Pivot!

We bought the girls bunk beds with a trundle! So exciting! Our littlest broke her crib months ago and her mattress has been on the floor since then.  Not ideal. In fact, it's not allowed if we were still licensed to foster.

We finally resolved it by purchasing a bed.  My husband and I had fun--well, I did, anyway--moving the beds between two rooms to see if we could get all three into one space to open up the other room for play. The obvious solution? Bunks!

Off we went in search of the perfect space-saving sleepers. And we found one with a trundle, no less. Marvelous! Everyone was so excited!

But reality. Predictably unpredictable, the girls were triggered. It took about 24 hours for one to come talk with us. Another hasn't said anything, but she is acting oddly enough that even this dope-of-a-mom figured out she has things going on, too.

Well, poop. Time to pivot. 

I let the girls know that we will keep all the new beds separate and where their old beds were--no designated playroom or group sleeps--for now.  OH! They were all so sad. I worked to explain that Daddy and I wanted this as badly as they did. But the Bible teaches us that we make our plans, and the Lord directs our steps. It is so important to move forward with our plans in a way that we are interruptible and redirectable. 

This is the life. It is true for everyone, really. But it is pronounced when raising children exposed to trauma. We can and should plan. But, as a precious friend always says, we must hold those plans loosely. It would be foolhardy to press on with a plan God doesn't endorse. He knows so much more and loves so much better than we do. It's ridiculous to not lean on His understanding and welcome His will.

When we do stack the beds, it will be at the right time, and it is going to be a party!

Anniversary

We just celebrated our 28th anniversary!

By the way, if you want good babysitters, I know the trick. First, have a couple of great kids who are terrific with kids. Wait 'til they grow up. Then get more kids and have the first kids babysit the second kids.  It's brilliant! That is my cheeky way of thanking our two adult kids for watching our three growing kids.

We went to a hotel two miles from our home and it was magnificent! We napped! We slept 'til we woke up. We talked about kid things and not-kid things. I decided I will start writing my own homeschool curriculum for the girls! (I'm kind of excited about that one!) We remembered the details of our wedding day and the days just before and after. We played games and watched TV. 'Twas marvelous!

I had a vision ages ago that continues to be true today.  We had just gone through some broken friendships that also broke my heart. Then I saw us as if we were on a boat. We had been knocked around, soaked and battered by ferocious winds. As things died down, we managed to stand and look back. There was a maze of whirlpools, monsters, icebergs, and jagged rocks.  I had thought the danger had been from all the weaving the ship had done.  But it was weaving to avoid all those life-threatening dangers. We were being kept safe!

I am so thankful to my hero, living all the stages of life with me. I think there are things that are so far removed from the two people who made vows that it boggles my mind a bit. Being married for life is not a guarantee for anyone these days, but Brian early on decided we would banish the notion of divorce. I think that saved us.

His commitment to our marriage meant that even when things were hard, I knew I had that stability. I could be weak, wrong, and wrecked. But my husband stood strong.  He could screw up, but I wouldn't give up. Knowing we are in this unconditionally means we know it's worth the work that is necessary for any relationship. Not working on it was self-defeating. So, we work, we pivot, we talk, we apologize, and we forgive.

This stability is the biggest gift to our kids. They can do all the things, big and small, good and bad, but this family will always be here for them. 

Please don't mistake this for bragging. I don't deserve the blessings I enjoy. I tell you about this all with big-eyed wonder. I look back and see the dangers we avoided and shake off the goosebumps. We've made it this far. By God's grace, we will keep going.

March: 2024

Last year, in March 2024, the chaos of fostering was replaced by the chaos of adopted life. My husband picked up a part-time job working on the weekends.  He had to stop attending church. We were on our fifth! I really liked this one, and hoped we would belong for reals soon. My personal prayer life and Bible study were steady.  Perhaps the only steady thing. I knew God was faithful. I knew God wasn't surprised or overwhelmed. I knew He saw, He cared, He supplied.

We had one daughter in a slightly better daycare. I have NEVER had a child in daycare; it was a cocktail of ego-bruising and learning-curve that I did not enjoy.  I have been the daycare provider countless times. Now I was the working mom, exhausted and spread too thin.  What did I care if it was crazy socks day? I was trying to survive.

We had one daughter with me, enrolled in my AM Kindergarten class and my PM PreK class.  It was wonderful spending the whole day with her. She learned how to read, about Jesus, how to play with other kids, and gained some emotional intelligence. We had her in therapy and got some clear diagnoses for a few special needs. Her growth and development that school year was astonishing.

Our middlest child was attending second grade at the public school down the street. Thank God for her first- and second-grade teachers! Both invested in her, rooted for her, and did their best to provide a safe place for her. I also have NEVER had a child in public school. Another blow to my pride and confrontation with inadequacy.  

Our adult daughter was settling into a new job as a vet tech after returning from Sierra Leone on a teaching trip with my mom. It was a lot, but she has enough stubborn in her that when things get hard, she fights. Our son hit a roadblock in December and was recovering from a mental health crisis.  When the kids hit 18, you are not finished parenting. It gets more nuanced. You're backburnered when things are good. When things get rough, you can only persuade and pray your butt off.

God bless all the working moms. It is so much to juggle. And what on earth are you supposed to do when someone gets sick, huh? The life feels impossible.  But, as I mentioned, I had the Best Job Ever, so my boss and coworkers helped me way beyond the call of duty.  

In March, I was still recovering from a concussion I received one morning when the back hatch of our car fell on my head.  I still struggled with fatigue and word salad.  Life was good, but also really, really hard. 

There was always at least one girl going through something that required all of our attention. I felt continually inadequate like I was drowning.  And ungrateful, because I knew my life was good. I was complaining about my blessings.  But my blessings were smothering me.

What a March!

March: 2023

So, in March '22, we were living the dream. We were doing whatever we wanted to. I was looking for a different job, and trying to find a way to fit in at church, but life was easy--except for the unending illnesses we kept contracting from sick preschoolers. In the eight months I worked there, I had Covid twice, Bronchitis three times, flu, colds, pink eye... It would have been laughable had laughing not triggered breathless coughing fits.

If we fast forward to March '23, the list of changes in our lives was long! My daughter moved into her first apartment, oof! I earned a Master of Science degree in Learning Experience Design and Educational Technology. I got a new job (called The Best Job in The World--outside raising kids) working at a preschool a mile from my home as a 3s teacher two mornings a week, a 4s Assistant one morning a week, and a PreK teacher every afternoon. 

I need to pause to say how serious I am about it being the Best Job Ever. That PreK class was phenomenal! My boss was the most supportive and encouraging boss I'd ever had. And my coworkers? I've never met an entire crew of people so wholly dedicated to loving and teaching children. The board (fewer accolades there, tbh) had just approved opening a Kindergarten class for the following year, so my boss and I were dreaming and brainstorming curriculum, advertising, and schedules. So fun!

