Heirs with Christ

Please Re-Subscribe!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Tue, 26 May 2015 01:36:00 +0000

If you are a subscriber to my blog... you'll have to subscribe again! I'm so sorry!

I switched hosts, so your subscription is no longer active. Please add www.heirswithchrist.com to your Feed Reader, or go to www.heirswithchrist.com and enter your email in the "subscriptions" section on the right side of the page.

Thank you!

Please Re-Subscribe!

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Mon, 11 May 2015 18:00:00 +0000

If you are a subscriber to my blog... you'll have to subscribe again! I'm so sorry!

I switched hosts. Please add www.heirswithchrist.com to your Feed Reader, or go to www.heirswithchrist.com and enter your email in the "subscriptions" section on the right side of the page.

Thank you!

Do Hard Things

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Wed, 06 May 2015 19:03:00 +0000

After a nearly four year hiatus, I am exercising again. As with most habits that require discipline, I must be dragged into them kicking and screaming. Fortunately, I married a man who is not afraid to drag. (God knew what He was doing there.) So for many early mornings this past month, I've ridden in Brad's passenger seat, silent with my arms crossed, as we prepare to pant and groan through the ominously named "Boot Camp".

And now, one month later, I like it. It's funny how that happens.

Yes, it hurts and feels like torture. And yes, I cringe when made to crawl across a floor soaked in the sweat of strangers. But there is a dignity that comes from accomplishing hard things.

* * *

Sometimes, my girls cry when I make them get out their math workbooks. I am not sympathetic. I am also not mature. Usually, their tears result my own raving rants, which were the closest I came to exercise before joining "Boot Camp". It isn't that I'm a math fanatic. Sure, I believe in education, but my deafening diatribes are rooted in a value even more fundamental than arithmetic. My passion is this: I want my kids to do hard things.

I want to do hard things.

Anyone can love the friends who make them feel good. Anyone can enjoy a nap in the bed. These aren't bad things. But they are easy. They aren't the things that tone our heart muscles and make us a strong force for good.

There is so much I want for me, and for my girls. Hard things.

I want us to pick up the phone and extend love when it is uncomfortable. I want us to make dinner for the family facing surgery, even when it is inconvenient. I want us to choose vegetables more often than candy, work more often than television, and courage more often than fear. I never want us to downsize our dreams because of the labor required.

But I fight most things that require discipline. And so do my girls.

* * *

Sometimes Christians get a bad wrap for being Doomsday fanatics, as if we're a bunch of crazy street corner preachers shouting that the end is near. I don't know when "the end" will be. But I know two things: One, the end is getting closer every moment, and two, Jesus said things would get really hard towards the end.

Scripture says many will fall away from Christ as things get harder.

I could spend my whole life pursuing comfort and learn nothing about endurance in hard times. Doing hard things, and with endurance? There are eternal implications there. Our hard work doesn't earn us intimacy with God; only Christ's blood does that. But God's children can live ineffective lives in pursuit of comfort, or sweaty, groaning, powerful lives in pursuit of His Kingdom being seen on earth.

Sweating is starting to sound so good.

* * *

The last time my girls wept over math, I drew a line in the sand. I told the girls we would do hard things. Myself included. We had a long talk. They had noticed I tell Brad that it's "too hard" to fit in writing. So I vowed to write. They vowed to learn.

I printed a simple sign and taped it between their beds. It says, "I can do hard things." I read them Phillipians 4:13 and told them about Christ our strength. Our new mantra around here is simple. "I can do hard things." We celebrate all that makes us sweat and strain and grow.

Usually, one of us in the family resists discipline, nearly kicking and screaming. (It isn't always a kid -- and it isn't usually Brad.) But that's what family is for. We can drag each other along. And in the end, even the most unyielding of us enjoys the gratification of perspiration and accomplishment.

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Sharing the Hut

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Sun, 22 Mar 2015 02:52:00 +0000

We have friends staying with us from Zambia. And that feels amazing, mostly because we love our friends Jacob and Libby, and they're here sharing our patio instead of passing through our Facebook feed from across the globe. But there are other reasons it feels good, too. I feel my imagination stretch as we chat about daily life, and I envision the downpour of rainy season and the bustle of Zambian traffic, packed with minibuses and pedestrians and bikes.

Also, it's been a few years since we've had a home that comfortably houses guests. Most of our homes in this city have been either small or under renovation. We've missed our life in Montgomery, where a young church intern lived in our upstairs, and the downstairs guest room rotated occupation between visiting friends, family, and missionaries we'd sometimes never met.

Back then, our house was always full. I used to call my mama and complain about the number of events I had to clean up for each week: Sunday night small group, a dinner party on the weekend, a prayer meeting on a weeknight, the occasional baby shower. But maybe a part of me was calling my mama to brag; our home overflowed with friends.

I've thought a lot lately about hospitality. We don't open our home much these days because we're in a rental that looks like the Brady Bunch set. But it has a spacious bricked patio and an open kitchen. By worldwide standards, our dated home is lavish. I picture the huts Jacob and Libby visit in Zambia, where there's no electricity or clean water, and I know we're squandering the gift of a home that God gave us to share.

I spent the first twenty-four hours of Jacob and Libby's visit this week fussing over the temperature of the guest bedroom and obsessing over shower quality. Finally, Libby looked me in the eye and said, "Rachel. We live in Africa." Point taken. Only, it took the exact statement from Jacob an hour later to shut me up.

So I'm thankful to have friends in our imperfect home. I have to start somewhere. Besides, no friends will be clucking their tongues at our absent rug or unflattering interior paint. To have a house full of friends again? That makes this Brady Bunch hut of ours into a home.

Do Something for Christ... Even if It Might Go Terribly!

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Wed, 25 Feb 2015 21:25:00 +0000

I'm dusting off the old blog today because God has impressed something so strongly on my heart, and I hope to encourage you with it.

Christians, DO SOMETHING today for God.

Last week I was in the car with my friend Perry, and she said something that stuck with me. We were talking about Jesus and she said, "I'm just so tired of talking and so ready to DO SOMETHING."

Her statement shocked (and convicted) me, because Perry IS a doer. Already. She and her husband have some incredible testimonies about various ways they've quietly DONE for others, but you wouldn't know it about them right away because they keep their generosity private and don't ask for human praise.

But recently, one of their good deeds was more public than usual.

