The unfolding of this new year brings with it a most precious gift, time...and not just any old time, time to love the face in front of you!  We are masters of the 'life we lead between our ears', the phrase my close friend, Anne Ortlund, often said before she entered into eternity just weeks ago.  Fling open this door of your life today, wide and welcoming.  Invite the weary traveler to your table or leap out onto the step to dance or run in singular intention! The struggles and pain of the year spent are over, as are its joys, but experience asks wisdom to remain, offer it hospitality and share what you've learned generously.  Glance not at bitterness or regret, but gaze into the eyes of possibilty.  For nothing, Dear One, is impossible for God!  Seize the day, with His love guiding you, and nothing will be impossible for you!  Joyous New Year!

 

my Facebook post this morning...

Stand with me for a moment and pause amidst your full day to listen. Under this canopy of golden blooms, bees buzz in their distinct anthem of likemindedness and purpose. Though I captured only one furry creature from behind my lens, the power of the presence of this hive is unmistakable. There is a multitude at work! And what are they doing? Well of course, they are finding sweet nectar and pollen. From these brave determined yet fragile creatures comes an offering like no other...honey! Is there anything like it? The delicious, exquisite byproduct of their obedience to the task at hand is a treasure of sweetness, which fills and nourishes. Even the most bitter thing one must swallow can be transformed by a bit of honey. And as they spread provision in their dilegence, blossoms and fruit will also come, about which they don't even know! Today, the love of Jesus is transforming bitter things, through the hard work set before us as his hands and feet on earth. Do not be overwhelmed or afraid! There is much to do, and perhaps you feel small and alone, but you are powerfully equipped and the remnant is a mighty network! The equipping by God's Word and power of prayer are our mighty tools. And yes, we can sting, but that is our protection only when we must! Our main goal is to work in unity, to bring the sweetest love of Jesus to the world. It transforms everything!

Colors

         Last night Emmaus wondered how one could tell from where Daddy is. You see, Emmaus believes a person’s hair indicates a lot about their origin. He said, "Well, Ezra and I have curly hair, so we are from Ethiopia. Daddy is bald, so it is hard to know!"

             The day before he had asked, "Where is the black girl from in the movie, Courageous, her family is different from ours. Is she also Ethiopian?"  I answered that hers may be an African American family, who has a more similar hue of skin to each other than we do.

            Ezra announced, "Emmaus and I are black,” then she flipped her palms forward for me to see, "but I'm a little white."

            The movie, Courageous, has a sound track and theme song to match.  We listen to the title song EVERY day on the way to preschool, at Zion's request. These are the words, "We were meant to be courageous, we were meant to lead the way, we were meant to be the generation that finally breaks the chains...." then Casting Crowns goes on to sing, "Seek justice, love mercy, walk humbly with your God...in the war of the mind I will take my stand in the battle of the heart and the battle of the mind...we were meant to be courageous!"  Well, God is good to do brilliant things under my radar, I didn’t even think about the meaning of the words our children sing every day at the top of their lungs until recently.   This is the theme song for their lives and ours.  God’s grace is equipping our children for battle, to lead in truth for their generation.

            The societal swing of the pendulum of racism is a dizzying torment to the heart our Creator gave us to love each other and rejoice in the beauty of our unique colors, cultures and preferences. The phenomenal layers of unique characteristics are celebrated amongst our children freely.  It is when they are told how to think with hearts held captive to manmade rules of correctness, laced with a guilt or victim mindset, that they enter a realm of confusion. Theirs are minds less fettered by man's tampering.  

            My daily goal is to fill our children with all that speaks life from God's Word; and the way they live their thoughts out-loud to us, is our daily portion of getting plumb line with who God is and how beautifully he created each of one us.  As if to have the last word on this subject Emmaus asked, “What color chocolate am I?”…the sweetest kind, most definitely!

An Evening of Beauty

A lovely invitation to “An Evening of Beauty” appeared in the mail.  The crisp white paper with silhouettes of daisies edged in sky-blue intrigued me.  Yet, as I read the winsome words, I felt the color flush to my cheeks.  Through my vulnerable mailbox, open to a myriad of requests, announcements, encouraging and frustrating words, I had been accosted by a cultural demand to enslave me to a definition, which lies to women. It demands us to believe that beauty is only as deep as flesh, pulled and manipulated to pretend that years have not aged us, and we are only as valuable as our judge, the world deems us to be.  It is not the way we live on the inside that matters, it is the way we look that is the most important of all.  Flesh will be dust, but the spiritual heart is eternal, which is worthy of investment?

