From a Panic Attack to God Singing Over Us at an Airport in India

Two months ago, the night before our flight out of Atlanta, the first physical step in thousands of miles we were to take in the direction of our Pearl, I slept for barely two hours.

The burdensome weight of years of waiting for this moment to come, coupled with the reality of what we were actually doing the following morning, combined with the overwhelming sadness of being separated from Gloria and Grace for two weeks finally caught up...and overtook me.

Every kind of emotion, all the excitement, the anticipation, the fear, the tears, and yes, even nausea came out.

What I know now, but didn't comprehend then, was that I had a panic attack.  And it was bad.  Very bad.

Even though the anxiety inside me was greater than either my body or my mind has ever experienced, even though I was balled up on my bathroom floor, I still heard a very specific, very real command spoken to my spirit.

"Stand firm."

It was one I'd noticed God emphasizing, highlighting to me from His Word for weeks leading up to that moment.

"Finally, be strong in the LORD and in His mighty power.

Put on the full armor of God

so that you can take your STAND against the devil's schemes...

Therefore put on the full armor of God,

so that when the day of evil comes,

you may be able to STAND your ground,

and after you have done everything, to STAND. 

STAND FIRM then..." Ephesians 6:10-14a

 

In those middle of the night moments, I wavered. I doubted. I lost faith. Every promise God had given us, all the miraculous deeds He'd done on our behalf, all the hope of the future nearly flew out the window.  I was weak and crippled by fear.

"Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses,

so that Christ's power may rest on me...

For when I am weak, then I am strong."

2 Corinthians 12:9-10

 

The very same One whose powerful words spoke all of creation, all of life into existence, spoke to me, cared enough for His daughter's trembling heart, to speak and to comfort and to infuse courage back into it.

 

And the next morning?

 

Though weeping may remain for a night, rejoicing comes in the morning!

 

 

 

Exhausted, yet elated, we boarded our first flight and left America behind. We flew about nine hours, landed in Frankfurt, Germany, had a six-hour layover and then boarded our second flight. We flew eight hours and finally landed at the Delhi airport in India.

 

It was just after midnight when we arrived. Though beautiful and exotic, nothing was familiar. We truly felt like the foreigners we were in a distant land.

 

 

We stood in line to get our boarding passes for our next flight, the one to Pune, where Pearl's orphanage was located.  We went through security and began our long trek to the other side of the airport where our next departure gate was located. 

 

Since we had several hours before our connecting flight, we decided to find a quiet place to take a moment to collect ourselves. We found just that in a more secluded area of the airport, right in front of a coffee shop.

 

Most of this side of the airport was still asleep. The refreshment stands and restaurants were not open for business, it being 3:00am local time. The atmosphere was calm and peaceful. Just what we needed after all the hustle and bustle through which we'd just come.

 

The coffee shop was just opening their doors for the business of the day.  Derek and I sat down at a table several yards in front of the store. 

 

Derek began looking over some of our important documents, the itinerary, etc., while I put my feet up and reflected over all that we'd been through the past 24+ hours.  All the travel, all the roller coasters of feelings I was still battling, all the requirements that still had to be met to get our girl.

 

We'd only been seated a couple of minutes when someone, somewhere, turned on some music. Just a couple of notes played through the speakers, breaking the eerie silence, when Derek and I looked up from our own personal revelries, locked eyes and gasped.

 

We could not believe what our ears were hearing.

 

In the middle of Indira Gandhi International Airport, in the capital of India, in the midst of all things Indian, this is what we heard from a voice we recognized immediately:

 

"Oh, I've heard a thousand stories of what they think you're like

But I've heard the tender whisper of love in the dead of night

And you tell me that you're pleased

And that I'm never alone.

 

You're a Good, Good Father

It's who You are, it's who You are, it's who You are

And I'm loved by You

It's who I am, it's who I am, it's who I am

 

Oh, it's love so undeniable

I, I can hardly speak

Peace so unexplainable

I, I can hardly think

As you call me deeper still

Into love, love, love...

 

You're a Good, Good Father

It's who You are, it's who You are, it's who You are

And I'm loved by You

It's who I am, it's who I am, it's who I am."

(Chris Tomlin)

 

Familiar words from a familiar voice. In a foreign land, far away from all that was familiar to us.

 

We knew the lyrics of the song well. 

 

By heart actually.  We humbly join in worship with other believers, other children of the Most High, to sing that song regularly at our church.

 

We know the Good, Good Father well, too. 

 

Individually, and as a married couple, we've walked with Him for years.  And yet, He still blew us away with this "tender whisper of love in the dead of night".

 

Tears fell. From both of our eyes. We were speechless. And overwhelmed. All we could do was remain still.  His presence so thick we were nearly undone.

 

In a country, in an airport where contemporary praise/worship-filled music most certainly is not the norm, He showed us He was there. Immanuel, God with us. That He sees, that He knows, that He cares about every single detail.

That He goes before us, fights for us and would indeed be our "cloud by day" and "fire by night" on this journey. And most of all, that He is the Father to the fatherless.

 

That moment gave us an unexplainable, incomprehensible peace we hadn't had before, erasing anxiety and fear, causing an immense, all-encompassing, bold-as-lions courage to swell inside our hearts.

 

How could we ever forget that moment?

