A Moment Cherished

.School's Out for Summer.

2013-06-12T19:46:00.002-04:00

Here's something you should know about me - I have unrealistic expectations - for everything. It's a big fault of mine. I am an all or nothing girl. Go big or go home. Do it well or forget about doing it at all. I make everything a huge project and go over-the-top in trying to make things special. I look forward to summer all year long, and I plan and organize and make lists and imagine in my head creative, fun, and perfect activities for the whole summer. And in my head everything is so smooth and lovely and seamless. This summer, I need to be extra creative, because Jim does not have a job, I do not have a job, and we do not have money to spend on a ton of activities.

But I still set the bar high and my expectations still were through the roof.

Typically my expectations are ridiculous and are filled with statements like this summer we are going to wake up every single morning at 6:00 and exercise as a family, and then enjoy green smoothies. The children will participate in chores and some educational activities during the morning hours while I tidy the house and do laundry. We will go to the library every single week, and we will surprise the children with fun, crazy adventures. We will be known as the crazy, cool parents, and we will have a water balloon fight every night, and the house will never get wet or messy. We will go for a family walk every single evening, sit on on our porch and sip lemon-aid and snuggle on a blanket watching the stars come out.

Every single is where I get derailed, because usually after about three days of trying to live up to my ludicrous expectations, I have thrown the towel in, and it's a free-for-all that looks nothing like my perfectly laid plans. I know that this is the pattern, and yet I planned out a bucket list again for the summer (I did plan this before Jim lost his job, so some of it is really quite ridiculous now).

I woke up tentatively excited this morning, for our first day of summer break. Let's just say that it did not meet my expectations. (Big surprise) My Jamesy has pica disorder - it is common in children with Autism. It is becoming more pronounced lately, as well as his compulsions. I am not sure if this is because of all of the changes in our life or not related at all. There is no way to know. Regardless, this morning alone, Jamesy had taken large bites out of Jim's deodorant, eaten an entire bar of soap, and then managed to find a vial of Betadine, and possibly ingested that as well. That one warranted a call to poison control. (He is fine.) I am just emotionally spent and physically exhausted (Jamesy is also only sleeping a few hours a night - thanks again to Autism.) So my excitement for the summer was waning on day number one by 1:30 in the afternoon.

As I was upstairs making tabouli for dinner tonight (and perhaps sobbing to God to please find a way for me to get a little break), Habi, who is sensitive and intuitive to my feelings and moods was downstairs putting Jamesy to nap. Only I did not know that. When I went downstairs, ready to put Jamesy down myself, I found this, and my heart melted.

We managed to still have fun today. I saw smiles on all four of my children's faces. We enjoyed the sun warm on our faces. My kiddos got dirty and stinky - a sure sign that fun was had. Habi and I worked together on some ESL/phonics work, and all-in-all we survived the first day of summer. And that, regardless of a silly bucket list is enough.

My expectations were not met, and they never will be, because this is our one, messy, beautiful life, and it is REAL and not scripted - as much as I try to make it so. Taking a deep breath and embracing it all. We only have one here and now.

.He did It.

2013-06-11T09:53:00.000-04:00

It was just the three of us, late last night. Jim and I snuggled on the couch, and Habi reclined in a chair. We were relaxing and enjoying being together. The finish line was so close that we could taste it. Today Habi woke up for his last day of his first year in an American school. And last night as Jim and I were reiterating just how proud we were of the work he had put in this year, he looked at us shyly beneath those heavy lashes and said, this is the first school year I have ever finished - not just in America. He had been hinting about that for a few weeks (prior to this, we had understood that he had completed three years of an education in Ethiopia), but came out and told us last night that he had never fully completed one. I am blown away by this child, who never completed even one year of school prior to coming here, who didn't have the rhythm of attending school, or an education background - no study skills, no learning hooks to hang all of this new information on (he had to develop them all from scratch this year), just a few days here and there of scattered education in Ethiopia, that he managed to squeeze in between working to earn money to buy food in order to literally survive. He was never taught English. Ever. He taught himself to speak it, by listening to foreigners and well educated people in Ethiopia. He somehow got a hold of the English alphabet and taught himself how to write the letters - figuring out the strokes painstakingly on his own. The fact that he does not have an education background does not diminish his brilliance, it illuminates it. He came to America, and was plopped into an accelerated private school in the seventh grade - having never completed one year of school before. How frightening this should have been.

But he did it with grace and courage. I really do not know a braver teenage boy than Habi.

As an adult, I cannot imagine that I would have done nearly as well if I were in his position. This year has not been easy. It has been miraculous, and beautiful, and emotional, but not easy. Redemption never is. God provided the perfect school for Habi to attend that would help meet his needs. It is small, close-knit, non-legalistic, and the staff went above and beyond to help Habi and to help us help Habi. I am sure this is the first time that the school had a student with the background that Habi came from, but they did not shy away from the challenge and both staff and students embraced him. Habi grew confident in this environment, and I believe for the first time he felt and knew love from so many sides. This was as valuable as the academics.

There were hours and hours of homework this year. There were tears, there was determination, there was arguments and disagreements, there was perseverance and there was discouragement. Every single person inside our family sacrificed to make this happen. When we thought we could not handle one more algebraic equation, or history date, or science definition, when we felt strangled by the literature, by the monotonous phonics work, we linked arms and did it together. And one assignment after another piled up into an entire school year, and in the midst of traveling 3 plus hours a day, Jamesy's therapies, attaching as a family, medical crises, grief for a country and loved ones an ocean away, the Spirit pushing us to move on, in the midst of the exhaustion and lies that Satan loves to feed children from hard places, in the midst of the biggest transition in all of our lives, the calendar has fallen through months and we have made it to the finish line.

And it was worth it to see Habi's beaming face this morning, to know the accomplishment he feels in having a full school year under his belt. I cannot make people understand what this year has been like, and it is not my job, to. I am learning to brush off the criticism and the emails and messages that accuse me of giving Habi more attention than my other three children. The snide remarks about how many photos took up my facebook and blog of Habi and the lacking of photos of the other three. What I cannot make people understand who have never dealt with it, is how much lost time we have to make up for, how empty his love bucket was when he came to us, how insecure, lonely, and needy our son was. How critical this first year was. How two of my children were born into a home filled with love, words of affirmation, cuddles and daily their little love buckets are filled (and were still being filled this year), and one child two years of the same, and is finally starting to understand the permanence of our love. But Habi, came to us empty, so empty in so many ways, and while his story is sacred for him so I type carefully here, he NEEDED every single time his mama or daddy bragged about him on facebook, he needed the adoration, the public display of love, the photos, the screaming and cheering from the sidelines, the over-the-top excitement for every single first. He needed it and he still needs it, and I am done apologizing or feeling guilty. Because the result and the redemption that is happening is because God guided us to love him up BIG - in outrageous ways this year. I regret none of it.

He is not the same child that we met two years ago. He is not the same child that stepped onto American soil last July. And he is not the same child who bravely entered seventh grade this September. God, truly, has changed his life......and our life in the process.

You did it, my sweet, beautiful, brave boy! Keep following Jesus, for He is so very, very near. He always was, Baby. When you felt the loneliest, He was right there. And He is here now, and so are we. I love you. To Ethiopia and back.

.Breaking the Silence.

2013-06-05T09:59:00.000-04:00

I am sitting here in the early morning hours, feeling the sun stream through the windows, sipping my coffee, and trying to organize my thoughts and my heart into words that will make sense, my fingers are ready to fly, and I will loose them. For so often, I do not know my own thoughts, feelings, and heart until I read back the words that I have written. Writing tells me how I feel.

It has been a complicated three or so weeks for our family. I don't really know where to start, because so much has transpired while my blog stood here silently waiting for words to once again fill the empty spaces. We tried a week of living separate lives - with Jim and Habi down here living with his parents, so that Habi could attend school and Jim could work crazy hours at Sweet Frog, and with the littles and I back at home juggling therapies, homeschooling, and keeping the house show-ready. It didn't work. Jim and I have always functioned best together. I know military families all over this country are separated, and I know they make it work, but we just are not wired that way. We all need each other. I had crying babies on my end missing their daddy and big brother, and Jim had a sullen teenage boy on his end missing having his family, who he fought so long and hard to have, together. It just wasn't working. So we threw things in bags and laundry baskets, and Jim drove up to sweep us all down to be together. We thought it might be temporary, and that I would go home for a few days out of every week. But it became abundantly clear, that more than ever, we needed each other. So we are here, until God moves us on.

Meanwhile, in the midst of transitioning living down here with Jim's (very gracious and welcoming) parents, Jamesy snuck out of the house and ran away - again. He managed to escape a house with four adults, a teenager, and two children, and nobody saw him do it. He is sneaky and he is fast. As soon as we realized he was missing, we all took off on a wild race around the neighborhood. Thank God we found him a few houses down the street with a neighbor. Unfortunately, we did not find him before the police were called on us - again. So, as we sat down to dinner, still shaky from the events but thankful that Jamesy was safe with us, the doorbell rang, and a police officer entered to question us. I was immediately a puddle of tears, not believing that this was happening to us again (last summer, Jamesy snuck out of our house, and Jim and I were under a CPS investigation, which was eventually cleared, but which left us very nervous and jaded about the system). BUT GOD was in it all. The police officer ended up being a fellow believer who had just finished taking a special needs training course. He told Jim that prior to going to that course, he had not realized what a flight-risk children with Autism are. He understood what happened, and he was so kind and gracious, and we were thankfully not reported to CPS. We now have a deadbolt on the front door, and are even more vigilant than we were before. It is exhausting. I broke down to my mom-in-law that night and cried that I needed a break, and that I just cannot watch him 24/7. And I can't. BUT GOD is here in this. There is so much that exhausts me about our precious Jamesy, there are so many thoughts and words that never get put on this screen. Because he is my son, and I carry so, so much guilt....guilt that was nailed to the cross. But everyday I need Jesus to take it away. However, the amazing, wonderful thing about all of this, about us living here, about Jamesy running away, is that there are two more people in the world who understand what life with Jamesy is like. We have felt so alone and misunderstood for so long, and now Jim's parents get it, and we are finding solidarity in this journey, and that makes me weep. To be understood and known is what we all desire.

And if that was not enough, Jim lost his job. His new job. I think I need to choose my words carefully here, so as not to slander a fellow brother-in Christ - Jim's former boss. Things were rough from the beginning, but the owner was building a brand new Sweet Frog store - his first, so we chocked it up to stress and Jim tolerated a lot. He worked long, hard hours. He trained hard, and he poured himself into learning how to manage the store and how to take care of the product - including how to manage the frozen yogurt, clean the machines, run the software, etc. He poured so much of himself into that job, that he began neglecting Mercy Branch - our new church plant. We whispered to each other in the night, knowing that God brought us here specifically for Mercy Branch, and yet it seemed we were only giving ourselves to the Sunday part of it - a far cry from what God had laid on our heart. We thought it would get better when the store was officially opened and Jim's hours were more set. However, soon it became clear that the verbal assaults and unrealistic expectations were not going to cease. Jim felt defeated and worn, and then last Friday he was let go. The owner was looking for someone who could give more hours and who had a restaurant management degree. In the end Jim was dealt with fairly in the leaving, but we are still in a tough spot - no insurance, little money, uncertainty about the future. I am struggling with bitterness. Jim, however, has more clarity and maturity. He believes that God gave him the Sweet Frog job as a security blanket to actually makes us leave our church in Norwich. We had talked and prayed about it for so, so long, but had not made any action step. We were nervous. God has changed so much of our lives these past three years, yet we still cling to certain securities and are only willing to risk certain things. {cringe} We are human - we fight our flesh just as much as the next person. We are so ordinary and frail. So God, knowing this, gave Jim Sweet Frog, setting it up to look like the perfect job to give us the security we needed to leave and allow us to plant the church of our dreams. And with that in our pocket we walked away from our church with stars in our eyes, ready for our new adventure. And then this - Jim loses that security. And now we realize what it truly was - just a bridge to get us to leave and move us to action. What this means for the future - we do not know. But we have eight weeks where Jim will be getting small paychecks to figure it out. So we are going to fast and pray and seek God's face in this.We are vacillating between a few options for income. Mercy Branch continues to flourish - slowly, steadily, and God is so inside of it. We now have more intentional time to invest into it, and that alone is a gift.

So this is where we sit today - waiting for our home to sell, jobless, no health insurance, and still in the honeymoon phase with our new church. And God sits here with us. We said from the very beginning that we knew without a doubt that God was asking us to move here and plant this church, but we also said that He did not give us the guarantee that this would work - only that we were to follow Him. Little did we know how quickly the job part of the equation would not work out. But we are together, life is already simpler - Habi walks home from school everyday, as we live about 3 blocks away now, Jamesy is speaking in phrases (our favorite that brings us all to giggles is "Hey, knock it off!") in just this short time here with less crazy busyness, and the children are happy - really happy . Jim and I have more time together than we have had in a few years, and we are having beautiful breakthroughs with Habi, and more time to enjoy each other as a family. We have taken more walks these past few weeks than we have taken in a year. Cadi and Scotty have made fast friends with the backyard neighbors and are often found in their yard during the afternoon. My heart is happy to hear their giggles.