Oh, and I need to add another little change to the list of happenings from '22 to '23. We got licensed for foster care and were adjusting to doubling our household with three—THREE—little girls! What?!? How did that happen? We were done. Foster care had shredded our hearts. We were in retirement and nearly empty nesters. We were going to travel. I got a cool degree that I could use to do anything. We were dancing.

Well, I will tell you. Roe v Wade was overturned. The church we were attending had a guest speaker who said there was a difference between being pro-birth and pro-life. Being pro-birth was not enough.  To be pro-life, we needed to meet people as they were living through difficult times, "from womb to tomb." 

There could possibly be an uptick in unwanted babies born. It is an awful thing to be unwanted. My husband was deeply moved and announced that afternoon that if God allowed it, we were going to adopt so we could be a home where kids would know they were wanted. Wow! 

So here we were in March, planning a massive uptick in my commitment to work while fostering three little girls we desperately wanted to adopt. In March, we had gotten word that perhaps they would go back to their first parents. I was an emotional wreck. We never intended to actually foster again.  We wanted only adoptable kids. The girls themselves had heavy burdens of trauma, delays, and needs. Caring for one was more than a full-time job. Three? Fugedaboutit.

What a March!

March: 2022

We are scooting along through the years. Between 2021 and 2022, we fostered twins, quit all our jobs, and moved 2,000 miles away. I got a job working at a terrible day care with wonderful people. My students were precious, their families generous, and my co-workers exceedingly special. But the system stunk and the center eventually went under.

I had the wonderful pleasure of partnering with my son in the classroom for a while there. By March, we were actively job-hunting. My daughter was doing brave things working in service to people with special needs. My husband was enjoying retirement. We were learning how to ballroom dance!

We were on our third church by then. I was having a hard time finding my place. That was a new challenge for me. I've had struggles in many churches but never had a problem with just finding a church. I felt stiff-armed and unwelcome. I couldn't find an inroad as a working woman. On the other hand, my husband was veritably collecting men's Bible studies. He joined and continued in each group as we church-hopped.

It was difficult and wholly unfamiliar to not have a church family. It stood in stark contrast to the one we had just left. The members of our small group are people my new daughters know and pray for.  They are phenomenal and I am staggered by the lavish love of our Father to let us be in that group that is now scattered across the states. I love them all so much. And their love has sustained me through this weird church-drought we are experiencing.

During this March, we celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary by taking a sleeper train to see Niagara Falls. It was dreamy. Life was dreamy. We were living our happily ever after. What a March!

March: 2021

I hope you're enjoying this walk through the years. I hope it is sparking your own memories, bringing smiles and healing. 2020 was difficult for most of us, bringing--brace yourself for that most overused word--unprecedented changes to how we did life.

By March 2021, we were finding--here's another oft-used buzzword--a new normal. I'd made over 250 videos reading books to the refugees. I was going into the homes of several Afghan families to bring books, playdough, and companionship. One family in particular had five boys who were struggling with the lockdown, so my son and I partnered to tutor them three times a week.

The church had started meeting on a smaller scale; I was coordinating 50 volunteers for only two services. I had a very unique opportunity to start a children's ministry at a well-established mega-church. It was fun training and establishing community, balancing safety and the need for community.

My husband was looking at retirement and the four of us were researching other states to find our next home. There was no way we could afford to stay in California. We were in a small window where we were going to be able to move with our adult children to start the next chapter.

And then, on March 3--my late sister's birthday--I was changing the bulletin boards late one night while my kids were attending the college Bible study. And we got a call. I'd honestly thought our foster license had lapsed. We'd been through the wringer with the agency and returned to the county. But we never got a placement. And now, two-year-old twins who needed a home tonight.

Or maybe they were 18-month-olds? No, they were three. Whatever, after praying together, we said yes. I grabbed my kids and we ran to Wal-Mart on the way home to buy two car seats and a crib. They wouldn't fit in the car with the door closed, so my kids had a harrowing ride home, holding unwieldy boxes and the back hatch.

We threw that crib together, racing the clock before the girls showed up. My daughter and I met them in the parking lot. When we heard their spunky names, we were suddenly unsure of even their gender. 

But girls they were, and after a few days we learned that they were 14-month-olds. Born in late 2019, with four older siblings schooling at home on Zoom, they spent much of their life at home in a pack-and-play, so their development was a little delayed.

And that was our March. Learning how to parent twin toddlers who we jokingly called ricochet for all the bouncing their heads did off our walls as they learned how to talk. Biological family visits, illnesses, doctor and therapist appointments, and court dates. It all came back.

Our daughter moved in with close friends because of the legality of the twins sharing a room with an adult. I continued working at the church. And we continued our work with the refugees.

What a March!

March: 2020

Ah, 2020! How you changed the world!

We were no exception. Looking specifically at March is what made me realize that the month of March has been so pivotal for my family. In 2020, both my kids were graduated and I had my degree. I was...retired? I was exploring a new chapter of life and enjoying the crap out of my husband and adult children.

In the fall of 2019, I was invited to head up the childcare portion of a new program our church was participating in. We were offering ESL classes to Afghan refugee women. I felt like I was made for this and was electrified about the whole thing. I love languages and ate up the training on language acquisition, cultural differences, and pre-literate versus illiterate learning. Oh, my goodness! It was all so utterly fascinating to me.

My job was to provide care for the preschool children of these women and lead the group of volunteers doing the same. I had just completed my BA in Educational Studies the previous summer (thank you, WGU!), and we had drunk through the firehose about trauma in our foster training. 

I knew how to design and teach preschool in my sleep. That part was easy and fun. But then I got to tie in all the other things I had been learning. These children were so very special, having been through trauma, not knowing any English, and never being separated from their mommas. All these components meant the need for specific care, and I absolutely loved every moment of it!

Actually, I almost quit because initially, the focus had been ESL for women. My job was to just keep the kids away so the mommas could learn. But these kids had never been away from their moms before. They would cry inconsolably in the arms of strange women who spoke gibberish. Of course! I couldn't stand the idea of furthering their trauma, so I went to the pastor in charge and asked to quit. I might have cried.

And he might have laughed. He said if I was crying for these kids, then I should be the one providing care for them. He helped me coordinate with the ESL teachers so the kids could trust us and come to love the classes we were doing for them. Ah, it was magic.

By March, the kids who would scream endlessly in our arms were now bouncing happily into class to sing, paint, and play. It was so exciting.