The short story:
Perry's husband Peyton is a "mentor" through a faith-based program. He mentors a remarkable 18 year old college freshman named Demetrius. Recently, Demetrius confided to Peyton that he'd found a prepaid WalMart Visa card in the parking lot at his work, and scanned the balance to find over $10,000 on the card. Demetrius could have used that money, but he did an incredibly honest thing and turned the card in to his local WalMart.

Peyton was so proud of Demetrius. So Peyton set up a Go Fund Me account, hoping to reward and encourage Demetrius' character, and help him buy a working car. Peyton only told Demetrius about the account after he found out that Demetrius had begun car shopping.

It is a simple, sweet, uplifting story about a young man of character, and about our friends who are willing to JUST DO SOMETHING to act for Jesus.

But...
the local news (which friends kindly got involved to raise awareness/fund for the Go Fund Me account) has since taken a different spin on the story.

And now, people are questioning Demetrius' character, as well as Peyton and Perry's character.

The young man Peyton was hoping to encourage is now being accused as a scam artist. It's just not true. I'm not sure how WalMart Visa's work, or whether the WalMart employee Demetrius returned the card to pocketed it, or whether the card that Demetrius found was a fake. But the bottom line is this: Demetrius thought he had $10,000 in hand, with no one watching to see what he'd do with it. And yet, he did the right thing.

Which brings me to my point.

One reason Christians so often fail to JUST DO SOMETHING for Jesus is because we fear the repercussions. Peyton and Perry sure didn't expect this storm to hit, simply because they wanted to encourage their friend.

So what's the answer?
Mother Teresa said it best:

People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered.
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind,
people may accuse you of selfish ulterior motives.
Be kind anyway.

If you are successful,
you will win some false friends and some true enemies.
Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank,
people may cheat you.
Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building,
someone could destroy overnight.
Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness,
they may be jealous.
Be happy anyway.

The good you do today,
people will often forget tomorrow.
Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have,
and it may never be enough.
Give the best you've got anyway.

You see,
in the final analysis it is between you and God;
it was never between you and them anyway.

31 Years

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Tue, 29 Jul 2014 05:30:00 +0000

I'm 31 today.
When I was young, I obsessed over my future. I fantasized about a crystal ball that could show me glimpses of the life to come. What would young Rachel have thought if she could have seen the life I now live?

Would I have laughed aloud at the rolls on baby Owen's arms...

...the courage Amelia musters at the playground...

... the amount of joy a milkshake brings to sweet Caroline?

Thank you God, for 31 years that led to this!

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The Injustice of Grace

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Fri, 07 Mar 2014 05:02:00 +0000

I've just had a deep, hard, soul-cleansing cry after reading about acquaintances of ours still dealing with grief over the death of their child.

Meanwhile, my chubby three month old son nuzzles against me, nursing as I read. He's falling asleep quickly, rubbing the tufted rolls of his wrists across heavy eyelids. I do not deserve this grace.

Across the hall, Amelia cries out from a deep sleep. "Mommy!" We've had a tough time lately. Her emotions at 3 mimick what I didn't expect until 13. I've never felt so rejected. But now, she calls for me. Finds comfort in my lap. I lay her down, placing blankets under her chin and kisses across her cheeks. And I don't deserve this grace.

I think of friends still waiting in hard places. I don't even know what to say to them. I feel like I've abandoned them, the empty-handed, while I clutch greedily my children, my husband, my blessings.

I have so much more than I deserve.

Thank you, God, for the strange, unexplainable graces You lavished on me, an ingrate. There is no justice to it at all.

Weary Mama, Loved by God

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Thu, 06 Mar 2014 03:23:00 +0000

I stay tired these days. Many of you are nodding your head smiling, because you know I've had a third child, and you know the sweet blessings of God sometimes feel awfully heavy when you forget Who's carrying them... Or, heck... Sometimes they exhaust us even when our eyes are firmly on God. Because yes, God is our rest, but on this earth we don't get to fully experience all His gifts like we will in Heaven. So yes, on earth I lust for 5 hours of consecutive sleep, but I'm actually much more desperate for the rest that comes from His promises.

(Yet if you stick a Bible and a pillow in front of me these days, I'm ashamed to say I'll grab the pillow most often. Sigh.)

I'm rambling.

Recently, I've been brainstorming ways to bring in some income while still staying with my precious children. And the one thing that irks me about it is that I feel CALLED to glorify God, especially through words and writing. I'm not saying "ministry writing" has to be where I make my money. I remember some apostles who were CALLED to the gospel but made and sold tents on the side. I need to figure out my tent making, and this blog isn't it. But in brainstorming income ideas, I keep thinking about my callings... And my desire to encourage you.

So hi.

I'm tired too. Just like you.

Although our struggles are different than mine. Maybe yours are emotional, relational, financial, spiritual... Usually it's a mix of a lot of these, isn't it?

You may not feel like you have much to offer right now. I certainly feel wrung out, limp, exhausted, and powerless.

But that's not the truth of who we are.

We have the power of the resurrected Christ in us.

I had to remind myself of that tonight. And I really wanted to also remind you.

Baby Owen Coming Tomorrow!

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Mon, 02 Dec 2013 00:18:00 +0000

Tomorrow, God willing, our son Owen will be born.

Our house is a flurry of cleaning and packing. My stomach flips with pre-labor butterflies. But my heart feels compelled to worship God quickly and simply here... to acknowledge the lavish and undeserved gifts he is giving us through this child.

Advent began today -- my favorite season of the year, when we remember that every ache and wait is ultimately a wait for God. He is our hope, even more than the "stuff" we hope for. Last year, Advent for me was a season of loss and mourning. I'd known hard waits before, like the Christmas we cried, wishing we cross the globe to adopt Amelia sooner. But last year, our wait wasn't a hopeful one, like the wait for a child to join the family. Instead, it was a wait for my body to realize the pregnancy I carried was empty. From November 28 through December 14 last year, the best I could hope for was for my miscarriage to complete.

Tonight, just like this night last year, I pray for my womb to be emptied soon... only it's a totally different prayer. It is a prayer for my child to be born! I am flattened to the ground with gratitude.

I go into this labor knowing I don't deserve the goodness I'm receiving. In the past twelve months, I've watched dear friends face infertility and miscarriage. I've seen children wait for their parents to die -- and what kind of a wait is that?

Don't get me wrong -- every hardship in my life has been the blessing of God. And I fully believe that my hurting friends are beloved in God's eyes -- that He is shaping them through trials because He adores them and plans far greater glories for them than ease. I pray my life preach God's goodness even when -- especially when -- circumstances aren't good.

But tonight, on the eve of what I expect to be a beautiful, life-changing day, I have to praise God.

