25May

Miracle’s Mercy

Two years ago, a man named Wilfred heard of a recently orphaned little girl in the slums of Kampala, Uganda. He went and found her and took care of her until I became her Mama.

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Today, Wilfred sat in my home. I fed him soup and Southern cornbread, because it’s all this girl knows to do when she’s grateful.

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*Pause for a Mommy Sob*

When he was ten, Wilfred’s family moved to the slums in Kampala. He had to change schools and there he met three other young men, who, by God’s grace, knew how to be leaders. Together, they began leading a fellowship of high school students under a mango tree. When they were 17, they began their church, which now has over 5000 members.

We visited Light the World one Sunday when we were in Uganda. It was joy-filled.

Wilfred’s passion is to minister to families and children in the slums. Together with his friends, they started a ministry called Mercy Childcare. Their goal is to take care of children and to minister to the broken families they come from. They are passionate about raising Uganda’s next generation to be leaders in their own country.

When we were in country, Wilfred drove us down hundreds of bumpy dirt roads until my eyes crossed I was so lost. He walked us out to the middle of a pasture and told us his vision for Mercy Childcare. He imagined a sustainable village that would give children from the streets experience with family life and skills they could use to earn a living.

He wanted a home for the babies to play safely, not in the streams of sewage and mud in the slums. And he was passionate that the goal be not so much about “getting kids off the streets” but  helping them to never return to the streets.

We held hands and prayed over the land that Wilfred had already purchased in faith. That was a year and a half ago.

Currently, Mercy has 85 children in its care. 30 of those children live in the house that Wilfred originally built for he and his wife. When Mercy needed a building for the children in their care, Wilfred rented a smaller home for his family and moved 30 children into his family’s dream house. (This doesn’t include the 9 other children that live in the house with Wilfred and Venna. Venna likes to take care of the babies herself. She even cared for my Mira on occasion.)

Since we were in Uganda, Wilfred has finished building one of the homes on the land we prayed over. They are still working on raising the money for a fence, a borehole, and the toilets they need so they can move the babies to their own home with a married couple to care for them.

Wilfred’s vision is to build 9 more homes to hold 9 more family units of a married couple and 10 children. He will continue to help and minister to the families of children who are in Mercy’s care. With this ministry, he will be able to serve over 300 families and impact the next generation to be leaders in their country with the power to do good.

Let me be clear:  Wilfred’s vision is unique. His passion is not to help all the children be adopted by American families (although sometimes, as in Mira’s case, it is the solution). His passion is to fix the broken families in Uganda. And while he helps these children, he wants them to be part of a family unit. He wants them to experience the love of a father-figure, as well as a mother, so that they can begin to heal the broken image of family in the mind of Uganda’s children.

His vision is Big. But it’s achievable.

I know sometimes it feels like we’re inundated with requests for help and donations. Needs are everywhere. But I can tell you: I’ve stood beside this man, I’ve touched the children he ministers to, I’ve seen his home and his heart for his mission. This is the real deal, y’all.

This is about giving children homes and family, security and safety. It’s about being hands and feet for Jesus who says, “Let the little children come to me.”

When Wilfred hears of a need he meets it, even if it means giving up his dream home. He doesn’t always know how to meet all the needs, but the children, they just keep coming to him and so he just keeps saying yes.

I’m so very glad he does…

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Feel like saying yes and helping out, too?

Wilfred is collecting used iPhones or iPads while he is here in the States. He can sell them for double their worth in Uganda, effectively doubling the amount donated, and use it to build Mercy Village. If you’ve recently upgraded your iPhone or iPad and would like to give your older version to Mercy Childcare, you can email me at vitafamiliae at gmail.com. I’d love to send him home with a suitcase full of gadgets to sell!

If you want to help but don’t have any leftover electronics lying around, you can make a tax-deductible donation here.

Mercy Childcare is committed to being transparent about how your money gets spent, so you can check out their financials on their website. (Bottom left-hand corner.)

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The Bump Goes to Blissdom

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I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I took a road trip at 38 weeks gestation, but some day, I want Finn to look back and be absolutely certain that his mama was crazy.

I’ve been to Blissdom three times and each time I learn something. It’s like finding the Mother Ship and realizing, “These are my people.” They love writing and relating to people online. And they’re nice.