Jim and I are pouring through the book of Luke, and we are learning so very much about the posture of our Jesus. He was such a renegade! As I read the stuff that He did, and how He was accused of being a drunk and a party animal and a friend of sinners, because of His lifestyle, I am so struck by how the churches I come from would react to Him today. A lot of the stuff I was taught before is being questioned as we read this book with fresh eyes. I am desperate to get rid of the Pharisaical practices that permeated so much of my church experiences. It is exciting. It is freeing. So here we are, together in this adventure, following Jesus, trusting Him inside of the chaos. And He is truly right here.

.And Yet I Write.

2013-05-14T15:03:00.001-04:00

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It ebbs and flows through us all. It is a part of us. None of us can escape it, and we all love a good one. It's the link from the beginning of time, and we all live it every single day - a story. Each of us is inside one, and our one connects with his one and her one and the ultimate One. We are all story tellers, proclaiming our story with paint, with pencil, with a keyboard, with lips, with life, with the stage, with a podium, in front of a classroom, in front of our children, in churches, backyards, grocery stores, and songs. Our story is ever-changing, growing, developing, and maturing. We were born to tell our story, because the broken pieces of our story are exactly what He uses to make His story known.

For almost eight years now, I have used blogging as the biggest medium to story tell. I am discovering how many different pages I have turned in these eight years. I have been broken, side-tracked, stretched, redeemed, wronged and wrong. Looking back, some of the conclusions that I came to in telling my story, would be very different today if I were to write it again. However, we all proclaim what we know, and we tell the story from the perspective we have in that moment. We are all in a process of change. Life is not static. We cannot live out our story, and come out on the other side the exact same character as we were when we entered the story. It's not possible.

There is power in a story, but sometimes it is intimidating and exhausting to tell it. Sometimes we feel as if we are competing with all of the stories around us, and they can be so loud and so very good. Sometimes ours seems weak and unworthy, and we wonder if our voice should even be inserted into the noise. Because sometimes our voice changes, and the story that we told so boldly and so surely before has changed. So why bother, if we are only going to continue to grow in our understanding and perspective of life? Somedays I want to call it quits, and find another medium, because this one collects the changes too easy and stacks them up and makes me squirm at the me of yesterday. Did I really believe that and write that? I don't even remember those words or feelings or opinions. And yet they are all weaved into my story, and without them my story wouldn't be authentic.

His grace redeems every broken bit of this story, every changed idea and thought, and He uses this tiny offering to mesh with someone elses story. I have seen it over and over and over. So, on the days when I want to shut the laptop, perhaps I do, and recently I have, but maybe I don't, and maybe in the broken, messed up parts of this story - when I write too certainly and heavily - maybe just maybe His mercy shrouds it and buffers it. Because I have seen these words here, ones that now I may cringe at and may not ever remember feeling so passionate about, fill up an empty place inside of someone else. I have seen God use my inadequacies, in telling this story, in ways that only He ever could.

Every time I step away from this space, take a deep breath, reevaluate if this matters, I am gently nudged back. Every single time He brings me back, and whispers write. Just write, with all of your heart, soul, and mind. Write from your heart and from your now. Because I want to be perfected in all of Your weaknesses. Splay yourself open and write out your soul, because it is there where redemption in the brokenness will be seen. It is there where I will be seen. It's your story, and it matters, because I am writing it. I am the one changing it - and changing you.

So, I just write. My fingers fly, my heart races. It is exhilarating It is what I am meant to do. I was created to share in words written down and bled out on a page or a screen. They are not the most beautiful or the best. Someone else does this better. Sometimes I am sure, and sometimes I am shaky. Sometimes the story changes, and sometimes pages need to be ripped out. And yet, I write, because this is mine to share. These words are a part of me and and a part of this moment.

This is my offering, my worship, my heart.

.Community.

2013-05-13T15:31:00.000-04:00

As we seek out to build this new kind of church, there is one theme that continues to stand out in the front - community. We see it in the book of Acts in the first church (Acts 2:42-47) - goodness - they were DEVOTED to one another. Can you just imagine a community devoted to one another? A community that loved each other so much that they desired to share their lives with each other? That is exactly the first church that God established, and yet, I look at so many churches today and see how very far we have drifted from this mind set. How we have let our culture dictate our posture towards each other. We see this beautiful relationship perfectly lived out, way back in Genesis at the beginning of this created world - God, Jesus, and the Spirit were all in community with one another. The theme is woven throughout history, time, the Bible, and our world - although sometimes it is hard to find here in our culture which values individualism so much. One thing that resonated with me the most about Ethiopia, was the community that was there - people doing life together. And the women - oh, how beautiful the women were - loving on each other with lavish kisses, and literally raising babies together. They truly had a village. And I came home with an ache, because for the first time I realized, I truly did not, but I was desperate for it - breathless for it.

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We were not created to live life in isolation. And yet, so many of us carry these excruciating battle scars that keep us running from community. I am right there, too; I make the same excuses, carry the same scars, and have the same fears. As an introvert, it is easy for me to retreat, pull away from people, and become a hermit. It is comfortable, and it is second nature. And although, many times it truly feels like a security blanket to me, it is not the way that God intended me to live out this one life. Even as an introvert, I still need my people.

And the truth is, we all do.

But tragically, especially for women, community is complicated. If we are honest, we have all been on the receiving end of a hurtful community or friendship. The past wounds inflicted on our heart from other women, leave us questioning whether it is even worth it. The emotional reactions that surface when we think of past experiences are bitter and real. Disappointment burns, betrayal bites, women and their words wound so deeply. And yet, we desire a community where we can be real and raw and broken and messy - a community where we can be transparent and vulnerable with no fear that we will be met with criticism and judgement. We want a community that takes on the posture of Jesus, where God shows up, and where the Spirit weaves. We deeply need community with other people - with other women. We want to know other women intimately and, we need to be known in the same way, and we need to be safe in the knowing. We need a place where we can know that it is okay to not be okay, and where we do not have to answer every "How are you?" with "Fine". Because none of us are fine, and it is okay to not be fine.

For a lot of years, I have learned to hide behind that "fine". I have hid for so long, that now at 33 years old, I am just uncovering the real me - the one that doesn't have to be hidden. The one who doesn't have to pretend to be perfect and put-together in order to be accepted. I have lived a lifetime of surface relationships, arm-length friendships, withdrawal, isolation, masking - faking. I thought I had to in order to be liked and accepted, and while it band aided the pain of rejection, it kept me from being healed and redeemed in community. It kept me from community. It kept me jaded and cynical and not able to maintain deep friendships, because although I am an introvert, I don't do shallow well, or small-talk. I like to go deep fast, get to the heart, but that is terrifying - for me and probably for other women.

I am desperate for community though, and friendship with women. I finally am beginning to see that this is what I am craving - a safe place to laugh and share stories, to cry with and for one another, to enter another person's pain and journey and life. My defenses and callousness and hurts and fears need to be melted away. I need a community where I can mess up and not be a good friend, and be grabbed by the neck and not let go. Because I won't be good at it - at least not right away. I want to be bare before my sisters - blemishes, scars, warts and all. I desire that genuine connection that God desires for us all. I yearn for community, and am excited about the women that God is putting into this new season of my life.

The best is yet to be.

.When Your Dream Can't Compare.

2013-05-10T12:21:00.001-04:00

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

H. Jackson Brown Jr.

My generation is fierce and passionate and hands-on. We see a problem, and we rise up to fix it. We are not content to sit on the sidelines and watch or do something the same way over and over, with no results, simply because that is how it has always been done before. We want to see change in our world, and we want to be part of that change - starting in our homes, families, churches, communities, and ultimately spreading into the world. We have big, vast dreams and the heart to push those dreams into fruition. The men and women in my generation are brave and bold and beautiful. We are potential just waiting to be splayed open.

My generation wants to make a difference, and we want our dreams to matter.

But we are also easily discouraged, because sometimes we get so bogged down in the size of our dreams. Sometimes we start comparing the size of our dream to the size of her dream, and the dream we once thought was so big and captivating and worthy seems so minuscule and pathetic and not enough. And it feels like we we are just a tiny drop in a huge ocean, and we can never make a difference. So sometimes my generation loses that passion, that fire, that persistence, and we retreat into the dark canopy of apathy. And while we are comparing our dream to hers and feeling defeated, we forget that we are being pursued by Jesus. We forget that the pursuit of Jesus is so much bigger then anything we could ever chase after. We forget that when we seek Him, our dreams, are His dreams. Even if it seems to pale in comparison to her dream, it is the perfect one that He has for you for right now. You are the only one that can accomplish that God-sized dream, it was created for you. Jesus is in you, and he wants to bring that dream to life through you in a unique way that He will not do with anyone else - because it is His dream for you.

So when we surf the internet and read about the huge things that they are doing for the Kingdom, when we watch our sisters publish books and lead women's conferences, and that family move to Haiti to share Jesus, or that Pastor shepherd the mega church, or we see the huge ministry that she started, and our hearts twist, just take a deep breath and stop comparing. It's not about the size of the dream, it is about the size of our God, who will manifest Himself in your dream. Be courageous, be brave, link arms, knowing that God uses it all for His Kingdom - the great, big dreams and the smaller ones. Embrace that unique, just for you, dream that has been planted in your heart. Don't question the size, don't compare it to theirs. Dig deep, there is a dream inside of you, you do not have to travel to find it, it is already there. Just be still and listen for it, for the dream that belongs to you and only you. Nobody else can do what Jesus is calling you to do. Because He has a role custom designed with you in mind, nobody else fits it like you do. Focus on your dream - the one that He is right now whispering into your heart. Don't focus on her dream or changing the whole world, that will lead to discouragement and an overwhelmed soul. He has not equipped you for their dream, He has perfectly equipped you for yours.

Your dream is what will make a difference. It matters. And it looks different than her dream and his dream and their dream. It looks like your dream, and together, following our individual dreams, we will make a difference. Break up with self-doubt, throw off comparison, squelch the jealousy, set down regret there are issues just waiting to be resolved, the Kingdom has a hole that only your dream can perfectly fit into. Settle in right where you are. You have everything you need to accomplish it, because in your weakness He is there - perfect and ready to use you.

.For Her.

2013-05-09T10:47:00.000-04:00

He is hers, and he is mine. He is ours. Her incredible loss was my incredible gift. And while I cannot imagine my world without him, poverty robbed her of life with him. There is not a single day that goes by that I do not realize this. It is a gut check every single morning. It makes for very complicated feelings in my heart. What if the roles were reversed? What if it was I who was there, struggling with starvation and preventable diseases, struggling with poverty and injustice squelching out my dreams? What if she was the one gifted with raising my children?

She is my link to his past, and we are eternally entwined. She is the only one who knows the way those first bumps, kicks, and wriggles felt inside of her swollen belly. And I am the one who knows the tears he cries for her, and how her pain is reflected in his heart. She knows the anguish of laboring him to life; while I know the anguish of laboring him here. She has all of his yesterdays, the ones I will never, ever know. I have all of his tomorrows, the ones she will never, ever know. She knows the dreams and prayers she breathed over his newborn face. She knows his first cry and first gasp for breath, and I wonder even in those first moments, if she knew that their time together was fleeting - flowing through her fingertips like fine grains of sand. I wonder if she breathed in his curls a little longer. I wonder if her tears came hot and fast as she wondered where the food would come from, and how she could feed herself in order to feed her son. I wonder if she was scared. I know her heart was breaking. I wonder if she held him tight to her chest and pleaded for his life.

With Jamesy's first steps my heart soared and then peaked at the knowing that she was missing it. I squealed for both of us.

When Habi scored that first soccer goal for his school team, my eyes burned with tears. She wasn't here to shake that cowbell and make a wild scene for our boy. So I did for both of us.

When the doctor told us Jamesy could see, rivers of scorching tears trickled the curves of my cheeks, and I begged God to let her know that our boy with the shaky gorgeous eyes could SEE.

When Habi's blood tests all came out clear and negative, I wanted to dance with joy for her, knowing that she knew more than anyone in the world what a miracle that was.

With every new word that Jamesy gains, and every time his deep brown eyes find mine and he says Mama, my heart skips a beat, and I cherish it for both of us.

With every I love you, Mommy, I reassure Habi of my love and her love. Two women fiercely in love with the same boy.