No matter what, He is good. But tonight... tonight I can feel how unworthy I am of His lavish love.

Best Bible Story Book for ages 2 to 102

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Thu, 03 Oct 2013 16:20:00 +0000

Long ago, I made a list of books our family used for teaching preschoolers the Bible.

I've fallen in love again with The Big Picture Story Bible, and if you have children spanning various age groups, you may want to know why.

These days, we have a kindergartner and a three year old.

It makes it tricky to study Bible stories together. The age gap matters. And to be honest, I like a children's story book that feeds even my thirty year-old soul a bit.

We have many Bible storybooks we love. But they're either too babyish for Caroline, or too advanced for Amelia. We still love having them on hand for one-on-one reading, but lately, we've found the perfect solution for reading around our cereal bowls in the morning together. It is age-appropriate for anyone, ages 2-102. This book would even benefit teenagers. (I've often considered bringing it as an aide in teaching youth Sunday school or small group, so teens can understand the basic themes of a Bible story before we study it from the Scripture itself.)

Reasons Why I Love The Big Picture Story Bible

The book reminds children from story 1 (creation) to story 28 (Revelation) that every part of the Bible is really talking about Jesus. (And I appreciate the reminder!)
It's one of the few children's books that doesn't gloss over the dark sides of the Bible. No, it doesn't highlight age-inappropriate things like incest, adultery, and everything else shocking in Scripture. But it continually reveals that all people -- yes, with a special focus on God's people -- are rebellious, cruel, and miss the point. There are several times in the book when God restores things to peace, and as I turn the page, my girls begin to moan, "Oh no! God's people are going to be mean again! They'll disobey! They'll forget!" Amen. Let's not be self-righteous Christians. Let's always remember that WE forget God... that WE miss the point... that WE disobey. And there is mercy and transformation in Jesus.
There are some simple themes this storybook highlights from Genesis to Revelation:

That God made a promise... which His people continually broke and rejected... and which He mercifully upheld for us anyway.
God's Place - Began as Eden. Became Canaan. Symbolic of Heaven.
God's Kingdom - Started in the Garden. Became Israel. But was leading up to a kingdom composed of His people from every nation, tribe, and tongue.
God as King - He was King in the Garden. People thought David was the "forever King." But really David was a foreshadowing of King Jesus.
Believe God. This book makes it clear that all sin stems from doubting God's goodness.

Just for fun, here are some clips from the book.

Get a copy for your family!

I hope you love it like we do.

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Well... I'm Back

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Thu, 26 Sep 2013 22:58:00 +0000

I'm writing again.

I'm not sure why I've been gone. This blog has certainly remained active during seasons far busier than the one I'm in. (Although, to be fair to myself, I am getting used to full-time homeschooling while rennovating a still-kitchenless house and 3rd trimester pregnant! Shew!)

Honestly, I think I was shrinking back from responsibility.
Because this space is so often my ministry. And it is my great joy to use words to glorify the One True Word. Truly, I think it is one of my callings...

One that I laid aside.

And I miss it.

So... I'm back. Is anyone still out there? ;)

I won't get all serious and gushy just yet. Let's try an ice-breaker... the first 10 things that come to mind:

Home renovations stink, but they're rewarding. And, when it's too annoying, I never mind hiding out in my bedroom with a box of nerds and a good book. :)
I love being pregnant. I'm praying for all my friends who want to become pregnant, EVERY SINGLE time I feel that euphoric "I can't believe this is my miracle" kind of joy. You're not forgotten.
I LOVE 9th and 10th grade girls. We have a new small group. I laugh until my stomach hurts.
My husband has either turned into the most supportive man in the world over the past two years, or I finally wised up and noticed just how amazing he is. Really. He's an all-star dad, and he shows me a lot of tough love about how I'm called to write more. (Which makes me defensive.) And then he explains that all he wants is to send me to Starbucks for alone time doing what I love and feel called to do. Oh. Oh yeah. I guess I shouldn't be mad about that!
My shorts are too tight.
A neighbor came over to introduce herself an hour ago. I was in a bathrobe. With no makeup on. Caroline had a milk mustache. The girls were watching Sponge Bob. I think most people don't let their kids watch Sponge Bob. I don't understand what's wrong with it. It wasn't a shining moment.
My skin is so dry right now....
Because I take baths all the time lately, (thus the bathrobe)....
Which is weird because I'm usually a shower-every-other-day kind of girl....
Don't judge.

Why It's Irresponsible to Stop Talking About Race

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Tue, 23 Jul 2013 04:12:00 +0000

"Race is one of those topics nobody wants to touch. Like religion or politics, people seem to want to stay out of it. The problem, though, is that in not talking about race, we are letting it fester. We are putting our heads in the sand and pretending not to see the bias that people have to endure every day. Talking about racism does not perpetuate racism. Let me repeat that: talking about racism does not perpetuate racism. We won’t solve anything if we are too scared to speak about it. One of the comments that annoys me the most, when I blog about race, is when someone says, “Well, you are just passionate because your kids are black.” Shouldn’t we all be passionate? Are we content ignoring a problem just because it doesn’t effect us? Should we ignore bullying unless our kid is actually being bullied? It’s time for everyone to care." - Kristen Howerton

My husband often urges me (and whoever is listening -- he preaches, you know,) to find their "holy discontent." This term, coined (I think) by Bill Hybles, refers to the particular injustice in the world that boils your blood differently than it does other peoples'. Differently than other equal injustices bother you.

My head won't stop spinning these days. I think I've found my holy discontent.

No, it isn't what you might think. My holy discontent isn't the one hundred and fifty million orphans in this world. While my heart soars at stories of orphan care and adoption, this isn't even what drove us to adopt Amelia. In fact, it was only after we'd started Amelia's adoption process that I began to truly understand the vast need for orphan care, and how beautifully the adoption process taught about our own spiritual adoption to God's family.

So. What is my holy discontent?

Racial division.

I realize this gets moans from many of you. You think it's an exhausting, overhashed, contrived and unhelpful conversation.

Once, I may have agreed with you. As we picked which country we'd adopt from, Uganda stood out because it fit our logistical needs. The one hang up -- that we'd be white parents adopting a black child -- seemed inconsequential. "Who cares this day in age?" I figured.

I was right, mostly. Race was an afterthought for most of our friends and family, who doted on Amelia lavishly. Of course, they did coo over smooth brown skin and obsessively fondled her baby afro. But to them, her race seemed little more than an accessory.

But me? My worldview in terms of race would soon be rocked.