Just two days ago I’d asked Malachi to pray for me to eat more healthfully and find time to exercise amidst our busy life.  He answered, “Mamma, maybe at spring break you can do that…or in the summer.  You don’t have time for that with taking care of us and writing.”

Last night Magdalene was dancing ballet late and Dennis’ evening required a welcome celebration for a colleague.  So the Middle Littles, Littles and I dined at Burger King.  Everyone wore crowns at the table, delighted to feast on delicious hot food and be served by a smiling staff!  Someone asked if Burger King and Dairy Queen knew one another.  I responded like a thirteen year old,  “They are probably star crossed lovers!”   Five -year-old Zion spoke wisely, “They’re standing opposite each other on a chess board!”

With no dishes to wash, snoozing dogs on places and cats in hiding, we entered our quiet house around bedtime.  Within ten minutes, pajama clad Littles snuggled at the opposite ends of the couches.  Malachi, Salome’ and I laid two blankets on the floor, set a bowl of trail mix on the coffee table and some sunflower seeds in a cup.  I poured a glass of wine and Malachi lit one bright candle while Salome’ shut out every other light.  We turned on CD #9 of the Mitford Series by Jan Karon, our current audio book and listened, our minds held captive to her story written with words of life about a community of people who love and believe in, and seek the best for each other.

Today on the way to pre-school a song came on the radio about orphans, “…boys will be kings, girls will be queens, wrapped in your majesty…when we love the least of these…” My eyes brimmed with tears, the least of these are the very best of me.  I’d had an evening of beauty with Kings and Queens by God’s invitation, His open invitation to all. 

Thanksgiving

                                                                                                   

In 1996 the US Army deployed Dennis to Bosnia-Herzegovina.  Magdalene was eleven days old, while the big boys were 5 and 3.  Our simple life in Honolulu, Hawaii was the only one we’d ever known as a family.  Our feet felt incapable of wearing shoes and our brown skin chilled at the thought of a blustery fall day in Heidelberg, Germany, our new home. My brave husband faced deployment, as he does everything else, by trusting in the Lord, and leading us to do the same. 

The days crept by, but children are resilient and rarely resent change.  As they began to thrive, I reluctantly sought the same.   From the wide windows of our row house one could see farmland, then the forested animal preserve, which extended as far as the eye could see.  The boys would race through our lopsided fence for each imaginative adventure.  They were pirates, cowboys, or explorers, but I fought my own mind, which imagined itself as a lonely prisoner in a foreign land. 

Then one afternoon, the sun beckoned me outside.  I was glad to see that the community picnic table where the neighbors often drank coffee or wine was empty.  Several meters ahead stood a crumbling stone farmhouse.  In the sunlight the dusty farmyard strewn with colorful clusters of wildflowers, quietly invited me to sit on its old rock wall. 

Close by, stood the silent figure of Oma Schilling, the 89-year-old woman who owned the farm.  Her aged brown eyes looked steadily into mine, then her gaze softened as she looked at newborn Magdalene, sleeping peacefully in my arms.  I motioned for her to sit, then placed my precious baby into her thin, strong arms.  She removed a clean, well-worn hankie from her pocket and laid it across Magdalene's chest.  The contentment in Oma Schilling’s eyes struck a chord in my heart over which I had built my own protective barrier.  We sat together and my weary spirit softened while hers was blessed.

Today is Thanksgiving.  In the midst of the rich aroma of cinnamon and sage, fresh bread and turkey, my thoughts draw me out of the present and back through the years to the things for which I am most thankful.  It is the exquisite people across the globe, in whose eyes I have had the privilege to look, for whom I am thankful.  God’s love rooted in the souls of men is the deepest well of refreshment one can give to another.  Man is not the source; he is but the conduit. 

May God bless you and keep you today and every day, as we share struggles and joys, all the while treasuring each other as children of the same mighty God.   

Windows

Zion presses his face against the cold glass, which steams up his view through the rectangular side window.  His soft brown eyes peer out into the chilly day.  Soon my mother, known to our children as Mor-mor, will appear, to whisk him away on his own short adventure.  They will walk to her house hand-in-hand, jumping into every puddle along the way.  Zion’s pockets will bulge with treasures of leaves the color of flames and stones that to him are more beautiful than any gem.  With chocolate cookie crumbs in the corners of his mouth and his boots packed in mud, he will return home an hour later, content.  