Every time I tuck them in at night, stroke their curls, kiss their lids, I linger longer for her. Every milestone, accomplishment, late night talk, hug, kiss, kitchen dance, giggle is all soaked up for both of us. She is a part of them and a part of me. Two different Ethiopian women and then American me. Two brave, courageous women that poverty has stolen what was most precious to them. And while adoption is the most beautiful experience I have ever been inside of, it is also the most horrific and ugly as it is mottled with so much pain, so much loss, so much injustice. This is not how it should be. Poverty should not rob a child of its mother and a mother of its child, and while by the time I entered the picture for my boys it was too late, and the only thing left to do was what we did, for many children and mothers living in poverty, it is not too late. It is not too late to give these mommies the chance to experience first steps, first giggles, first day of school, bedtime kisses and prayers. It is not too late to allow a child to grow up in his or her beautiful culture and be adored by birth family and surrounded with love. As a mother to two birth children and two children born only in my heart, this is something I am passionate about. While adoption is viable and necessary in cases like my sons', the best and most ideal situation is to keep children with their birth families when possible- despite poverty. Poverty is not a reason to separate families.

This Mother's Day, rather than giving that special mother in your life flowers or jewelry, why not give them the gift of supporting mothers and children surrounded by poverty, so that they can stay and flourish together? It is as simple as making a one time donation to Compassion in honor of the special mom in your life, or partner with Compassion's Child Survival Program in ongoing support. Jesus can offer these moms hope that life can be different. I want to be part of this difference.

My heart is for these mothers - these brave, beautiful, courageous mothers, who daily battle things that I could never dream of battling, all while I sit in my safe, comfortable home sipping coffee. Today I want you to think about these mothers - sisters across the world. What if it was you? Let's link arms and fight for these women to have a chance to love their babies to adulthood. Let's not close our eyes, turn our heads, and be silent.

Today I write this for her and for her. To Habi's first mommy and to Jamesy's first mommy - Happy Mother's Day - you are forever in my heart. Every time I look into his eyes, I see you there. I love him for the both of us, and he will know of your love in my touch, in my words, and in my heart for him. This is for you and for you.

.Reclaiming the Bride.

2013-05-08T14:50:00.000-04:00

I first noticed it and began to understand it when we arrived home from our first trip to Ethiopia in January of 2011. I had been to a culture that wasn't driven by it, and it opened my eyes to my culture which is. Consumerism. We live in a country who is consumed with consuming. It has infiltrated our homes, our churches, our hearts, our lives - and our souls. Everything around us is positioned to help our wants, lusts, and desires to be met and to be met quickly before the next desire surfaces. We grasp for more and better and bigger, and we consume until we are bloated, lethargic shells of what we were created to be. Because it is all futile, fake, and fleeting, and it is never, ever enough. We can point fingers and say it is the world and those without Jesus who have fallen victim, but I dare say that the Church - the Bride - has swallowed consumerism hook, line, and sinker. I will go as far to even say we have amplified it. We cater to the needs of the saved rather then pouring our lives into making disciples. We are afraid to rock the boat - afraid to disgruntle that person who puts a fat check in the plate each Sunday. We grasp for bigger churches, better programs, flashier music, fuller offering plates, brighter billboards and advertisements that have so little to do with Jesus, and in return we exchange our souls for consumerism rather than the abundant life we were promised. Abundant life and consumerism cannot coexist. We sit on our bottoms on plush pews and complain about "not being fed" and "the contemporary music" or "the outdated hymns" and "the teenager worshiping in ripped jeans". We desire comfort and for it to be done "our way" to "our preference", and all the while the world around is dieing to know our Jesus and to know that His followers really are different.

But are we?

Are we really different? Are we really disciples of Jesus? If we attract people to our churches using consumerism, then the only way to keep them there is with consumerism. Or else they will just move on to the church down the road that will meet their needs and desires, and the nasty cycle spirals out of control. I look at the life of Jesus and study His Good News, and this consumerism that we have become enchanted with, is not found there. It is actually antithetical to the invitation that Jesus gives us to follow Him and to spread the news of His Kingdom and His Good News. It is antithetical to Jesus' Gospel. This consumerism is contrary to the teachings of Jesus, the One who beckoned us to deny ourselves and lose our lives in order to find them.

It seems to me in getting sucked into this pit of consumerism we have traded Jesus for a product - a product that has fed and encouraged consumerism not true discipleship. A product that has just become a band aid, a facade, a mask - offering no real hope or change - because so little in us is changed. I want to erase the marketing, the product that I have helped to create, because I am so much a part of this problem. I want to tear off the band aid and replace it with His healing. I want to rip down the masks and walls and expose the imperfections that show off His perfectness.I want to fight the consumerism and my personal desires and comfort, and strip it all away to Jesus. I want to fall in love with Jesus again - or maybe really for the first time. I want to serve Him, love Him, and make much of Him. And when the programs are not flashy enough, when the offering plates are a little less full, and the music isn't my taste, when the sermon didn't resonate with me like I had hoped it would, and when people let me down, I want to know that all that matters in this world and in the Church is Jesus. I want to be captivated by Jesus, not by the video feed on Sunday morning, or the praise and worship band, or the promise of another Bible study and better coffee. I want to know the abundant life that repels consumerism and looks so counter-cultural to those on the outside looking in. I want a part in reclaiming the Bride and breathing fresh life into her. Mostly, I want to know Jesus.

And Jesus is enough. Because nothing - nothing else ever will be.

.Sweet Spot.

2013-05-03T15:02:00.000-04:00

I've found that sweet spot once again. You know the one? The spot that embraces your entire being and makes your soul soar? The sweet spot that one can only get to when she is following Jesus exactly where He calls? It's been a long, dark, hard winter. Excruciating really. Too much busyness, too much stress, too much anxiety. We knew God was calling us to something, but the Spirit wasn't being clear on where or how or when. There was a restlessness in our souls that consumed us. And then busyness, oh the busyness was intolerable. God did not create us for such busyness. He created us to be in relationships, and relationships are suffocated by busy. It was my deepest, darkest winter, my soul was buried, my joy was muffled, I was in a fog of doldrums - not quite depression, but more than the blues.

But I've come up for air and have been enveloped in that sweet spot, walking beside my Jesus, so full of contentment and joy and just plain happy, happy, happy. I am excited about our future. I have no idea how it will work out. We have to sell this house. We have to find another one. We have to come up with tuition for three kiddos next year, but I am at peace. I wouldn't rather be anywhere else right now than this very spot. We are planting a church - a very different church. And although Jesus has called us to this, there is absolutely no guarantee that the road He is paving will be a road of success for this church. We long for that. We long to build a community that is a beautiful part of the bride. We long to breathe life into the body and see the Kingdom grow. But we have no way of knowing what lies ahead.

For today I am so okay with that.

The sun is shining.

The birds are chirping.

And I am resting in that sweet spot.

I am guarding my heart and this sweet spot, because I know that the valleys and the mountains will come again. Sometimes following Jesus leads to this sweet spot and sometimes it leads to suffering. We participate in His joy and His suffering. The sweetness can only be tasted after the bitter. I think it is only noticed and fully reveled in after the bitter.

Reveling in it today.

When was the last time you hit that sweet spot? Are you there now?

.I am Dreaming Again.

2013-04-16T10:41:00.000-04:00

My little Jamesy woke up with a low grade fever this morning, so we are keeping it calm today and cancelling his therapies. I am just starting to feel better after an intense tummy bug, and since Habi can now commute with Jim most mornings and afternoons, my afternoon is open, so I can afford to have a gentle morning. I used to take these so for granted. Not anymore.

I was sitting here, being still and recounting the ways that God has mercifully sustained our family through the craziest year of our life. We thought we had known crazy before; we were so wrong. We have never been so busy, so tired, or so spent - emotionally, physically, spiritually. I did some calculations and realized that since September, we have spent approximately $7200 on GAS for our minivan for Habi's transportation for school. That money has been nowhere in our budget, and being transparent, there is no way we could budget it in a way to afford it ....but God can and did, and He provided. On top of that our family has had some burdening medical bills and have added in lawyer fees, with more on the horizon. We have spent approximately 420 hours in our van, on the road, (that is 2.5 weeks!) not to mention the hours of therapies, the hours of homeschooling, ministry, dreaming and planning our new church, and then the hours of "life" squeezed in between. Although to be honest, I have felt pretty lifeless, and as if I was just being dragged through these days. We have been stretched until there has been nothing left to give, and sadly some relationships have been severed, because at this point in our lives, we truly had nothing left to give. Jim and I both broke down about that many times this past year, just sobbing saying we had nothing left to pour out. It was all being poured out to survive one day at a time, there were no leftovers. I have learned that although we have signed on to this crazy, nobody else signed on with us, and they have the freedom to enter in or walk away. We have seen a lot of the latter, but it has been exactly what we have needed to see. Although, it did not always feel that way, it was a grace gift, and I am accepting it and moving forward with no bitterness. I think it will allow us to be more compassionate in the future about really entering inside the pain and crazy of others. We know what it is to walk it alone. It also brought us to the breaking point in knowing God was calling us to something new, and knowing us, if we had been any more comfortable, if we had had more people wrap around us, we may not have been willing to hear His calling. We may have stayed, when clearly we shouldn't.

I am finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. I am finally sleeping more than a few hours at a time again. And I can joyfully look back and see grace and mercy poured out on our family by the One Who never left our side, by the One who on many days dragged us over the finish line. We've known for a long time that something had to change, that this was not how God intended us to be living life - because truly we were not living.

I am dreaming again.

I am dreaming of the church of our dreams - as Jen Hatmaker, a fellow adoptive Mama and church-planting wife, encouraged us with recently, Build the church you're dreaming of, the one you would actually attend. It's the best thing I can tell you. Throw out someone else's model or matrix and dream up the church you're craving.

And that's what we are doing - we are dreaming and building. We are dreaming of a simple church stripped down from programs. legalism, and traditions; a church that functions like family. A church as bare as the church in Acts. I am dreaming of finally finding and being surrounded by my people. It is something we all crave, because it is how we were created - to know and be known, and love and be loved, and accept and be accepted, and just be a part of a people. People that I can just be me with, and invest and be invested in in such a way that out of our overflow we are all able to invest in our city and our world. We all desire people to link arms with us and dive in the messiness of life with us. And Jim and I are finally to a point in our life, where we are willing to fight against culture for these relationships. We are stripping away so much of our life in order to make this possible, and I have never been more excited - yes, me - even as an introvert - needs this.

I am dreaming of a church that Jesus would attend. A church that extends mercy to the poor, the needy, the marginalized, as well as the polished, wealthy, and worldly. A church that goes to the least as well as extends an invitation to them. A church that is known by it's posture, because it has a posture like Jesus. A church that understands that part of the gospel is the incarnation of Jesus, and part of being a disciple of Jesus is incarnating like Jesus.

I am dreaming of a simpler life, knowing that does not mean that the road ahead will be easy, but it has to be simpler than this. And with that simplicity has come some sacrifices and some tears, and God has ripped down ideals I had specifically about schooling. He has opened my eyes, and shown me how tight-fisted and proudly certain I have been about our prior choices. He has shown us how those choices do not fit into the life God is leading us on any longer. How those choices do not fit into the mission he is laying out for our family. God is closing the door on a part of our life that at one time I found a part of my identity in, and in doing that it is also something that I built up to be an idol. It made me self-righteous, indignant and altogether merciless. Exactly who I do not want to be. So God is stripping away priorities we had in our life, in order to realign our life with His mission. It has taken me months to fully accept this and surrender, but I have.

And now I am dreaming again. And it feels so beautiful and right.

If you want to understand more of what we are dreaming about, and how to better pray for us, please check out our Mercy Branch Church website. And if you are curious about our name, you can read about it here. This website is a work-in-progress, and so is our church - so are we. Please give us grace. We would love to have you follow us on twitter and facebook as well.

I am dreaming again about being more disciplined in my writing, so I hope to connect with so many of you again in my little corner of the web. Until then - what are you dreaming?

.When Jesus says "Follow Me".

2013-04-08T20:22:00.000-04:00

For awhile now we have been restless, unsettled, and uncomfortable. It has taken unique circumstances in our life this year to understand what the remedy to this would be, and how Jesus is once again pursuing our hearts and inviting us into His beautiful story. It is with bittersweet excitement that this story is leading us to sell our home, for Jim to resign from his current pastorate, and for us to move our family an hour south and plant a church.

There were many things that pushed us in this direction. Jesus has been whispering hotly in our ears follow Me for some time now, and we prayed and we searched and we wrestled with where He was having us to follow. Our hearts and instincts immediately went to Ethiopia, and we were nearly giddy with expectation that this could be where He was leading. However, as we prayed and talked and prayed some more, it become blatantly clear that, for now, Ethiopia is not where we are to follow. The medical, physical, and cognitive needs of our Jamesy, at this time, just do not make Ethiopia a viable option for our family. When we stepped back, and took a deep breath, and removed our emotion from the picture, we could so easily see that God had very plainly and purposefully brought Jamesy and Habi out of Ethiopia for now. We wrestled through other options across our country - so many of them good, exciting options - like moving to Illinois -near some dear friends. And all the while we wrestled and prayed, our life grew more and more chaotic here as so much of our life was now being spent over an hour from our home and next to Habi's school.