That was when I was offered the position in the church leading the birth-Kindergarten children's ministry. Wow! I told them they didn't want to hire me because I wouldn't sign membership papers. They said they would never ask me to do something against my conscience. I said they didn't want to hire me because I was still a licensed foster parent and if we got a placement, that child would be a priority. They said I wasn't their first working mom, and I could bring children to work with me. I said they didn't want to hire me because I have POTS, and the heat makes me faint. Our church held big outdoor events throughout the year, and I struggled when the temps got into the high 80s. They said that we could work around it. Welp, I said yes!

My first week I cut out thousands of little shamrocks in anticipation of St. Patrick's Day. I worked for a mega-church where I would be coordinating over 75 volunteers to teach at three services, so I am not exaggerating about the number of shamrocks. And before those little green beauties could ever be used, the world shut down.  It seemed unbelievable. How could we actually shut down the whole city? It happened...but only for two weeks. We deep-cleaned classrooms, the hamina-hamina-massive resource room, and then all the other little storage rooms nestled all over that colossal building. And we remained shut down.

It was time to pivot. I learned how to teach preschoolers from another language and culture on Zoom. And we started making packages for our church kids. 

What a March!

March: 2019

Continuing our retrospective into Marches past, we zoom from 2018 to 2019. We lost our precious girl to a Native American family thanks to ICWA laws. It was devastating and our family was still in the deep throes of shock and grief. 

To be honest, the four of us still have wounds from losing our little girl that merely gape a little less. We miss her and pray for her daily.

At this point (in 2019), we were licensed with an agency and hoping to be a safe place for kids in need.  We'd given ourselves a month to make zero decisions after our girl left. Then we discussed whether we would continue as a foster family.  We unanimously decided that if kids didn't get to choose to be foster kids, we WOULD choose to meet them there.  We knew it would be hard, but we could trust Jesus to sustain us.

On a more celebratory note, my first daughter graduated high school! In March, I was writing her transcripts, and she was wrapping up final projects to complete her high school education on the fifth of April. Pretty exciting stuff. She did not enjoy school, and her graduation marked an accomplishment that I hope she still loves.  

Our son was in college, and I decided to join him. In March, we were preparing to begin at WGU on the first of April. I was finally going to get my BA! I spent March hunting down transcripts from my lifetime before raising two kids.

What a March!

March: 2018

It's March.  You know that already. But it has become a significant month to me.  It used to be October that big changes happened to us.  We moved, had our daughter, moved another time--and yet another time--all in October.

The other day on my Facebook, my memories from three years ago showed my husband and me on our 25th anniversary Niagara Falls train trip.  I said that the year before we had just welcomed twin girls as foster placements. And, of course, it is my big sister's birth month.

I did a little fact-checking and realized that the last several Marches in recent years have brought substantial changes to our lives. 

Travel back with me to 2018. In March 2018, we had our very first foster placement and completed a whirlwind of training and licensing--you know, since the 2-year-old girl was already living with us.  We had known her since birth, and I'd been providing a good 60 hours per week care since she'd been 5 months old. My oldest friend was her foster mom.

Things went very sideways and we were her new foster family.  By March, it was clear she wouldn't be able to go back to my friend or her biological mom. We very much wanted to be her forever family. Of course, we loved her desperately and considered her one of us. But also, she'd already lost so much, and we didn't want her to lose any more. 

It was a crazy month of court appearances, therapy appointments, park days, and parenting my big kids who were quickly approaching adulthood.  What a March.

It's My Sister's Birthday

It's our tenth birthday of hers without her. I am conditioned to look forward to it because she claimed the entire month for her celebration. Of course, now, there are more feelings surrounding the day. I'm just going to tell you about the best woman I've ever known--and I know many, many wonderful women. 

One of the most obvious descriptors of Diane Cherie Porter is that she is intelligent. That is the easy, low-hanging fruit attribute. She was tech-savvy, devoured books in a day, and could teach on any subject. She was so smart that her IQ was still higher than everyone at the office where she had it tested after some of her brain was removed. They fawned over her like she was an A-list celebrity when she was lamenting her diminished skills. 

--You'll have to excuse my verb tenses for this post.  I tend to speak about her in the present tense still because she is a Jesus-lover and thus has eternal life.  But sometimes the past tense slips out as I delve into specific memories.

While her cognitive intelligence defines her and informed everything she did, Diane is so much more than smart. Diane is kind in a tangible way. Her attentiveness, acute memory, and the time she made for people made us feel like we were the most important thing in her life. 

She was the glue in our family. She stayed in touch with all our grands, aunts, uncles, and cousins, as well as all the members of her husband's family. She was the greatest aunt one could want. Those connections mattered to her; the individuals were valuable. I know she prayed for us all regularly and her heart overflowed with love.

Diane had the Spiritual gift of faith. We all have faith in something. And believers are given faith. But Diane had the gift of faith that passes all understanding. She didn't waiver. She was so firmly planted on the Rock that she took on the qualities of a rock. One story I love is that she was late to her own baptism because she was busy bringing a teen soldier to Christ.

Diane could be counted on to speak the truth with love in the face of anything and everything. I benefitted countless times from her talks exhorting me that despite all the evidence that I was drowning, God was bigger than the waves. She encouraged me when I felt like my kids would never overcome their challenges. Or when I thought I would never be good enough for my family.

She went through a lot, including fighting brain cancer for years. Only at the very end, thanks to institutional neglect, multiple brain surgeries, and mind-addling drugs did depression ever touch her. But for the rest of her life, she navigated the difficult things with this assurance that love wins. Sometimes she yelled it at us. "Love wins, you idiot!"

In fact, Diane epitomized joy. She was generous and playful. She celebrated others' triumphs. She infused heartache with the deep unshakable joy that comes with an eternal point of view. She knew what lasted and what was temporary. She made an event out of anything, celebrating everything.

She loved to sing. Every time we got together, she'd beg me to sing two-part songs with her. "This is the Day," "He Has Shown Thee," "Humble Thyself in the Sight of the Lord." There is an older one that goes, 'Brother, Sister, we are young/ And our lives have just begun/...Sons of God/ Hear His holy Word/ Gather 'round/ the Table of the Lord..." I wish I'd joined in more frequently and with more verve than I did.  Ah, hindsight. I've countless songs ranging from hymns to 80s ballads that make me think of her.

Diane used the moniker Mrs. Quiet. It was funny because she is a TALKER. But she was married to a soft-spoken shy introvert. It was her joke. It was also an expression of her undying love and devotion to her husband. Man, she loves him!  Her marriage was a beautiful thing to behold--they were both forever in love, giving favor to the other while happily bickering over everything. They were different in just about everything.  He was not a gamer, or a singer, or gregarious, or crazy-smart, or a voracious reader. I am not sure I ever saw him in front of the computer. But it didn't matter one whit. They were into each other, God, and their family.  That was enough.