 

The moment when God proved (once again) how perfect He is in all His ways.  When He took over the sound system, the intercom, in a Hindu-dominated country so that His daughter and His son might be encouraged with familiarity, with Truth, and the closeness of His presence.

 

Only His mighty arm is that strong and only His Father's heart is that personal, that intentional and that attentive to what His children need at just the moment they need it.

 

Only a Good, Good Father does that.

 

"The LORD your God is with you,

He is mighty to save. 

He will take great delight in you,

He will quiet you with His love,

He will rejoice over you with singing."

Zephaniah 3:17

 

 

**For the record (or for any doubting Thomas's out there),we sat and listened to hours of music following this incident while we waited for our next flight.  NEVER was there any other song similar to this (or even sung in English for that matter) played over the airwaves while we were at the airport.**

 

 

Pearl's Been Home for 1 Month! How Our New Normal is Going...

 

Tonight we went to a park.

 

We had a picnic, played on the playground, took a walk and rode bikes.  All normal things that other families do.  Except that we had a super special reason to celebrate our family time together.

 

One month ago today, we stepped off an airplane and began our new normal as a family of five.

 

As you may have already read or seen from my posts on Facebook, things are really, truly, going surprisingly well so far. Pearl has adjusted. Grace and Gloria have adjusted. We have adjusted.

 

We have a list a mile long of things we are grateful for, things we (& others) have prayed specifically for that God, in His kindness and generosity, have answered.

 

But...according to some adoption "experts" and others who've adopted (i.e. Jen Hatmaker), we are still in the honeymoon stage, basking in all the newness, but with a (possible) harsh reality around the corner.

 

If so...so be it.

 

But tonight, I wanted to chronicle just how well the past month has been going.

 

I'll start with the most popular question we've gotten: "How are things with Pearl and Derek?"

 

Let me just tell you how stinkin' excited I am to say, "SO much better!"  

 

Bless him.  He has had to work really, really hard to gain her trust and frankly, get her to like him.  Sometimes he said he felt like Adam Sandler's character relating to Drew Barrymore's character in the movie, "50 First Dates". He and Pearl would be best buds by bedtime, but unfortunately would have to start from scratch the very next day.  But his pursuit of her has definitely paid off and perseverance, persistence, and love have won.

 

The two of them go for nightly walks outside. He reads to her. He pretty much does the whole bedtime routine and just today, held her during the entire church service. Pearl returns his love with big kisses, high-five's and "knuckles" constantly.

 

One of my favorite things she likes to do with Derek is to play "Copycat", a game she initiates all on her own. She moves in a certain way (shrugs her shoulder, claps her hands, folds her arms, etc.) and he copies her.  It's really amazing to watch her come up with so many different things and even more hilarious to watch Derek mimic her movements. This type of play keeps her engaged with him and is pure entertainment for the rest of us.

 

Overall, she is sleeping really well; honestly we can't complain.  She sleeps about 10 hours in the Pack 'n Play next to our bed in the evenings.  She may stir a couple of times during the night, cry out, but then quickly works herself back to sleep, without us having to get up to tend to her. 

 

During the day, she takes naps in her crib in her bedroom.  While she's gotten better with the routine of going to sleep in her crib, her naps have only averaged about a half hour each this past week. Thirty minutes is not enough for her...or me. But an after-church miracle occurred today when she slept two hours.  Oh, how I'm praying this will be her new routine!  Eventually, our goal will be to transition her to her crib in the evenings.  But for now, this is working and we don't want to throw too much at her, too quickly.

 

One of the things we are most thankful for is how well she has taken to the variety of foods we eat here.  We were pretty worried when we first came home a month ago, but certainly have no worries now. Our pediatrician was correct. She does want to eat whatever we are eating, especially whatever Grace and Gloria are eating. Positive peer pressure is a wonderful thing! 

 

Whereas she was a vegan before, she is most certainly an omnivore now.  Each meal she seems to try, and like, something new.  Recently, we've added cucumbers, carrots, grapes and hot dogs to her list. So far, her most favorite foods are sweet potato pancakes, oatmeal, protein smoothies, bananas, dates, pineapple, apples, strawberries, blueberries, cereal, goldfish, string cheese, yogurt, peanut butter sandwiches, black bean/cheese quesadillas, rice, quinoa, spaghetti, hamburgers, pizza, French fries, any kind of bread or dessert (like us all...) & of course, Chick-fil-A nuggets.

 

Slap some red, white and blue on our girl and call her an American!

 

It's been so cool watching all that her little brain has been soaking up--all she's seen and heard the past month.  Her level of comprehension is super high; now her vocabulary is attempting to catch up.  She LOVES music and LOVES to dance (especially to Toby Mac).  She also gets in the groove whenever we play some Bollywood for her. She loves when we sing to her.  The song she tries to sing by herself the most is the "ABC song".  Basically she just keeps repeating "A-B-C...A-B-C...A-B-C...", so one of us always has to step in and help girlfriend out with the other 23 letters in the alphabet!

 

Pearl loves riding in the car, in the stroller, in the wagon, and sitting in her high chair.  All things we were concerned she'd hate when we were back in India.  Bath time is improving, too.  Last night was the first night in a very long time when she didn't cry when the water was turned on and when she sat down in the tub.  This is a very good thing.  Not only for bath time, but also for our upcoming trips to the pool. We're all pretty curious as to how she'll do in a huge "tub" of water; maybe somebody could invite us to come swim so we can find out? :)  Good news is that she has a darling new swimsuit we can't wait for her to wear.  At the very least, she'll look adorable if she decides to throw a ballistic fit.