As we began to see how our lives were physically shifting away from where we were living, and the tension and stress that it was bringing to our once, simple, comfortable life, God began to plant a new dream in our hearts. A dream for a new kind of church, a new kind of community. A dream of solidarity with the poor, the mistreated, the outcasts, the marginalized. A new understanding of the posture of Jesus and what it really means to follow Him and live like He lived. A realization that a church that Jesus was leading would be socially active, and that the church is exactly who should be leading in caring for people in need. A knowledge that knowing and saying absolutely must be matched with doing.

This passage began burrowing itself into our hearts, and we are crazy enough to believe that Jesus actually wants us to do what He asks.

When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter,“Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?”

“Yes, Lord,” he said, “you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.”

Again Jesus said, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

He answered, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Take care of my sheep.”

The third time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, “Do you love me?” He said, “Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my sheep. Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then he said to him,“Follow me!” (John 21:15-19 - emphasis mine)

This was a dream that we could no longer ignore.

To say that this has been an easy decision would be a lie. Following Jesus is always costly, and this new journey is no different. When I wrap myself up in my own emotions and flesh, I am scared and sad. This is the city and the church that I have literally grown up in. It was a dream of mine to raise my babies here, in this small country city, a mile away from my parents. I remember when we moved into this home, our first home, just five years ago, feeling that we would raise our babies to adulthood and grow old in this home. But slowly and graciously God has been tearing down these things, which have honestly become idols in my life. I am gaining a new understanding that this is absolutely not my home, that this life is short, and that I want to make this one, short, beautiful life really count for the kingdom. I am done storing up treasures here on earth. I am done replacing God's best for my life with good things. Now when we look at homes to purchase, I am no longer envisioning the home as forever, now we are talking about things like Is this a house that we could easily sell in the future? Because I am understanding now, more than ever before, that at any time Jesus could whisper again follow Me

Jim resigned from our church this Sunday, and is currently employed as a manager of a Sweet Frog. We are dreaming and building a new community and church alongside some beautiful people, whom God literally dropped in our laps as confirmation that we were truly following Him. We are working on getting our house on the market and praying that God sells it quickly, and then we move. Right now we will be commuting a lot and living part time in our new city. We are excited and terrified about this new adventure and our new church plant. While we know with all of our being that this is what we are being called to, God has not revealed to us whether or not we will be successful in this journey There is no guarantee. All we can do is free fall and follow - no looking back, that is what we have learned to do when Jesus says follow Me.

Jesus replied, "No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God." Luke 9:62

.A Small Life.

2013-03-07T17:10:00.000-05:00

The Spirit put this on my heart today, so I had to find one of my photos from Ethiopia and share. This is truth. We serve a BIG God.

So knowing and believing that truth let's:

Live BIG

Pray BIG

Work BIG

Forgive BIG

Love BIG

Play BIG

Serve BIG

Give BIG

Risk BIG

Do BIG.

There's nothing small about our God, and there is nothing small about this one, beautiful life that He has blessed us with. And we only have ONE life, so LIVE. IT. BIG.

.On my {Proverbial} Night Stand.

2013-02-26T13:02:00.000-05:00

“A room without books is like a body without a soul.” ― Marcus Tullius Cicero

“If you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking.” ― Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

“I cannot live without books.” ― Thomas Jefferson

These books are currently on my {proverbial} night stand. (I do not have a night stand.) A few of these books, I am rereading. I am currently trying to read the Bible from cover-to-cover in 40 days (for Lent) with some girl friends, but I am behind. I seriously cannot live without books, without reading, without words. I love that the main way God chose to communicate with us is with written words. Aaah, my love language. My husband has offered to purchase a Kindle for me so many times, but I also love the feeling of a book in my hand. So, I am not quite there yet. {grin}

The other day Jim came home with his arms laden with books for me. I felt so, so loved and understood.

It doesn't matter how busy my life gets, I have to make time for reading (and writing). How do I find time?

I read while I cook.
I read while giving my children a bath.
I read in the bathroom {blush}.
I read on the treadmill.
I read while in the van waiting for Habi to get out of school.
I read early in the morning and late at night. (Late at night is when I do most of my reading. I have insomnia anyway, so why not read? Sleep is overrated!)
I read while rocking or swinging Jamesy.
I read while Cadi is reading in school.

This quote could describe me, and my obsession with reading.

My mother was very sharing of this feeling of insatiability. Now, I think of her as reading so much of the time while doing something else. In my mind’s eye The Origin of Species is lying on the shelf in the pantry under a light dusting of flour—my mother was a bread maker; she’d pick it up, sit by the kitchen window and find her place, with one eye on the oven. I remember her picking up The Man in Lower Ten while my hair got dry enough to unroll from a load of kid curlers trying to make me like my idol, Mary Pickford. A generation later, when my brother Walter was away in the Navy and his two little girls often spent the day in our house, I remember Mother reading the new issue of Time magazine while taking the part of the Wolf in a game of “Little Red Riding Hood” with the children. She’d just look up at the right time, long enough to answer—in character—“The better to eat you with, my dear,” and go back to her place in the war news.
–Eudora Welty, One Writer’s Beginnings

So, what's on your night stand? You know....in case I run out of reading material. {wink}

.The Truth Is.

2013-02-25T14:33:00.000-05:00

It plagues me.

I've never talked about this here - or anywhere, and I never have allowed myself to realize how much this haunts me - until today. I'm going there, but I am not yet sure if I can make myself publish this.

I dream about it, waking up in a cold sweat, heart pounding, and my stomach queasy. Fear hangs over me, and I hate it. It dampens the joy a bit, and it hovers mockingly. I know the fear is not from God. I wish that fear would just leave my life forever. Its grip is cruel and ridiculous. I am frustrated that I am still dealing with this old, horrible issue. The same issue I have battled my entire life.

I fear this will all end, and he will be sent back. To type that just adds to the fear, to admit "out loud" the possibility that this really could come to an abrupt and ugly halt. And although sometimes my fears are irrational, this one is wrapped up in reality. I know that my God is bigger, and I know and marvel over all that God did to join our family together. But the fear snakes around my heart and hisses the fact that his visa expires this July, and that really, we have no ties to him. That's only a little over three months away. I know the truth that he can stay on an expired visa, but just the thought of an expired visa makes my heart race a little faster.

The truth is, he's not mine.

As much as I feel like he is, as much as I know in my heart that he is my son, and that there is no difference with the way I love him, then if I had carried him nine months and birthed him; I also realize that beyond that, I have no real, legal rights to him as my son. And just being completely transparent, it is a scary place to be. I have lost my heart completely to this child. I am trying to savor every single moment, with the knowing that it could be taken away. It makes me physically sick to understand what that means - for him - for us.

My camera documents everything, my eyes and heart have been opened to anything that we can celebrate and cherish and applaud. I have written down memories upon memories, and I have tucked so many of our conversations into my heart. These past, almost eight months, I have poured my life out into all four of my children, but especially into him, because if something happens, if this all comes to a crashing, horrific ending, I don't ever, ever want him to question whether he was loved, wanted, and cherished.

The truth is, none of these children are mine, and for a person with chronic control issues, that's a tough pill to swallow. I know that any of the four could succumb to an illness or a horrible accident at any time. I know the truth that they are all God's, and that He is just letting me steward the responsibility of raising them in the here and now. Tomorrow is not promised. But I don't sit in fear over the other three. It's just the one.

I am not just sitting here wallowing in fear, though; we are fighting to make this permanent. Most days that knowledge let's me push back the fear. But today it's choking me. I just want to cocoon my family away from the world, away from the questions as to why we chose this, and the accusations about why we post on facebook so much about Habi, and why we make such a big deal about Habi, well, I guess this is an authentic, painful peak into the why. I guess this is one of the reasons why we are told not to judge people, because so many times we do not have all of the facts. Perhaps if you were in my shoes, with the reality that you could lose your child, you would do something differently. I hope that I would accept that.

There is nothing beautiful or glamorous about this post. It's not very thought-out or well-written, and I cannot wrap it up into a sweet, little spiritual conclusion that ends in a but it's all going to be alright. We have no guarantee that this will end the way we are fighting for it to end. What I can do, is hug that big boy extra tightly when he comes home tonight, and memorize the way he smells, and the sound of his laugh, the way his hair curls against his ears, and how his eyes light up when Jamesy says a word, and the kindness that radiates from him when he is helping Scotty, and the spunky way that he picks on Cadi, and then moments later wraps her in his arms and tells her what a good sister she is. I can celebrate his 100% on his vocabulary tests which he worked so hard on studying for, and I can notice the way he watches his dad, then emulates him, and beams when his dad calls the man out in him. For today that is what I can do. I cannot do anything to be certain that this will last, or that he is here to stay, but I can be present in the here and now. I can and I will do that.

And for today, that will have to be enough.

.Gena Revisted {Ethiopian Recipes}.

2013-02-22T12:05:00.000-05:00

{Hover mouse over center of photo to Pin it!}

Habi hand grinding fresh roasted Ethiopian coffee beans. A coffee ceremony with sweet popcorn served is an absolute must!

I have been meaning to share these recipes for weeks now, but time just slips through my fingers. I am finally getting around to sitting down and typing these out. These Ethiopian recipes will most likely only be of interest to families who have adopted children from Ethiopia (or perhaps other African countries), but maybe if you are a foodie, or like to experiment in the kitchen, you will find a recipe that interests you.

Ethiopia celebrates Christmas on a different day then we do here in America. This year Gena (Christmas) was on January 7th. We kept Habi home from school, and we went all out in celebrating. The day ended up being really fun and special, and we made some great memories together as a family. It is very important for us to be able to tie in Ethiopian culture with our American life. I never want my boys to forget their beautiful heritage or to be ashamed about where they came from, so we celebrate it whenever we can. Our family is really blessed to have Habi in our family, he came to us older and with so many memories from his life and Ethiopian culture that he can share with us. There is so much that he has taught us, and it makes my heart happy that these traditions will be passed down to Jamesy.

I love Ethiopian cuisine. I could seriously eat it every. single. day. I know that probably sounds strange to people who have more milder taste preferences, but as for me - I crave it. Many of the recipes are spicy. The key spice used in Ethiopia is berbere - it is a red pepper spice. The spiciness of a dish is typically determined by how much of this spice is used. You can purchase berbere here. I also found a recipe for it here. We purchase ours in Ethiopia and bring it back with us, as it is much cheaper that way.

Most Ethiopian dishes are served on top of injera (a large sour flat bread), the food is eaten sans silverware and is scooped up using broken pieces of injera. Ethiopians only use their right hand when eating, and the left hand is placed on their lap. Typically a meal is served on a big communal plate that everyone shares - meals are very relationship oriented. I have tried to make injera before, but we really prefer to buy it. We buy it in bulk and freeze it, and it has worked beautifully for us. You can purchase injera here. We typically purchase the yellow label injera. It is very authentic tasting - Habi agrees.

I also have a confession. Doro Wat - the signature Ethiopian chicken stew (which is Jim and Habi's favorite dish) calls for Niter Kebbeh which is a spiced butter. You will notice in my recipe, that I only have regular butter listed in the ingredients. That is all that I use. I do not spend hours making the Niter Kebbeh, because when I have done so, the wat tastes no. different. Habi LOVES my Doro Wat and says that it is very authentic, and Habi is very truthful when it comes to food! Ha! So, save yourself some time, and try it my way. {grin}

Here are the recipes that I made for Gena. I have a few others that we make regulary as well, but I will share them another time. None of these recipes are original to me, although I have tweaked some of them with the help of Habi. A few of them are directly from Habi (he is an amazing chef), and most of them are from scouring the Internet the past few years. Unfortunately when I printed these out for my recipe box, I did not print out the source. I apologize for that.

Lentil Sambusas (not very spicy)
A fried pastry with a savory filling - could be used as an appetizer.

Ingredients:

2 T olive oil
1/2 C chopped onion
4 cloves minced garlic
1 T paprika
1 T ginger, minced
1/4 tsp allspice
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper
1/2 tsp ground coriander
1/2 tsp cardamom
1/2 tsp cumin
1/2 C dry red wine
2 C chicken or vegetable stock
1 C lentils
16 won ton wrappers

Method:

In a medium saucepan, heat oil over medium high heat. Add onion and garlic, and saute until tender. Add paprika, ginger, allspice, cayenne, coriander, cardamom, and cumin, and saute for 30 seconds. Add red wine, stock, and lentils, turn heat to high and bring to a boil. Lower heat to a simmer, and cover, and simmer until lentils are tender, about 30 minutes. Remove from heat and allow to cool.