Maybe it was when my toddler slid tiny chocolate feet into my "nude" heels... or when "flesh colored band-aids" didn't blend so well into her flesh.

Maybe it was when I realized that (nearly) every black adult I'd exposed Amelia to so far in life was hired, either as a nursery worker, or janitor, or babysitter.

Maybe it was when I rejoiced that other church-members were adopting black children, because finally Amelia would have some friends in the congregation who looked like her.

A discomfort stirred in my soul.
If this country had really been through racial reconciliation, why didn't we worship with and spend Friday nights hanging out with many black families?** Why was our interaction with an entire group of people limited to work, school, hiring, adoption, and charity? Where was the unity Christ prayed for before his crucifixion?

I spend a lot of time speechless and brokenhearted on this issue.
It's complex.
I haven't figured out what to say or do.
And I'll admit -- if you find me on the weekends, I'm still most likely playing or praying with other white people, with the exception of Amelia, of course.
(What do I do, anyway? Strike up conversation in the grocery store and tell the nearest black mom that I'm in need of more black friends? Awkward!)

Still.
God has more for us than this.
We are meant for more unity than this.

Silence will keep us separate.
The rift is broad, and no one can build bridges without discussing blueprints.
We must converse.

So, I have a few resources for you.
I pray you'll read, and consider joining the conversation.

Today (Tue. 7/23) at 2pm CST, click here to peek in on an important conversation about race, the Church, and the Body of Christ.
Learn what white privilege is. It is not an accusation. The true definition shouldn't stir defensiveness, but foster understanding.
Become a fan of listening to different perspectives. (One great place to listen is this series, where many different writers of various backgrounds are invited to share their own experiences with race.)

So, are you ready to listen? To talk?

Sure, we're integrated at work and school.

But do you have advice? How do we integrate where it really matters: where we play and where we pray. How do we become one cohesive Body of Christ?

**I don't mean to harp exclusively on the relationship between blacks versus whites. This is my focus because 1) I'm white with a black daughter, and 2) I live in the South, where the history of black/white relations is complex. Despite my focus, let's step back now and recognize that Jesus intends for His entire and diverse Church to be One in Him.

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God is... Impatient? {For Those Waiting}

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Tue, 16 Jul 2013 03:18:00 +0000

It's no secret that I obsess over learning all the reasons God has us wait.

The truth is, I hate waiting. This fact is excruciatingly clear when I long for a child, or life direction, or a tough situation to pass. But sadly, it's not only the "big" waits that taunt me. My blood pressure also rises during inconsequential waits -- for clumsy cashiers and for my three year old to buckle her seat belt.

Buckle your seat belt, baby.

Buckle your seat belt.

Amelia!! Buckle. Your. SEAT BELT!!!!

And so, when I pick up Scripture, my eyes hunt eagerly for keys to unlock the spiritual value in our waits.

A loving God would only have us wait if it is for our good. I want to understand that more.

Last week, I found an astonishing verse.

We've all heard a million times that God is patient. Obviously. That's why He hasn't crushed Earth to powder in the palm of His hands as people continually deny and scorn Him.

He is slow to anger.
Patient.
A patient God.
P a t i e n t . . .

So, when I saw this verse claiming God felt impatient, my neck twisted ninety degrees. Huh?

"...and [God] became impatient over the misery of Israel." Judges 10:16, ESV

Patient God...
Eternal God...
timeless God...
the God to whom one thousand years is like one day, and one day is like a thousand years...

Sure, He is patient.
He's patient with our sin. He is patient and extends mercy upon mercy.

But there is something with which God becomes impatient...
... the misery of His people.
Judges 10:16 says so, and I'm loving it.

I think of the times I've been miserable while waiting. (For me, I mostly think about waiting to adopt Amelia, wondering whether Ugandan adoptions were really going to shut down. For others, I think of infertility, unemployment, loneliness, chronic pain...)

And I am struck with awe.

When we wait in misery, we are not the only ones who feel impatient.
God, too, feels impatient with our misery.
(Even if we brought it on ourselves, as was the case for God's people in Judges 10!!)

As He hears my cries,
your cries,
God, too, feels fed up.
Not with us.
With our agony.

And He plans His action.

Now, I don't know when that action comes. Only at the perfect time, to be certain... and humans can't see the big picture to know when that is.

But what a comfort that our Creator feels our misery...
and even feels impatient over our pain.

What empathy our big, eternal God has for His finite, weak creation.

Of course I am thankful for God who is long patient with the sins of His redeemed.
But I am also grateful to discover that God is sometimes impatient... not with us, but with the sorrow that plagues us.

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My Three Babies

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Tue, 09 Jul 2013 15:32:00 +0000

I told Brad the other night that I was a little curious about this little munchkin in my belly... what would the third child's role be in our family?

You see, my first two children each turned the world on its head for me, and I love them eternally for it.

silly girls

Every night, I go kiss my two sleeping girls. Most nights, Caroline and Amelia fight sleep for hours, giggling in their matching pink beds until they finally pass out in a wild tangle on top of their covers. I then go in to straighten the quilts and pull sheets up to their chins. And of course, I often sit on the side of each bed and kiss them between whispers of love.

To Caroline, I tell her, "I love you forever, my very first baby. I was never a mommy until you came, and you taught me how to be one. You are my heart." And I kiss her firm, round cheek until she starts to stir and I tiptoe quickly away.

To Amelia, I say, "My sweet Mercy, I love you always. I am so glad Jesus gave you to me. You teach me the gospel every day and I never would've known God adopted me without your life preaching to me all the time. Dear God, please let her life preach always." And I kiss her small, soft cheek until she snorts big and starts to snore loud, and I laugh and leave.

My first two children made life begin afresh for me. They each opened up new worlds to me.

And I was a little curious whether this third child could really change my life the way my first two had.

And then...

And then I went to the doctor yesterday.

I saw a miraculous new life stretching and swimming. I saw the profile of a nose curved much like Caroline's. I saw strong leg muscles like Brad's, and a tiny heart beating strong. And...

And...

I saw a little dangle between the legs. :)

IT'S A BOY!!!

A boy busting his precious way into our world filled with baby dolls, pink and purple pipe cleaners, and hair bows.

I am giddy in a way I haven't been since Amelia came home to us from Uganda. It's that kind of excitement that only comes when the best kind of change is peeking over the horizon. I spent an hour sorting "sparkle beads" with the girls for their craft drawer, smirking at the realization that I'll probably never sort sparkle beads with this new little guy growing inside of me. (Although, he will share a VERY girly bathroom!)

