"Evidence of This"

Once you've had a Caesarean, you'll always have a Caesarean. That used to be the case, but not since the '90s. I delivered two children, very differently. Still, they both nursed at my breasts. They both looked up, their eyes meeting mine. And in the case of my daughter, my eyes meeting mine.

It's a package deal; love me, love my children. Again, there are lessons to be learned. It's not as easy as it sounds and, sometimes --at least in my case --it's more like Love my dad, so I'll love you. Despite the relatively small hiccups and personality conflicts that occur in even biological families, my stepchildren showed me much grace and acceptance.

Family isn't made from blood; it's made from love. Even when a child has been so broken by pain and fallen relationships and "care" and dashed hopes that love is little more than the happiness he feels when he gets his way? Even when familial similarity stops at the very basic: two eyes, two arms, ten toes? Even when you not only fail to see your wife's trademark red hair or your husband's dimpled chin, but you have nothing to tether him to ancestors arriving at Ellis Island? Even when you clearly look sixty and your ten-year old calls you Mom? (In a world of opioid addiction and mental illness, I feel the hesitation as people attempt --wrongly --to connect the dots. Pity because my child's inability to parent has saddled me with caring for a child when I should be enjoying the "golden years" of retirement. Or judgment: What sort of mother must she have been?) This can be the daily exercise of adoption.

A friend's daughter-in-law, Natalie, was kind enough to share her thoughts and a beautiful song as she worked through the hard road of infertility and the abundant gift of adoption. You might never see yourself in your children, but when you look into their eyes, you will see the image of God. That is just a bit of her message; I encourage you to click the link and be blessed. But as I listened to the words God placed on her heart, I realized how God has mercifully used the chaos and disobedience of my story to teach me and bless me. I realized how much I had taken for granted: the ability to have children and the gift of looking into my own eyes; the grace of receiving the love of children who did not depend on me, who didn't "have to" love me but loved me anyway; and the joy and the privilege of being able to discover all the gold He has placed inside each of the children He has placed in my life. Every face into which I am granted a look is evidence of His hand on my life and the lives of those around me. And I cannot say it any better than God has said it through this young mother.

 

Midweek: Anniversary (2013)

Tomorrow marks the anniversary of the attacks of 9/11 (2001). There was a time it was known as Patriot Day. Other folks once referred to it as First Responders' Day. My phone's calendar has a big empty box. Lots of space for me to make notes about pick-up times or an end of season trip to the beach. No word about lives lost or the evil that was done that day. And while our short memories are disturbing, what is more disturbing is the churches that were full in those days now limp along, trying to keep the lights on. What is more disturbing is, those who put their trust in a holy God to provide comfort and guidance during difficult days are quite hellbent (literally) on living life their own way and even denying His existence.

I pray tomorrow's anniversary would be a call to many to remember not only the events of that tragic day, but to seek the God who was with us in our grief and shock. Please allow this reprint from 2013 to remind you of God's faithfulness.

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"Where were you?" 

There aren't too many of us who, on this day, need an explanation. Some were standing in line at Starbucks, manically checking their watches. Some were breathing a sigh of relief after waving a rowdy brood off on the school bus. Those of us from the night shift were slumbering blissfully. And others? Well, we know.

"But where was God?"

I have been asked that question a few times since 9/11. The 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami. Hurricane Katrina. Moore, OK. Big theology for such a tiny blog. But here's how I see it.

He was on His throne, just where he was when the sun was peeking above the horizon that morning; when birds were trilling and the skies were bathed in color. He was keeping His eye on us, just as He was the day that really nice guy from the towing company helped you change that flat and get you to your sister's wedding in time. He was as generous as the day you bought that house for a steal, or found the $20 when you were low on gas. He was just as sovereign as the day you landed that great job, or got an A+ on your math test, or asked her to marry you (and she said "Yes!"). He had a plan, just as He did the day Hitler committed suicide in that bunker, or Nelson Mandela was born. He was with those who perished that day, just as He was the first time you heard the cry of your perfectly healthy baby boy. And He is with you today, even as you doubt His existence or His power or His love for you...just as He was the day you somehow decided He wasn't. 

So, when all the cool stuff was happening...

"Where were you?"

Learning from the Experts

"Look at that trash," I thought to myself as we headed out to school. A second look assured me that was not trash. "That's a fawn!" I exclaimed.

"Huh?" grunted our youngest from the backseat.

"It's a fawn! Right there on the sidewalk! It's just lying there!"

"It's dead?"

"No! Its head is up. But it might be hit."

I immediately began dialing Animal Control. Once I was able to get through, they directed me to the Fish and Game Commission. As I excitedly explained our discovery to the officer on the other end of the line, my mind was racing. What if the fawn tried to cross the busy street? What if children walking to school tried to touch it? What if a dog out for its walk got away from its owner and...? How do I get it into my truck? Where on earth do I take it?

"Fawns are so tiny, they can't keep up. So, Mama leaves her little one in a place she believes they will be safe. Mamas usually return within eight hours of leaving their fawns." It wasn't the officer's words as much as her tone that was so reassuring. As I thanked her and hung up, my mind began racing again. How is the side of a busy road safe? She certainly gave me an answer quickly, though. How long had the fawn been there already? Surely, Fish and Game know what they're talking about. Eight hours! Anything could happen in eight hours! If Mama was going about her business at night, though, she should be back soon. 

"How do they know?" came the voice from the backseat again. And that's when I realized what a teachable moment this was, a moment that was less about a fawn and more about what this encounter was teaching our son.

"They study does," I answered, and from there used the opportunity to teach this young man the importance of paying attention. "If we want to be like Jesus, we have to read our Bibles. We watch the disciples around us, ones we believe to be experts, ones who demonstrate Christlikeness. Like the expert on the other end of the line --we've never met her, but we know who she works for; we know she is where she is because she has knowledge and experience. We do what the experts tell us, and we imitate them. To think like a doe, the Fish and Game Commission studies does. To think like Jesus, we study Jesus." The discussion went on for a few more minutes with our son reiterating and affirming the points I was making. "That's how she got to be an expert, right? She studied does," he said in his tentative but perceptive way.  "And then she made me feel okay about what was happening. People won't feel okay about Jesus unless I know what I'm talking about, right?"

Hours later, as he hopped into the backseat, our young man immediately asked for an update. "The fawn was gone by the time I got back," I said. "It's all good! You gotta study a doe to think like a doe."

"Maaaahm," he crooned, "you gotta study Jesus to think like Jesus."