When giving is good for your soul ... Part 1

Our packing list was really pretty basic. Bring only the necessities.

Scrubs, Cipro, malaria prophylaxis. A journal ...

Do not bring a hair dryer. We will know who you are ... that's what the note said.
Quite frankly, I've never seen a more darling group of gals with messy hair.

I was an out-of-towner and couldn't drop donations by the office. They said we would keep our Cipro and undies close, but all donations would go under the plane. I wasn't flying out with the group. I hadn't planned on donating this time. 

Five days before we left, I had my little crew in the attic. Ben was playing trains the way he does- pushes one solitary boxcar from the back with just two fingers. He goes steady, around and around that table.

And that particular day, he just kept walking around that one storage bin-  filled to the brim with little shoes.  Big memories.



They were my babies' shoes and I could see all three of my children in those tiny soles. Even now, I know they are just things ... just rubber and leather all bound together.

But it can be hard to give away sentiments ... and my mama-heart is bound up in all their running and climbing and fast out-growing.

I had tried before- to give them all away. Some little person could use these, I would say.

But I was holding onto every footstep. I had grown up right alongside them, after all.  Three babies later, I'm standing a little taller in my own big-girl shoes.

But we were upstairs and Ben just kept walking into that box and it was clearly an obstacle.
I wondered if it was an obstacle for me too. There was the box and then there was me, holding on tight to things instead of giving away what was never really mine.

I wondered. Can I give away rubber and leather? Can I create some space here in this attic,
here in this heart?

The next day I put out a quick word, barely audible.
"Hey all, if you have little people shoes- I'll take 'em with me. Next week they'll be on little feet."



And then the text messages came.

I overnighted a box to you.

These were hard to give away, hope you can use them!

Made my heart sad to remember my babies  ... but happy to think of these on new feet. 

I told them all how I could relate. I had done my share of hanging on too.

The next afternoon my door bell just kept ringing. Sweet mamas on my doorstep with bags of tiny soles for tiny people. Little shoes covered my little floor. As the momentary clutter grew, I could feel how the giving away was already making new space on my inside.

My middle gal, and best helper, joined me in the sweet chaos. We sat in the center of it all, held hands and whispered big prayers over little feet ... little lives so far away.

At the end of the day, my doorbell rang one last time. Through channels of mail and people, my
heart friend had sent a tiny gift bag with a sticky note. All of the other generous women had done what I had done ... given from our excess. But my friend had gone shopping.

I sat at my kitchen table and I opened her bag and I had a little cry.

And inside that little bag? She sent just one. perfect. pair. of shoes.

They were brand new and picked out and paid for with one little soul in mind.
And on the sticky note? Just this:

The night before I would fly, my Todd and I kept each other company. I stalled and stared into my tiny suitcase and shifted my protein bars that required way too much space. He encouraged. And he sorted and matched and tied together and packed a gillion little shoes.



I was stressed and afraid to fly so far away. He lined them up in rows ... told me to take a few pics.

A few days and a few thousand miles later, I helped unpack onto hot pavement.

And right there, I knew that all of the miles these little shoes had traveled were just a glimpse of what will be.

And all of the milestones and grateful mamas here at home? Oh friends, now there are many more of those too.

Because in the giving away we get to watch the blessings grow, multiply, travel.

So, to you-- my sweet mama friends-- thank you. Thank you for giving.

Right now, a lot of little somebodies, and their mamas, are thanking you too.

 
     photo credit: Kris Kundrock

And by the way, I can't wait to share Part 2 with you. Oh my...

moments.

Catching some early summer sweetness now that we're all under one roof again. We ran across a bridge to catch the sun and we ran down a path as fast as little legs could go. We have new wheels and we have lots of will.

Run after something sweet today. Catch a moment worth holding.

Blessings to you today, my friends.

Homesick and Happy

I've been back in town for three weeks. It's been twenty-one days since I washed that red dirt out of my toes and out from under my fingernails. I stood long in the warm water here and I scrubbed really well.

But Africa lingers under my skin.

I can smell a world away in the quilt across my lap, but I won't be washing it under any water. I'm too afraid to blur the browns and reds and blues, too afraid to rinse away the scent of His "yes."

And I've been home longer than I was away, can't believe the moments came and went already. There are people, a world away, who have committed their whole lives to a country. A continent. There are new friends who stayed behind, forfeited the round-trip home in order to seek and serve ... indefinitely.