I'll have to buy this poor boy some dinosaur bath towels. :)

I haven't the slightest idea what to do with a boy.

But I know that each night, after he falls asleep in his crib, I'll kiss his smooth cheeks and whisper proudly, "I love you, my very first baby boy..."

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A Few Odds/Ends + Home Demo

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Mon, 08 Jul 2013 12:11:00 +0000

I'm not becoming a home blogger. Although I will piddle in it. The main point of this blog is faith and pointing to God's goodness. That (main) part won't go away. In the meantime, if I paint a wall, or recover a chair, or find a cool toilet paper holder, I'm probably also bragging about it on here. So there ya go.
A couple of people pointed out that I left you hanging after dramatically saying I've been bleeding through pregnancy. The deal is, I think everything is okay, but I haven't seen a doctor yet. I've bled so much and seen doctors so much that at some point, I'd far surpassed my allotted extra visits and ultrasounds. But I'm nearly 18 weeks now, stopped bleeding two weeks ago, and am pretty sure I've been feeling this little booger kicking away softly in my belly. So I'm feeling good about things. And I see the doctor later today. And I'm hoping we find out whether this is a boy or a girl!

Now, on to smashing things to smithereens.

Oh boy. Our home on Instagram.

I should be terrified because we move our lives into this wreck within a few weeks. But truly, as soon as I saw walls, cabinets, floors, and even some ceiling smashed to oblivion, a peace washed over me.

Ahhhh....

Because every wall and floor smashed is where brand-new ones picked to my liking go in. :)

And the floor plan is looking much more spacious.

So, here's where we are...

Every floor in the house has been ripped up, except for the bathrooms and laundry room. (The sub-floor needs to be replaced in a couple of rooms. We can hopefully get that done this week.)
The brick column and upper cabinets have been removed from the kitchen.
The ceiling in the family room is demoed - for several reasons. But I'm excited because this will allow us to add can lights.
The big wall of doors and windows in the family room have been removed.
The wall between the kitchen and family room has been mostly removed.
All wood paneling in the kitchen and family rooms have been demolished.(Sheet rock, please!)

Give me a minute to inhale, exhale... sometimes the sight of all that destruction can freak me out a bit!

And don't worry, it should be several weeks before I have another house post for you. I won't bombard you with more... yet. :)

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WE GOT THE HOUSE! (before shots)

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Fri, 05 Jul 2013 22:25:00 +0000

Well, I left you hanging with a super-downer post last time, but boy-oh-boy do I have some fun news for you this time. We closed on the house! Remember the one? The super fixer-upper I told you about? Here's the outside. Doesn't it have potential?

But it's a huge commitment.

I doubt we'll ever be done fixing it up.

At first the idea of living in the midst of huge renovations while homeschooling and pregnant (until the time I'm homeschooling with an infant) made me tempted to bang my head against a wall. And not just any wall. A brown 1970's paneled wall.

But we switched around the order of some projects to ensure that I have a working (even if unfinished) kitchen fairly early on, complete with a fridge and stove.

If I can have cold cokes and hot eggs, all is right with the world.

Do you want a tour? Here's our new home, exactly as we bought it.

Our New (to Us) Home: Before Shots

The foyer, living room, and dining room are pretty straight forward. Big, rectangle shaped rooms that need new paint and floors:

Living room. The tiled area is the foyer.
This picture is taken from the dining room.

Dining room. There is a doorway to the left that connects
to the kitchen. The chandelier will go... perhaps to a kid
bedroom after it is painted white??

So this is the view when you walk in the front door. What
you can't see here is that you can turn right into the living
and dining rooms.
I spy the brown-paneled family room. Dun dun dun dun...

Okay, so let's move on to the family room and kitchen. Most of our budget starts with renovating these rooms. I think you'll see why.

The family room:

The wood paneling needs either paint or sheet rock.
And the laminate floors are not in great shape due to
problems with the subfloor, so they'll have to be replaced.
That's the kitchen you're seeing through the doorway. We plan
to rip out most of that wall between the kitchen and family room
for shared, open kitchen/family room space.

View from the opposite side of the room. Unfortunately,
that entire wall of windows and doors has water
damage and will have to be replaced. And the ceiling fan
has no fan blades... so... uh... yeah.

And our other room filled with urgent needs... the kitchen:

Here's the cooking area. We'll either add molding to the
cabinet doors, or replace the doors (and the hardware) entirely.
Then we'll paint them white.
We'd love new counters, but these laminate ones will serve us well
until we make room in the budget for ones we love.
Counters are pretty far down on our list of must-re-do's.

To the left you can see a guy walking from our family
room into the kitchen. See the brick column? We're tearing it out.
The new oven/stove combo will be inserted where the current stove top is.
And the cabinets above the stovetop? Gone. That way,
the cooking area will feel open to the breakfast nook behind it.

The breakfast nook. Remember all the cabinets above the counter
will be gone. We're not sure whether we'll paint that brick or leave it.
It matches the brick on the family room fireplace, which I'd love to paint
white. And since we're removing the wall between these two
rooms, we should probably treat all brick the same.

This post is getting lengthy, so (for now) I'll spare you pictures of the laundry room and half bath. We'll also avoid all three bedrooms. (Hint: They're all rectangular and need paint/carpet/fixtures!) But I will show you glimpses of the two full baths. My favorite is between the two children's bedrooms.

In one word, it is PINK.

Pink tub, toilet, walls, floors, pink pink pink!

Brad hates it. All three of us girls love it.

And so, other than window treatments, a little paint on the sheet rock, and removing the shower glass over the tub, GIRLS will prevail and keep this room as-is.

You can't see the pink toilet, that faces the window.
The girls are SOO excited to look out over the neighborhood
as they tinkle. They may be ticked when window treatments
go up.

And finally, the master bathroom.

Brad and I would BOTH love to renovate this room, but it is far far down on the list, mostly because it is hidden away in the back of the house. To get to the bathroom, you walk from the master bedroom into a huge dressing area lined on one side by closets:

Hi Brad.
The bathroom is to the left of this. One day, we'd love to
take down the left wall to make all of this (including the
dressing area) into bathroom.

I doubt we'll change much in this room until
we budget enough to REALLY overhaul it.

Bye, Brad!

So... there's our house!

Next time, I'll show you the kitchen/family room demo.
I'm telling you, they've torn out ceilings, walls, cabinets, floors... It's a MESS! :)

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Babies Praying for Babies

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Tue, 18 Jun 2013 00:37:00 +0000

the last time we had an infant

In labor with Caroline. Yep, I used to be a blonde. I miss that.
I also used to be in my early twenties. I miss that, too. :) Oh well.

