Love's Portrait

Here I stand in an ink-blue, polkadot skirt, smiling at Master Artist Ezra.  She often draws portraits and writes love notes with the few words she can spell, to Dennis and me.  These we find taped to our bathroom mirror or bedroom door, wherever we may most likely see them.  Ezra loves well.  When a child invites you into their heart space, the soul is refreshed, unconditional love abounds there.

  

Not long ago I saw this unfettered love displayed through the actions of a stranger.  A Latino grandmother scooped up one of her two charges, spoke brusquely into his chubby face, then set him back on his tottering feet.  She leaned forward a bit in her chair and breathed out a rich sigh of pleasure as she gazed lovingly at both children.  

Our five Littles sat close to me, devouring soft ice-cream cones at the IKEA café, while I sipped hot coffee.  Our uncharacteristically calm demeanor allowed me a few seconds to enjoy the sight of the grandmother's love, expressed in her fussing over clean faces and full bellies, as she coaxed the smallest child to eat his last bite of hotdog.  She noticed me watching her and smiled at my crew as she extended her arm in a sweeping motion, "Mama?" I nodded.  She continued, in broken English,  "Oh, so, so beautiful, hmmm, nice."

In her look and actions, I was acutely aware that she believed I had birthed each of our five youngest children.  Women understand women.  I began to explain, but she would not let me speak. "No, it's okay, I know...and so, so, so beautiful...and you, yes, yes..."  she nodded kindly.  Her grandchildren were done and ready to run, as children often are in an instant.  She blessed me with her gentle eyes and bustled away.

In these eleven years since our adoption journey began, Dennis and I have had some interesting interactions, been questioned and sometimes felt almost accosted by strange remarks over our diverse family.  But I have never seen a reaction to the beliefs of this woman; that I must have had a life with many lovers, husbands or boyfriends... and yet instead of viewing me as one with a Scarlet Letter, she saw me as beautiful!

Condemnation is easily given power over our opinions, like a weed in the garden, it seems to pop up before our very eyes and displays itself vividly through our slightest glance.  The accusing thoughts attack quickly and if not wrangled in the instant, destruction of relationship or self-worth is immediate, as quickly as a gash from a dagger wounds.  I am in-tuned to this in the intimate choices of a pregnant teenager as well.  We say we support life.  We say promiscuity in our community is acceptable.  However, what is our true view of unplanned pregnancy?  Somehow judging the woman is an acceptable form of hypocrisy and condemnation in our society.

Psalm 119: 22 says, "Remove from me scorn and contempt..."  It always starts with me.  If I can look on others in the same way that Latino grandmother and my daughter look at me, then you will be loved well...and if you can look at the next face you see in that same manner, then they will be blessed, and... 

This is love's portrait.     

Impossible?

Ezra grabbed my hand and pulled me to the stone steps leading down the length of the yard.  "Mommy, Mommy, come see," Zion called, as he stood beside Emmaus gazing up into the branches of a tree.   This simple tree has lived and flourished for seven years on the lower terrace, but has never produced fruit.  Yet today, a single plum, almost ripe, invited us to stand under her canopy of leaves to behold her surprise existence.  Emmaus spoke in hushed tones, "It's a miracle, I've never seen a miracle before!"
"Yes you have," Zion answered, "when you were adopted!"

Are you waiting for a miracle?
Many of you know that for five years I prayed about adoption with no 'fruit', not even a hint that we may someday be able to adopt.  I prayed desperately for just one more child to add to our biological flock of three.  Never would I have imagined that for each year of prayer, God was building trust and patience in me, and that in His time, those five years would become five children!

The little discussion between a 7-year-old brother and his two 6-year-old siblings from across the globe, under a 7-year-old tree presenting her first plum, is the tangible miracle I see before my eyes today.   Trust God with your dreams, he planted them in you and nothing is impossible for Him!  

Unexpected

This morning I glanced at the familiar pots flanking our front door, as I turned from waving goodbye to Elias, who was headed to work.  The cascading blooms always steal my attention as I instinctively snip-off dead leaves and vines-gone-astray with my fingers.  To my surprise this simple variegated filler plant held up its beautiful secret; two white blooms.  I had no idea it had flowers to offer and yet if I did not look closely, perhaps I would never have noticed!

I am reminded of an event last week, ever so momentary, but poignant none-the-less that I wished to share with you.  As I sat in my car waiting on the green light for my left turn onto a side street, I noticed an elderly man.  He looked like a retired Santa Claus in overalls as he stood at the edge of his lawn with his hands shoved in his pockets.  He watched each vehicle closely as they passed by him.  The house beyond looked as unkempt as he did, not shabby exactly, but in need of attention.  I felt sad for him.  The cars were certainly fascinating to him in some way, or maybe it was the people driving them.  Perhaps he was lonely, weary and bored and came out to his curb every day to watch life pass him by...

