnastics and apparently I loved it and the coach told my mom I had "natural talent" and should be moved up to a more rigorous class more days a week and that was the end of my gymnastics career. My parents valued good grades and kindness but not sports. So naturally, that was my bent as well. Fast forward to college, I marry the punter of the Auburn football team right after graduation. John loves all sports and everything about sports. He loves the game and the challenge, he loves the underdog stories, after all he was one. To say we were coming into parenting with different background and values on child sports was an understatement. However when I found my 18 month old repeatedly in the bathroom and kitchen sink and when her greatest joy was leaping herself out of the crib, I jokingly suggested this monkey needed to be in a sport with padded floors. So we landed in gymnastics at age 2. By the time she was four the coach saw in her that "natural talent" and suggested she move to the two days a week two hour class. I scoffed as I told John, can you believe this? A four year old going to gymnastics 4 hours a week? He challenged me, she comes alive when she does gymnastics, it builds her confidence and strength and discipline, why not? The conversation actually didn't go that easily, but I conceded and she jumped up. A few months later it was an extra day at 2 hours practice, a year later she started pre-team and jumped to 9 hours of practice a week. When Reese wasn't at practice she was flipping, cart-wheeling, and "conditioning" to build her muscles to get better. None of it was driven by us, she had a fire in her heart to get better and be the best she could at this sport she loved.

She started competing and loved it. We were driving 1-3 hours for her meets, then her practices jumped to 12 hours a week. I struggled with the decision. Honestly, I feel like the church at large downplays sports as something that takes kids away from church and family time and I felt the tension of the time she was spending at the gym. I didn't want to let my kid drive our schedule but at the same time I wanted to support her dream and love for a sport that we didn't have to do anything to foster in her. It was a continual discussion in our marriage, always coming to it from two different perspectives of what value sports held in our family. We then had to make a tough decision to leave the gym we were at that was 5 minutes from home because the competitive program ended at the age she was. The gym at that time we saw the most potential in was 40 minutes from home one way. And at the age she was her practices were now 15 hours a week in 3rd grade. Reese begged to keep going and wanted to make it work. John supported her and I was left torn thinking of driving 3 days a week down and back to drop her off and down and back 5 hours later to pick her up.We moved forward and Reese flourished. She loved the challenge of the new gym, the harder workouts, the way the coaches pushed her toward excellence. During that time, I saw something growing in her that started to change my heart on the value of sports in her life.

I saw her not getting new skills and cheering on others who were. I saw Reese come home from gym and work a skill repetitively, determined to get it. I saw her learning time management as she did her homework on the drive from school to gym and do her required reading time while she ate dinner on the way home from practice before crashing into bed. I saw her come home from practice with bloody hands or sore legs or bruised hips and saying she couldn't wait to work even harder the next practice. I saw her on vacation bringing with her a list of workouts she could do to stay in great condition while away from the gym. I saw her get bad scores at meets, tear up, and let it push her to try harder the next time. I saw her pray and ask God for help. I saw her rally around her team mates when they struggled both in or out of the gym. I saw her pray for or with other team mates who's parents were sick or splitting up. This sport which I didn't see very much value in was helping transform her in the very values we were trying to teach at home: generosity, hard work, responsibility, kindness, perseverance, and prayer. It was her breeding ground for working those things out and she did it beautifully. She has had to make hard decisions, give up some things "normal kids" can do because of her schedule, she has had to listen to criticism and take what of it she needed to get better and leave the rest alone, she has wrestled with what it feels like to work the hardest and not be the best, she has had to weigh tough choices and push her body through pain. God has started to show me he can work through non traditional ways to mold his children into who he is making them to be. It all doesn't have to be under my roof or in my "control". He has got Reese and he is using the gifts he has given her to develop her into an amazing young woman. 

I talk with Reese often about identity, I tell her, you're identity is not gymnastics, you are a child of God and one of your gifts is gymnastics. You can use that to bring God glory or yourself glory and it will sometimes be a daily decision. I told her the other day, you don't have to do gymnastics to earn acceptance, you do gymnastics from a place of acceptance, knowing God accepts and loves you for who you are not what you do, then you are freed up to live out your gifting and passions as he leads you instead of doing what you're great at to get attention and approval from others. Scores don't matter to me, scholarships don't matter to me, the heart matters. 