Across the room two immense boxes stand as still as Zion does now. Wide tape stretches to hold each “room” in place, while roughly hewn rectangular windows pierce the cardboard castle.  Earlier in the day Malachi had led his siblings in cutting and taping, then he had directed them to gather from the bedrooms the treasured framed photographs of each of their birth mothers.  Malachi photocopied each lovely face, and then taped the paper pictures to the window squares in the castle.  A flashlight shone down from an elevated piece of cardboard on the roof of the box, so that each exquisite picture could be illuminated. “Mamma,” Malachi had called, “It’s time for you to tour our masterpiece!”

The love and honor our children give to their birth mothers mirrors the way I feel about my own mother.  For when I was a child, she valued me and her life reflected the love of God.  I remember her wise words as she sat with her Bible in her lap in the early morning hours each day, “If you ever wonder about your faith, or the direction others are leading, read what Jesus said and did, then follow Him.”

Each of our birth mothers honored the life inside them.  As I sat in the box, with the photocopies of their beautiful faces surrounding me, I choked back my tears.  Outside I could hear our children’s joyful voices, anticipating my delight over their creation. We never know the outcome our choices will have on others until time gives us the answer, but God’s way of honoring every life will guide us well, always.  

When I think of light and windows, these verses from Matthew 5: 14,16 (NIV) inspire me, “You are the light of the world.  A city on a hill cannot be hidden…In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.”    

                                         

                       The Finer Things in Life

Wrapped in a bright orange scarf covered with swirls and a taupe wool hat to match, I felt a bit chic as I climbed into the driver’s seat.  The three smiling faces of the Littles, as we call them, met my glance through the rearview mirror.  “Buckle up!” I announced, “ We are off on an adventure in the city!”

Vivid seasonal colors in elegantly adorned shop windows, lined the narrow streets of the center.  I felt tempted to linger, but obeyed my mental list of tasks, as I grasped the hands of Ezra and Zion and kept one eye on Emmaus, who held to the edge of my pocket.  My efficiency fell behind the competitive goals of our three rascals who most certainly intended to medal in the Naughtiness Olympics!   

To our delight, a fabulous play structure stood in a wide cobblestoned area and beckoned the children in pied-piper fashion.  Heating lamps hung above benches, while the rich aroma of coffee wafted alluringly from a well-situated espresso bar.  I timed each of our children on the best of the climbing equipment.  Short lines began to form, as other children waited for my thumbs-up for the beginning and ending of their turns.  I find it interesting that we often seek order and boundaries from others, even in the freedom of creativity.

A toddler in a grass green colored jacket and brick red corduroy pants reached for a grown-up.  The caramel toned fingers of his chubby hand fell in sharp contrast to the creamy white skin of his daddy, who matched his son in clothes of impeccable taste and urban design.  I wondered if the intertwining of their lives had also begun through adoption.  Their tender greeting to a second caucasian daddy gave me the answer to my un-posed question. 

Rambunctious play gave way to the unraveling of moods.  My wavering patience remained intact long enough to find a café.  Sun-chips, soda, half-sandwiches, coffee and peanut-butter-chunk cookies quelled the rising storm as all munched merrily.  Overheated by the complexity of the moment, I whipped off my cap and scarf.  In a flush of embarrassment I found a plastic purchasing tag, still attached to my taupe fashion statement!

Just then, a beautiful young woman caught my eye.  She stood at the counter beside her father.  Thick brunette curls trailed along her shoulders onto a fuchsia cashmere sweater, which embraced her lean frame.  Her dress was of pink lace, the kind any girl would adore.  The elegant man wore a black trench coat, charcoal tweed pants and expensive shoes.  As she turned around I noticed the strange nature of her shoes, for they were flat rubber sandals.  In them she began to shuffle gauchely toward a seat as she held her cookie, she hesitated every few seconds.  Her glassy eyes anxiously watched as her father pulled his chair in close beside her.  The young lady mumbled a few words, and then looked to him again for affirmation, which he gently gave.  As they rose to leave, the father placed his raincoat over her frail shoulders and I caught his eye.  He wore an expression of strength and steady resolve.

I gathered up our mess, as Zion spilled his drink, Ezra squeezed the remnants of the cookie in her fist and Emmaus wiped crumbs from his pants.  Our vibrant crew raced to the car as I followed, choking back my tears.  My heart felt moved by the tender stories I’d witnessed in the day, which reflected dignity amidst struggle lived out loud by strangers before me.   

I threw my hat and scarf onto the vacant seat beside me and eyed my rascally crew through the rearview mirror.  Ours had been an adventure in discovering the finest things in life.