So I bought a ticket like I do every year and didn’t bother to count up just HOW pregnant I would be at the conference.

Math, it eludes me.

I made this trip with doctor and husband approval, plus a best friend by my side (who was great for laughs but very hard on my bladder control.) And I met some nice doctors at the conference who graciously agreed to be “on call” for the weekend.

A fountain birth at the Opryland hotel would have been EPIC, but I’m so glad it didn’t happen.

At my last Blissdom stint, I discovered what I do here in my corner of the internet is called being a “memoirist.” I write to remember. I took that lesson and came up with the bloggy mission statement you see up in the right-hand corner.

This is our memoir for our kids. We picture them at 30 and try to write the stories and thoughts they might want to know. We write the Now Stories for their Future Selves. And we humbly share them with you.

This conference, I stuck mostly with the writing track at break-out sessions and was surprised to discover by the end of the weekend, all the bits and pieces I took from each session were easily distilled into one personal mission statement.

I emerged from the blur of a crazy year, a crazy pregnancy, and a crazy weekend with not “Who I want to be when I grow up” but “Who I am right now.”

When you’ve been medicated for four months, this is handy information.

I AM… the Legacy-Maker, the Wisdom-Sharer, and the Way They See Christ.

I wrote this statement after I thought about my strengths, my weaknesses, and what I value most. I am this person to my kids, to my husband, to my friends, and to all of you, oh, internet eyeballs.

  • Legacy -Maker - For so long I’ve only thought of myself as the one who records the memories. But my husband and my kids need me to be purposeful to help them make the memories. And I need to Live with them, be in those moments. Writing is important, but it only means something if it comes after the living.
  • Wisdom- Sharer – I don’t often feel like I know anything, but it’s my job to give what I do know to others. I encourage and  speak truth to the people God sends my way.
  • The Way They See Christ – I point to Christ with my actions, whether it’s in a good way or a bad way. My People and all of you to see Jesus in the way I live life every day and write about it, including His grace and mercy when I goof up.

Right now, all my kids know about Blissdom is that Mommy comes back with applesauce and cereal bowls. (Yay for Swag!) But I hope they read this some day and know I wouldn’t have invested the time in going away for a weekend if it wasn’t to learn something important.

And now I’m ready for The Next Thing.

I’ve had a deep breath, a long look around, and I think I remember who I am now.

Here’s hoping I wear my identity well.

And that the Next Thing in life includes better bladder control…

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Setting the Record Straight

Whether 2 kids or 8, public schooled or homeschooled, organic eating or McDonald’s loving, we all have our Stuff to Deal With. The roads we choose, the things life deals us, the problems we face, they may be different. But we’ve all got problems, things that trip us up, make us sad. We’re all wounded, we all struggle.

Sometimes I think we compare ourselves to others and make assumptions about other people’s lives that aren’t true. We fantasize that somebody else’s grass must be greener. So in that light, I’ve decided to address a few common assumptions we see most often.

In the past, we’ve had the following Assumptions made about us:

I’m spoiled because my husband works from home. Okay, this one has a lot of truth to it. I am spoiled. Although, truth be told, Andrew spoiled me long before he ever started working from home. I’m a lucky gal. But I’ve had people look me in the eye and tell me that the only reason I can handle our children and homeschooling is because my husband is home. That’s a lie.

My husband is “in the building.” This does not mean that he holds my hand during school time, helps me change every diaper, and fields all my interruptions for me. It just means he’s physically present. Some days. Other days, like today, he’s in the office and not available for rescue missions.

Whether he is home or not, Andrew assumes that I’ve got things under control during the day. He loves to be of use when he can, but I am not safe in assuming he’ll be able to help, and he’s not always able to do all the helping he’d like to do. The implication that I’m so co-dependent that I’m incapable of caring for my young brood entirely on my own is just plain mean.

It’s hard work, it’s not always fun, but by God’s grace, I’m able. And, when the tables are turned, Andrew is fine on his own, too. We certainly work better together, but God does not give us what we cannot handle. He gave us this life, these people. He helps us handle it. And we love it.