So the day after I very publicly announce our latest pregnancy, I bleed.

It's probably not a big deal, but it feeds that new and awful thing in me... that festering inclination that any good news isn't mine for the keeping, and that the bottom will fall out at any minute.

I've bled through this entire pregnancy, yet every ultrasound has shown a thriving little jumper in there. But today, it was just a little different and a little worse. As I spoke with the doctor on call, Caroline came in the room and started rubbing my back. She sat me down and brought me a glass of milk. Later, she and Amelia on their own initiative prayed over our baby.

(Their prayers could be a hilarious post all alone. Aside from sweet prayers for the baby's well-being, Amelia prayed that this child in my womb would have brown skin, and that it would do its chores and like to jump on the couch. When I informed her that this particular sibling would SURELY have "pink skin," she prayed that we might give the baby back to get a dog instead!)

My sweet five and three year old girls are such blessings.
And as they took care of my raw emotions tonight, I realized how crazy it is for a woman as blessed as I am to expect bad things. I have received good on top of good. Even the heartaches are redeemed by His beautiful blood. What do I have to fear?

Now... if I can just keep my eyes on His love and keep this new, blessed perspective in mind so I won't worry over the bleeding. ;) I'm an oh-so-flawed work-in-progress. But He is changing me yet!

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Our Big Secret

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Mon, 17 Jun 2013 00:36:00 +0000

Father's Day seems as good of a time as any to sweep the cobwebs off my little website and update you on our latest news...

I'm pregnant! (Nearly 15 weeks along.)

Caroline and Amelia are already the sweetest big sisters ever. My belly has never been so rubbed, patted, talked to, and kissed.

our friend (Mary Scott), Caroline, Amelia

The two bedroom apartment we moved into after the robbery won't be the best place for our soon-to-be family of five, so we put the house hunt into overdrive. We're hoping to close on a sweet fixer-upper next week, but it's a precarious situation, so I'm not sure whether they'll accept our latest offer or not. Of course I want the house, but it puts a knot in my stomach (in addition to the knot of our pear-sized baby) to imagine us as single-income, double-home owners. That's right. We still own our Montgomery house. It's stays rented out, so it's all good.

After the miscarriage-robbery one-two punch, I became a bit of a hold-my-breath-and-wait-for-the-bad-news type... I hate to admit. So I've been silent on this blog, not sure whether the recent wave of blessings were ours to keep and tell about. It's been foolish. I've missed out on seeing a lot of God's presence these past few months. I'm ready to move forward with eyes wide open to Him!

So... secret's out!
I hope your Father's Day is as full of reasons to celebrate as ours is!

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Why Avoiding Scripture is Living Like a Beggar

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Mon, 03 Jun 2013 01:26:00 +0000

via

Two years ago, I read about a beautiful Dutch-Christian tradition: They never leave a meal without opening the pages of Scripture together and also feasting on the true Bread of Life. Just as there is physical food for the body, there is also spiritual fuel for soul: God's Word.

It got me thinking: How often do we let our souls nearly starve?

Jesus rebuked Satan once with this verse:
"Man does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God."
(Matthew 4:4 and Deuteronomy 8:3)

The sad truth is that many of us who call ourselves Christians are spiritually emaciated... despite the free feast Christ has set upon our table. We live off of the crumbs that fall on the ground: a sermon on Sunday, the occasional radio program or Christian song during the week, and perhaps, a book about the Bible.

We rarely pull up a chair and eat freely of the Spirit's presence and the holy word of Scripture.

We're living as if we're beggars.
We've been served the sweetest delicacies of salvation, yet we live as victims scraping by on cold scraps.

Dear God, help us see with gratitude the gifts of Your Word and Your Presence.
And then, let us feast.

"All these victims

stand in line for

crumbs that fall from the table,

just enough to get by.

All the while the

invitation:

Wake on up from your slumber!

Open up your eyes!"

- NeedtoBreathe, Slumber

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to women who aren't moms: a mother's day thank you

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Tue, 07 May 2013 01:24:00 +0000

Mother's Day approaches and we plan honor for the women who parent.
It's a sweet holiday and it's deserved. A show of thanks for all who have
labored and pushed,
waited long on adoptions,
wiped noses,
removed sandwich crusts,
snapped their heads at sassing children,
worried,
hoped,
disciplined,
kissed,
prayed,
loved,
dreamed.

But what about the women who aren't mothers? Don't they deserve tribute?
I think so.

So here's to you, women who are not mothers...

To our peers who don't have kids:
You laugh and shrug when our children snatch your smart phone. You hug them and feign impressed when they "show you" their spastic leaping skills. You forgive us when our kids are rude and sullen. Thank you for never making us feel like rotten parents.

You're still our friends, despite the fact that we're in different life stages. You continue to call us, even though we repeatedly interrupt your serious conversation by yelling at our children to "be quiet" and "stop that". You trust that we care, even when our minds are scattered and we aren't the best friends anymore. You listen patiently as we obsess over breastfeeding, school choices, and play-dates. Thank you for loving us enough to stay close.

Without you, we'd forget that toy recalls aren't the top news headlines, we'd never hear our favorite band, we might forgo adult nights out, and we'd never be inspired to get out of yoga pants and into the clothes almost as stylish as yours. Thank you for keeping us relevant.

To the women in our parents' generation (who aren't parents at all):
You hang coloring books on our front door handle and have the very best treats ready every Halloween. You hug our children in church lobbies, and their little chests puff with assurance that there's love in this world. You daily teach the lesson that "family" extends past its formal definition, and that occasionally, you can find undeserved favor from the sweetest of people. Your calm demeanor soothes me every time we talk. Perhaps you've never had kids under your roof, but that doesn't mean you haven't profoundly impacted the next generation. I'm watching you, I'm learning from you, and I'm praying to become a little more like you. Thank you for the legacy you leave.

To the women who are hoping to become mothers:
My heart is tender to you most of all. You, who babysit friend's children when crisis strikes and they have nowhere to turn. You, who follow months of negative pregnancy tests with a trip to buy baby shower presents... and you show up at the shower, smiling, congratulating. You, whose adoption process stretches on and on... who wait for a child while others forget because your belly isn't visibly swelling in anticipation. You, who ache to hold your own child, yet embrace others' children with purity. Thank you for never letting your sorrow close you off to relationships around you.