 

Her interest in toys has grown the last month as well.  Basically, we've had to teach her "how to play" from the get-go.  We're not sure how she spent her time in the orphanage all day, but thanks to her big sisters, she is learning how to play with baby dolls, Barbie's, and stuffed animals (which she's still not a fan of).  She is easily entertained with any toys with music and/or buttons that play music, so we're relieved to know she's a typical two-year old in that sense.

 

Pearl loves both of her sisters very much and squeals whenever she is reunited with one of them, even if it's only been a super short time since she saw them last. As anyone might have guessed, Grace is basically a second mama to her, loves to play with her, thinks whatever she does is adorable, and actually enjoys changing her diapers. Gloria is her playmate, but also her competition. The two of them play wonderfully together, but can also butt heads. Gloria comes up with some of the greatest games for them to play, but can also aggravate her little sister a bit, too. We think she seems to be enjoying her new role as a big sis, and all the privileges (and power ;) ) that come with it. Both Grace and Gloria are amazing helpers to us and Pearl.  We have been completely blown away at their fierce love for Pearl and how they constantly care for her.  We are SO proud of them!

 

And thanks to them, to Derek's new relationship with her, and to "blanket/towel time", I am finding some freedom and a little of my personal space back.  Whereas Pearl has been my shadow (um...leech) the past month, signs of great growth and security in her and in her relationship with the other members of the family are completely evident now.  I love that I am able to spread a towel or blanket in the kitchen while I prepare food, upstairs next to the desk while I work on the computer, or in my bedroom while I get dressed, place some toys on the towel, tell her to sit down and she will play contentedly a few feet away from me while I accomplish what I need to accomplish.  It's like a miracle. A super awesome miracle! (Thanks to my friend, Kelly, for reminding me of this tip, which I'd totally forgotten over the years.)

 

The past month has been filled with way too many emotions to record here, but my favorite by far, is joy.  We have laughed more the past month than honestly, I thought we would, especially this early in the game. 

 

I knew adoption was hard work.

I knew going back to the toddler years would be hard work. 

I knew language acquisition would be hard work. 

I knew that making sure my bio girls were okay, felt loved and acknowledged would be hard work. 

I knew staying connected to my husband would be hard work. 

I knew learning to care for a new little person in our home would be hard work. 

But I didn't know, or consider, or make room for, the tiniest, spontaneous, light-hearted, unexpected joy-filled moments along the way, even when I had actually prayed for them.  Shame on me for that.

 

One month into this new normal and we all have far more to be grateful for than to belly-ache about.  We still shake our heads in wonder and awe at how God orchestrated this entire thing. 

 

How he would draw us to the country of India, break our hearts for the mistreatment of girls in India, call us to adopt a little girl from India, provide for us to get to go to India, then match us with our daughter, whom no one would ever suspect, or guess, or believe, was born in India, but instead, actually looks a whole lot like us. Crazy.

 

Only a creative God could write a story like that. We are so humbled we are a part of that story. For His purpose. For His glory. For Pearl's present and for her future. 

 

"I will tell of the kindnesses of the LORD, the deeds for which He is to be praised,

according to all the LORD has done for us--

yes, the many good things He has done for the house of Israel (Fort),

according to His compassion and many kindnesses." Isaiah 63:7

 

Looking ahead and looking forward to all the awesome works He will perform for, and in, our family.  Here's to month two and beyond!

 

 

Funeral Rock Stars

"It's going to be terrible.  It's going to be awful.  It's not going to be any fun. You're going to see and talk to tons of people you don't know.  But we all have to do it.  Unfortunately, this is just part of life."

These are the words Derek spoke to our girls as he explained the plans for both the upcoming visitation and the funeral.

Terrible because of the tears.  Awful because of the reason we had to be there.

Two days prior he'd gotten the shocking phone call.  His 74 year old father, Owen, had suddenly and unexpectedly passed away following routine knee replacement surgery.  As one family friend expressed during visitation, "He went in for a new knee and came out with a new life."

As difficult, as heart-breaking as this news was to bear, we are confident of Derek's father's presence now. We know his unwavering faith in his unwavering Savior is now full-out, glorious sight.

"Therefore we are always confident and know that as long as we are at home in the body, we are away from the Lord. We live by faith, not by sight.  We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord.  So we make it our goal to please Him, whether we are at home in the body or away from it." 2 Cor. 5:19

We've been to funerals.  Several lately, unfortunately.  But this was the first time in our adult lives Derek and I had to play an active, intimate role because we're immediate family.

This was the first time my husband had to sit for over two hours at a funeral home and assist in making arrangements.  The first time he had to listen to casket options and help decide the number of death certificates needed, wording on the obituary and the pictures needed for the slideshow.

This was hard stuff.  For Derek's mother, Carol, his two brothers, their wives, and his aunt and uncle.  The hard stuff no one wants to do.  But from my perspective, the stuff they all handled like total and complete rock stars.

Visitation at the funeral home was scheduled to be three hours long.  But the crowd.

People stood in line for hours to pay their respects and to offer their condolences.

I shouldn't have been surprised at the overwhelming number of people. Owen (and Carol, too) have lived their entire lives in that area, rooted in their community.  They raised their children there and Derek's brothers and families are doing the same there; we live nearly two hours away.