Diane was an excellent cook. She threw together feasts and treats while carrying out a bunch of other tasks plus three conversations. She was skilled in savory and sweet dishes alike. I strive to cook as she does, but I am more hit-and-miss and can be quite a disaster in the kitchen.

There is so much more. 

• She played an integral role in Protestant Women of the Chapel in both California and Texas while her husband served in the army. She loved the women she taught and fellowshipped with. 
• She homeschooled her kids. She homeschooled other kids. 
• She worked as the secretary at various churches--and was the unofficial confidant to several priests and pastors. 
• She would sit on speakerphone with me while I schooled my kids.  We would just spend hours on speakerphone, both of us going about our day with our families.  
• She loved Jesus. Her love for him drew her into depths ever richer. You couldn't know her without hearing about her Friend. She was a prayer warrior, persevering and persisting in praying for the people she loved.
• She asked hard questions. We wrestled together with doctrinal beliefs, politics, and any hot topic for years, always seeking truth over merely winning an argument. She loved to think.
• She loved movies and TV shows. She invested in characters like they were real, applying biblical truths to the worldliest programming, extracting beautiful parables that would shine light for those who would never crack a Bible.
• She was funny.  She came up with all sorts of silly phrases.  I still use them today, like okeydokey smokeybutt.
• She was wise and had all sorts of maxims. One was, 'Cry when it hurts to not cry. When the crying starts to hurt, stop.'

Thank you for reading about this lovely woman. I am deeply honored to call her my big sister. You can't know me without knowing at least a bit about her. She prayed my husband into my life. She kept us married for the first decade. I homeschool because of her. She made me brave. She made me love Jesus. So much of who I am is because of her.

Doctors, Specialists, and Therapists, Oh my!

I'm processing a lot since our girls' last doctor visit.  We have been on waiting lists for various therapies for the entire two years that they've been living with us.  That is a long time.  However, the number of people trained in the treatments recommended for our girls does not match the number of people needing the therapy. And there is an apparent baby boom among these golden ticket therapists, so it seems there are more on maternity leave than there are taking patients.  It's a frustrating situation.

But I am a card-carrying homeschool mom, so I read books, watch videos, and do my best to meet their needs.  I've done this before when my son needed speech therapy, and I got tired of sitting behind a mirror at a university speech therapy program 100 miles (no lie) from home three days a week just to watch people not understand him.  So, I decided to do it at home. The first time that boy said "k," I could have flown!

Later, I discovered my first daughter has the most severe dyslexia of all the dyslexias.  This goes with her over-achieving, competitive personality; if she's going to be dyslexic, then she's going to out-dyslexic all the dyslexics! All the therapies available were through the public school system in our area and I was invested in staying out of that dysfunctional rabbit hole. So, I decided to do it at home.

We participated in therapies for our first foster children and the experiences were overwhelmingly positive.  I learned a lot. Since then, I got my degree in education, with dual emphases in Gen Ed and SPED. The various diagnoses and possible diagnoses of our girls don't scare me very often (mostly).  I feel like I can tackle them with some competency.

Put that on the shelf for a moment with me while I discuss a deeper thing that I don't like talking about.  I have said before that our interactions with therapists and medical personnel for all our foster placements and adopted girls have been positive. But my experiences with doctors for myself and my children have been wildly different. Ask me how long it took to be diagnosed with POTS, and how I was treated until I was. I had an eye doctor throw a pen across the room and storm out because he conducted the entire exam not knowing my contacts were in.  There was the dentist who rested his tools on my chest and grabbed 'widely' to pick them up.  I can't forget the gynecologist who argued with me to get an IUD while he biopsied my uterus.  When I wouldn't give in, he tore off his gloves and dropped them on the floor before walking out.  He left me bleeding on those gloves, shaking.  Whenever my friends went for their visits, he told them that they should tell me to come back to get the IUD, hipaa be damnned. Thankfully the experiences with my kids' doctors tended toward mere incompetence and arrogance.

My point is that I'm scared. So scared that I didn't even recognize it. The girls' current primary said she would try to push some referrals to get therapy going.  I'm grateful.  Relieved.  I need help.  They need help.  It's a good thing.  

But I was cooking dinner that night and making mistakes that would make my poor grandma roll in her grave.  My dinner roll dough took my KitchenAid for a walk across the length of my counter.  I burned my fingers as I tried to get the meat from the drumsticks I cooked.  The entire room looked like I violently decorated it with a 20-pound bag of flour.  I got overheated, so layers of clothes littered the floor because I'd ripped them off and dropped them where I stood.  And then I cried.  And cried.  

My sweet husband came to my rescue, asking me what was wrong.  I asked if we could just pretend that I was on my period because whatever was going on was just as reasonable as that.  He stifled his laughter as he watched me tear at drumsticks and cry that it looked like meat stuck in a dinosaur's maw and that I didn't want to eat dinosaur food.

It took the next 24 hours for me to realize that I'm scared of getting entangled with therapists who'll make my girls' lives harder.  I'm scared that helping in one area could exacerbate dysfunction in others. I worry about getting entrenched and not knowing how to get out.

I have no pat answers yet. It astonishes me that God works on me while I am trying to raise these girls well.  I didn't think this was something I needed to address.  It just is: I don't trust doctors, but I do what I need to for my kids. But maybe changes are coming?

Trauma Triggers

Sometimes I believe my own hurts are well in my past, and that I have captured all the thoughts and submitted them all to the Lord.  I think the triggers have no power, because I see how the Lord has redeemed the terrible things (or trust that He will), and I am healed from the base-brain trauma responses that used to cripple me.  The PTSD is gone.

I believe all this with a measure of realism. I don't think that I am Mighty Mouse or anything. I know I am not invincible.  I know it is the Holy Spirit doing the work.  I know bad or hard things can (will) still happen in the future.  I even know that when a memory emerges, I will have feelings about it.  But I have tools and support and know what to do.  I won't drown. 

And then...

I watch one of my girls behave out of the box and I realize all the hurt they carry each day without words to explain.  I ache for them.  I feel protective. Someone hurt my baby.  I feel angry. I feel the loss that I wasn't there to protect her, to prevent it. I hate that I may never know exactly what happened.  All these things feel normal and right. It is reasonable to respond with these thoughts and feelings when someone we love is hurting.

But there is something more.  Something I can't quite put my finger on, and it's shaking me. It is blessedly unfamiliar enough that I can't understand why I feel like I just need to sit down, put something down that I didn't know I was carrying, or loosen my clothes so I can take a full breath. With a frustratingly slow dawning, I realize what it is. My own trauma. Once it clicks, the memories come so quickly that the chronology is a mess.