The busy street suddenly cleared and in an instant, the 'lonely-weary-aging-Santa' dashed across the street, grabbed an armful of mail from his huge mailbox and zipped back over to his yard.  In a flash he was back inside his house!

I laughed out-loud at my ridiculous assumptions!  I almost felt as if I owed the gentleman an apology!

In my morning reading of Psalm 51 the focus is on self-examination, seeing our own sin for the ugliness it is and entrusting ourselves to God's unfailing love, making us white as snow and restoring our joy.  Only God knows the hearts of men.  Our job is to assume nothing, but to be willing to see the best in other's and to humbly expect joy in the unexpected.

Pressed

I once stood under the drenching of a delicious steaming shower while holding a cup of coffee.   Yes, true story.  I know it sounds more like a poorly written sit-com moment, the ones writers insert at 3 a.m. when they are spent and shooting begins at 6 (as if I know the art of TV screen-play writing!).  But haven't we all been in such a moment of stress and need?  That day when we are overwhelmed by the pressures of life, when all our coping and struggling come to nothing, so we double-dose on something normal yet verging on the ridiculous, thinking that by upping the anti we will provide for ourselves the courage and ability to get through the pain of the day.  It doesn't work.  It never will.

Pastor Jim Fleming used to say that when a waiter carries a tray of drinks and is jostled, that which is in the glasses spills out, indeed...and what might one find if we were jostled in such a way?

My own illustration comes in the kindergarten classroom form, since you have probably come to realize by now, that with children ranging from almost 23 down to 5, I never seem to graduate into elementary school.  When you and I are pressed, sweetness can be found.  How on earth is this possible.  S'mores!  The answer is simple, Beloved Friend.  When the heat is unbearable, and the refining fire is truly at work and we have come to the end of ourselves, if we have asked of God to do the filling...if we have sought His truth in His Word and trusted Him with our lives, even when the world laughs at our foolishness...sweetness will spill from our difficult circumstances.  Perhaps you wish to stop reading now?  Perhaps my solution looks flimsy and only for my life across the minutes and miles from your hard thing.  Test me, Dear One...not because I have authority, but because I have seen God's grace and beheld His truth in some terrible, dark places about which I can never tell you.  I know the truth that when God fills us up, when the nooks and crannies are filled with faith, hope, love and belief, you will find His goodness in unexpected places, empowering you to live joyfully, mightily and strong, because when pressed, His goodness in you appears.

God is with you, in the deepest places, ask Him, knock, request His fellowship, whisper the name of Jesus and see the goodness, sweet and delicious filling your soul!  God bless your day, Dear One!

God is in the Details

I promise, there is nothing that matters to you that God doesn't see.  Even in the most minute thought or quiet longing, God cares.  Does anyone else know the number of hairs on your head?  Not even you.

Yesterday morning, in my flurry of responsibilities, I felt a check in my spirit.  Two huge garbage bags filled with clothes from five years' worth of Elias' wardrobe additions, void of subtractions until now, lay piled in the garage.  The one to whom we'd committed the items would arrive soon.  I poured through each piece thinking I was searching for an Australia T-shirt, a gift from one of Dennis' trips (that was not in the bags).  Slightly confused as to why I was even searching, I held up a nondescript navy Hanes top, which I knew had never been Elias'.  I was clueless as to the one who had owned this item.  Then the truth hit me.  I felt startled and pale at the idea that I'd almost parted with so precious an article of clothing.

When 9-year-old Salomé was three days old, her precious birthmother placed her beloved daughter into our arms amidst streams of tears flowing between us.  She tucked the T-shirt she'd been wearing around our newborn's tiny body, "To remember my smell, if she fusses." She said weakly.

Two years ago, I gave Salomé the shirt again.  She loved it and at first carried it everywhere, but swirled in her bedroom of dollies and delights, the simple shirt disappeared.  It must have meandered the house until it arrived with its most likely owner, Mr. Every Color as Long as it Matches Blue, Elias.

Sitting on the garage floor, I clutched the precious memory of Salomé's birthmother and thanked God for prompting my search.

Perhaps you think this is silly, I hope you don't, but I will happily explain something you may not have considered.  To an adopted child every sweet connection to their birthmother and heredity matters, if not while they are young, someday in the future it will.  Our identity unfolds in time, mixing sorrow and joy to build depth, compassion and love.  I believe our collected stories told over us and about us, are treasures beyond measure.  And just think, God stores our tears, our prayers, and our days in eternal memory, reminding us of what matters...trustworthy with every detail!