Owen had also been an active member of his church for over 35 years, serving as a deacon and even being employed there as head of custodial management after he'd entered retirement nearly 15 years ago.

For six long hours, my mother-in-law lovingly embraced each and every visitor who stepped up to the casket and in front of her. As friends shared their cherished memories and favorite moments of the man she'd been married to for 52 years, she listened intimately, maintaining eye contact, giving them her undivided attention, soaking in every word as a lifeline.

And I watched her in complete amazement.

Though weak, she was clothed with strength.
Though broken, she was altogether lovely.
Though needy herself, she lifted up and ministered to others while they grieved.

Her sons, Kevin, Micah, and Derek, remained like stalwart soldiers by her side.

Carol Anne and Denny, Owen's sister and brother-in-law, were a constant presence for my mother-in-law. Always in the background, always serving. Always thinking of others' needs. Always assisting. Always helping. Always seeing the needs before anyone else did.

Derek had told me how his aunt and uncle had been invaluable throughout the first few days of this family tragedy, but I got to witness it with my own two eyes while I was down there.  No doubt they'll continue to be the tangible hands and feet of Jesus for Carol as the days go on. Because that's just who they are.

As the evening progressed and some of the grandchildren grew restless, Derek's cousin's wife from Tennessee, affectionately known as "Aunt Sue", volunteered to take them down to the sunroom in the funeral home. Their attention span spent there, she then offered to take them back to Carol's house, feed them dinner, let them play and watch them while we were away.  Who does that?  Aunt Sue, that's who.

Rob and Joel, the vocalists at the funeral, led those in attendance in full-out worship (because that's what Owen would've wanted) and Pastor Larry, Owen's pastor, proclaimed the love of Christ with the gospel (because that's what Owen would've wanted) and three individuals said, "Yes" to Jesus and his offer of salvation. Three new creations in Christ.  At my father-in-law's funeral, y'all.

Food abounded at the house.  Countless containers of casseroles, cakes and cookies, too many to fit in Carol's refrigerator, have provided continuous nourishment for the entire family, those from out-of-town and those in-town.  Flowers, cards, phone calls, text messages, and visitors have poured in over the past week and provided much comfort to those on the receiving end.

Love demonstrated in a million ways, big and small to the entire Fort family. People have shown up and God has shown off.

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows." 2 Cor. 1:3-5

The death of Derek's father will leave an irreplaceable hole in the family.  He loved us all and prayed for us all, particularly his seven grandchildren.  Over the last several years, he got to see each and every one of them baptized following individual personal confessions of faith in Jesus' sacrificial work on the cross for them.

But for us, one of the biggest losses is the fact that he won't be at the airport the day we arrive home from India. He'll never meet his eighth grandchild.  From the moment we shared our plans to adopt, Owen was beyond excited.  He loved that we were adopting. He loved hearing all the crazy, exciting, up/down details along the way.  And he loved the day we called to tell them we'd finally been matched with our girl.

Before I was even halfway through explaining the story, he stopped me.  He wanted to pause, to pray and to give thanks to God for what He'd done in our journey so far.  He believed big for us and prayed big for us and his Indian granddaughter.  He was most definitely one of our biggest supporters and we'll never forget that.

It's been a tough week since the funeral and yet, the hardest days lie ahead. Specifically for Carol.  She has to figure out a new day-to-day normal. She has to make decisions. She has to face the quietness and the loneliness.  So understandably, our thoughts, our concerns, our prayers are for her now, because she needs them.

Though she often referred to her husband as her "rock", I know she's leaning on, holding on and standing on the Rock, her Lord, her Redeemer right now. And I'm confident, too, her Rock is leaning in, holding her, and standing right there with her as well.  Because that's just what He does.

Falling Through My Kitchen Ceiling & an Adoption Update (because they totally go together...)

If we're friends on Facebook, then you may have seen this picture and post three weeks ago:

"See this disastrous hole in my kitchen ceiling?  Now just imagine my entire left leg dangling from it.
Why?  Because about an hour ago, it was!

In an effort to save a little $$$, I went to the attic to try to find some of Grace's previously worn black dress shoes for Gloria to wear this weekend to a Valentine's dance.  Wasn't paying attention, took one step back & down I went...screaming all the way.

Took Derek about 2 seconds to race up the ladder & rescue his insulation-covered, shaken-up, teary wife.  Girls witnessed the whole thing & were quite shaken up as well. :( 

I bruised my knee & right wrist has been throbbing (& of course my pride is wounded), but other than that, I'm good.  Praise God!

So...looking back (& up at this mess), I'm thinking it would've been a whole lot cheaper to have just purchased new dress shoes..."

From the response I received, apparently falling through your ceiling is more common than I had initially thought.  After the shock wore off and the heart rates went down, we all got a good ol' fashioned belly laugh about it, particularly when my oldest said, "Mom, no offense or anything...but when I saw your leg hanging down, all I could think of were the huge shoes at the Center for Puppetry Arts."

A most accurate comparison indeed.

The last time we were at the
Center for Puppetry Arts in Atlanta

What I recall most of that entire evening was not the scary moment I fell, the humongous mess in my kitchen, or the pain I was feeling in my body.  It was actually something Grace, my oldest, said to me moments after it all happened.