I am so proud to see Reese blossoming into a beautiful 10 year old. She is strong and kind and brave, she can do hard things, she knows God is with her and for her, and she knows what it feels like to be living out your passion. I pray I can continue to support her as her cheerleader and mom and keep pointing her to Jesus as she practices living out her passions before Him in this stage of life as he prepares her for the next. God has a beautiful routine planned out for her life, she has tuned her ears in to listen to her Coach and obey each command, whether she falls or does it beautifully she keeps on going: through suffering or pain or difficulty she gets back up and does it again. Jesus is teaching both of us what this adventure of following him can be like.

Culture Shock, Purpose, and other ramblings...

It's been especially hard for me to come back home after this time in Kenya. My 6th or 7th time stepping foot on the African continent, yet something I can't shake.

It's not the culture shock of my first trip. No guilt of sleeping in a plush bed or having an Ice dispenser, it's rooted deeper this time. Going from spending my days walking in a Muslim slum, where people are hopeless and hurting but finding hope through the local church and Care for AIDS program, sitting in the home of a drunkard in his first month of the program, holding the hand of a mother who has buried 6 children to HIV, praying over a woman who sleeps with her head on her AIDS medicine so her husband won't burn it in denial of his own positive status.

These are the stories I heard, the people I cried with and prayed for. Now I am back home to a whirlwind of packing for camp, carpools, play dates, washing dishes, making sandwiches. It hits my heart in a  different way this time. I have to push for meaning and purpose a little harder. I have to remind myself God has called me here, not there (yet at least;) My role here as a mother and wife, friend and daughter and sister. But also God has given us a business that we can leverage for a greater cause. A business that can be a fundraiser for a greater calling than just a restaurant building. God has set purpose deep in my heart, so much so that it is unsettling to not live in it.  It is painful and mundane when avoided. So I press in.

Not because these Kenyan people need a savior in me or my money. No, these people are strong and have dignity and are learning to care for themselves. But it is my purpose to support the work that is being done to restore these people. God intended for families to stay together. God intended for parents to be able to provide school and food for their children. But the world is broken, the system is messed up, disease and poverty is a hard reality. So God has called me, I would dare to say us, to step in to the mess. Roll up our sleeves and lend a hand. Be a brother and a sister to these people, not a savior. Jesus is the only one that can be that for them. The only reason I share so much on here, or raise awareness or funds is because of this-- this deep rooted purpose and joy I have found while locked hands with an AIDS stricken mother, or a man trying to drink away the pain of stigma and poverty, while in the dirt floor home of a woman who has been raped more times than she can count but still has the strength to stand and sell soap she has learned to make in the CFA program. So that puts it all in perspective for me.   We were driving to the grocery store the other day and Wheeler asked, "Mom, I only have 14$ in my jars. Would that be enough to help one of those people whose homes we were in in Kenya?" Yes buddy. God will take that 14$ and multiply it into life change, a mommy who won't orphan her kids anymore, a family that can now make ends meet, a church that can now be the beacon of light it should be in a hard place.

If you would like to join us on this adventure, you can donate at this link HERE. Consider coming with us to see the transformation that happens with our small hesitant obedience. I think you may just find purpose and joy abounding like I have...

Season of silence

I can't believe its been so long since I have posted last. As I reflect on these last 6-12 months of my life, I feel like God put me in a season of silence while he worked on my growth. It was a time of refining and struggle and revealing and the attempt at ceasing striving and trying to rest in His wisdom and peace. God worked in tough relationships and hard situations over the past year showing me more of my own sin and drawing me closer to him in a way I wouldn't choose.

Through parenting challenges, relationship struggles, challenging forgiveness, death and loss, I found a season where I didn't know what to say or do.  God showed me so many things about myself through wise counsel and repeated struggle.
One thing continually revealed was my striving.  I put in the actions and methods and check the boxes and then I wait for the results. If the results don't happen I feel like I have failed or the person on the other side has failed me. I realized I don't even really know how not to strive. I didn't grow up in a home that overtly taught striving, but I think the undertone of my understanding of life was to do my best, be the best, say the right things, be a good girl, behave, be a good friend, do great things for God. This gets exhausting and in the end my motives boil down to self reliance, performing, and fear of not having control. So God, in his strange mercy, reminded me again of my struggle and brought me to another layer in the process of healing. I don't think I'll ever be "cured" or overcome this completely, I instead think it is the thorn in my side reminding me of my need and dependence for him. It reminds me of my limitation and weakness, because only then I can find and rely on his power.