Cut the won ton wrappers in half to form rectangles. Place a wrapper vertically on a flat surface. Put a rounded T of filling on the lower ends of one of the rectangles. Fold the left bottom corner up and over the filling until it meets the right edge of the wrapper and forms a triangle. Next, flip the filled triangle up and over, folding along its upper edge. Then fold it over to the left on a diagonal. Continue folding until you reach the end of the wrapper and have formed a neat triangular package. Repeat with the other wrappers. Deep-fry each pastry until golden in 2-3 inches of oi; heated to 360 F. You can keep the fried sambusas in a warm oven until they are all ready to be served. These are best eaten hot.

Timatim Firfir
An Ethiopian style bread salad - uses injera. This can be made ahead of time.

Ingredients:

1 tsp berbere
1/3 cup wine (white, rose or red) or tej
Juice of 1 lemon
1/4 C olive oil
1 medium tomato, chopped
1/2 medium onion, chopped
1 Jalapeno, chopped
1/2 Anaheim pepper, chopped
1 clove diced garlic.
1 fresh injera ripped into small pieces

Method:

Mix berbere with wine. Add lemon juice and olive oil. Add tomatoes, onions, peppers and garlic, Mix well.
Break injera into small pieces and add to mixture. Let sit until liquid is absorbed (about 1 hour). Serve cold. Refrigerate mixture in bottle or jar.

Key Sir (not spicy)
Red beets with potatoes. This can be made ahead of time.

Ingredients:

1 lb. yellow potatoes -peeled and bite size
1 lb. red beet roots
1/4 C fresh lemon juice
2 T peanut oil
1/2 onion, finely diced
1/4-1/2 tsp. salt - to taste
1/4 tsp yellow mustard seeds
Pinch of ground fenugreek seeds

Method:

Wash and trim the beets, and simmer in a medium saucepan for about 35-45 minutes (depending on size), or until tender. Remove the beets from the liquid, and slice in half. Remove the skins from the beets - they should rub right off with a paper towel. Dice into bite-sized pieces.

Meanwhile, in a separate saucepan, gently simmer the peeled and bite-sized diced potatoes for 20-25 minutes, or until tender. Drain the potatoes, and let them dry out a little bit in the warm pot.

While the beets and potatoes are cooking, dice the onion, and place it in a large serving bowl with the lemon juice and peanut oil. When the potatoes have dried off a little, add them (still warm) to the onion mixture, and gently combine. Add the beets, and stir through until everything is a lovely shade of pink. Toast the yellow mustard seeds just until they start popping, then pour them over the salad, along with the salt and fenugreek powder. Stir well to combine. you can make this up to three days in advance. keep tightly covered in the refrigerator.

Kik Alicha (not spicy)
A vegetarian, yellow split pea stew. This can be made ahead of time.

Ingredients:

1 T olive oil
2 large red onions, chopped
6 garlic cloves, minced
1 tsp. fresh ginger, minced
3 C water
1/2 tsp turmeric
3/4 tsp salt
freshly ground pepper -to taste
1 C yellow split peas - soaked overnight and rinsed

Method:

In a large saucepan over medium-low heat, dry cook the onions, stirring occasionally, until they begin to soften. Add the oil and when it begins to sputter, add the garlic and ginger and saute until fragrant, about 1 minute, Add the water, turmeric, salt, and pepper. Cover and bring to a boil. Add the split peas, return to a boil and partially cover, reduce heat and maintain a simmer until peas have softened, around 45-60 minutes, Watch to see if you need to add more water, Mash the peas. Serve warm.

Gomen (mildly spicy)
Fragrant collard greens

Ingredients:

2 bunches of collard greens
1 large onion, chopped
1/3 C olive oil
2-3tsp each of minced garlic and ginger
2 Jalapenos, deseeded and chopped
salt - to taste

Method:
Pull off the leaves of the collard greens and discard stems. Tear the leaves into medium-sized pieces (just small enough to get them into the pot for cooking - you'll chop them into smaller pieces later) and wash them well under cold water. Bring a large stockpot of salted water to a boil and add the greens. Cook for about 10-15 minutes - the greens should change color and soften. Drain in a large colander and rinse with cold water. Squeeze out all of the excess moisture and chop into small pieces. Set aside. Cook the onions dry on medium heat until they start to soften and turn translucent, about seven minutes, Add the oil and cook for several minutes. Then add the garlic, ginger, and jalapenos and saute for several more minutes. Add the chopped greens and stir well, ensuring that the greens are thoroughly mixed in with other ingredients. Add salt and cook on medium-low until the greens have soak in the flavor.

Ayib
Fresh Ethiopian cheese. Must make this a day in advance.

Ingredients:

1/2 gallon buttermilk plus 1 C whole milk
2/3 C lemon juice
salt and pepper

Method:

Bring the buttermilk and milk to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat to medium and pour in the lemon juice. Reduce the heat to low and cook, stirring constantly, until curds begin to form. Remove from the heat.
Line a sieve or colander with cheesecloth. Spoon the curdled milk into the sieve or collander and rinse with cold, running water to remove any lingering lemon flavor from the curds. Place over a bowl, cover with plastic wrap, refrigerate and let drain for 8 hours or overnight. Discard the liquid. Place the cheese in a bowl and season with salt and pepper.

Doro Wat (spicy)
Spicy chicken stew

Ingredients:

8-12 chicken thighs
4 T fresh lemon juice
4 tsp salt
4 onions, finely chopped
1/2 C butter
6 cloves garlic, minced
1 tsp. cinnamon
2 tsp ginger
1/2 tsp ground fenugreek
1/2 tsp ground cardamom
1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
1/2 - 1 C Berbere (1 C will be very spicy)
4 T paprika
1/2 C dry red wine
3 C. water water
1 hard-boiled egg per person
Freshly ground black pepper

Method:

Rinse and dry the chicken pieces. Rub them with lemon juice and salt. In a heavy enamel stew pot, cook the onions, dry, over moderate heat for about 5 minutes. Do not let brown or burn. Stir in the butter. Then add the garlic and spices. Stir well. Add the berbere and paprika, and sauté for 3-4 minutes. Pour in the wine and water and bring to a boil. Cook briskly, uncovered, for about 5 minutes. Pat the chicken dry and drop it into the simmering sauce, turning the pieces about until coated on all sides. Reduce the heat, cover, and simmer for 1 hour. Meanwhile, pierce the hard-boiled eggs with the tines of a fork, piercing approximately 1/4" into the egg all over the surface. After the chicken has cooked, add the eggs and turn them gently in the sauce. Cover and cook the doro wat for 15 more minutes. Add pepper to taste.

Please share this post with other adoptive families. My hope is that I have done some of the leg work, so that other families can celebrate their childrens' amazing culture and heritage. All of these recipes have been made by me and tasted by my family. They are all amazing, and they all have Habi's stamp of approval as authentic-tasting. Enjoy!

.Rearranging my Heart and Rethinking Family First.

2013-02-12T16:29:00.003-05:00

There is so much that is going on in my head and heart that I have not been able to write about it. That only happens rarely. God is doing some major rearranging inside of me. Things that I was once so certain about up until now, are now not quite so clear anymore. It is both frightening and freeing. I am learning that because of how I have structured our life (some of it has been necessity and some of it has been choice) I have fallen into some unique temptations in idolizing my family. Loving my family is biblical and wonderful, but when loving my family and expending myself for my family, trumps loving God and imitating Jesus to the world and people around me, then I have fallen into a dangerous trap. And I admit it, I have fallen into this trap in some of these ways:

I am realizing that some of my motivation for the decisions I have made have been made out of fear of man, not out of trust in God.
I am realizing that I am teaching my family to idolize family and therefore that we exist to meet the needs of the people in our family, rather than the needs of the people outside of our family.
I am realizing that I may be teaching my children a wrong view of church. We have become so consumed with family, and really good things to do with family (But even good things can become wrong things), that we have little energy left over to help our children really engage in the church and be the church.

Luke 14:26 has knocked around my head and heart for about a year now, it says, If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple.

I understand that this does not mean that I am to abandon and hate my family, but that it does means my love and affection for Jesus should be so great in comparison to my love for my family. However, I am still trying to figure out what that practically means. How do I live this? In my human mind, it is hard for me to realize that God wants me to sacrifice - even my family life - to follow Him. But, these are not my children and this family life on earth is just temporary - a gift for a season - on loan for me to steward well. Idolizing this gift is not stewarding it well. Jesus is calling for a greater devotion to Himself than even to my own family. It is hard to sacrifice my whole life for Jesus, but that's what He asks. It costs much to follow Him. It costs much to be His disciple. Is there joy? Is there blessings? Yes, yes! But it is not easy, and it was never, ever promised to be easy, no matter how much we have twisted it to be so in our modern American culture.

I am not swinging the pendulum the other direction and thinking that I need to neglect my family either. I am just trying to bring that pendulum back to where God intended it. The greatest command that we have as a Jesus follower (male or female) is to Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind. and then secondly to love your neighbor as yourself. (Luke 10:27) So I am called to love God above all else and then to love humans (I believe that neighbor can be translated all humans, everywhere). Absolutely, of course, this includes loving my family. However, nothing is said in these two greatest commands about prioritizing family above our neighbor or neglecting our neighbor for our family.

Jesus never asked me to sacrifice myself for my family. He asked me to sacrifice myself for Him. That's hard to swallow as I have given so much of myself for my family, and to know, that perhaps in giving of myself, I have unknowingly been neglecting the very One who gave Himself for me.

I am not sure where I have landed with all of this, besides understanding the temptation that I have fallen into. Perhaps that is the place to begin. We are praying over many changes in the coming year that will help our family align more closely with being disciples of Jesus. I will close with a provocative passage that has been eating at my brain. I am still studying this and its context.

Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to turn a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law—a man’s enemies will be the members of his own household.’ Anyone who loves their father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves their son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. (Matthew 10:34-37)

I don't type any of this with certainty, arrogancy, judgmentalism, or feeling as if I have the answers. It's what my heart is wrestling with. Things are not always as black and white as we would wish them to be. I am learning that there is life in the gray, and sometimes Jesus is found right inside of that gray. All I want is to find, and follow, and know Jesus in a way that I have never known Him before.

This is my journey to Him.

.What It's {really} Like.

2013-02-01T11:08:00.000-05:00

We chose him. I saw his photo, and I knew he was mine. I've shared before that knowing what we know now, we still would have chosen him. We knew that he had special needs (I pray someday a new better word is created for this.), and we knew that the extent of those needs was unknown. But he was and is our son.

We chose him understanding this.

So because of that, I sometimes feel as if I cannot admit to how hard it can be living out this reality. I am nervous that the people who never supported our decision to adopt in the first place, will have ammunition to throw in our faces. I wish I didn't care and that it didn't hurt, but it does. So I only share bits and pieces of the hard, and then I feel guilty for even that. I want to live transparently and truthfully.

And truthfully many days, my world is filled with hard, pain, intensity, and guilt.

Everything changed the moment we brought Jameson home. It does with every new child brought into a home, but with Jamesy the change was drastic and intensified. Although Jamesy was no longer blind, it seemed every few months we were receiving a new diagnosis for him. His latest diagnosis came this fall, and it made so many pieces to our sweet Jamesy puzzle fall into place. So many things about him make sense now. Autism. While the diagnosis remains unofficial, he was evaluated this fall by a child Psychiatrist, who given the outcomes of his tests, solidly believes he is definitely on the spectrum - he came out right in the middle of the spectrum for everything. He cannot get the official diagnosis until he is seen by a specialist (we have an appointment for 2 years from now - that's small town living for you).

The past, almost three years, have been hard. The hardest of my entire life, and the loneliest. I thought the adoption journey was lonely, but I had no idea what this parenting journey would bring. I thought that after Jamesy got home things would settle, and that I would just be one of "the moms" again. But I stopped being able to relate somewhere along the way. Perhaps it was because my little guy was missing milestones left and right, and I was fighting to get help for him. I began to feel very alone as a mom. My Jamesy was different. He came to us, different from us, and the majority of our world, in appearances, and now it was more and more obvious that he was different in every way. For a long time I thought it was attachment, and that maybe I had not done enough to cocoon him in the beginning and help him learn to bond and attach, and I felt deep, painful, guilt. Maybe those hours (hours where I had to miss out on spending time with my Cadi and Scotty) spent every afternoon, every night in the rocking chair, rocking his screaming, writhing, little body weren't enough. Maybe I should have done more. I felt guilt for the moments that he would scream out at night, and my eyes would squeeze tightly shut in exhaustion at the thought of having to get up and go to him again. Maybe he somehow knew that there were moments that I would have given anything to pull the covers back up over my head. Maybe if I had caught the seizures when we first brought him home, and pushed the doctors to do tests, maybe then his brain would not be so shambled, and he would have begun talking on time. Maybe because I was so busy homeschooling Cadi, and entertaining Scotty, and praying my heart out for Habi to survive the streets, I didn't work hard enough with Jamesy, and maybe that is why he was so far behind. Maybe a year was too early to leave him and get away for a bit with my husband. All these thoughts have plagued me, and the guilt has hung heavy on my shoulders. It's all from the enemy, and while I know that, it is still hard to shake it off and grab hold of the truth.