My sweet, compassionate girls had ushered me to the recliner in the living room and had given me ice packs for my knee and wrist.  And while they were doctoring me (and my frazzled emotions) with lots of TLC, Derek took to action, cutting back loose dry wall, vacuuming up the insulation, etc.  Then without saying a word, he headed back up into the attic with a large piece of cardboard he'd found in the garage.

From the recliner, Grace and I could hear him working and could see some movement, but weren't sure what he was doing.  I asked her, "So...what do you think he's doing up there?" 

Gazing up at her daddy, Grace nonchalantly said, "Hmm...I don't know. But I trust him."

Forget the new bumps and bruises on my body, that simple comment left fresh marks on my heart.

And I knew why.

Three years ago, in one of the biggest steps of faith we've ever taken as a family, we began the journey to adopt.  Three years ago.  Sometimes it seems like yesterday and other times, another lifetime ago.

Last spring we thought we'd finally found her.  A brown-skinned 9-month old girl with a cleft lip and palate. We requested her file from her orphanage, spent hours researching future surgeries she'd need here in the States and even had discussions of the exact placement of her crib in our bedroom.

But then we got a phone call.  It wasn't going to happen.  We were not allowed to be matched with her. Officially, we were still attached to our original orphanage in northwest India and this little girl was in a very different orphanage in southeast India.  And adoption law in India (CARA) dictated that was not a possibility.

Disappointment hurts.  Especially of the faith variety.  Somewhere along the way, I've pulled back.  In the past year, I've struggled with trust and unbelief.  I've wrestled with doubt and fear.  I've grappled with selfishness and apathy.  I've even fought thoughts of, "Do I even still want what we've been waiting for these past three years?"

Inside, I've been a mess of emotions.  I've suffered from tension headaches.  All because I can't seem to regain the confidence I once had in this journey.  I've lost it...or rather had it stolen from me.  I guess waiting a long time for anything has the potential to do that to a person.

Through all of this (and trust me, we're still in the midst of it), God has been kind.  He's been more than patient.  He's been faithful when I've been completely faithless.  He's shown me that it's been this dormant disappointment which has kept me from reaching out in full faith again, believing Him and all the promises He's given us in the last three years.

About a month ago, He directed me to this in His word:

"In You our fathers put their trust; 

they trusted and You delivered them.

They cried to You and were saved; 

in You they trusted and were not disappointed." 

Psalm 22:4-5

Trust and disappointment.

And then just this past Sunday, our pastor, referencing David's two-decade wait to become the anointed King of Israel says this,

"The work of faith is in the waiting.  

The work of faith is when it's not.  

Will you wait faithfully?"

Waiting and faith.

And then we headed into Kids Crossing where we serve, where the new virtue for the month of March is patience. Yep.  Patience.

So, there I stood on stage Sunday, talking about the impatience of Esau with his brother, Jacob, and encouraging the kids to keep waiting on God's best, even if they don't think they can wait one. more. second.

Patience.

It's almost like God is telling us something...

After this emotional update, let me give you the logistical update with the adoption.  I know the guys would've liked this first, but sorry, I write the blog posts around here, not Derek.

Following the debacle last spring, our adoption agency contacted CARA (the governing agency dealing with all things adoption in India) and petitioned we be released from the orphanage they'd matched us with nearly three years ago.  After months and months of waiting for this request to be granted (because everything in India moves slower than slow), our request has been granted.  We are now officially unattached.

What does this mean?

This means we now have access to a special listing/database called CARINGS.  From what we understand, this database is updated and monitored daily by adoption agencies all over the world.  Indian orphanages upload children from their orphanages onto this list for adoption.  Since India is not releasing young, "healthy" children to be adopted by foreign families right now, this listing contains children with various special needs, ranging from mild to very severe.  The little girl with the cleft lip we had hoped to pursue in adoption was on this list.

Yes, we are clueless as to how this will all come to pass, but we are choosing to stay the course until we feel nudged to do otherwise.

What do we do while we're in this limbo state?

We...(wait for it...) wait.

And similar to Derek quietly taking care of business up in our attic, I choose to believe God is working, too.

Even when my feelings try to convince me otherwise, His Word says He is for us. He is for the fatherless. The plans He has for us are good.  Plans to prosper us, not to harm us. Plans to give us a hope and a future.

So...what is He doing?

"Hmm...I don't know.  But...I trust Him."

In the recliner...post-fall.

What is Prayer, Really?

For anyone else who may need a shake up and/or dose of encouragement with your current prayer life like I sure have...here's my 2 cents this morning:

Prayer is not reduced to a habit that "good" Christians do.  It's not something to be checked off in the morning.  Or a ritual at night.  It's not a burden.  It's not an obligation.  It's not a duty.

So...what then?

I sure do love this super simple (but very profound) definition I read this morning!

"Prayer is being with God Who is always with you."

After being a redeemed child of God for 30+ years, I'm STILL learning that prayer is abiding.  It's simply dialoguing with my Father.  It's ongoing.  Unceasing.

This talking with Him, leaning upon Him, submitting to Him, is a privilege.  A privilege I don't take advantage of nearly enough.

This week I am LOVING the yellow dot stickers my pastor passed out to us on Sunday, challenging our church to remember to pray...hourly as a matter of fact.  I admit I've missed that mark, but I'm grateful for the purpose of the challenge.

Seeing that sticker has encouraged me to stay conscious of conversation with Him.