I have a sweet and wise counselor in my life who told me :

"The lie you are believing is that your 'doing' will ensure your kids future". 

Truth that hit me right at my core. I want a good future for my kids. Not the health and wealth stuff, but for them to be kind, make good decisions, have deep friendships, know and love Jesus, serve God with their talents, be in healthy, loving marriages.  But, that lie propels me to do more, read more to them, point them to Jesus, pray with and for them more, memorize more scripture together, discipline better, pour out more to my kids.  While these are all good things, I was striving and relying on my performance to ensure my kids knowing and loving Jesus. I was putting too much weight in my methods and then frustrated when I didn't get the results.  When they messed up, I felt like I had just not done enough to teach or prepare them. When they succeeded I had a brief feeling of victory before writing more things on the mom-to-do list to ensure even better choices in the future. Again, completely exhausting. I am all for pointing my kids to Jesus, yes, very much so, but my performing and striving is not the path to get them there. Jonah 2:9 says Salvation belongs to the Lord, but my actions sure said Salvation and a good future belong to my efforts. 

I've found it's an ebb and flow of striving and then realizing I'm doing it in my own strength and resting in Him, then back to my default of performing and then wearing out and realizing I need him to lead. I would hope after this many years it would be less of a rotation but none the less He reminds me I do need him EVERY minute of every day. I think our adoption and parenting kids from traumatic backgrounds only amplified and exposed this in me even more, but it had always been there from the start. 

Thanks to my friend Macon at @writtenontablets for my art!

So I guess all that to say, I'm glad to be back. I'm hopeful to not ever show I have it all together, or am a great mom or wife to be emulated, not the case. But that He Is Enough, Wise, sufficient, and an adventurer worth following. He has it all together so I don't have to. He holds salvation and a future in his hands so I don't have to. He is great and perfect and wise and I get to tuck into his side and claim all that in Him and not on my own. He definitely speaks to me as I pour out words on this screen and reminds me of who I am and who I am not, who I was created to be and what I was not made to carry, what I was created for and not a life of performance. I hope today you are reminded that you don't have to be it all, do it all, say it all, know it all, but that you have a savior who wants to hold you together as you lean into him and fall time and time again as you press forward in what and who He has called you to. 

Stories of Death to Life, Magdalene, Grace and Jen

There was a day in the trip where we did a few home visits of clients from other centers. We got to see a client in the first phase of the program, the middle phase, and a graduate who had finished the program over a year ago... please read their stories below. I pray you find in them, strength, encouragement, conviction, and hope. Please pray for these amazing women and the journey God has them on!

Magdalene

We walked in the small 8x10 corrugated metal home that was big enough to house a bed, couch, TV and small table. It was the first time in the trip I smelled the stench of death and sickness so intensely. I prayed God would give me the strength to engage fully. On the side of the bed sat Magdalene, a frail soft woman under 100 pounds who struggled to swallow and breathe.  At first she would not make eye contact and just sat slumped with her head down. We started to talk and ask questions and she began to share, with each passing story her gaze was more frequent in our eyes, her tone strengthened and even her words became stronger with each passing sentence. Magdalene had to be between 24-30 years old, it was hard to tell in her condition. She had been working in a factory, pregnant, and realized she was becoming more and more ill. 