I love my Jameson so much my heart hurts to look at him sometimes. He is beautiful and funny and so, so smart. Someday the world will see how smart he is, and until then I will be his biggest fan. Jamesy has brought big joy into our home and so much laughter. He is vibrant and adorable and ours. His giggles send the whole family running to see what's so funny. His smile is magnetic, and he draws people into his world even when he is not easily drawn into theirs. He is affectionate and he is teaching me so much about the heart of God. I do not regret one moment of mommying him. He is so much a part of our family, that it is impossible to imagine our life without him. I look at him, and I forget that it was not I who birthed him.

Yet there remains excruciating moments, like when I watch a friend's baby -over 2 years younger then mine - do things that my Jamesy still cannot do. Or when I hear my nephew, who is a year younger, carry on a full, articulate conversation. It's in those moments that my heart breaks, and I feel as if I cannot breathe. It is in those moments when I see my baby's reality, and fear for his future digs its icy fingers into my heart. As hard as many of my days are, I know Jamesy's are hard too. Every thing is work for him. What we take for granted and comes so easily to so many of us is hard, hard work for my boy. And that hurts his mommy's heart. But I know that this is building perseverance and character in him, and in me.

My reality is that the past three years have been hard. I have gone through denial, anger, guilt, sadness, and probably even a touch of depression. There are days when I feel trapped in my home, and the only release I have is social media. So I go to it, just to know that there is an outside world beyond these four walls - sometimes to make myself find the beauty in the here and now, and sometimes to vent just to hear from others that I am really not alone. There are moments, as an introvert, where I feel such a need to get away from it all - just to breathe and refresh. I am just now starting to deal with some of my feelings in all of this and process the hurt and the fears and the horrible guilt. My husband has been my rock, and he has listened to me cry and scream and battle these thoughts, and all the while he is battling his own.

Through this all, I do feel hope. Hope that this is not it. Hope that God has beautiful plans for our family - for our Jamesy. Hope for Jamesy's future. Hope that somehow all of the pain is being worked into something more beautiful then I could imagine and something way bigger then ourselves. Hope that I am truly not alone, and every step of the way I am being gently guided. Hope that though I will never be strong enough for this, Jesus is so perfected in all my weaknesses, and He never asked for my strength. He asked me to be willing, and even now at the end of the day, I am still willing.

Though I share this transparently, I don't do it for sympathy or for my readers to feel sorry for me - I'm not looking for pity. I do it for those of you who feel isolated, fearful, guilty, tired, abandoned, etc. I want you to know that you are not alone. I am not alone. Jesus is near.

.Cadi's Story.

2013-01-28T11:05:00.003-05:00

She is so much like me when it comes to writing. I find her stories scattered around the house, so much like the stories I used to write as a little girl. She is filling up her first journal, and I admit I have taken a peek, and she is a deep thinker with an old soul. I love this about my Cadi. However, this particular story disturbed me so much, that I had to write about it in order to process it. Here is what she wrote:

Alice Gives

by Cadi

Alice! Mommy called. Time to go to church.

No. said Alice.

Now. said Mommy.

But Mommy, Janie makes fun of me.

Janie? said Mommy questioningly. I thought Janie was your best friend.

She is, but our family is black and her family is white. She doesn't like black people. So she makes fun of me.

Well, I will talk to Janie's parents when we go to church, okay Hon?

Okay. said Alice.

Wait. I have to get something. said Alice.

Janie always liked this doll of mine. Her name is Anna. I will give it to her at church.

Good for you. said Mommy. Good for you!

Such a short, simple story, but it broke my heart. Because, although the characters have been changed, I know my Cadi has experienced rejection from a girl "friend" because she has two black brothers. What bothers me so much is that, although we are all born as sinners, from all that I have experienced, understand, and researched, children are taught racism and prejudice, primarily by their parents. So this little girl, in 2013, is growing up in a Christian home, and whether through spoken teachings or simply actions, is being taught at the very least, that black people are inferior to white people.

And I am just wondering how we can reach the world with the gospel of Jesus when our children are being taught such lies?

We are all made in God's image. I have stated that so many times here, and it is something so close to my heart. When we look at people and see the image of Almighty God it should propel us to love. One thing, I think, we followers of Jesus, fail to recognize, is that we are all made in the image of God - made. That means we are born in the image of God - every single person shares some traits of our Heavenly Father. Every person.

yes, that homeless bum on the street,

yes, that prostitute selling her body on the corner,

yes, that disabled child confined to a wheelchair,

yes, our black president,

yes, the cashier at the grocery store,

yes, your child's teacher,

yes, the mailman,

yes, that man on death row.

They all bare the image of God!

When we stop and look at people through that lens it should change everything. Our family has been told so many times that racism and prejudices no longer exist in our country. I can say through shaking lips and tear-filled eyes, that they absolutely do exist, and they exist right in our own churches. Perhaps it is not as overt as it once was, but that does not make it any less damaging, any less sinful, any less hurtful.

My eyes are being opened to things I would have rather stayed blind to. It is horrible to see this kind of hate from the world, let alone fellow followers of Jesus, toward my beloved children/family. It hurts to see how the Church has perpetuated this lie, and how destructive it is.

A few months back we were talking with Habi in the van on the way home from somewhere. He was absolutely astonished to learn that Jesus is not white. We explained how he probably looked more middle Eastern - dark complexioned, dark hair - probably even similar coloring to our Jamesy. Habi was dumbstruck, as he had been fed the American lies, by American mission teams, that went to Africa and showcased a white Jesus. I nearly sobbed, as I realized all that little statement meant to him, and I literally watched his heart melt and his defenses crumble as this truth sunk in. And that very night, Habi surrendered and asked Jesus to be the leader of his life. But it was not until we erased that lie.

Something needs to break and change inside of us until it is not us versus them anymore, until it is just us collective - a broken, fallen people, yes, made in the image of God, who all need rescuing. Not one of us is better or more deserving than the other. I want to see a difference in my daughter's generation, but when things like her story creep up, I feel discouraged and so sad.

Thankful to serve a God who loves justice and will one day right all of this horrible, horrible wrong.

.End It.

2013-01-11T11:34:00.001-05:00

For so long I had been sleeping with my eyes open. If you have read here for any length of time, you no doubt know how a passion was lit inside of me regarding social justice - how my eyes were opened and my life was changed. (I can hear the sighs and feel the eye rolls from here.) I just cannot seem to shut up about it, though. Sometimes I come here and sit down to write these kind of posts, and I think to myself did I buffer this post enough with other fluffier, more appealing and palatable posts around it? And it kind of stinks to have to think that way, but I know that I scare people away. Writing and sharing my heart and what I have learned is one tiny way that I can fight injustice, though, so I cannot keep silent.

(source)

Because I think Jesus calls us [the Church] to be on the front lines of fighting injustice.

Today, January 11, is the national day for human trafficking awareness.

Human trafficking is slavery.

Slavery still exists.

It exists here in our country, and it exists around the world. There are women slaves, men slaves, and babies and children who are slaved. It. is. wrong. I believe that slavery, poverty, and the orphan crises are the greatest grievances in our generation. I believe that the generations that come behind us will look at us and wonder why we did not fight for these injustices; much like we look at the generations before us and wonder why they did not fight against the slavery and racism in our infant country. That is partly why I am so, so passionate about social justice. But these are not simply causes to me. I am not on some kind of fad kick (three years is pretty long for a fad anyway). These are human beings created in the image of God, and as such I believe I will answer for my part in this one day - because I do have a part - we all do. I also believe that we have the ability to end this.

Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? – Isaiah 58:6

There are 27 million slaves in the world today. (source) Let's help free these men, women, and children. If we follow Jesus, I believe we are called to bring justice where there is no justice and hope where there is no hope. To sit by and ignore these 27 million human beings (many of which are enslaved simply so that we can buy more stuff at lower prices) is wrong. It is just wrong.

Martin Luther King Jr. said it so well, He who passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps to perpetrate it. He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it. I think we would all at least acknowledge that slavery is evil, but now it is time to actually move our feet and fight against it. An easy first step is for us all to spread awareness - bring to light that which has been hidden. We can make people aware by sharing what we know; when people know the truth they then must choose how to move ahead and ignorance can no longer be their excuse.

It is time to examine the items we purchase, and realize that every single time we purchase an item that was made because of slave laborers, we are saying slavery is okay. Do your research. I have talked a lot about fair trade and chocolate here. Google. Ask questions. Understand that the "cheap" price tag may actually be costing someones life. Let's not be okay with that. I am guessing we would not be okay with that if it were our baby out in that field enslaved to bring us chocolate, so why is it okay as long as it is someone elses baby?

I urge you to pray for the 27 million people enslaved today, and I urge you to stand up and be a voice for them, to fight this injustice. I want to see history change. I want to see these 27 million people freed, and I long for them to know the love of Jesus.

Will you stand in the gap for slavery?

Please check out End It: Shine a light on slavery here.

Check out what Compassion has to say here.

Here is a short video on human trafficking.

These are PEOPLE. They are someones mother, father, sister, brother, aunt, uncle, child, grandchild. What if they were your loved ones?

.A Simple Command - Or is it.

2013-01-10T15:12:00.000-05:00

Jesus told the disciples to go and preach the gospel. It was a simple command. There is really not anything confusing about it. Yet, for so many of us we have stayed. We have stayed inside of our churches and think that discipleship means making our churches look pretty and hanging billboards and dreaming up programs and events, so that perhaps "if we build it they will come." We stay inside our homes and claim that our mission is our family, and we idolize our family time - protecting it with everything inside of us. We keep our children at home and teach them. We stay, and we swaddle deeper and deeper into this little comfortable cocoon that we have created. We sterilize our surroundings, and we make excuses and rationalize away that simple command.

I know, because I have done it.

But in order to fulfill the command we have to go amongst the people. We have to go to the margins, and we have to engage people like Jesus did (And Jesus engaged some shady characters - like prostitutes and tax collectors. There wasn't anything safe or sterile about the people He chose to rub shoulders with.) We have to get out of our churches and turn our focus and attention outward, get out of our home churches, get out of our little sterile communities - our cell groups, community groups, etc., and we absolutely have to start mimicking Jesus. We cannot rely on others to come to us - even if we invite them, even if we make our homes and churches and "Christian" communities inviting. Jesus went. We are called to imitate Jesus. (1 Corinthians 1:11)

From everything I can understand about this command, it doesn't exempt stay-at-home mommies - not even the homeschooling ones - like me. I don't think that we can use the excuse of raising our children to hold off on the Great Commission until later. I have heard (and used in the past) the argument that says by a mom staying at home with her children she is doing her part to participate in the Great Commission, but I am not so sure if I believe this anymore. The very first verb in the Great Commission is go. If this is the critical mission for every person that claims Jesus as their Leader, then why are so many of us staying?

I do not think that this was a casual suggestion for a few crazy radicals, and yet I have lived like it is exactly that. I know we are called to go and preach. I know every single follower of Jesus has this call on their life. I am now understanding that being a stay-at-home mommy does not give me a free pass. But I also know that not every single one of us is meant to go out and buy an airplane ticket in order to move into the jungle of Africa. However, I really do think that we need to go to where the people are. Jesus went to the woman in Samaria at the well. He didn't wait for her to come to Him. He didn't decorate his home, and prepare a big meal, and invite the woman in, crossing his fingers that she would come. Jesus went to her. He met her where she was comfortable. He laid aside what the culture (both religious and social of that day) considered appropriate, and He went.

And I am called to mimic Jesus - yes, to mimic what He did with the woman at the well.

Go and preach the gospel. A simple command given to every person who claims the name of Jesus, but what exactly does it look like?

(source)

I would love to have you join the conversation.

.One Story at a Time.

2013-01-09T10:01:00.000-05:00

For a moment I thought perhaps 2013 will be the year that I will stop blogging - when my fingers will hover over the keyboard and then slowly back away from the keys. The year when I will say enough. I've let enough people in, and I would straighten my shoulders, push back my chair, brush my hands off and walk away from this space. A space that has brought me so much beauty and so much pain. I have been blogging since 2005, shortly after my Cadi was born. I wanted a place to remember all of her firsts and what it felt like to be a young, first-time Mommy. My blog has grown and changed just as my story has grown and changed. I have been writing for as long as I can remember. Journals fill up boxes that tell of my life, my thoughts, my dreams - my story.