Being WITH Him, as He is always WITH me.

And if I don't get, or practice, or change anything else in 2015, at least I'm beginning this year (re)learning how to pray.

Amen.  And amen.

Unless...

I love all things "Back to School".  Always have.

As a child of the 80's, the highlight for me during this time was going to pick out my cool, velcro-flapped Trapper Keeper for the new school year.  And I couldn't wait to get my hands on the sales flyer from the local drug store so I could circle e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g I needed and then beg my parents to take me there before it was all gone. 

I think I actually had this very one...

Just ask my dad.  He and I have had a running joke about school supplies for years now.  As a matter of fact, here was our conversation via text a few days ago...

Dad:  School supplies are out! LOL.
Me:   Ha! Oh, yes, I know!  Already bought everything we need for this next year! Big surprise, right?
Dad:  No surprise. Love you.

I was the elementary school kid who cried when school was over in June and rejoiced when it started back again in the fall.  That was me.  #schoolgeek

When I taught first grade in the public school system, euphoria hit an all time high the week of preplanning.

There was something about returning to a super clean classroom, freshly painted walls, or the year I found a new dry erase board hanging where my old chalkboard used to be.  (I know teachers now have the fancy, techy smart boards and such; I did not.)

Decorating my bulletin boards, cutting out all the laminated items I'd created, writing students' names on nearly e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g in my room, all made me very happy. 

Then the day or weekend before the first day, I would close my door and take a quiet walk around my classroom.  I remember touching the desks and petitioning the Lord on behalf of each child's name written in black Sharpie. 

Rookie year.  At least I looked like I knew what I was doing...

I didn't know who my students would be; I didn't know their personalities or their needs, but I knew I needed to pray for them.  And as the school year progressed, the Lord heard some of their names lifted up with cries of desperation many more times than others...

And all the teachers said, "Amen". 

More than anything, I knew I needed the Lord.  I needed Him to guide me as I attempted to teach the ones in my care for the next 180 days.

Since our fourth year here at Fort Academy begins next week, I've been in preplanning mode, preparing my physical surroundings for a new year.  I've been organizing the heck out of our school room: purging, replacing, filing and creating.

I've been poring over the new curriculum, reading books for my own "professional development" and mapping out the lesson plans for this year.  I attended a homeschool conference a week ago and already met with some of the moms from my homeschool group.

I mean, I'm totally rockin' and rollin' here and we haven't officially begun.

But in the midst of my compulsive planning, preparing and organizing, the Lord dropped this truth bomb into my hands a few days ago.  Literally.

"Unless the LORD builds the house,

its builders labor in vain."  Psalm 127:1

Unless...
Unless He is in the plans...
Unless He is present...
Unless He is the point of it all...
Unless...

Which sounds remotely similar to the same message God spoke through the Old Testament prophet Zechariah back in 500ish BC. 

According to King Cyrus' decree, the Israelites had been set free from captivity in Babylon and were finally returning to their homeland of Jerusalem.  God had instructed His exiled people to rebuild His temple, which had been destroyed by the Babylonians.  The Israelites began with good intentions.  They worked.  But somewhere along the way, too many obstacles, lots of persecution, and lack of motivation, stalled the work for 15+ years. 

Prompted by the Lord, Zechariah spoke to Zerubbabel, the one responsible for overseeing the task of rebuilding the temple, with these words...

 

"Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit,

says the LORD Almighty."

Zechariah 4:6

He went on to explain that when the capstone, the final piece of the building came out, there would be shouts of "God bless it!  God bless it!"

Not only I am believing those words for our own personal homeschool situation, but I'm also thinking of my church.  And BCA, the Christian school, directly behind and affiliated with our church.  I'm thinking of all the construction happening in both places.  Both are reaping the fruits of growth in this season.  And because of God's favor, both our church and the school have been undergoing some seriously major renovations this summer. 

Why all the construction?  Why the parking lot mess? Why the cost?  Why the expansion projects?

To know Him and make Him known.

But it can't happen without Him.

Thankfully, I trust the heart of the leadership at my church.
I know the heart of the administration at BCA.
I've experienced the heart of so many educators both in the public school system and those who choose to educate from home. 

They just get it.  They know that ultimately all the "building" they're doing has little to do with them.  They make the intentional choice not to trust in their own strength, abilities, or talents.  They have come to learn that if God's Spirit is not in all of the "building", they labor in vain.

It is only through God's Spirit that anything of lasting value is accomplished.

We've been singing this song, "Holy Spirit (You Are Welcome Here)", as part of our worship the last few Sundays at church.  Here are some of the lyrics:

"Holy Spirit, you are welcome here.

Come flood this place and fill the atmosphere.

Your glory, God, is what our hearts long for,

To be overcome by Your presence, Lord."

 

"Let us become more aware of Your presence.

Let us experience the glory of Your goodness."

(You can hear it here at this link:) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ujqSyRzBLIM

The chorus has now become a specific prayer for my family, for my time with my girls as we spend another year learning together here at home. 

Might it be yours, too, for whatever season of "building" you may be walking through now?

For unless the Lord builds it...

Sunday's Coming, but Today is Friday

I know Sunday is coming.

But today is Friday.

Even though my lips would rather sing and rejoice, my soul must mourn and grieve.

I remember Jesus.