Do I love having my husband home? ABSOLUTELY. He’s my best friend. What’s not to love about that? But let me tell you a little secret: when Andrew’s not home at lunch time, I totally love letting the kids eat cookies and picnic on the floor in front of the TV while I sit and eat a piece of chocolate and call it lunch. We can get away with it because Mr. Man Belly isn’t home wanting to heat up leftovers and eat an Actual Meal.

I don’t like leaving my house so please don’t invite me anywhere. It’s true, my life is easier when I stay home. But it doesn’t mean this is always best for my family.  The older they get, the more my kids need outings, opportunities to learn outside of our home. And, the more I trust them not to lick the walls or dart into oncoming traffic. So even though we still guard our time at home, I’m not opposed to trying something new. My kids love an adventure. And I’m working on loving adventure. And when I find out after the fact that I’ve not been invited places, it hurts my feelings. I promise I’ll try to say yes more if you’ll give me the opportunity.

Inviting a family of 8 to your house for dinner is an impossibility. Perhaps people who have read this blog for a long time shouldn’t invite us over to dinner, because you know too many horror stories, but for the uninitiated newbie, don’t be afraid. All of our children know how to use their utensils, they don’t spit their food, and they rarely play with poop any more.

Large families NEVER expect someone else to provide all of the food for their brood. If you are brave enough to invite us over, we will gladly bring a four-course meal with us, just for the chance to try. (And by four-course meal I probably mean pizza and brownies, but whatevs.) I also never expect organic fare just because I shop at Whole Foods. If you wanna serve hot dogs and American cheese, my kids will be your best friends for life.

Homeschool families look down on public school kids and their parents. Listen, I’ve got my opinions about homeschooling. So do you. But I respect YOUR right to parent your kids. I don’t question your love or devotion to your kids. I don’t think my kids are smarter than yours. I don’t think I am smarter than you. (True story: I spent all week beating the difference between Latitude and Longitude into my children’s heads only to have it pointed out to me that I had them mixed up.)

Mira is totally grateful and compliant because we did her such a big favor in adopting her. No. No, no, no, no, no. Y’all, she’s beautiful. She’s wonderful. But she couldn’t care less about what we “did” for her. She doesn’t sit in awe and stare at the television when we let her watch it. No, she demands her “Bub Gup-gups” just like all of our other kids. She doesn’t weep in gratefulness when I hand her the cup of milk. She cries in impatience when I don’t get it to her fast enough. And it’s not just because she’s too young to understand. She knows she’s suffered loss, she grieves her old life, she gets sad and doesn’t have the words to say why.

I think sometimes people don’t know what to say to us about our adoption, so they tell us how lucky Mira is. Um, no. Adoption exists because mothers don’t always live and parents can’t take care of their kids. There’s nothing lucky about that. WE are the ones who are blessed to be able to make up for some of that mess, to try and make it better for just one single child. We are not the perfect solution for Mira’s life. We’re just her new family, shuffling along and trying to figure out life together.

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My heart in writing this was less about US, the Vitafam, and how we’re misunderstood, and more about how we ALL make weird assumptions. I make weird assumptions about YOU. I fantasize about the “easy” life of a mother of two before I remember that I, once, for about 18 seconds, was a mother of two. And it wasn’t easy.

9 times out of 19, the assumptions we make about each other are Dead Wrong. So it’s time to set the record straight.

Where are people wrong about YOU?

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Biggest

I’ve written before about our memories from a decade ago. How Andrew smelled the smoke of the Pentagon, how I sat alone on my couch and wrung my hands. But today, ten years later and on a Sunday, my thoughts go to the first Sunday at church after 9/11.

We had several friends who were in the military. Some were at the Pentagon the day it was attacked, some helped pull people from the wreckage. The week before, they were Friends. Just-barely-grown-ups, well-trained, with great stories to tell of boot camps and West Point, but we thought more about their poker skills or how they played flag football.

That Sunday, their jaws were set, their eyes were alert, and their shoulders were determined. Some were already in uniform, headed off to places unknown after one last worship service at home. Their phones were on, their pagers were ready. Their nerves seemed taut and they were anxious for action.

And we were proud of them. We saw them for the heroes they already were, the men they were becoming.