And here, this tiny space, in the great big web, this tells my story too. It tells a story that He is authoring, and the final chapter hasn't been completed yet, so gently He asks me to keep writing.

Keep writing when I am misunderstood.

Keep writing when my hands shake and my heart races.

Keep writing when the story doesn't make sense, and the next chapter seems crazy, or forgotten, or too far away.

Just keep writing, because someone, somewhere will connect with this story and will collide with these words, and our stories just may mingle and weave beautifully together in the Ultimate story. Because alone, our story is insignificant and incomplete, but as part of the whole, Ultimate story, it is beautiful and relevant, and it all ties together in a breathtaking mosaic.

When one shares a story - writes it and lays it open for others to read - there is so much vulnerability in the sharing. But if I have learned nothing else, these past years writing out my soul, it is this: we all have a story to share. It is in the sharing of these broken, everyday stories that the beautiful redemption of Jesus is so brilliantly seen.

I feel nudged to keep coming here and keep writing - to be brave when I don't feel like it, and write authentically from my heart, because I know there are other women working in the Kingdom, who just might connect with the words on this page. In Jesus we are connected; we are community. I know that other people are meant to share the pages of my story.

My prayer is that at the heart of my story, in the words that I share, that you find Jesus and your own words to share your story. Our stories matter. Let's take time to share them, one story at a time.

Come and listen…let me tell you what God has done for me. Psalm 66:16

(A few stories I am reading while the stomach flu ravages our home.)

.Remembering 2012.

2012-12-30T15:28:00.001-05:00

One thing remains consistent and true in my life, and that was no different this year - change. From the moment that Jim and I really surrendered to whatever it is that Jesus had for our life in the fall of 2009, we have experienced constant change. And 2012 was threaded with change.

January:

We entered 2012 with aching hearts. Cadi had recently been diagnosed with a bleeding disorder called Immune Thrombocytopenic Purpura (ITP) and Mononucleosis. We had just found out that her expensive IVIG treatment was ineffective and that her platelets were continuing to drop. She was a very sick, very weak little girl, and I was a very fearful Mommy. I remember charting her symptoms - the times and amounts she would bleed, making notes of her bruising - the size the color - and panicking when we noticed petechiae, knowing that meant another drop in her blood platelets. I remember feeling very alone, very sad, and very tired. When I read this post, I can feel the pain and fear again.

We also entered the new year on the tail of a family announcement, that we were once again adopting from Ethiopia - a little girl! God had made it abundantly clear to us that someone from Ethiopia was still missing in our family. Little did we know what He had in store! We are still unsure why God so impressed a little girl on our hearts, as His plans actually led to our beautiful street boy. Perhaps He needed to get adoption back in the front of our minds - I really cannot even speculate. I do know that there was a reason God led us back into the Ethiopian program, and that we paid fees and started the process, only to put it on hold in order to bring Habtamu home, and ultimately, a few weeks ago, completely pull out of the Ethiopian program in pursuing the adoption of a little girl. For now, our family is whole, but perhaps one day God will send us back for Sophia. I don't understand it all, because I only get pages at a time, but I trust the story He is writing. It was on January 1 of 2012, after two months of losing touch with Habi and not being able to get him money that he needed to survive on the streets of Addis, that he went to an internet cafe', used his hard-earned money (from selling gum and shining shoes) to use the internet, made a facebook account, and found me. That moment that he found me on facebook changed our life; Jim and I knew that we could never lose him again, and it was time to step up our fight for this child whom we had promised to love, protect, and parent. Parenting across the ocean was not working - it was either bring him to us or move our family to Ethiopia. We asked God to work out the details and told Him we were willing to do either one.

February:

In February we really started pursuing how to bring Habi into our family. We knew God wanted us to be together and was asking us to fight for him. We kept things pretty quiet, sharing with only our closest friends and a few family members the fight we were in. I wrote a cryptic blog post here asking for prayer. We contacted an Ethiopian woman who used to work with our adoption agency. We had met her in Ethiopia the year before. Jim and I really liked her and trusted her. We found out she had moved to the states and had started her own business/ministry, EthioStork. Jim and I decided to contact her, we had recently learned of an adoption friend who had brought home a teenage boy from Rwanda on a student visa. This gave us renewed hope, and we thought we could hire Duni to help us. For various reasons, Duni, talked us into first pursuing an international adoption for Habi and then pursuing the student visa as a last resort. So we began the roller coaster of figuring out if an international adoption would be possible for our Ethiopian son. We had a time line, as we were working on planning and preparing to lead a mission trip to Ethiopia in July. We were praying to have some solid answers to share with Habi by then.

February also brought about the definitive diagnosis of Septo Optic Dysplasia for Jamesy, as well as epilepsy, after spending a night at the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia. His diagnosis brought us peace with knowing what we were dealing with and sadness for an unknown future for our baby. We began intense therapies in our home with Jamesy to try to help him through his disabilities. We continued to battle Cadi's I.T.P. and kept praying for her strength to return and her platelets to come back to normal.

March:

I continued being a Compassion blogger and really enjoyed advocating for Compassion and their children. This was one of my favorite blog posts that I wrote for Compassion. (There are still children waiting for YOU.)

March brought us to the one year anniversary of having Jamesy home with us. It was a year remembering a lot of pain, mixed emotions, and joy as well. With Jamesy's adoption we gained a beautiful, smiley, son, but we lost relationships which we had once held very dear. I knew that when we said "yes" to adoption and taking a journey that nobody else in our faith family had taken before, that we would be risking and sacrificing. I just did not realize that relationships would be sacrificed, and that there would be people we loved who would refuse to follow through on their words and would no longer walk beside us. I now know that this is not unique to just our family, as we have shared tears and broken hearts over this with many other adoptive families we have met along the way. And today, I can say, that I have worked through a lot of the pain and bitterness, it still hurts if I allow myself to go there, but I am learning that some people come into our life for only a season. And that is okay. I am moving on, and I am so, so thankful for the beautiful friendships that have come about because of this journey. I did not expect that either.

In March we had a few scary bleeding episodes with Cadi, but towards the end of the month, her platelets started to reach normal levels! She would continue to be monitored and have her blood tested until remission could be confirmed.

Jim and I were privileged to take two days to listen to the Verge Conference online. God used this conference to completely reshape how we thought about church and missional living. We are still working through what we learned, and we have revisited and talked through the sessions the entire year. God planted a seed that we are excited about.

April:

One of my favorite blog posts was written this month - How to Give Kids a Heart for the Nations. This is something we continue to pray for the hearts of our children, and I am excited to see how God is growing them (and us as a family) in this area.

This month we also loaded our family into a minivan and traveled for 30 hours, down to Alabama to see some sweet adoption friends, and then back over to Florida for a week away with my parents and my sister and her family. It was an amazing trip. One that we needed in order to get away from ministry pressures and relax after Cadi's sickness, Jamesy's diagnosis, and our chaotic battle to bring Habi home.

May:

May was one of the most exciting months for me, and my relationship with God deepened in a whole new way. Jim and I read 7: An Experimental Mutiny Againts Excess by Jen Hatmaker, and we decided to join the experiment. There are seven areas of excess that are targeted, and we began with food. It was a fast of sorts, and I blogged through the entire month. It was the first time I had fasted in this way, and even now, I stand in awe over what God did in us, through us, and for us this month. I so needed that month of fasting to focus intentionally in on what God was asking of us and to focus on praying for the courage to move forward. God taught me so much about faith and pushing while I prayed. The Spirit spoke to my heart this month, and I knew without a doubt, that somehow we were going to be bringing Habi home with us in July - this knowing came after learning that when Habi was only one clearance away from being adoptable, God slammed the door permanently for an international adoption. We decided to go public, and we announced to the world that we were going to pursue a student visa for our son, and try to bring him home in July, hoping to garner prayer and support. And we did, we had people across the country immediately pull together fund raisers for us to help with all of the money needed, but we also received rejection and stern warnings about bringing an older boy into our home. However, we knew this what God was asking of us and we plowed forward determined to follow Jesus to our son

May also brought about summer break, and my last days Mommying three babies.

June:

June was a whirlwind of activity as we tied together lose ends for our mission trip to Ethiopia, packed to go overseas, finished paperwork for Habi's student visa, begged God to allow him to come home, and loved on our three babies who we would miss so much while we were gone. In June we continued to fund raise for Habi's plane ticket and other expenses to get him here. I stepped out in faith and I decorated his bedroom believing that he would soon be living in it. I slept better this month, as I knew that Habi was safe with our friend Chuck in Ethiopia, who had gone over a month ahead of our team. It was such a great feeling knowing Habi was safe and fed for an entire month, and it gave me so much peace.

One of my favorite parts of June was meeting Shaun Groves and eating dinner with him and our Ethiopian team. He came and preformed a concert at our church. It was definitely a night to remember and the perfect way to prepare my heart for our upcoming trip.

And thanks be to God - this was the month that Cadi was officially declared in remission, and we could finally put I.T.P. behind us after 8 long months of blood tests and a sick little girl.

July:

I still do not have words for July. Typing this, even now, so many months removed, my throat throbs, my eyes burn, and my heart races. We literally stood inside of a move of God as He granted Habi that student visa. For the first time, our family was together and whole.

And then our trip to Ethiopia - experiencing serving people whom we have fallen in love with, alongside the son we fought so hard for, well, I still cannot wrap words around it. Sharing my journal entries from that trip is too intimate for me, so I have shared so very little from our time serving in Ethiopia. I walked away from that trip with a real desire for more from our American churches. I came home almost depressed with what we have here. I am still working through all of that. It is hard to experience authentic worship with brothers and sisters, and then come home to sterile, programmed, polished "church". I do not mean that to be an insult, I am as much of the problem as the next person, just trying to work through it all.

July also brought about a CPS investigation on Jim and I, as Jamesy escaped from our home one evening. Although, it has now been cleared up, we are still shaken by that experience and disturbed that so little grace was shown for his special needs. Our family also travelled out to Illinois and Indiana. In Illinois we got to meet and stay with some dear friends, and then we attended my brother's wedding. Although, the trip was hard on the heels of coming home from Ethiopia, it was also a good bonding time for our family.

August:

Our summer flew by with break-neck speed. August allowed us to continue bonding as a family of six. We grew more and more in love with Habi, and the miracle of having him in our home only heightened. We celebrated Scotty turning 4, and Jim turning 32. We enjoyed family walks to the park and Habi began soccer practice at his new school. We quickly learned just how much we would be sacrificing in having to send Habi to a school so far away from our home, but God's grace continued to pour out on us and He continued to meet our needs. In August we received a large scholarship from Habi's private school, which covered half of his tuition - just another love gift from God showing us that we were being obedient. I gently allowed people into our world through a few blog posts like this. Again I realized how little grace is given to an adoptive family, and my heart yearns to change that in the body of Christ. When a family brings a newborn home in the "homegrown" way, grace is showered on that family. It is expected that every milestone and every coo will be recorded and celebrated. People expect oodles of photos on facebook and your talk to revolve around your newbie. It is expected that the family will go through a period of adjustment and change for a season. I was relearning, that sadly, this is not always true when you bring children home through adoption.

In August I also processed through little bits of our trip to Ethiopia with a few posts like this and this.

And we geared up for the 2012-2013 school year.

September:

September brought school and soccer games and Cadi's 7th birthday. September brought about overwhelmingness to me, as I tried to balance Jamesy's therapies, homeschooling Cadi and Scotty, Habi's soccer practices and games, helping Habi with homework that was so foreign to him, and traveling to get Habi from school - on top of regular mommying, housework, being a wife, and being involved in ministry. It was a lot. It is still a lot, but God has been so faithful to lavish me with just enough grace and mercy for each day - nothing more and nothing less - enough. We also continued to tread the waters of raising a big boy. We were and are so green, and some of my heartache came through in posts like this. But through this child, God was and is teaching me some of the greatest lessons I have ever learned. My most popular blog post, since beginning to blog seven years ago, was written in September - What to Consider Before Saying "Yes" to Bringing an Older Child Home and my first post was featured on blogher.

This was the month of survival, as we all flexed and learned how to live in our new chaos.

October:

Super storm Sandy hit many of our neighboring states, but we were spared and given a few days to regroup and refresh as a family stuck inside of our home. It was a needed reprieve, and I thanked God for it and mourned for those who were struck by the storm.

Habi's soccer team won their Championship game, and my heart was so filled at the number of family and friends that came out to cheer him on to victory.

Jamesy was given the unofficial diagnosis of Autism in October, which we add to his growing repertoire. We know God has plans for our son, but some days are dark and hard, as we struggle with how to best help him. Somedays I feel very alone trying to wade through special needs waters. We are blindly begging God for wisdom.

I also continue to learn this lesson that I shared about in October.