Eating His last meal.
Breaking the bread.
Pouring the wine.
Instructing them to remember Him.
Washing their feet.
Being betrayed.
Agonizing in prayer.
Arrested in the night.
Accused, beaten, bloodied.

Before I can celebrate His resurrection, I have to consider His death.

His brutal, necessary death.  On that infamous cross.

Every morning I wake up, I see this on my bedroom wall.

Every morning it reminds me I live because Jesus died. 
For me, for you.  To save us sinners from ourselves.

Not on a fancy, scrolly, ornate cross, but a massive, splintered tool of execution.

The encompassing darkness of death. Then...the illuminating light of eternal life.
Temporary, hushed hopelessness.  Then...the resounding promise of forever.
Significant, remarkable loss.  Then...triumphant, victorious gain.
The weight of unbearable agony.  Then...the weight of unparalleled glory.

Don't run ahead.  Go there. 
Sit in the horror-filled, blackness of Friday. 

Ponder the Lamb led to slaughter. 
Marvel at the humble obedience to His Father. 
Be engulfed.  Be overwhelmed by His relentless, persistent love.

Yes! Praise the Father that Sunday's coming. 

 

But today... 

Today is Friday.

Jealous of Mary

It's one of our favorite traditions, every Christmas. 

We huddle together on the couch and we watch this movie:

And every year as we watch the drama unfold, I feel something new. 

This year...jealousy.  Just a slight, momentary twinge of green, but still jealousy.

It happened during the scene in which Mary drops her basket in the field and runs over to her older cousin, soon-to-be mama of John the Baptist, Elizabeth.

Mary couldn't believe it.  For the first time, she felt something.  What she'd been told months before suddenly became very real in that moment.

The Messiah had moved. 
The Savior had somersaulted. 
The Christ had kicked. 

She felt it.  In her young, unlikely, ordinary womb.

And for a brief moment, I wanted to be Mary.  I wanted to know what that felt like, too.

Very different or very similar to my own daughters' flutters when I was great with child? 

Instantly, these words came to mind and I leaned over and whispered them to my husband.  They were actually Paul's words, his appeal to those in Athens regarding the One true God versus their city full of idols,

"For in Him we live and move and have our being." Acts 17:28

Paul tried to tell the Athenians that God made it all.  The world, us, everything.  He is not served by human hands as if He needed anything, because He Himself gives all men life and breath and everything else.

The One who is before all things, and in Him all things hold together (Colossians 1:17).

But the way Jesus came to us, God in flesh appearing, and for those brief nine months, He lived and moved and had His being within Mary.

The One whose power and majesty and might can not be contained was temporarily confined to the parameters of her womb.

Crazy, mind-blowing!  And it gets me every. single. time.

While Mary could have donned a trendy little graphic t-shirt with an arrow pointing down to her tummy displaying the words, "Messiah Baby", and an arrow point up to her displaying the words, "Messiah Mama", scripture actually points to her humility.

And because the Creator of the world was growing within her, she had to feel the weight of the world upon her.

So do we.

Following Christ's birth, life, death, resurrection, and ascension, He left us Something, or rather Someone.  His Presence in the form of the Holy Spirit.

Yes, Mary was the only one physically to feel the Messiah within her, but because He is also Emmanuel, God with us, we get to experience the reality of God's presence, too.

We can know the flutters of the Spirit in the form of joy, peace, love and so much more. 
We get to hear His voice and walk with Him. 
We can feel Him move our spirit. 
And when He does, we feel compelled to share that feeling, that weight of glory, with someone else, just as Mary did. 

Scripture tells us we have Christ in us, the hope of glory (Colossians 1:27).

It's still crazy, still mind-blowing.  Every time I think about it.

Jealous of Mary?  Nah.  Not so much anymore.

Stop, Collaborate & Listen

I read the words this morning.  I wrote them down on an index card.  I even declared my desire to do so throughout today. 

 

But then...

 

I opened my bedroom door.  The day began.  Distractions and frustrations arose.  And quite simply, I just forgot.

 

Here's the excerpt I read from my Jesus Calling devotional:

 

"Try to depend on the help of the Spirit as you go through this day of life. 

Pause briefly from time to time to consult with this Holy One inside you...

He will guide you as you give Him space in your life. 

Walk along this wondrous way of collaboration with My Spirit."

 

Phrased in this way, I saw my interaction with the Holy Spirit painted in new light. 

 

Yes, He lives within me.  Yes, I depend upon Him.  Yes, I ask Him for guidance and wisdom and peace.  But I don't think I've ever considered each day, each moment, as an opportunity to collaborate with Him.  To work with Him.  To join forces to reach a common goal: the glory and edification of Christ.

 

I want to do that.  It's beneficial to my own soul to practice it.  It's beneficial to my family to implement it.

 

My days are filled with opportunities to partner with the Holy Spirit.  My workplace is small and my interaction is limited primarily to two precious souls, but the depth of my influence is profound.

 

When a question, a conflict, a circumstance arises, I want to pause and consult.  To inquire of the Holy Spirit and not resort to unhelpful, fleshly inclinations.  To be an example of peace and calm in the midst of chaos, pain or doubt. 

 

I want to collaborate with the Holy Spirit when hormones vie for dominance and the gauge on my patience tank reads empty.  In those moments, walking in collaboration with the Spirit rescues us all.

 

"Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit."

Galatians 5:25

 

The good news:  I get to try again...tomorrow. 