One day she passed out at work and was taken to the hospital. At the hospital she was given a test and diagnosed as HIV+. She was so ashamed of her status and feared the shunning that would come from her community. She withdrew until she birthed her child and became bedridden thereafter. Her neighbor, Grace came to visit her and told her about the Care for Aids program. The 9 months was already underway, but Grace knew Magdalene wouldn't make it to see the start of another program. She got her enrolled. A neighbor was caring for Magdalene's new baby as she couldn't get herself out of bed. Once she started the program and started on her medicine with food supplements, she could walk again with help. The spiritual counselor, Matthew, who was with us, said he would walk with Magdalene as she leaned on him. He said she couldn't even carry a 1 kilogram bag of rice, when wind blew she would stumble down. Now over a month into the program, she was getting treatment for tuberculosis and getting stronger. We asked Magdalene how we could pray for her and she said first- strength in her body so she can care for her son again. Her next request floored me as she said it through difficulty talking, she asked us to pray for strength in her body and soul because she needs to minister to others with AIDS. She continued on how there are so many like her that just need to hear, they need a helping hand to make it to this program. She said, "I knew of God before I found Care for AIDS, but I did not meet Jesus so closely until now." Magdalene's story shook me. I have never seen a person so close to death from HIV. Magdalene truly would not have lived much longer. Also such a powerful display of community, without Grace who was already started in CFA, coming into her home and physically taking her, she would not be here. She would not be able to raise her baby. She would not know Jesus as the source of her healing and strength. I know God will answer Magdalene's selfless prayers, she will be healed and be a blessing to others and her son will grow up with his mother by his side. Magdalene's story is one of life, healing, help and hope.

Grace's story
Grace came to the van to meet us, next to her was a sweet and shining face she introduced as Josephine. They walked us to Grace's front door and Josephine went back to braiding her client's hair who was sitting outside the home. 

Grace had a strong smile, a tight hug, and a joy in her face.  But as she told us her story, Grace had had an impossible year. Her only son had recently died after being struck by a car. Her sickness was getting worse, so she spent a year, isolating herself, fearing it would be HIV and she did not want to be outcasted so she kept quiet and didn't get tested. She didn't even tell her best friend Josephine, who lived next door. Finally, she got so weak she feared she was dying. She asked Josephine to take her to the hospital. She knew she needed to get tested but feared she would lose her best friend Josephine's acceptance. Josephine said "well then I will get tested with you." Grace's fears were true, she was positive. After she heard Josephine tested negative she knew their friendship would be over, but she told this part of the story with such joy "You know, Josephine embraced me even more now knowing my status!" She heard about the Care for Aids program through their local church and got started right away. As she was talking to us, she grabbed her pill bottle of ARV medication and shook it and said to us "I am not afraid anymore, these are mine. My name is on this bottle. I don't care who knows." What a powerful display of overcoming her own self-stigma. When we met Grace she was only in month 4 of the 9 month program, but she had already learned to accept and love herself despite her status. A few months earlier she had been isolated for a year, too afraid to even get tested because of fear, now here she is full of joy shaking her pill bottle proudly. This is also the Grace who introduced Magdalene to the program. She is radically changing the face of AIDS in her community. She chatted on about learning to make a cake in the program in one of the skills training. She told us how they would heat firewood to heat sand in a bowl and put all the ingredients in a different bowl and cook it on the heated sand. She couldn't wait to sell her cakes. Grace is a story of the power of community, breaking the chains of self stigma, and physically and spiritually loving your neighbors as yourself. As I looked at Grace, I realized I was the one in poverty. I lacked this beautiful picture of community that she has. In America, we don't need to depend on others for our very lives sometimes, we also rarely reach out to our neighbors, draw them in, tell them they are loved, and walk with them side by side through trials and joys. Grace moved me. 