I need to be healed AGAIN.  I need to be restored AGAIN.  I need to get my feet firmly planted on the Rock Who never moves AGAIN. I know I will. I know He will. It will be ok.

And I thank God for it all. I don't love the ride, but I hear the whisper of the still, small Voice telling me that He is bigger, stronger, and ready for it all.  He is not surprised.  Not by the wave of memories and feelings, nor by the ugliness of what happened. Being reminded so viscerally of the trauma gives me the opportunity to feel just as concretely the goodness of Jesus. And THAT gives me the focus and assurance to look my girls in their big, beautiful eyes and tell them firmly that it will be ok.

Going to the Doctor

 We made it through three well-child visits! As a side note, when the office called to make the appointments, I misunderstood her and thought she wanted to set up wild-child visits. I thought it was a great term and told her so, asking how she knew how appropriate it was. It is NOT what she said. 

Some of our past visits were fiasco-adjacent. I hoped to establish a solidly positive session to create a frame of reference for what a doctor visit COULD be. We talked about expectations, did some role-playing, and equipped them with the times they could ask to hold a hand, sit on a lap, or say no.

And we did it! My girls are watching Dora as I type this and I want to exclaim, "Lo hicimos!" We left the building with three smiling little girls and two gushing-with-praise parents!

We need to make vision appointments, because it is time, but also as a first step to investigating headaches in one girl. There is a good possibility that they will all need glasses, so we'll need to keep monitoring that.

One girl had a rough visit with an insensitive tech a while back, so she was very nervous.  On another side note, the medical staff we have encountered since getting the girls have all been wonderful.  Most are good at speaking in code above the girls' heads to discuss possibly scary or triggering topics.  All are positive and supportive of adoptions. And they are really terrific with the girls.

Anyhow, the one wonky tech left my girl feeling really scared about going, but after all the prep and the amazing primary we see, she did really well.  Our daughter allowed for the exam and test, so...triumph! 

We have a referral to OT.  We have confirmations on other diagnoses and support for our chosen treatments. And we have a plan for behavior that can't be diagnosed yet. Everyone was on board with avoiding shots to keep things positive, so... triumph again!

We have one little miss who has struggled massively with past visits who did very well and said no when she needed to to certain procedures. But she is triggered, so we will spend hours snuggling, affirming, and watching to see her through whatever is going on in her mind and body that she can't articulate yet.

I have to make myself not cry whenever I go to the doctor with them.  It is overwhelming for me.  I love them. Even with a wildly successful visit as this, the tears threaten. I am proud of their bravery and growth. I grieve the gaps in my knowledge. I grieve the brokenness still evident.  And I am hopeful and thankful that we can do this with the help of a team.

I trust God is never surprised by any of this and is always present.  I go through this life ignorant of so much. But I know a God who knows.  He is enough.  I'm thankful that even though I am failing and stumbling, God is bigger than it all--including my flaws and stubbornness.

Homeschooling Schedule

I have the privilege of being a new homeschooler and veteran homeschooler at the same time.  I started homeschooling a few weeks after my second baby was born so that my 2.5-year-old would have dedicated time with me.  We kept going until that baby graduated high school.  Through those years we moved twice, changed churches a few times, and lived several different lifestyles.  I founded and ran a homeschooling group with friends.  We did tours and playdates.  I wrote entire programs for us to carry out in co-op-style classes.  I also counseled new homeschoolers, getting them set up to school their kids successfully from home. Throughout all that, we had different children in our home because I was either homeschooling or nannying them.  

I've got some experience! But, true to the assertion that there are as many ways to homeschool as there are families, this is new and different.  Schooling three kids specifically NOT from the beginning with more special needs than my first crew and in relative isolation is different. So, true to form, I am learning as I go.

I recently changed our homeschooling schedule because I was really overtaxing all of us by trying to do a little bit of everything each day.  I thought the consistency and small bites would provide routine so that growth would be steady and the predictability would give the kids a sense of safety and ownership of their days.  It's a good thought worth its place, but it was time to wriggle things around.

So now I have staggered days. On Mondays and Wednesdays, we do core work using Sonlight curriculum. That is Bible, Social Studies/History, Literature, and Science.  I use the four-day schedule, so we double up and still complete a week's worth of work in a week.  On Tuesdays and Thursdays, we do extracurricular activities like Spanish, Piano, and Recorder.  Fridays are special because my husband is home every other week, so we go on outings with him.  When he is at work, we do arts, cooking, and messy science projects.  Each day we do Movement, Reading, Writing, and Math.  We also do a preschool-style circle time each day with things like prayer, calendar, weather, and Bible verses and stories.

So far, it's working out pretty well.  I might flip-flop the pairs of days because I chose hefty work on the days we are committed to Choir and AWANA.  But I'm going to wait.  Because the change is about looking at the week as a whole, I'm giving myself a solid month to adjust.

Our daily routine still exists regarding blocks of time.  I am eager to see how the opened space allows for more connection and breathing room.  

Grief

Grief is a horrible honor. The horror is pretty evident and requires little explanation.  To live without someone who filled the space in your life and heart is agony.  The honor may be more mysterious but beats steadily beneath the keening. I got to know wonderful people who decided to fill my life and heart with themselves.  I would choose to miss them over never having known them.  I outrightly pity those who can’t grieve the people I’ve lost because they never got to know them.

I have been ‘honored’ several times now.  I lost my dad’s mom when I was 14.  We lost a baby we named Alex before birth.  Then my mom’s mom died when my son was 7 months old.  That was hard and I actively miss her each day.  We lived with her for over five years, and she was like a second mom to me.  My son is named after her.  While my kids never knew her, they all know about her.  I keep her alive with stories, photos, and furniture. 

After that my cousin was brutally murdered and his killer has never been found.  I pray for his parents and brother all the time because I know grief never leaves.

The next ‘honor’ that changed my life was when my big sister died just before her 45^th birthday.  We are coming up on the 10^th anniversary of her passing.  I hate it. I positively, 100%, hate living without her in the world.  It’s wrong and definitively grievous. My life has changed so drastically since she left, and I don’t know how to process that I have lived in homes and loved children without her.  It’s anathema.

Her loss initiated a string of more losses, starting with her husband who followed her 19 months later. We also lost our first foster daughter whom we had hoped to adopt.  She is alive but lost to us. Her leaving changed our family.  My children are markedly scarred, and my husband and I cannot make it better.

So, I know grief.  I know the waves that hit from nowhere.  I know the anniversaries that loom large and fill me with dread.  I know how some anniversaries shock me with how mildly they pass.  And other instances when there is no perceivable reason, but I am laid flat.  I know the sweet remembrances, the tortuous what-ifs, and the ridiculous deals I make with myself or God.  I know the sense of isolation and the wondering how everyone else seems so very fine today while I sit having to will each painful breath into my lungs.