My abrupt arrival and departure barely feel noteworthy ... already back to taming the laundry, attending preschool graduation, blowing up pink floaties for the pool.

I want to multiply what happened three short weeks ago and the longer I am home, the more apparent the gift becomes: my feet were on that soil.



And people have asked if my desire has finally been quenched.

"Gosh, no!" is all I can say. Truth is, the whirlwind trip simply affirmed what I already knew: I love a place and a people now more than ever before. And dare I say it?



It felt a lot like home.

Back in January, over red wine and broken bread, we finally named the year ahead. We had pondered and prayed ... wondered if we were too presumptuous, trying to name a year that wasn't ours to claim.

We agreed on a name and 2012 would be our Year of Finding Home. Mostly, because we were feeling the squeeze ... these walls pressing in with three children and toys and squeals and life rubbing us all raw. We laughed occasionally, sang a little made-up ditty about how we'd been "struck down in the prime of life ... "

And we didn't really mean it, only we sort of did. That tune with just one line made us laugh hard and it lightened the mood when moments seemed bleak.  

 

The Year of Finding Home seemed to fit ... for months we had talked and prayed, felt like Jesus was inviting us into new spaces. And our address didn't change but heart walls were under construction.

Naming the year was like bringing life into focus. We wanted to really see, find out what our home on this side of heaven might really look like. Could we look for Him, see Him, join Him in the now? Could we be at home in Him even when being at home in general was wearing us down?

All the while He was redefining home. When we named our year, we were planning a simple sun-room addition, a quick porch make-over. We thought we might bring in some light.

But He was reworking the foundation. 

And home has a particular scent. It lingers on your clothes and greets you square when you pass through the front door. We were walking into all new territory that felt strangely familiar ... like He had been there before us-- inviting us into safe, sweet smelling space.

We spoke of adoption. We wondered, in barely-there whispers, if a child could find a home in ours.

We held on to our people while bravely branching out to new family. We walked through new doors and looked new brothers and sisters in the eyes ... humbly asked to drink from their cup too.

We committed to homeschooling this little crowd, committed to learning how to live and love well within these walls ... for better or worse.





And the home we spoke of suddenly had many new rooms ... held more than one shade of paint. We spoke of finding home just as the walls were closing in. Suddenly, they began to expand.

So when I cried over Africa again and he said "It's time for you to go," I  thought it odd. Why, in this Year of Finding Home would I fly so far away on my own?

When that 747 touched down in Entebbe I knew:  this too was part of our heart-home expansion.

And I caught His sweet scent there in that Ugandan breeze. Over an ocean and a continent away, I tilted my head back with a quiet laugh. Oh there You are. Of course You are here too ...







Todd had said it before: "You know this trip you're going on? You need to know it's a family affair. We're all in this ..." He had meant it and I had believed him.

Just a few nights later, I pushed back a chair in the open-air dining room. I told new like-minded friends how I named my years and how I felt at home right there in that space, with all of them and with all of that dirt in my toes.

I wondered how. How does a girl feel at home a world apart and under a mosquito net? Away from a man and the babies she named ... the babies who named her? I wondered it out loud to new family in the dark, over lentils and warm Fanta with a straw.

And really, I already knew. Isn't home wherever He is?



So I'm home now and He is here but He is there and so am I. I am here under my quilt with my purple watch still ticking loud. I am there with friends who stayed behind and I am there with women and children and their stories that go on.

And perhaps that sweet scent of home has nothing to do with an African quilt or the breeze over a continent.

Perhaps that scent of home is really just Him--  the sweet Savior who is for all, in all, and through all.

And when we make our home in Him, we too become a sweet aroma to the world. And all those lovers of Him? Don't they fill our lives with His sweet aroma too? And regardless of the soil we're standing on, we can be at home. Him in us. Him through us. Him all around us.

I'm so glad to be home with these expanded walls. And I'm more homesick than ever before.



"You have been our dwelling place, through every generation ..." Psalm 90:1


Friends, interspersed among the rambling are pictures depicting a typical clinic day. Forgive me if you had trouble focusing. I did. Later this week, I'll share some of the sweetest faces you can imagine. I'll also tell a story of shoes ... the shoes that you sent along. Have I thanked you? :)

When time stands still ...