Deliberately, intentionally stopping, listening, and collaborating with the Holy Spirit.

 

And that my friends, is tonight's word from this mother.

 

Brunch with a Super Model

Yep.  I did.  I ate chicken-salad croissants and muffins and fruit with a super model yesterday.

But I'll get back to that in just a minute...

If you happened to read this post back in February, Tea, My First-Born and Me, then you already know I have been going through the Secret Keeper Girl book, 8 Great Dates for Moms and Daughters, with my oldest, Grace.

When I wrote that post, we'd only been out on our first date.  Our intention from the start was to go on one special date per month, leading up to Grace's 10th birthday in October.  Amazingly, I can say we've done just that!  So, date #7 was slated for the month of August. (I know, I know.  I need to go back and post about dates #2-6...) 

With the start of school and other responsibilities, I confess I'd not given this month's date all that much thought.  I knew the suggested activity was for me to take Grace to a hair salon and allow her to get a new "do".  But we'd just done that last month--not because it was fun, but because girlfriend desperately needed a haircut.

A couple weeks ago, our church announced an upcoming women's event: a brunch and a guest speaker.  The scheduled guest speaker was Kylie Bisutti.  Don't know the name?  Neither did I at first.  Let me introduce you to her.

Kylie is a former Victoria Secret's model turned role model who’s written a book entitled, I’m No Angel. 

By His grace, God rescued Kylie from a destructive industry and set her onto a path to give Him glory through her story when she chose to walk away from it all.  The fame.  The notoriety.  The money.  All of it.

Today, Kylie is 23 years old, married, and expecting her first child.  From my limited observation, she is a quiet, humble young woman whose heart still breaks when she speaks of her intense struggles for affirmation and attention during her modeling career. 

Now, she feels compelled to help young girls (and women) see and shatter the illusion the enemy presents in the form of worldly beauty and acceptance.

When I first heard about the women's event and the speaker, I must confess, I wasn't keen on the idea.  For several reasons, I just wasn't.  I couldn't figure out how Kylie's story of walking away from the fashion world would intersect with my life today.  I mean, what on earth could a stay-at-home, homeschooling mama possibly have in common with a super model?  No. I couldn't see the connection, but I decided to go anyway.

Then several of my mama friends mentioned they were bringing their daughters to hear Kylie speak.  I asked Grace if she wanted to come and she did. 

 

A couple days before the brunch, I looked back over date #7 and noticed the title, "Internal Fashion".  The premise of date #7 was the emphasis on inner beauty.  Paying more attention to what our hearts are wearing on the inside versus what we're wearing on the outside.  With submission being the main focus.

The author, Dannah Gresh, describes submission (that often misunderstood word in our society) as "allowing someone else to lead you."

The more I read the chapter on date #7 and armed with what I already knew of Kylie's story, I thought, "Hmm...I think I'll let this brunch fulfill our date for the month."  I had no idea how much it would do just that.

As she spoke to a room filled with about 400 females, I listened as Kylie shared her heart.  She spoke about the ungodly things she did and then how God’s kindness led her to repentance.  I heard her say (without actually saying) how she learned to submit to God, allowing Him to clothe her with strength and dignity, good deeds, and the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit. 

Afterwards, I had the privilege of relating those observations to my daughter.  No, we didn’t make it to the hair salon today as instructed in date #7, but we heard and saw a living testimony of submission.  A gorgeous girl with an even more gorgeous soul, telling and showing what true beauty is.  An example of modesty, renewed purity and redemption.

I spoke with Kylie when the brunch was over and nearly everyone else had left.  I asked her if she'd ever heard of Secret Keeper Girl.  She had not, but seemed genuinely interested in knowing more about it.  Briefly, I went on to explain about the ministry and my love for it. 

I told her I felt Secret Keeper Girl might really like her message.  She was very intrigued and told me she would definitely look them up.  Then, before I walked away, I encouraged her with the fact that she never knows what God's plans could be for her and what platform He might present to her next.  Maybe working on the Secret Keeper Girl team???
 

 

How awesome would it be if Kylie's path and Secret Keeper Girls' paths intersected?  I feel her heart’s message, the message of true beauty and modesty, resonates with theirs.  She wants to be a positive role model now and help as many young girls as she can.  I believe young girls might really respond to seeing a young, beautiful, successful model who left the fashion industry tell them what God really thinks about beauty. 

 

Don't you agree?

 

I believe Kylie is a treasure in the kingdom of God and He’s using her in amazing ways with this generation of young girls. 

 

And how awesome would it be for her to exchange one kind of secret for another?

From Victoria's Secret to Secret Keeper Girl.

 

I believe in this so much that I actually typed out a two-page letter on behalf of Kylie and sent it to Dannah Gresh.  I know.  Completely crazy, right?  (Now pray Dannah will actually receive it and read it!)

 

I've never done anything like that before in my life.  But after sitting next to Kylie at the table and listening to her share her heart as my friend interviewed her on stage, I was compelled to do so. 

I saw God's child.  And someone's daughter whom I could have easily taught in first grade back in the day.  And a young woman who's seen and experienced much darkness in her few years.  And a wife and mom-to-be now basking in Christ's light and favor shining around her.
 

So I guess I was wrong...again.  Kylie's story did, in fact, intersect with my life.  Just not in any way I thought it would.  But only God could do that.  And I'm glad He did.