Ten years later, I sat in a different church in a different part of the country, and I remembered those faces of a decade before. I know their stories. They’ve seen battles, loss, fatigue, grief… But I can still see the set in their jaws. Maybe their hairline has receded, but their courage, their heroism, is stronger than ever.

With a decade of this post-9/11 world behind us, we’re wiser… and a little grayer. In a few hours one morning, we all became part of something bigger. Our generation felt the sting, answered the call, served the duty.

With ten more years of living under our belt, I’m finding comfort in the idea that God is even BIGGER. He’s bigger than all the problems we can’t fix, all the global turmoil we can’t undo, all the evil that keeps us up at night.

He’s THE BIGGEST.

To Him be all the glory…

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Lessons From the Zoo

This morning we met Grampaw, Meme, and the siblings at the zoo.  My kids had missed Willa so much I’m not sure which part they were more excited about: being reunited with their sister or going to the zoo.  Andrew was at work so the kids and I wandered with The Fam.  And I totally relaxed.  For a brief moment, I was just one of the kids again, following my dad around insert tourist attraction here.

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Never mind that there were five kiddos nipping at my heels calling me Mommy.

I stepped back and got to observe the zoo, watch my kids take it in, and enjoy the moment.  No leadership skills required.  Plus, I got to let somebody else take my boys through the Snake House.

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My boys mingled with my brothers and, with the exception of the style of hat, it was hard to tell where one branch of the family tree left off and the other one started.

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And since I was traveling back in time mentally today, this picture could have been taken thirty years ago… of me.  Instead, Ellen Rose skipped along and I plodded behind.

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But either way, Daddy’s affection hasn’t changed in thirty years.

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Shortly after we arrived, Sam began begging me for a piece of paper and a pen.  ”I have to write down what I’m seeing.”

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He can barely read but he’s got to write it down so he’ll remember it.  One day, Son, this blog will all be yours.

Willa was just as content to walk along with us as she was to ride in the stroller.  And of course her aunts and uncles were happy to carry her if she so desired.  Which she did.  Often.

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My dad drove an hour and a half to go to the zoo, but what really got his attention were the concrete mixers in the construction zone.  Can you tell he’s been building a house for a year?

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Nothing ends a sweet day like a run through a fountain.  Or, in Willa’s case, a slow trot designed to get me as wet as possible.

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As I pulled out of the parking lot with a crew of hot, sleepy kids, my mommy hat slipped back on my head a little tighter and I became the Woman With the Plan.  (Well, until Andrew got home, then I could let him make all the decisions.)  But it struck me how comfortably I stepped out of my grown-up role this morning, how content I was just to go with the flow.  I knew who was leading and I was okay with that.

So why is my faith so weak some days?  I know Who is leading.  He’s even better with a plan than my daddy or my husband.  He’s Sovereign.  He loves me beyond comprehension.  And yet I kvetch and fuss and worry and moan about not knowing the next step.  I want to take control, make something happen.  But it doesn’t change His plan.  His perfect plan.

So I’m writing this to remember:  I want to wear my wife and mommy hat well, it’s the job I’ve been given.  It’s the plan I know.  And the rest?  The next step?  That trip to Africa I dream of every day?  Well, that’s not my problem.  I do not need to worry about that plan.   I can relax my grip.  God has it covered.

In the meantime, I’ll keep wearing my hats, metaphorical and otherwise.

Because that’s what my daddy taught me.

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Mentors For Parents In The 21st Century

or Everything I Know About Parenting Came In A Small Package From Mississippi

Last week, in response to one of your questions, I discussed the need for intentional parenting.  You should go back and check out the comments for further ideas and thoughts on the subject.  And, like always, I want to remind you that we are hardly “experts” on parenting.  Our children haven’t turned into anything but Hearty Eaters thus far, so heed our advice at your own risk.

Now, for the practical side of things…

Our first step, before we ever had kids, was to look for families that exemplified the sort of family we thought we wanted to be.  We were both blessed with supportive families who offered us much wisdom.  But, shortly after we got married, we moved far, far away from our families.  We had to hunt for a support base that could get to us in under 24 hours.

So we looked for families in our local church.  I’m not just talking about the family that was in church all the time, we looked for families whose children were above reproach, who honored their parents.  We looked for parents that seemed to delight in their children, to desire their best.  We looked for families who glorified God.