They circled around and they listened to my watch and for a minute, time stood still. As the second hand ticked loud in their ears and they giggled and tugged at my arm, I counted the seconds too.

And I wished it would never end ... all of that right-now joy.

Kindest friends, I am home and well-- a heart filled and already longing to return.

I have had a most challenging time sitting still with thoughts, just can't seem to put words to anything at all.

But I have stories to share. And I will.

For now, what an honor and joy it was to serve with an extraordinary and talented group of folks. I am in awe of what the body of Christ can be, and do ... each person working with God-given gifts in order to serve and love well.  If I have ever been convinced to become fully me for His glory, it is now.  

Thanking Jesus for a beautiful picture of His church working together, for new and dear friends, for my sweet home and family here ... and for a country that has found a forever-home in this heart. 

Thank you, sweet Grier, for capturing my camera and moments I'll hold tight. 

When reality sinks in ..

I had my first real anxiety dream ... filled with episodes of me running to and fro, looking for my lost children, my lost backpack. I have been to Target way too many times, considering I can pack close to nothing. Really, I don't need anything else at all. I am just a little restless. 

I registered my name with the State Department. And according to my updated shot record, I shouldn't come home with hepatitis, yellow fever, polio, meningitis, or typhoid.

Or malaria. Or the flu.

Todd and I said some important words to each other. You know, just because Africa is pretty far away. And despite the anxious dream or two, I'm really not afraid to get on that plane.

After all this time ... I'm more afraid to stay right here.

Below is a short documentary about the clinic I will work with (please note: video contains medical images). This clinic runs year round while incoming volunteer teams arrive every three months to serve the more remote populations/areas.

Our team will caravan each day to new locations, setting up makeshift clinics on site- complete with triage, dental care, occupational therapy, and medical providers. Past teams have served 2000 people in just six days.

Pray me there and back, would you? Pray for wisdom and sure hands, a steady mind. Pray for my sweet husband and my little guy and gals. Pray for our mamas who will stand in the gap. Pray for the whole team who will GO. Pray for the beautiful and gracious people of Uganda who are already there.

Hoping to post just one more time before that long plane ride ... a quick video filled with beautiful faces and our family's new favorite song. But if not? I'll meet you here in a week or two. And check in over here once or twice as well. Power permitting, we'll get a post or two up while we are in country.

Peace to you, sweet friends!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lr7Qf8mPuY4

When the "yes" is sweet ...

He and I didn't exchange presents this past Christmas. At some point during Advent, we agreed. Let's just receive what we already have. Let's not do anymore asking.

And we fell into a Christmas rhythm of waiting and watching and speaking of the real present found in the Presence. The God who comes down.

Backtrack just one month to Thanksgiving and it never fails. Each year the dearest family members begin asking for our "lists." For years I have been quietly defiant, passively refusing to write down the wants. And for years a family has given the extravagant gifts anyhow, always the showering with the tangible, the practical, the visible. For years, I've held my breath in the moment of receiving, never knowing what to say ... my 'thank you' always feeling so feeble. Inadequate.

I've got this sweet husband who says, "This is how they love you well, just let them love you, Ab."  And he inherited these giving genes and he can go overboard in the kindest sort of ways ... like the time he imported chocolate cereal from Ecuador after I mentioned it with nostalgia. He says his greatest joy is to give, support, surprise this girl. This is  the same girl who wrestles a critical voice like a lion and cries uncle too often under that weighty lie: "You're not good enough for all of this."

We are an awkward pair: he, the ultimate giver and I, a girl who doesn't like to ask.

And let's be honest. It's not because I don't like to receive. 



There have been lots of tears these years too, wanting desperately to grasp the art of giving.
Because I want to be a giver too.

I wonder sometimes if it isn't the getting and the giving that can change a person. I have not been great at either ... both all wrapped up in stifling insecurity: fear of inadequate giving, fear of unworthy receiving.

And I think it odd that my Jesus would give me a abundantly generous man to model generous love; that He would graft me into a family of crazy-givers who make me voice my wants, make me hope out loud.

This is the family that asks for snow each year and after years of humoring, I've begun to believe they could actually conjure it up somehow. Anyways, how many of us dare to put out the big, impossible ask?

Isn't it easier to keep the big desires quiet? Whispered only in soul closets.

I have lived in this space. 