The story of Jen
I was curious of what meeting Jen would be like. She had graduated the Care for Aids program almost a year and a half previous. Her house was a modest wooden shed type in the hills near Limuru. As we hiked up the terrain to get to her home we passed a wood slatted outhouse and six chickens and a young cow. Jen arrived a few minutes later, her smile beaming from the back of a motorcycle taxi. She quickly ran up the hill to us and greeted us each with a huge hug and high fives. She unlocked the padlock on her home and invited us in. Inside she awoke her two 1 year old twins and sent them out to us. Chickens roamed in the house as she settled herself and us around the couches in the main room of the home. She talked of being on her deathbed a few months before the program. She had found out her HIV diagnosis and her husband left her with 3 children because of it. Now her source of income was gone. Time passed as her condition worsened and times grew desperate and then she heard from her husband again. He explained how he wanted to get back together and rebuild, however she was used for his advantage for a night and she became pregnant with twins.Through the 9 month program she learned skills of how to take her medicine, how to raise chickens, how to be a part of a community again, how to find strength in the most hopeless of situations and how to find strength in Jesus. In her words, Jen explained that through all she learned through CFA "God has taken me from Dust to a palace" as she talked of being bedridden before and now raising chickens, selling potatoes and providing for her family as a single mom of 5 children aged 1-15. We asked her connection with CFA currently and she said "I am now courageous to tell people my status because If they don't know from me how will they know how to heal?" 
She goes back frequently to empowerment sessions in the program and teaches other clients how to raise chickens for eggs and income. She also invites others to embrace their status instead of fearing stigma. She shows them her strength and the success and life hat still remains after an AIDS diagnosis. As we sat around the small living quarters, she beamed as any mother would as she told us about how one of her sons has been ranked 1st in his class for 6 years. Potentially beating the odds of coming from a single AIDS infected mother in poverty. You could see the hope she had in her son. A cycle of poverty that would stop in her children. Her smile and positivity was so inspiring. Her spouting of scripture and the source of where she draws her strength was encouraging. She sent us away, having filled our cups with her joy and strength. It was a privilege to have met Jen, to see how she has risen above a statistic. She has become a beacon of hope in her community. It is such a privilege for our family to see people like Jen, that Jesus brought from literal death to life through the program of Care for AIDS.

Back to Kenya...

In less than 2 months we will be setting foot on the red dirt of Kenya. I cannot explain how that lights me up inside.  Our kids have cried and begged to go back and now our sweet Maran will have her turn to come along.  This trip is especially meaningful to me to take her along with us, back to her birth continent. She will go back to a very similar culture from which she came, she will walk through the slums of Nairobi and visit houses very similar to the one she describes growing up in.  The pain and the beauty that comes along with returning to Africa for her is amazing.  She has begged to go visit. She asks frequently after dinner if we can put our leftovers in a backpack and send it to the people in Africa because she acutely remembers being hungry. I am already praying for her heart for this trip. She will get to serve the very culture she came out of. She will get to play a part in orphan prevention. A previous orphan serving those who would have become orphaned. The magnitude of that is not lost on me. I am praying God prepares her heart in a mighty way to be touched and healed through going back, through seeing the poverty and pain, through serving the least of these. I pray he uses this trip to unearth hidden places in her heart, there will be memories surfaced and pain brought back to mind, but what I told my husband is I would rather walk through more grieving together than leave those dark places covered. Full healing probably won't come until heaven but this just may be another step in the journey toward wholeness for her. I will not glorify it, I am sure she will be tired, confused, whiney, and maybe even selfish. But my prayer for her is that she radiates the joy and love God has given her and allows him to show her more of who He is through this trip.

In addition, our 7 and 8 year olds will be going with us too. They have prayed this center into being and are excited to see what God has done when we stepped out as a family and said yes to God. 90 families will be forever changed as they have received health education, empowerment on how to make an income and how to use it wisely, trained in a skill to earn a living and break the cycle of poverty. I am elated to go watch these 90 clients walk across and receive their certificate of completion of this 9 month journey of healing, and another 90 to begin shortly thereafter. We are taking some friends and family with us as well and I am so excited to watch them experience the work Care for Aids does so well in Kenya. Please join us in praying for our trip. If you want to join in on a part of the trip, please consider writing a letter of encouragement and congratulations to a  graduate. You can get more info of how to do that here.
I am so grateful to venture overseas again. This is a gift I don't take lightly. This is a sacrifice we will continue to make as a family. I pray our kids see the joy that comes from serving. I pray their eyes are opened to a Big God and a big world. People so often ask where is God when people are struck with AIDS, dying, war, orphaning millions of children. I wonder instead, why did I sit by in my air conditioned house and focus on my to do list instead of getting involved. I am so grateful to center our family on this mission. Loving Jesus means our lives might not make sense, the way we spend our money might not be logical in the world's eyes. Thank you Jesus for rescuing me from myself, from a boring and predictable life. Every day I have to push against this tension for a comfortable, easy life versus the stretching and exciting life he has for me. I am so thankful God is writing a story I could have never imagined in our family. It is not perfect and I screw it up most every day, but he fills in the gaps where I fall short. I am so grateful for the excitement he has put in our hearts.  I cannot wait to get back to a place that holds such a piece of my heart!