November:

November is always a blur as the holiday season begins. I turned 33 in November, and my family swaddled me with love. Jim and I were able to get away for a few hours alone- the first time since April. It was needed and refreshing. Something that we need to find more time for. Somehow. Habi experienced his first Thanksgiving, and as a family we had so very much to thank God for this year.

November was National Adoption/Orphan Awareness month. I kicked it off with this post. I think I will always have a heart for adoption, now that I understand how tightly it is tied to my redemption in Jesus, but I also think that I will always be misunderstood in this passion. I started out the month bravely and excitedly blogging, and then I let fear of man and rude comments silence me. I am still learning how to not let this happen. However, two of my favorite posts that I did write this month were Wrecked (funny how just a few weeks after writing this I allowed fear to take back over) and Don't Adopt.

November slowly started to bring a new rhythm to our family, and in the midst of our craziness we hit a new normal. And we continued to marvel at the way God was meshing our family in the way only He can.

December:

And December brought us full circle, back to Advent and Christmas, and this year lots of snow! Cadi followed her tradition and sang a solo at our Church's Christmas Eve service, and we basked in celebrating Jesus' birth all together as a family for the first time ever. December went by too quickly as it always does, but it also brings with it an eagerness to begin again, to have a fresh slate.

I look back on this past year, and the blog posts God allowed me to write, the story that He is penning over us, and I am in complete and total awe. I cannot believe what God brought us through and what He did for us. We seriously witnessed a miracle this year. I feel so unworthy to be used by God, that He would desire to let ordinary people fumble through such a beautiful plan that He set in motion. Yes, 2012, was a year of undeniably change and indescribable blessings.

Thank you for sharing these cherished moments with me, for showering me with grace, when this space is silent for too long, when I talk about my brown-eyed boys too much, and when my passion shadows empathy. Each of you is part of this story, just by coming here and reading. Thank you for that. Thank you for standing beside our family.

As crazy as 2012 was, my heart feels that it is only the beginning of what God has in store for 2013. I'm ready for the ride.

.Not How It Should Be.

2012-12-20T14:41:00.000-05:00

I have been trying to put together words that go with my heart regarding the Sandy Hook tragedy, but they all have seemed empty and senseless. It's heartbreaking to wrap our minds around the horror that those babies, staff, teachers, parents and community at large experienced on Friday. It's just all so senseless. It's easy as a mommy to imagine a minuscule portion of the pain these parents experienced last Friday. I've hugged my children closer and tighter, played longer, breathed in their scent and prayed silent prayers, while vacilating between feeling so relieved that they are safe and so guilty that they are safe. I awoke Saturday morning and tears pricked my eyes as my first thoughts went to the tragedy, and I wondered over those parents - whether they had slept at all, whether they had been tranquilized to escape the horror for a moment, whether they were even able to get out of bed at all.

This is not how it should be.

It's not right that so many little lives were snuffed out at that small elementary school in Connecticut, and that many of the lives that were spared now have traumatic scars that they will carry with them to their graves. How can they possibly forget what they saw, heard and smelled inside that building? It's injust. Injustice - especially to children - makes my blood burn and my heart pound. It makes me angry and twists my insides. Yet tragedies and horrific events like this continue to happen all over our world. The vast amount of human pain around our globe is simply incalculable. Daily, children are dieing. They are being murdered - shot and killed and raped and exploited. Thousands draw their last breath every single day as their hollow, empty stomachs ache and starvation finally steals their life. Children are being trafficked and maimed, abused and manipulated. It is happening in our country, and it is happening around our world. Evil is blindingly real.

We live in a broken mess of a world. This is not how it should be, or was intended to be, but it's how it is. There is no escaping it. To really delve into the mess brings about fear and pain and anger and questions. It's hard to know how to respond to something like this. It's hard to know how to respond as a human, as a parent, and as a Jesus follower. As Christians, so many times we shy away from the mess, or we try to band aid it with our Christian platitudes. But I am learning that it's okay to not have pat answers. It's okay to just sit in the middle of their pain and cry and hurt. I have no doubt that on Friday, and even now, my God, whom is such a loving perfect Daddy, was heartbroken for the horrible pain that embraced and surrounded the whole community of Sandy Hook. I also know that He is so very close to the brokenhearted, but what exactly that means or looks like, I am not sure. And why God allowed this to happen and allows so many other senseless tragedies in our world to happen, I am not sure.

And that's okay.

Sometimes there is no explanation. My husband preached at our church on Sunday. Our church has been going through advent together - pondering through the lineage of Jesus leading up to his birth on Christmas. I was proud of Jim for being brave and wise enough to set aside the advent message he had prepared for Sunday and rather speak a gut-wrenching and grace-ful message in light of Friday's tragedy. Sometimes we can ignore the world around us and carry on like nothing happened. But Jim paused and entered the mess. He prayed for the families that lost loved ones by name, and he delved into the life of Job. Job is a book of the Bible that so intimately discusses the aspects of human suffering. The whole book is devoted to suffering. What struck me the most was that God never revealed the reason for Job's suffering. Job's friends tried to give him an explanation, and his wife did as well, but all of their pat answers and pointing fingers were wrong. I think the lesson in Job, is that so many times we just cannot and are not given the answer for suffering.

My heart knows there is hope. It trusts in the Hope. I know that my God sees the beginning from the end, and that He is weaving and working to redeem this suffering and this hurtful world we live in, to make it new again. I know that in the end, He will establish His perfect kingdom, and that the suffering will cease. I know that my Jesus is near to the broken hearted. I know He is in the middle of this mess. I know that He was born and lived and suffered and died in the middle of our mess. He is not a stranger to our suffering.

But I don't know the answer to the whys of all of this hurt and suffering. Neither can I see from my vantage point how God is weaving all of this into the Ultimate story. Do I know He is weaving and writing and orchestrating? Yes, I do. But I don't know how.

All I know is that this is not how it should be. I know that the suffering and pain is immense, and that God is big enough to handle our pain, hurts, doubts, fears, and tears. I know that pat answers and trite Christian statements are hurtful and even unloving sometimes when these tragedies strike. I am going to silently trust Jesus in this, and wrap my arms around the mess the best way I know how. Sometimes that means just sitting in the middle of the hurt and mingling tears with those who suffer.

And that's okay.

Like never before I am eagerly anticipating Advent - the coming of Jesus, when all of this mess will forever be cleaned up and finally the world will be righted.

Come Jesus. Be near.

.Fundamorphosis - A Review.

2012-12-19T11:34:00.000-05:00

I am a Baptist Pastor's wife.

And I just finished reading the book Fundamorphosis: How I Left Fundamentalism But Didn't Lose My Faith by Robb Ryerse.

I have been intrigued and anxious to read Robb's journey for some time, and for a number of reasons. One being that I thought it would be exciting to read a book written by someone that I actually know. Robb and I grew up in the same church (The very fundamentalist church he writes some of his childhood memories from, and the very same church in which my husband is now a pastor at - yes, you read that correctly). We went to the same small Christian school. We attended the same Bible camp (the Bible camp that my husband and I would go on to work at for the first 6 years of our marriage), and we even attended the same Bible college, although Robb is yeeeears older than me {hahahaha}. I understand his background. I understand his fundie roots. I understand his struggle.

Because it is mine.

We all have a story to tell, and I believe in some way it is part of the Ultimate story. Many times our stories collide and weave with each other's. Robb's collided with mine. I have always been interested in people's stories, and this book did not disappoint me. It is Robb's story. It is personal and intimate. It is candid and honest. It is brave. I was so impressed with the gracious tone in which Robb wrote his book. He could have come at it with a completely different angle. An angle of bitterness or superiority, or an air of know-it-all-ness and judgement, but he didn't. He was gracious with his roots. He was gracious with the fundamentalist churches he grew up in, and yet he was authentic and transparent in telling why he had to move away from what he had known. I also really appreciated the way in which Robb shared his journey, because it truly was just a telling of his story. I never felt pressured to come to the same conclusions that he has come to. I never felt like he was trying to sway all fundamentalists to leave their churches and join his kind of church or that he was slamming fundamentalists. The book was written in a mature, loving, respectful and gracious way.

Having said all of that, Fundamorphosis was also written in a way that did make me think and reevaluate things that I have grown up being taught. Robb's story made me wrestle even more with my story. Ever since returning home from Africa two years ago, I have begun to understand that there is something missing in many of our churches and in our lives as Jesus followers. I have grown weary of the judgmentalism, the legalism, and the lack of love and grace. I have been frustrated with titles and boxes. I look at the Jesus of the Bible, realizing we are supposed to mimic him, and feel as if we are sorely missing the mark in so many areas - including in our churches. In our fundamentalist churches we continue to be so concerned about the exterior and the masks and and our consumeristic way of "doing" church, that I feel we are missing out on what we could be in Jesus. I feel as if we are sitting in our cushy pews waiting for people to flock to us, when Jesus was the first to engage His culture and flock to them and love on them. Sadly I see much the opposite of this.

I don't want to play church anymore. I am tired of it.

So I went into this book with a lot of this on my heart already.

From reading the book, I got the impression that Robb had also felt many of those things. It would have been easy for him to have become jaded and dismiss church altogether, but I so appreciated the emphasis that Robb does place on church and community. It was very encouraging and hope-filled to read how a church could really be a loving, non-judgmental, authentic community. It was refreshing to know that a church - that Jesus followers- can function from a heart of love not a spirit of fear. Fundamorphosis is motivating. It makes me want to do, to actually get out there in my community and culture and live a transparent life - not a perfect life - but hopefully a life that does point to Jesus. I want to be crazy enough to actually do the things that Jesus talks about in the Bible. I really enjoyed reading Robb's views on moving from just orthodoxy to the importance of orthopraxy. It is something that I have felt for a long time.

I do not want to give a verbatim review of this book, but would rather you get a hold of a copy and read it. It is a detailed account of Robb's journey to better understand and make personal his faith. While I may or may not have come to all of the same conclusions that Robb has come to, his story has left me pondering my own story. It is a captivating and compelling book. If you are struggling to own your beliefs, if you are tired of Christian mediocrity, are wrestling with the organized church, or are just curious about Robb's journey, I invite you to read this book.

Whether one is for or against the Emergent movement, I think any follower of Jesus should be on a journey of morphing to be more and more like Jesus - our faith should not be static and stagnant - and after reading this book, I believe that is exactly what Robb is suggesting.

I invite you to purchase a copy here.

{I was not in any way compensated for this review. This review entirely reflects my own thoughts and opinions.}

.How to Take {Pretty} Photos of Your Christmas Tree. {Repost}

2012-12-03T07:37:00.002-05:00

[This is a repost taken from last December.]

Let me start with my disclaimer - I am not a pro-photographer. In all honesty I am a momtographer - a mommy with a dslr who is passionate about capturing moments of my children's childhood. Everything I know is self taught. A lot of what I have learned is intuitive and trial and error. I was asked yesterday by three different people how to take pictures of their Christmas tree. I am going to attempt to answer how I did it in as simplistic of terms as I can. I am sure there are far better tutorials out there, and definitely far more technical tutorials to be found. But here is what I do.

The camera I use is a Nikon D5000, and my current favorite lens (which has not left Roxy, my camera, since the day I purchased it!) is a Nikkor 35 mm. LOVE this lens. Love, love, love it.

Moving on.

So your lighted Christmas tree photos might be turning out like this....

(no sparkly glow - the flash sucked it all away {sad})

when what you are really wanting is a photo more like this.

The first photo was taken in auto mode on my camera with the flash.

Here is how I got the bottom photo:

Tip #1 Light your Christmas tree. Turn off all of the other lights in your room. I took this photo around 8ish, so it was completely dark out at this time.

Tip #2 Use a tripod or something to set your camera on. (You will want to do this anytime you begin slowing your shutter speed -which means your shutter will stay open longer in order to let in more light - and it is really hard to hold still enough to not shake your camera and blur your photo.) Jim has a really nice tripod, but I was feeling lazy, so I just propped my camera on some crates that I had.

Tip #3 Turn your camera to manual mode. This automatically turns off my flash on my camera. You want your flash off.

Tip #4 Change your ISO (for my camera I go to the menu to change ISOs). My room was dark except for the tree, so I changed my ISO to 3200 (as high as my camera will allow). You may want to play around with this for your camera and depending on what time of day it is.

Tip #5 Because I only had light from the tree in the room I wanted my lens open as wide as it could go in order to suck as much light in as I could. So this meant that I wanted to change my f stop (aperture) to the SMALLEST number. For my lens that is 1.8.

Tip #6 The last thing I did was change my shutter speed to 1/60 for this shot (I metered on my Christmas lights - if that does not make sense to you just keep adjusting your shutter speed and snapping until you like the look!).

Tip #7 Focus and shoot!

Voila! A {pretty} photo of a lit tree!

Let me know if you give it a try, if it helps, or if you have better/different tips to share!
(All photos are unedited - straight out of the camera)