I wonder about asking God for the extravagant and I discuss with myself on paper. "Can I put out the big ask? Can I anticipate the extravagant yes from the Giver of all good things? Can I also trust the 'no' that may come instead ... if He truly is good all the time?"

He has been good, in the giving and in the withholding. He has known better than I, each time a request went up and out. He will be good again.

And while we didn't give gifts to each other this season, we did select a few for the kids. Intentional and special. As we sat back, sipped coffee and watched them swirl and play, I felt it deep down in a new way: it is good to give a well-timed 'yes' ... to give a good gift with great affection.

On Christmas night, after kids were down and baby dolls were tucked into new doll beds, I sat down with a pen, thought on how the baby born was just that ... an extravagant 'yes.' An extravagant answer to people sick from hope deferred for far too long. I thought about how the infant God-gift was all wrapped up and waiting before their asks ever went out.

I imagine an extravagant God, waiting for just the right moment.    

And even though I didn't ask Todd for a gift this year, I did ask the Father for three. (Ah, the other two for another day perhaps??) But the first?

"Christmas is here," I wrote down in a journal "and I've got Africa on my mind ... all those faces ..."

As it went down in ink I knew it was too big, this ask. How does a mama just up and go? Fly over an ocean, land on another continent? There is laundry and school and there are little people with so many needs. A man. No, this one is better left a dream. And I can't get a 'no' if I never actually ask ...

But my pen made the leap and so did my heart. "Can I go? How soon can my feet touch the ground?"

This husband-giver said, "I think it might be time" and then a passport came in the mail. I wrote a country on the wall and we started to pray.

And after all these years of quiet hoping ... we heard an extravagant, well-timed "yes."

Friends, my feet will hit red soil in just. ten. days.

I've been overwhelmed by the receiving, all of your gifts and prayers (you know who you are) coming together to sing a resounding YES over this dream. The thank you's feel far too feeble and I imagine there will be many, many more to say. To you and to the Giver ... there is only gratitude.

I cant wait to tell you more ... these words are all jumbled and fumbling. But I know this: He is teaching me how to receive well, all of this lavish love, so that I might truly be a giver too.

Peace to you. And more Africa info. to come!

When unfinished is a good thing ...

She is a finisher, my oldest gal. I can't pry her away from a project midway ... I don't dare. Because when she has a vision, she sees it through to the end. And this trait necessitates my catching her before she begins. 

Or else we are all in for the long haul.

This is a wonderful trait ... the will to finish a task.

And this little gem of a girl who hums non-stop has constructed a full penguin suit from brown paper bags and established, in the yard, a nest-home from twigs for each of her birds. So when she said she would trace an entire coloring book, page by page, so that her sister would have a copy  too ... well, I should have known that she would, in fact, trace the entire coloring book. 

I love this about her. She is gentle and kind and intuitive ... and strangely tenacious with the focus of three adults. Sometimes I project myself onto her, calling her my "mini-me." And there is a visual resemblance, naturally.

But tenacious I am not.

I tend more toward the drifting along with an insatiable wanderlust. I may, or may not, finish what I begin. I assure you, He is working on me in this area.

And it is slow-going.

In my defense, what I lack in follow-through, I more than make up for in vision. Oh! There is a lot of VISION around here.

Truth is, I would like to be more like my daughter. She is inspiring at six and I am painfully (and gratefully) aware that I have a long way to go.

I am so very thankful that that my Father is tenacious too. And focused. 

He is a finisher. He followed through. He is following through. He will follow through.

For me, for each of us, this is very good news ...

Perhaps give yourself some grace today? Find peace in the knowing that you are not yet complete. Artwork unfinished ...

Surrender a bit to the process, to the vision? And if you feel you've got a long way to go?

Excellent!! Let's journey out this growth together, one brush-stroke at a time.  

"being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."    Phil. 1:6


Ah, friends. I have so much to say and I'm missing you! Lots of words here, all back-logged and waiting. Soon!?!

If a little bit of change sounds nice ...

She was just two and a half when she memorized her first bible verse. It wasn't intentional. She had this favorite book about a caterpillar. You know, the very hungry one.

And parenting was still new when she was two and I didn't know how to "train up a child" (I still don't ...!) but it just seemed natural to recite it with her ... the way the old goes and the new comes. And so we did. After that caterpillar munched its way through one piece of chocolate cake, one salami, and one slice of cherry pie, it wrapped its old self up for the waiting.