Yes, mothers are to be celebrated.
But not any more so than all of you.
You contribute to our lives in beautiful ways.
You, too, leave a legacy.
You, too, impact the world.

Thank you.

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Singing Heart

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Thu, 25 Apr 2013 17:00:00 +0000

I was born with a misshapen heart. Still, I spent my childhood swimming, dancing, running bases, and hearing doctors marvel at the excellent surgical repair I'd received.

From a young age, I had only one question for my cardiologist: could I carry children. He'd always laugh and tell me childbirth involved organs outside of his cardiac expertise. I never got a straight answer, although I felt optimistic since no physical limitations were ever set on me.

One of the happiest days of my life was in the delivery room, pushing between laughter until Caroline was born. I never imagined childbirth could be so fun. Her name means "beautiful joyous song," which is exactly what her life has been to all who love her.

Last week at Caroline's well check-up, the pediatrician's brow furrowed as he held a stethoscope to her chest. "I'm referring her to a pediatric cardiologist," he said. "Do any heart defects run in your family?"

Do they?! Yes, in her mother, her grandfather, and her grandfather's sister who died as an infant. I wondered if I should worry, but every time I looked at our oldest daughter, I felt God surely intended to continue using her to spread more joy and beauty. (I realized I could be right or wrong.)

A week later, Caroline's cardiologist gave us another "beautiful joyous song"... news thats Caroline's heart is healthy. Two innocent sounds came from her heart: a "Venus Hum" and a "Still's Murmur." The first is literally the hum of her body working. The second is described as "a unique musical, resonate, vibratory sound."

Her healthy heart is literally humming, making music. How fitting for Caroline, our "beautiful joyous song."

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A Cry for Ethical Adoption

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 16:44:00 +0000

As I was driving yesterday, my girls noticed a smooth turtle clunking his heavy shell down the road. We stopped the car and tiptoed around him carefully, not wanting our new friend to be startled and hide in his house.

Amelia begged to take him home with us. Caroline objected strongly. "What if he has a family! They'll be wondering where he is!" Perhaps Caroline has been reading the same articles I've been reading lately, and is now advocating for high ethical standards in adoption. :)

In the "adoption world," there are often reports startling enough to make many wash their hands of adoption. Corruption exists. In some instances, poverty-stricken parents are manipulated into giving up their beloved children because of the promise of greater opportunity for these little ones on the adoption "market." There are the extreme cases of neglect by adoptive parents, and plenty of sensationalist articles calling the evangelical adoption movement a "craze" and an "obsession."

Criticisms like these should give us pause. There is merit in what they say.

Yes, we should be cautious to avoid "savior complex" when we're blessed with beautiful children who didn't come from our bodies. Yes, we should take care to ensure children are safe, loved, treated with kindness and fairness in their new homes. Yes, there should be training for adoptive parents, and clear expectations set for how hard it might be to parent a child who initially comes as a stranger living among strangers.

The importance of ethics in adoption cannot be overstated.
Children are not products for sale.
Adoption is not an industry.
Adoptive parents are not heroes, and adopted children were not fly-covered objects of pity until the day we swooped in to "rescue" them. They are, and always were, the precious, beloved children of God. God gives them to us as gifts, and we crumble in gratitude. Parents and children alike are the objects (not givers) of a rescue that comes from Christ alone.

Instances of corruption in the adoption would should cause us to fight corruption, not give up on adoption as a whole.

Because the truth is, adoption is still a beautiful blessing.
There are thousands upon thousands of children in this world with no mother, no father, no hope, no future. Many have great medical needs. And for these children, adoption is a gift they can both receive and give to their new family.

Some say church culture has become adoption "obsessed." One book calls us "child catchers." If we place a sick need to feel like a savior above the true needs of children, then these labels are well earned. But if we adopt carefully, prayerfully, ethically, lovingly, with full information... then adoption is good. If we first put our money and efforts towards keeping families together, and save adoption for those situations where the child's only option is an orphanage or the street, then what is there to criticize?

To all the critics of the Christian adoption movement... we hear you.

And to all the Christians with a heart to bring a sweet one into your home... there is a true need and a true blessing waiting for you. Proceed with information, with caution, with prayer, with diligence. There is a child out there whose best option is you, and who you'll be blessed to hold.

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When You Know God is Calling You to More

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Mon, 22 Apr 2013 21:18:00 +0000

I'm loading groceries into my car. Above me, Spanish Moss hangs from the oak branches, swaying in the wind, and seagulls coast against clear blue skies. It is spring in Mobile, Alabama. Have we really lived here almost an entire year now?

I slide into the driver's seat and remember the many times I'd parked in almost this exact same spot over the past ten months...
Picking up cold drinks for our movers.
To compose myself before facing the babysitter after finding out about our miscarriage.
To grab desserts before dinners with sweet new friends.
To get fruit for picnics with my girls.

These past months have meant laughter and tears, new friends and new challenges. And for the first time in many, many years, I have had time. I quit work when we moved here, and I've had more time for my children, my husband, and my God than ever before. Jesus has poured into me, and I have sat in awe.

Sat and sat.
But now it's time to get up.

Maybe you're in a similar position, (even if you don't currently have my same amount of available time). Maybe God has brought you through a (bitter)sweet season of learning, being filled with His love and Presence... and you sense in your spirit this same thing I'm feeling...

It is time to pass on this love He's put in us.

It's like that line in Desert Song: "I know I'm filled to be emptied again. This seed I've received I will sow."

This morning, I read the words God said to the Israelites in Deuteronomy 1. Perhaps these are also the words God has for you and for me:

"...'You have stayed long enough at this great mountain.'..." Deut. 1:6
"...'See, I have set the land before you. God in and take possession of the land...'" Deut. 1:8

God has spiritual territory for us to conquer. He has kingdom work He is setting before us, with the promise of victory... if we will, by faith, simply get up and fight for it. The Israelites let fear keep them from immediately going after the land God promised them.

Like the Israelites, you and I have a million excuses and fears that keep us from our spiritual destinies:

God, who am I to do such bold things? You surely can't be calling me to ___.
It is too hard.
I don't have the gifts/resources/time.
I'm afraid I will fail.

Like the Israelites, I've been using these excuses too long now.

But I want to see God's face.

I want others to see God's face!

And so, sitting is not enough.

Yes, I will continue to sit in God's Presence and take in all He has for me.

But then I want to stand by His Power and pour out all He's entrusted to me.

Don't you!?