Then, we very timidly approached them and asked them to tell us their secrets.

I admit, Andrew and I hit the proverbial jackpot in mentors.  I quote one of the sweet mamas who took me under her wing all the time.  Anything I say that’s worth anything about parenting, it more than likely came from my Annie, drawled out in a Mississippi accent from a rocking chair on her front porch.  Despite her tiny little five foot frame, she wrangled her three boys with a gentle yet firm hand.  Knowing I had boys of my own to wrangle, her words were Southern Honey to my scared little ears.

I keep every one of her emails to me and I cull through them from time to time when I feel totally useless as a parent.  Her advice makes me feel even more like a failure, but then she lovingly reminds me of God’s grace to all parents, and His promise to give us strength whenever we need it.

You can’t buy that in a book, folks.  Especially not with that accent.

Which is why, before I get around to actually answering the original question about our favorite parenting books, I must encourage you to find some mentors.

I know I made that “mentors” plural and there’s a reason for that.  In this day of over-scheduling and extreme daily living, it’s incredibly hard to find just one person or family who can pour into you.  Andrew and I pieced together a “team” of mentors who covered different topics for us.  He had one man he went to for theological wisdom, one man who challenged him as a dad, etc.  I had my Annie for child-training, another for homeschooling, another for living life as a God-honoring woman, etc.  We’ve spent lots of time with these people, getting involved with their lives, asking them questions and observing how they lived.

Here’s what we’ve learned:

1.  You have to pursue your mentors. It is a rare person who has the guts to say to another, “I’m going to take you under my wing because I think I’ve got something to teach you.”  No, if a mentor is worth anything, they’re probably too humble to admit that.  So, despite your shyness, despite your insecurities, you will probably have to take the first step.

2.  Do not be devastated if your first choice for mentor turns you down or isn’t willing to meet your every need for advice.  They have lives, too.  They are not always in tune with the needs of others.  I’m not saying that’s right, it’s just the way it is sometimes.  Perhaps you need to look further.  Or, you can gently continue pursuit.  Get involved in their lives.  Offer to help them with the things that make them busy.  If they have older children, offer to baby-sit, offer to bring dinner, offer to help them with their yard-work.

3.  Do not expect mentors to replace your family in cases of emergency.  Some relationships with mentors grow into a role that is almost parental in nature.  But it is wrong of us to expect it.  Be grateful for the wisdom they are willing to share.  Do not assume that because they’re willing to talk to you about parenting that they will be there to help you clean your house after a week of the stomach bug.  Some mentors will, but others will dole out their wisdom from a germ-free distance.

4.  Be respectful of your mentor’s time.  Maybe they aren’t in the trenches of diaper warfare like you, but people are busy.  Show that you respect their time and they will respond more quickly and favorably.

Finally, I have a challenge for all of you who fit the bill to qualify as Mentors.  And, believe it or not, that’s ALL of you.  You’re all ahead of somebody in the walk of life.

So I challenge you, even if you feel totally unqualified for the job, make time to pour into others. Do not get so wrapped up in your own Here and Now that you forget what it felt like “back then.”  Remember that if someone had only taken you under their wing “back then,” how much you might have benefited.  Be that “someone” to someone else.

You never know.  Someday they might have a blog and quote your wisdom endlessly, taking full credit for everything you ever taught them.  It could happen…

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To What Purpose? – Why We Parent

We’re finally getting around to answering more of your questions from awhile ago. And, before we attempt to answer this, please remember that we are just one family, imperfect in all our pieces, and still learning every single day.  Our kids are  young.  They could all turn out to be axe murderers.  Take our advice at your own risk…

Nic asked us to talk about what resources we’re using to help us raise our kids.

We’re so very flattered you think we’ve put some thought into this at all!   But before we dig in to practical stuff, we need to discuss The Big Picture.

We think parents who are intentional about their parenting are the ones who are most effective.  So, what are your goals for parenting?  Do you want well-behaved children?  Smart kids?  National Merit Scholars?  Do you want them to be athletic, musical, artsy, dreamers, future presidents?  What’s the POINT of all this effort?