Each time we turned the very last page we held the book up overhead, opened and closed its pages and pretended to make that "beautiful butterfly" fly. She would articulate it just right and cheer the last part as if there were an exclamation point. Maybe there should have been.



"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old is gone, the new has come(!)."

For four years now, she has recited her "butterfly verse" at the end of that story and at the end of (nearly) every day.

This was accidental parenting too, us not knowing then how it would pave the way for hearts just before sleep. Night time is an ideal time, after a day of mess-ups and missteps, to talk about needing a little new life pumped into day-drained vessels. They seem to do their best thinking after the lights go out. I know I do. And by days end, which one of us couldn't use a little transformation?

Who doesn't need reminding that we are new and we are being made new all the time ... simultaneously soaring while shedding this mess-up prone life-skin -- one real, hard day at a time.

Each Monday here, we begin school the same way. I hand my girl a new character card and we learn the sentence together, then practice the lines from weeks before.  "I don't quit, I persevere."
"I am a wise child, so I work hard." This week she asked why the card included a butterfly. We read the words, "God can make me new."


I smiled, told her I bet she already knew the answer. 

So we read books about butterflies and she drew their life stages. She didn't say. We painted butterflies on canvas and she ran after moths with cupped hands in the yard. But she didn't say. So, when she let that back door slam on her way in from outside, I shushed her loud, nearly yelled  (always ironic) that "Ben is sleeping!" the way I tend to do. And then this ...

"I figured it out, Mama! It's just like my butterfly verse ... God does metamorphosis in us! That's why there's a butterfly on my card. "

And four years later, her "butterfly verse" came into full color and she was animated and jumpy with the knowing. Later, she dug a bit deeper. "Mama, can God make anyone new? I mean ... like anyone?"

I knew what she was really asking. And she wanted to know what we all desperately need to remember. Is there anyone who is too far gone, too far out, too far away? Ah, and this girl of six doesn't know her own heritage, the oldest born to two prodigal parents.



I smiled. "Yes, He can make anyone new." I told her how we don't ever stop loving, hoping with, anyone. "Not ever, ok? Because God can always change a heart."

I say it loud and clear, tender but emphatic. I say it with authority because I've lived it. I've seen it. And I've listened, jaw-dropped to the floor, to humble men and women who speak of the old, but only display the new. Yes, this is one I'll die on -- for myself and for the one out there who appears unchangeable, for the one who believes too much time has lapsed, for the one who has been given up on.

Because really? What good is Easter then?

What are we remembering? Hoping for? Celebrating? Why all the praise that will come on Sunday morning? Why bother with any of it if not for the promise of the new?

Later that day I mess up big and I yell and I have to apologize to my kids. For a minute my couch with green marker streaks trumps a kid's heart and I crush it good. I send everyone outside with wide eyes while I scrub and the marker comes out but I'm all messed up.

I tear up while I apologize and I try to make sure they know I value them more than a piece of furniture. But my oldest girl has internalized this butterfly truth and she leans in, pats my back the way I do hers. "It's ok Mama. We all need a little metamorphosis everyday."

She winks and I'm stunned because what do you do when your kindergarten kid ministers to your soul? I tell her I guess I'm just a stinky caterpillar today and my middle gal just thinks this is hilarious. 



On Palm Sunday we entered into Holy Week and began this final leg of the Easter journey. I've failed miserably in writing about any of it here-- but God has met us in these past forty days. Beautiful things, rich and lovely, are transpiring.

To begin the week, we planted a tiny garden in a silver tub. We chose plants still green with the knowing that they will bloom ... soon.  We bought parsley for the sole purpose of attracting butterflies and Cara has been toting a self-made caterpillar habitat, complete with caterpillar, for three days now. Our house is full of anticipation and the watching for signs of new.

And I just keep laughing, thinking about how badly I need some metamorphosis, and how often. I think on how we shed just a bit more of this everyday skin all the time -- everyday becoming a bit less like a caterpillar and a bit more like a winged beauty (2 Cor. 4:16).

This is the hope we have and the promise He made good on. "God can make me new."

Friends, today is Holy (Maundy) Thursday. If you missed Lent, missed Palm Sunday ... perhaps begin today?  Perhaps read through Mark 14 and 15 and begin to walk this road a bit, before Easter sneaks up?

Because everything changed, and became new, at the cross. 

Peace and grace today.