I also know that God wastes nothing.  My grief matters—and so does yours. I know He sees and feels it all with us. Every tear is captured in a bottle, and there is a promise that one day every tear will be dried.  All grief will be gone.  This pain is temporary, but still not a waste.  Not merely something to be endured. 

One good thing is that my experiences help me love my three little girls effectively.  In fact, they help me love my whole family meaningfully. Further? They help me love everyone I encounter.  I am more compassionate since experiencing loss.  I know what I can and cannot fix.  I know that there are times when the best thing to do is sit—like Job’s friends BEFORE they opened their big dumb mouths.  Sometimes, we are called to merely witness.  We don’t always have to do; sometimes we need to be still and abide without words or actions and witness the horrible honor of grief.

I miss you.

Diane,
I wish I could talk to you. You have been gone over two years and your birthmonth is approaching. I dread it. This grief is threatening to define me and I do not want that. You and God wouldn't either, I know. Maybe those are the only reasons I don't want it. And that my family deserves better. 

A lot has happened to me since you left that I wish I could have talked with you about. Big things have happened like deciding to move (truly a big thing by itself) and then actually moving.  Brian's job change has been so challenging. The adjustments  the kids have made are admirable. I became a mentor, which is simultaneously exciting and laughable. I am anxious about a medical exam and I could really use your guidance in how much grace I should give myself. See? Just that sentence would have set you off on a sermon. 

Max is graduating high school and turning 18. Eighteen!!  We are fast approaching the last day in all the world that I can say my son will be an adult in months!  Other big things is that a guy wanted to ask Madi out and Brian told him no. Then it happened again months later and Brian said yes. Then Madi said yes, so she is going to a high school dance this weekend. My little girl is going to a high school dance!  That is something this homeschooling momma never anticipated. Nor did I expect to have a 15 year old girl going on a date of any sort. I would like to talk with you about it all in excited rushes and in quiet confessionals. 

The kids are so full of personality. They make me laugh and I know you would love to listen to their ideas. They take becoming adults seriously, but attack the tasks from such different perspectives, it is fascinating. I would love your wisdom in how to best mother them through these transitions. 

My marriage is really good. Work, for sure, but shockingly, blessedly good. We are so thankful for the hand you still play in that truth. 

We are going to buy a car. Since we haven't done that in 15 years, that qualifies as a big thing, too. 

But even more pressing are all the little things. The nothings that do not even need to be talked about are what I want to talk about. I miss you much because of these. Yesterday my poop looked like a circumcised penis and I think you would have liked to have known that. I came up with a game show idea called 'Do You Trust Yourself?' and NO ONE has any interest in hammering out the details with me. Just because my initial plan involved wiping a contestant's memory. What's with that?  Ever since Caleb gave me whooping cough, whenever I get sick, my lungs snore. I want to tell you my thoughts on Grimm since you wanted me to watch the show so badly and I refused. I finished HIMYM just for you, too. I couldn't do Hawaii 5-0, though. 

Walking across the many bridges at my apartment complex in the rain scares the shit out of me. They are so slippery and I think falling would ruin more than my day. It rains every week here and never snows. It is an effort to not be burdened by that. It rains all day and all night. All night. 

Our new neighbors got two dogs and one is a pit!  Part of me wants to rip my shirt open in the ever-falling rain while collapsing to my knees and wailing 'Why?!?' to the sky, half hoping to drown like a stupid chicken. The other part is all fat little determined Disney fairy, determined to go all out Jesus on their asses. Like, I am gonna learn whatever lesson God has for me so that I never have to live under a fricken dog for the rest of my life!

Oh, I really want to tell you about Buttercup. She is precious. Glimpsing from my angle into the foster system stirs up so much in me, it would be such a help to talk it all out with you. There are quite a few things I cannot even bring myself to type that I would talk with you about. These things are so mysterious and confusing that I only whisper them to God and Brian. 

We started attending a new church. We want to be involved in a church family so much but we are terrible misfits wherever we go. I have hope and fear that I would really like to carry to the Throne with you. 

Brian is sick.  So....  you know. That sucks. 

I could really use your words, too. I want to hear about David and Kiso and Cher. How you are proud and when you are concerned? I want to pray for your friends who are moving through crises. I want to be inspired by your choices to grow. And I could stand to hear one more sermon on how great I am. 

I want to end this like David did, with praises to God. He supplies. He is faithful. He is loving. Yup. All true. But I still miss you. 

Who Needs the Church?

We are taught to have faith in God alone. We are taught to not rely on people for success or happiness because people fail. God is reliable because He is God. He never casts a shifting shadow (James 1:17). He is the same yesterday, today and forever (Hebrews 13:8). He will not crush the weakest reed or snuff out a flickering candle (Isaiah 42:3; Matthew 12:20). His word never returns void (Isaiah 55:11). He keeps His promises (Deuteronomy 7:9). So, that is God. Trust Him. Obey Him. Rely on Him. He won't let you down. 

We are taught with equal emphasis to not trust people. We cannot realistically rely in others for our happiness or success. All that God is, people are not. (Romans 3:10-18) In fact Scriptures admonish people to not even trust their own hearts!  (Jeremiah 17:9; Mark 7:21) Wow!  If we cannot even trust ourselves, it seems pretty foolish to lean on anyone else. 

But then there is the Church. This is where it gets really messy. -1-Trust and obey God, -2-do not rely on people, -3-the church (essentially the people of God) is God's gift to people to help them get through this life on fallen earth. What are we supposed to do with that?

On the one hand, we trust God.  I mean, let's say I am going skydiving for the first time. I listen to every word the instructor says like my life depends on it--because it does!  So, as he hands me my gear, declaring, "you'll want these, that, and this," I will agree wholeheartedly that I want them all and grab up everything he offers. I'd be crazy not to. 

I trust God, and I am jumping into a free-falling world. So, I hang on to the Instructor's Words. I grab onto every piece of gear he offers and tuck them close to my body. I fix the earpiece firmly in place so that I will hear any further words of guidance. 

What is the equipment god gives?  I see three main things that every Christian receives as help to live an abundant life here and now: the Holy Spirit, the Bible and the Church. 

The Holy Spirit is God in us loving us as Counselor, Advocate, Comforter.  John 14:16 says "And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, who will never leave you.  He is the Holy Spirit, who leads into all truth.  The world cannot receive him, because it isn't looking for him and doesn't recognize him.  But you know him, because he lives with you now and later will be in you."  Further in the chapter, at verse 26, Jesus continues, "But when the Father sends the Advocate as my representative--that is, the Holy Spirit--he will teach you everything and will remind you of everything I have told you."