Get on your beam

I remember sitting on the couch a several years ago watching this video by Francis Chan (It's only 3 minutes, you really should watch!) In summary, he challenged us that life is like a balance beam. A lot of us just lay down and cling to our beam out of fear and desire for safety instead of standing up and doing our routine, even though its risky, and you might fall, but isn't that better than laying down and clinging to your beam and jumping off at the end of your life saying "How was that God?" Instead, living a life of risk for God and living a story that is contrary to what the world would say is comfortable and good.  This is a video that has challenged John and I and stretched us in ways. It has challenged us to take a dream or a crazy ideas of what our family could look like and attempt to make it a reality.

A few weeks ago we were on the way home from a gymnastics meet with our daughter. I asked her how she is able to focus in a meet. Meets are loud. People are cheering, floor routine music is playing for the other gymnasts on the floor,  people are talking, kids are shouting. Then, there's my girl on the beam, laser focused on every aspect of her routine, trying to execute it with precision. I asked her on the way home, 'how can you focus with all that going on? You're even hearing the same music you have learned all the moves to for floor and yet you're on the beam. You don't get the routines mixed up and you don't look over at whats going on when people shout and cheer. How do you do that?' She said something to me that really has made me think. She said "Mom, I just pretend like its quiet. I pretend like I am in a room with my coach and I repeat everything in my head that my coach says to me in practice. So all I hear is her voice telling me what to do for the next move". (She proceeded to go through the script she hears in her head, 'approach, mount, split, present, arabesque, handstand, tighten it up, keep it vertical reese, down, leap, turn, look forward', and so on).  I was shocked at her answer.
I realized she is learning a skill and a self control mechanism that I need more of. I wish I could do a better job at quieting the noise around me, the shouts that the world throws out of "get more, you're not enough, compare, someone else is doing it better" and just quiet it all and just listen for God's voice telling me who I am and what to do next. If I just pretended like it was only me and Him, no audience around waiting for me to fall or seeing if I do it flawlessly.
Such a beautiful picture of a life that I want to live, not a safe life, but a life surrendered, moving in the presence of Him, not focused or caring of the onlookers approval, just hearing His voice tell me the next step to take. What if our lives could be a beautiful routine? One that shocks and twists and turns, one of falls and getting back up, one of huge leaps and amazing feats. It requires some letting go, some risk, and a lot of listening to our Coach for the next move, challenging us on to the next step. That is what I want more of.

Ramblings on the messy side of Gratitude

So this month as a family we are focusing our conversations around gratitude. We have all memorized "In this house we will giggle"'s cute, catchy definitions and verses about it. But as I "teach" my kids about gratitude, the more I really dig in, I realize gratitude is getting messier as I grow deeper in my faith. We made a gratitude tree and each night we clip a clothespin on it with something we are thankful for. There is a lot in the surface of my life I am grateful for: our church, my husband's job, 4 amazing kids, a growing and caring marriage, family close by, etc. But the more I really think about the moments in my life where it was the most impactful and thus I am the most grateful, I realize those moments at the time were the deepest valleys, the heaviest weights, the sharpest of pains. God is taking me to a place in my walk with him that I am most thankful for my moments of suffering. It wasn't something that could've been muttered in the moment, in the moment, on the contrary, I was shouting at him, clawing to get out of the pit, or empty and angry. But as he brings me out of different challenges, I see looking back that in my suffering I am so near to him. In my hardest times I am clinging to him with desperation and dependency. I am drinking in the Word like it is my only water source. Then when life gets "easy" again, I tend to go on autopilot or coast through my relationship with him without recognizing that level of dependence still should exist.