What does this mean practically in my life? It means I'm saying yes to God...
...when I'm asked to serve, to teach, to write, to disciple.
(It's not always people who ask. Sometimes, it's the quiet voice of God that stirs my heart as I sit in His Presence.)

The spiritual territory God wants you to win for His kingdom won't be the same as mine.
But we're all called to take possession of His land. To show others His love and glory.

Are you ready to fight?

In what ways do you think God is calling you to "gain ground" for His kingdom?

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By His Wounds We Are Healed

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Sun, 21 Apr 2013 02:14:00 +0000

When we saw my dad moments after his open-heart surgery, all I could think was,

"By His wounds we are healed. By His wounds we are healed. By His wounds we are healed."

I really didn't know what I meant by it at the time. If you've ever seen a loved one after major surgery, you know what kind of shock I felt, along with my mother and sister, as we looked on his gray fish-colored body, freshly striped red in the place where his sternum had been sawed open, then glued back together. Only the beep of heart rate machines and the faint motion of his chest assured us he was alive.

And so maybe my chant was just a comforting distraction, pulled from Isaiah 53:5. The verse is in reference to Jesus' crucifixion, and His wounds that would buy our salvation.

What did Jesus' wounds have to do with my dad's wounds?

Turns out, everything.

On Wednesday morning, I had the incomprehensible pleasure of giving a talk to a women's ministry. I chose the topic of suffering, largely because of my dad and how he's taught me in word and by example the great spiritual value in suffering.

As I was speaking, I suddenly realized what it meant when I looked at my dad's chest cut through and thought, "By His wounds we are healed."

During my talk, I mentioned Romans 8:17. I love this verse. It's where I got this website's title, "Heirs with Christ." The gist of Romans 8:17 is that we believers will inherit the same amazing things Jesus is to inherit. It's mind-boggling. I still can't understand the lavish generosity of it.

But there is one caveat. The verse says we will inherit these things "if"...

If.

IF we "share in His sufferings."

("SO THAT we may share in His glory.")

Say what? Why would we want to share in Christs' horrific sufferings? Why would a loving God expect us to?

The point of my talk was this: Suffering is what makes us more like Jesus. I even went as far as to say it is a gift, when we allow it to draw us nearer to God, rather than farther away in bitterness. (Need Biblical backup? I just picked a few here, here, and here.) God, in His great love, grants us to suffer... because suffering makes us more like Christ, and brings us to a place where we can inherit all that is His.

I remembered today that Jesus' resurrected body still bore scars. The scars were not sad signs of defeat. The scars were the proof of His glory. The cross hadn't been some bad dream. It had really happened. He had truly suffered for us. And so He bore His wounds proudly, now standing victorious.

I always pictured Jesus in Heaven with a body unblemished. After all, Heaven is where He is glorified. But I forgot that even as victorious and risen from the grave, He is pictured in Revelation as heaven's slain lamb. The wounds are part of the glory.

And my imagination went wild. When we get to heaven, will even our resurrected bodies still bear scars, glorious proofs of the suffering we shared with Christ? Will our scars be part of the glory we share with Jesus?

Human attitude towards suffering is one of disdain, and so I once assumed that Heaven will hold no trace of the sorrows we went through. We long for trials to be erased, as if they never happened, when the truth is that our greatest transformation as Christians happens during the pain. So now I wonder...

Will my dad's chest still be striped with a mark of victory? Will my own scars from surgery as a baby glow bright, so we all worship and say, "Look what He brought us through!" Will there be special markings to show the emotional pains we've battled, yet Jesus overcame for us? Will the broken places of those who have been cut for cancer radiate light, so that we point and say, "See! They suffered and now share in the glory!"

My musings are creative and not (necessarily?) Biblical... but I still wonder. It's easy to assume our bodies will be unblemished in heaven. But Jesus' resurrected body still wore holes as if they were badges of honor and splendor. And every time we suffer well, we're sharing in Christ's sufferings.

Will we too look a bit slain in Heaven?

And will that be glorious?

What do you think?

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Fear Not: Perfect Love Casts Out Fear

noreply@blogger.com (Rachel Goode) — Thu, 04 Apr 2013 20:19:00 +0000

The fear series continues.

Feb 2011

Our Ugandan angel turns three today. I spent a chunk of yesterday reading Kisses from Katie, remembering those swirling red dust roads that carried us to our daughter. I clearly see myself stepping off the plane into the black Kampala night, passing soldiers armed with machine guns, and clutching Brad's arm tight as our driver swerved through potholes and crowded streets to take us to our temporary home.

The adoption agency had asked us, "Are you sure you want to go to Uganda now? We cannot guarantee your safety."

Egypt and Libya were rioting then, and there were rumors that Uganda's presidential elections might also end in violence. Our sleep in Africa was often interrupted by the sounds of men screaming Lugandan into loudspeakers, campaigning from their vehicles. On errands, we noticed endless lines of new civilian soldiers marching, training in case of riots, holding sticks which would soon be replaced with machine guns.

But I was not afraid.

I'm baffled as I think back on that.

How in the world was I less afraid then than I am now? One armed robbery wrinkles the down comforter of my cozy American life, and I'm wrecked?

In the end, Uganda's elections turned out peacefully. But even if they hadn't, Brad and I were coming for our daughter. There is a love so strong that it doesn't back down to fear.

Needtobreathe has an amazing song about this. Read the chorus:

Tell me why I should run for cover/ at the sound of the coming thunder/ when all I hear is the cry of my Lover./ So take your shot. /I won't turn back.

And I think I finally understand what this Christian group is saying. The "Lover" is Christ... this is common Biblical imagery. And the point is this: When we love someone fully, and when we know what we can do for them, we will not back down.

We loved Amelia, and no fear was keeping us from Uganda.
And Kisses from Katie is about a girl who loved Jesus, and no fear was keeping her from following His call on her life.

And maybe right now I'm filled with fear for one reason: I'm not living with a profound sense of purpose from the Lover of my soul.

"Perfect love drives out fear." And the only way we can love perfectly is to be transformed by the only Perfectly Lovable One. Do I live to serve Him, so confident of my calling that I can stare death in the face and continue in my joyful work?

There have been seasons in the past when I knew what God was calling me to.
Our sweet birthday girl is the fruit of one of those seasons.

And Amelia reminds me today...
Perhaps, instead of praying for peace, I should pray for passionate love and purpose, in Jesus' name. Peace will be a byproduct. And when thunder rumbles loud, I'll instead only hear the cry of Jesus' call on my life.

Dear God, make us a people who can't back down.
Because of our love for You.

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