The Bible is the Word of God.  It is a reliable, breathing text we use to grow one another up in the Lord. 2 Timothy 3:16-17 says "All Scripture is inspired by God and is useful to teach us what is true and to make us realize what is wrong in our lives.  It corrects us when we are wrong and teaches us to do what is right. God uses it to prepare and equip his people to do every good work." 

Now we come to the Church. We are the Body of Christ, reaching into this world with the Gospel of forgiveness, healing and reconciliation to the One True God. Jesus built the Church, and almost all of the New Testament is written to the Church.  These letters were expected to be read to the gathering of believers.  The instructions and encouragements are for all who call Christ Lord and Savior. 

Check out 

Romans 15:14 

And concerning you, my brethren, I myself also am convinced that you yourselves are full of goodness, filled with all knowledge and able also to admonish one another.

Colossians 3:16

Let the word of Christ richly dwell within you, with all wisdom teaching and admonishing one another with psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with thankfulness in your hearts to God.

Luke 17:3

Be on your guard! If your brother sins, rebuke him; and if he repents, forgive him

1 Thessalonians 5:14

We urge you, brethren, admonish the unruly, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with everyone.

All of Romans 12 and 1 Corinthians 12 speak to the form and function of the church. 

After reading just these few excerpts, knowing there is so much more of the same, I am thinking the Church is some 'gear' that I will 'be wanting' to get me through this 'jump.' 

I have no issue with working alongside people who share truth and love, ministering to the lost. But here is the trouble. Remember all that wisdom from the beginning?  Rely on God alone. He is my rock.  My all in all. He says I need this Church, not only as co-workers, but as encouragers, companions and givers of love.  They aren't co-workers. The Church is not a business. They are family (Ephesians 2:19). I am to submit to the people in my church (Ephesians 5:21). I am to confess to them and ask for prayers (James 5:16). These things call for interdependence, vulnerability and transparency. But the Church is made of people. People!  Flawed, selfish, lying, betraying heart breakers. And I need this?   I'd like to argue.

Beware the yeast

“Guard your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life.” Proverbs 4:23 NLT

“Come close to God, and God will come close to you. Wash your hands, you sinners; purify your hearts, for your loyalty is divided between God and the world.”

‭‭James‬ ‭4:8‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Remember Daniel's interpreting the king's dream of the statue with the clay and iron feet?  We can read about it in chapter 2. In verse 43, we hear Daniel explain that the blending of theses two materials makes both weak. They do not mix at all, so it is just a whole mass of seams that work like perforations: highlighting weaknesses to be attacked.  When I think about Christians trying to absorb the values and lifestyle of their culture, I think about iron and clay. What God offers is strong and perfect, like iron.  The baked clay of human tradition is less so, by a lot.  And they do not blend.  We can try to comfort ourselves thinking that if we are attacked that the weak clay will be the only thing to crumble and the iron will survive any smashing. But picture it:  what will the iron be after being crushed?  Raw material, twisted remnants that cut and injure. The spaces that the clay occupied will leave gaping holes that separate the iron, leaving it strewn about without a form or a function. 

These are just my ponderings, though.  The Christian life was never compared to iron and clay in the Bible.

Jesus went further. 

Matthew 16:6-12; Mark 8:15; Luke 12:1. 

Jesus warns us to beware the yeast of Pharisees. What does that mean?  Is it the people who are Pharisees?  I do not think so, because Paul was a Pharisee, as was Nicodemus. Jesus ate in the homes of Pharisees. Jesus also talked with, taught, and healed at least one roman's servant.  He is not against people. He came specifically to save them.

But he did scold people.  Why?  For their practices and teachings! He does not like sin and really does not like people in authority leading others into sin. Jesus took special interest in Pharisees teaching and practicing laws that were added to Moses' laws delivered by God. Luke 11:46, mark 7:7 ff. 

So, the yeast we must beware of is the teachings of the Pharisees. False teachings that do not blend with the Truth of God. 

One problem with man-made traditions is that they seem so harmless. More than that, they often seem good and wise.  Just thinking about a new rule that will eliminate confusion brings sighs of peace. Men are pretty smart. We are creative. This is no surprise, since we are made in God's image. So our traditions often make a lot of sense!  We go along because it is a well-worn path. And often, there is no conflict to our consciences in doing so.  So, what's the problem? There isn't one; until we are lulled into trusting the ways of men. Have you ever heard anyone say, 'I do not know why we do it that way; it's just how we have always done it.'  

That leads us to the other problem with man-made traditions: we cannot serve two masters. There is a point when there will be disagreement, and you have to choose what or who is supreme. Sadly, we realize this after following along so blindly and so easily for so long, our minds are asleep to the conflict. 

In Galatians, Paul affirms Jesus' assertions to avoid the yeast that would re-enslave us after Jesus' work that freed us. He speaks specifically about circumcision, but I believe it is reasonable to apply it to any false teaching.  “For when we place our faith in Christ Jesus, there is no benefit in being circumcised or being uncircumcised. What is important is faith expressing itself in love. You were running the race so well. Who has held you back from following the truth? It certainly isn’t God, for he is the one who called you to freedom. This false teaching is like a little yeast that spreads through the whole batch of dough! I am trusting the Lord to keep you from believing false teachings. God will judge that person, whoever he is, who has been confusing you.” Galatians 5:6-10 NLT

Yeast.  It is a leavener that permeates every iota of dough to which it is added. There is no compartmentalizing. Remember those feet made of iron and clay?  While not strong, and not blended, we can physically point to what is iron and what is clay. It is obvious.  In a blend with yeast, however, there is no distinction. Yeast touches everything. You cannot make a loaf with yeast and find a piece of that bread without it. 

So, when we try to blend the world with the Way, we have a real problem. Jesus said beware. False teaching comes in and touches everything. It is messy.  And once in, it is hard to identify.  It blends so smoothly. 

I would like to end with Psalm 101 by King David. It is easy to dismiss the idea of living this zealously because it talks about hating people and ridding the city of evil. Since The work of the Messiah, we are not to hate any people, and none of us has servants of any caliber.  But does that mean we cannot internalize this Psalm for our own lives in Christ?  Do we really want to be this focused on living for God?  Listen to all the 'I will's. Will you?

“I will sing of your love and justice, LORD. 

I will praise you with songs. 

I will be careful to live a blameless life— when will you come to help me? 

I will lead a life of integrity in my own home. 

I will refuse to look at anything vile and vulgar. 

I hate all who deal crookedly; 

I will have nothing to do with them. 

I will reject perverse ideas and stay away from every evil. 

I will not tolerate people who slander their neighbors. 

I will not endure conceit and pride. 

I will search for faithful people to be my companions. Only those who are above reproach will be allowed to serve me. 