I thought on my drive home last night, what were some of the moments I felt most alive with God and thus so grateful for, I came up with a tough list... clinging to the leg of my best friend of 10 years as he took his last breath, walking the streets of a country hostile to Christians and feeling the physical weight press on my chest for God's love for them, praying over my new child with my husband as she was just a shell of a girl overcome by trauma and grief, the impossible weeks that followed in a violent country where I was being tested from every direction, the days where my marks of motherhood were spit in my face, claw marks on my chest, and a child that ran from me. Those are the glory days of my faith. Not when I felt like I had it all together and health, wealth and happiness all lined up in a pretty package for me.
So as we clip our moments of gratitude on our tree I see it is not just me that is thankful for the messier things in life: my son has clipped on God cleaning out the yuck in his heart, our daughter that we are made creatively unique, our other daughter wrote her birth mother and that God gives us joy when we are sad. Our tree from the outside is not a pretty picture of words like money, health, and happiness; although we are deeply grateful for such things. Yet, I find myself increasingly more appreciative for the times where he strips me of "self strength" and I land in a place where nothing makes sense but him. I can taste him more in that place, I need to breathe him in there, and he shows up, maybe not in the way I was asking him to or how the world would think looks like an answer to prayer, but he is there. So this all leads to a shift in the outlook on my life. Instead of spending my days anxious over future suffering or avoiding it at all costs, I am finding a new level of trust and peace in what he has for me. As I wrote a letter to a friend who is struggling to belong, fighting identity in Christ, wrestling with the pain of her adoption, I thanked God for giving me a space to prepare myself. It will most likely be my daughter in that place, he could be preparing my heart to walk through this with my child. As John and I have walked several couples through affair and divorce, where I used to be overcome with anxiety hoping it doesn't happen to me, I have traded it for a quiet trust, a trust that knows my circumstance is not at the root of my joy, a Good God is. A God who works all things together for my good, even if that means suffering. It is a freeing place. And although I still selfishly desire an easy, comfortable life, I know deeper that may not be the way God wants to draw me to himself. I am reminded of sitting in a church in Kenya as a man stood up to say "I just need to thank God for AIDS, getting HIV was like gold to me, otherwise I would not know Jesus how I do now." This is the life I want. Grateful in ALL things. Having a new lens and a new perspective to see the pain and hardship we will walk through. So come what may, it is well. I believe He knows, I believe He is good... to me, I believe he works all things for my good and his glory.  Like the words of Mr. Beaver in The Lion, the Witch and the wardrobe, "Safe? said Mr. Beaver; "Don't you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the king I tell you."

I've been reading "Every bitter thing is sweet", she challenges a question to my heart, do I simply believe God is good, or do I believe he is Good..to me? Even in my suffering? 
Where are you at in your gratitude journey with God? When have the deepest times in your walk been? How is the theme of gratitude shifting in your journey?

Dear John (a decade of love, struggle and triumph)

Dear John,

I decided to forgo a silly anniversary card that over-optimizes marriage or over simplifies all we have worked at and overcome and fails to mention all God has done between us. Plus, since you know me well, you know I am too wordy to fit what I want to say on a 5x7 card.
10 years, as of today, I have been officially married to you for a third of my life. When I look back at my 20 year old self, having graduated a month prior (by taking two 22 hour semesters to be able to graduate with you;), I thought I knew what marriage was and thought how much I loved you would carry us through any struggle, but I also had a few fears walking down that aisle of what the future would look like when we got to year 5, 7, 10, 25, 35. 

I remember sitting in a chair at Northpoint Community church, hearing marriage is not a contract but a covenant, not an "I'll serve you if you serve me" but being the actual tangible hands and words of Jesus to your spouse. I remember feeling the weight and privilege of what we were entering into. 

People say that when people as young as we were get married they don't know what they're getting into. I've heard people use this as a cop out of marriage 5, 10, 20 years later. We didn't know what we were doing. Obviously...no one does.  We sought counsel and made the wisest decision we could understanding the commitment as much as we were capable.  But, just as if you parent your first child at 22 or 32 or 42, you don't know what you're getting into, because you have never parented a child before. Same as walking down that aisle. Yes, we were so young. But we committed to our God, a choice, a vow and the unknown. We never knew what life would hold for us, but we committed to each other and a love and a God we knew was bigger than any circumstance we would face. 

10 years later, my wildest dreams have been imagined and I've also felt deeper pain than I ever imagined. That's just part of it when entering into life with another flawed human being. If you would have told me at age 20, walking down that aisle, that 10 short years later we would have 4 kids age 3-8, been through 6 moves, 3 churches, an international adoption, 5 international trips with our kids, a ministry partnership in Kenya, counseling, 2 restaurants, and a whole lot of ups and downs I would have laughed in your face! It has been quite the adventure and I cannot imagine what the next 10 holds. 