Walking on Water

The first moment I met Ezra, four years ago, she clung to Magdalene as she had since the day they left the orphanage.  Dennis, Gabriel and Magdalene had journeyed to Ethiopia to meet and bring home our two precious Ethiopian children.  Two and half year old Emmaus slept soundly in Dennis' arms in the airport.  Emmaus' five hours of screaming on the flight had exhausted him thoroughly.  Dennis wore the battle wounds of our new little boy's fears in the form of bloody teeth marks to his face.   I reached my hand to Magdalene's chin and tears began to stream down her cheeks.  "Being a Mommy is hard," she wept.

At fifteen monthes, Ezra could neither walk nor eat solid food.  Each time she was given something to eat or drink, she'd hold it in her mouth without swallowing, perhaps she percieved each mouthful would be her last.  Intially she'd sleep sixteen hours a day, until I realized she was sleeping her life away!

Within the first 30 days of our adoption my mother and I contracted Hepititus.  Suddenly, I lay sick in a dark room for the duration of two months.  Dennis and our three oldest children had to juggle everything, especially the difficult traits life in an orphange had forged.  Chaos took hold of our family, while close friends cared for as many of our needs as possible.

When Jesus' disciple Peter asked if he might also walk on water, Jesus answered, "Come!"  In the darkness of the night, over the tumultuous sea, Peter believed he could do the impossible, with Jesus' guidence.  I imagine Peter's strong character and trust as he stepped out of the boat onto the waves.  At first he did not waiver, but when he took his eyes off Jesus, fear of the powerful storm overwhelmed him and he sank!  He cried to the Lord to save him.  Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him, "You of little faith," he said, "why did you doubt?" (Matthew13:31 NIV)

What impossible thing are you facing, Beloved Friend?  Tough situations often look worse the more closely we examine them and we are seized by hopelessness.  In the midst of the dreams of our lives, we're struck by the pain of unexpected circumstances and things appear far different from what we had imagined or think we can handle.  Can this ever turn out well?  We ask ourselves.  But Jesus did not instantly calm the storm into which Peter walked.  Jesus met him there and brought him through it!

Look at our children and rejoice with me!  Be inspired Beloved!  As these siblings dance in puddles, in celebration of family, and the joy of childhood, remember the stuggles through which they have walked.  Impossibility did not win in their lives, nor should it rule in yours.  The God of miracles is at work transforming you, even through your hardship.  We have no idea of what his wonderful plans are! Step out with Him in trust for He is faithful, no matter how strong your storm appears. Take one step at a time, splash or leap with your eyes steady on Him.

 Zion, who stands in the center of this photo, always says,  "God is with you!"  And Zion knows!

My Baghdad Shoes

Bloody boots lie somewhere unseen, but the young American soldier in the hospital bed cannot hide from view.  He sleeps and may never awaken.

The Iraqi soldier's feet are bare when he arrives unconscious, his critically wounded body rests fitfully.

In the Baghdad Army Hospital, my physician husband stands between the beds of these two men, alert to the needs of each patient.  His staff struggles.  The American could be their brother, lover, or self, but the insurgent is the enemy.

Dennis answers their unspoken fear, "Here there are no sides, only wounded men, who love their countries, believe their religion, and deserve our best care.  Here we have one task.  We are the Samaritans.  We must care for these men equally, without judgement or preference."

At home, the children and I wait and pray for his safe return.  The stress is palpable, but normal life must proceed.  One day I buy shoes.  On the way home Gabriel, who is 12, asks gently if I meant to buy five pairs of shoes for myself.  I am stunned.  I did not.  A day later, I stack the boxes on the store counter.  I return home with one different box.  Are they the running shoes I need, to alleviate my worry?  No, they are beautiful stilettos in orange tweed.  I think of my Bosnian friend, from the year when Dennis was deployed to the Balkans.  She says what people do in war makes no sense and should be forgotten.
                                                         
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I still wear these shoes, a decade later and I have not forgotten the way my husband walked in his dusty boots in Baghdad.  He cared well for those entrusted to him, all children, created in God's image.  He wept and prayed over Americans and Iraqis.

Gabriel is 22 now.  In a day he will leave the Middle Eastern country in which he has been for four months.   Dennis leads the way, walking hard roads, and caring well for the faces before him.  It is my prayer that our eight children will walk in the footsteps of their dad.  I hope they will journey individually, but in the same way, respecting the dignity of men, no matter the path they choose, following the One who equips us to love our enemies.