I will not allow deceivers to serve in my house, and liars will not stay in my presence. My daily task will be to ferret out the wicked and free the city of the LORD from their grip.” Psalms 101:1-8 NLT

Amen

Written All Over My Face

Revelation 22:4 reads: “And they will see his face, and his name will be written on their foreheads.”

This is a neat use of words. I do not think it is literal. I do not imagine we will be walking around with lettering on our faces.

Instead, I remember old cartoons of eyes turning into protruding dollar signs or pulsing hearts to express the character's all-consuming adulation and worship of an object. 

More realistically, I call to mind all the momma's faces I have seen when they first hold their newborns. Aren't the babies' names written on the faces of those sweaty, worn out, exultant moms?  We do not even need to see the child when we look at mom. Everything that matters is already on her face. 

I imagine this is what we will reflect when we finally get to stand in front of the throne of God. We will be reflecting back His glory, as the moon does the sun. But more!  All metaphors will be gone, all analogy passé, all comparisons obsolete. We will be in the overwhelming reality of the realized promise.  We will be living in a way these fallen bodies cannot. 

How I long for that day!  Until then, I must continue to strive for His name to be written on this face I have now. I must wait with confident expectation that I will one day be in His presence with a new body that will withstand His glory. As I wait, I pray saving from distraction and urgency to invite others to wait with me. 

Being Sanctified

Advent and Communion both look forward to the coming of Jesus.  Here I would like to talk about Advent. 

Luke 16:9-13 reads as follows:

Here’s the lesson: Use your worldly resources to benefit others and make friends. Then, when your earthly possessions are gone, they will welcome you to an eternal home.^c

“If you are faithful in little things, you will be faithful in large ones. But if you are dishonest in little things, you won’t be honest with greater responsibilities. And if you are untrustworthy about worldly wealth, who will trust you with the true riches of heaven? And if you are not faithful with other people’s things, why should you be trusted with things of your own?

“No one can serve two masters. For you will hate one and love the other; you will be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money.”

O Come, O come, Emmanuel  is a popular Christmas Carol that tells parallel stories that can help guide us today.  The lyrics of the first verse go this way.

O come, O come, Emmanuel

And ransom captive Israel

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel.'

Israel had rejected God and sought its own way, the world's way. In becoming a pagan nation, it determined to refuse a theocracy and chose the chaos of survival of the fittest, kings vying for power.  At the time of Jesus' birth, they were truly captives, living dispersed.  Those Jews who were in Jerusalem did so as subjects to the Roman Empire. Jews in charge were in a delicate political dance with Rome. They were only in charge as long as they submitted to the ruling empire. They were captives in need of a rescuer. And there were God-lovers mourning in lonely exile. And we know from the stories about people like Simeon and Anna that there was great rejoicing when the long-awaited Messiah finally, finally came!

American Christians are not so different. Our history is of racial tensions that spill into significant hate-filled violence in every decade of the country's existence.  We make justice more about politics than true righteousness. Our laws, courts and prisons give grace to the rich and severity to minorities and the disenfranchised. A casual observer could easily believe that Americans read the Beatitudes in Matthew chapter 5 and instituted the exact opposite standards for the meek, merciful, mourning, peacemakers, righteous and pure from what Jesus prescribed.  

We trust that 'someone' will take care of the needy. In fact, according to the IRS website, from 2005 to 2010 average charitable contributions went from 2.5 to 2.1 percent, totaling considerably less than 2,000 dollars per income each year.  One of the richest nations with approximately 173 billion souls claiming to follow Christ, and these are the numbers on charitable giving!  How can that be?  

I saw a statistic recently that said if one family in three churches adopted an 'adoptable' child out of the foster care system and the three churches committed to supporting that family, we could effectively abolish the foster care program in the United States as an institution that cares for children who age out of the system without ever being permanently placed in a family.  We can make a difference in this world.  Believing we can't excuses selfish living and fulfills that prophesy.

All the while we are forgetting that obedience is not about results.“So, my dear brothers and sisters, be strong and immovable. Always work enthusiastically for the Lord, for you know that nothing you do for the Lord is ever useless.” (‭‭1 Corinthians‬ ‭15:58‬ ‭NLT‬‬)

Can we take a moment and be astonished that we actually stand tall and tell God no just because we think it will not turn out the way we want it to?

"Did you realize that you will find about 800 Scriptures that deal with money in the Bible?
Jesus talked about money more than He did Heaven and Hell combined. He talked about money more than anything else except the Kingdom of God. 11 of 39 parables talk about money. 1 of every 7 verses in the Gospel of Luke talks about money."  

(I found the above excerpt from a sermon)

Money matters.  We all know that loving enemies and forgiving everyone are commands by God that, while difficult, actually are for our benefit. We feel a peace and freedom when we obey them; so much so, that even unbelievers advocate a life of forgiveness and mercy.  Could it be that the instructions on money, the singular area of life that God actually invited testing (Malachi 3:10), are for our good, as well?

We are members of the eternal Kingdom of the One true God. Are you happy about that?  Can anyone tell?  Are you as burdened, stressed, unforgiving and greedy as your pagan family, neighbors and coworkers?  Have you invited Jesus to change your entire life?  Do you even want that?

I do not ask this to shame. I say it to identify. We are steeped in a culture of sin. Some of it we have become very comfortable with. And we need Jesus. We need Him to forgive us and transform us.  His blood washes us from sin and sets us before the judgment seat as righteous. We just need eyes to see this truth so that we live it. 

We are here to be living testimonies to a life of freedom that is possible on earth through Christ. But how can anyone believe what we have to say when our own behavior betrays that we do not believe it ourselves. 

Christmas is coming and we have some choices to make about how we will experience the Advent season. I guarantee we all celebrate advent, whether you know or like the word. It means Coming. In America, Advent seems to begin earlier each year and the focus is shopping, movies, sweets and decorations: the coming of pleasure and consumerism. In the tradition for Christians, Advent begins four Sundays before Christmas and the focus is on the Scripture, welcoming Jesus into our hearts and charity, which means love.  

These things are in opposition to one another. Jesus warned us in His great wisdom and care that we could not serve both. This world tells us differently. We like buffets and fear missing out, so blending a little from here and a little from there is super appealing. Tempting. While it is not a sin to be tempted, it most certainly is to not flee from it. What will the focus be for you?  What of the world will be welcomed into your homes, calendars and hearts?

Both the pagan* advent and the Christian Advent extend beyond the Christmas season, but they are heightened and glorified at this time that is fast approaching.  We will choose no matter what.  A passive choice will never land us with Jesus, but it counts as a choice nonetheless.

 

*I use the term pagan to mean non-Christian, referring to all who do not call on Jesus as Lord and Savior.