As we have watched marriages crumble around us, it has brought an ever-present reality to mind. We are not "immune" to struggle, separation, sin. Sure we have done our best to put protective boundaries in place, sought counsel when we have hit hard times, prioritized date nights, been in small groups, gotten away several times a year together without kids. Those have all been crucial in protecting and building upon our covenant. But Satan is still out for us. No amount of boundaries can protect us from that, only the strong power of Jesus. I was talking to Reese in the car a few days ago explaining what separation and divorce are. I told her about how God gives us guidelines and boundaries not to keep us confined, but to protect our hearts and protect us from the damaging consequences of sin. Same for marriage, he has made this beautiful union that can be an amazing, hard, beautiful adventure if we stay within the guidelines he has given us. Just like the CS Lewis illustration of the fish who always dreamed of living outside of the confines of water, until one day he lept out of the "cage" that had been holding him captive only to realize that pleasure was fleeting, and outside his home was only death. He was designed to be in the water, it is not a confine but a boundary to where he can live abundantly. When we step outside those confines, there is hurt, brokenness and sin. We will still sin and have hurt inside our marriage, but nothing like the brokenness that happens outside. So I explained to her, Daddy and I have agreed to choose God's way over our own, even when things get hard and messy. And this is why I try to instill in our kids a heart that loves God's word and way, and to grow their will that can make the right choice in the hardest of circumstance. I hope our home is a breeding ground of small choices will bear fruit into a person who commits to God's way when the storms come. Reese asked, "so why doesn't everyone else just decide to obey God instead of hurt their wife or husband and break that apart?". Self and sin and Satan's lies are a powerful deterrent from the choice we all make at the altar of our marriage. I pray you and I continue to arm ourselves to daily fight that battle.
John, it is so freeing to know your struggles, to know where you continually disappoint yourself and me, to know what makes you tick, to know what you're gifted at; and that you know me all the same. One of my fears in walking down that aisle was that the glitter would soon wear off our relationship and it would no longer be anything to look forward to, there would be nothing else to learn about each other.  What if I wasn't excited to see you come home anymore or get butterflies to see your name ringing on my phone?  I was afraid the excitement of dating would wear off and leave me with a boring relationship. That was one of my biggest fears, but where some of the glitter has faded, security, sacrificial love, transparency, vulnerability and fun has risen in a larger way. There is a safety that comes when you know someone so deeply and you are known deeply by them and accepted. There is a deepness in our bond of friendship that is so comforting.  That beats all the first date feelings to pieces. Because when we are holding hands as we watch a grandparent take their last breath, when we are up until 2 am with friends going through separation, or when our child comes home in tears over a lie they've told, we don't need the butterfly, fleeting flirtatious relationship, we need a rock and shield and a partner who knows you through and through and is ready to go into battle with you. And I am honored to be your battle partner.
I am so proud of the man you are becoming. A man who treats me with gentleness and tenderness, a man who loves our children well, a man who is concerned by those in need, a man who desires to love and know God more deeply, a man who conducts his business with integrity and care, a man who pours into others, a man who loves to give generously, who forgives abundantly, a man who loves to go to the broken places in the world, and a man who can serve well. Your humility is one of my favorite traits of yours. Never do you use your position to put someone down or sit on the sidelines and watch others do the hard work. You have a team mentality; if there is a problem what have we done to get it here? If there is success, you put it back on the team, not yourself. That is present in our family and your business and I think that is why you are successful at both. You lead with wisdom, kindness and a servant heart and thats why you are a leader so many want to follow, including me.
But even on the days when you are not so easy to love; when you're home late, when you don't give me the input I desire in communication, when you disengage or even watch golf on a sunday ;), even then I love you, I respect you, I choose you. In the midst of your faults, I see who you are becoming still and I want to love you into that man. You were created as a fun, wild, tender, courageous warrior and I have the privilege of being a part of your story and that is one of the greatest gifts to me outside of my salvation. 

So 10 years in, I am still here, not because you are worth it, but because He is, not because I deserve happiness, but because Jesus deserves my ultimate devotion and commitment. 10 years from now, Lord willing, I will still be here, loving you when you don't earn it and humbling myself when I mess up time and time again. You are mine and I am yours.
Happy 10 year anniversary my love,