You can’t be intentional about anything unless you’ve got a goal in mind.  It’s funny that I was trying to answer this question this weekend, because here’s what we’ve been reading from the Bible plan this week.

Deuteronomy 6:4-9

Hear, O Israel! The LORD is our God, the LORD is one! 5You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might.  6These words, which I am commanding you today, shall be on your heart. 7You shall teach them diligently to your sons and shall talk of them when you sit in your house and when you walk by the way and when you lie down and when you rise up. 8You shall bind them as a sign on your hand and they shall be as frontals on your forehead.  9You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.

So, um, that’s basically our plan (and Moses said it much better than I could.)

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We want to teach our kids to love God and obey His commands.  We want to teach them diligently, all the time.  We want our faith to be totally integrated into our lives.  It’s why we homeschool (I’m not implying you can’t instruct your children about God if you send them to school, I’m simply saying it’s what works for us), why we keep our kids in church with us, why we guard our calendar and schedule so closely… Our goal is that our children love Jesus.  And we want to spend lots of time with them so that we can have a good, honest relationship and when we instruct them, THEY HEAR US.

Whatever decisions we make as parents, whatever resources we seek out, they should help us meet our goals for our kids.  It’s how we discern a good book about parenting from a great book about parenting.  It’s how we define who makes a good mentor for us.

But you can’t get anywhere as a parent if you don’t know where you’re going.  That only ends in frustration.  Your goals serve as your gut-check.  When something isn’t working, the goals are the guide that will help get you back on track.

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Soon, I’ll give you some more of the practical side of this:  mentoring, books we like, etc.  But I didn’t want to step into that until I told you what our intent is for raising our kids.

And now that we’re all on the same page about that, what are your goals?  What is your heart’s desire for those ankle biters you’re raising?  To what purpose is all the nose-wiping, book reading, and disciplining in your house?

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Our Pieces

Adoption will break your heart.

Obviously, our hearts were broken enough by the plight of 150 million orphans for us to begin the process of bringing one home.  But the journey itself is destructive and rejuvenating all at once.

For one thing, that piggy bank that we’ve held so tightly has been smashed to smithereens.  Last December was a very tight month for us.  Very. tight.  I waited, impatiently shuffling my feet on the inside, wondering  what God would do.

He didn’t send a big check.  He sent us three little ones.  Each for thirty dollars.

We laughed and shook our heads.  Because the provision was perfection.  It wasn’t too much.  It wasn’t the one check I dream of that will end our scrimping and scraping.  It was just exactly enough.  It bridged the gap from paycheck to paycheck.

So we breathed a sigh of relief and then went back to the inward impatience, the shuffling of feet and the shuffling of pennies from account to account.  Our children have not suffered a moments loss.  Mostly, Andrew and I have suffered wounded pride as we’ve been faced with tougher decisions, denial of self, and fewer date nights.

Just when we’d begin to panic, a check would arrive in the TUH-DUH nick of time.  Not too much.  Just enough.  And, oh, how we would rejoice in the just enough!  Emails and texts have flown, shouting God’s glory in the Provision of the Little Things.

To ease the pain of waiting, we tell ourselves “just a few more weeks and then we can relax.”  But the raise and commission check doesn’t come and neither does the phone call from Africa.  So we wait more.  Resting in the “just enough.”

Today, while Sam and I struggled through yet another reading lesson, Andrew silently handed me an unmarked envelope.  A typed letter, written anonymously, wishing us love and wanting to help us “bring our sweet baby home” accompanied a handful of cash.

It was, as is God’s way, just enough, in the TUH-DUH, nick of time.

I cried.  I’m crying still.  We walk around with our hearts broken for a child we do not know and a country we’ve never seen.  Our pride and our bank account have taken crushing blows.  We are weak.  And waiting.

Waiting for Him to provide.  Waiting for Him to lovingly remind us, in the smallest yet most beautiful of Grand Gestures, that our broken pieces, no matter how jagged the edges, are held tightly in His oh-so-capable hands. He has given us this journey, with its brokenness and its unlovely.  He has not forgotten.  And He has given us so many people to love us and walk this walk with us, either in short bursts or for the long haul.

So thank you, dear friends, anonymous or otherwise, for your love and support.  We are honored and grateful to share this journey with you.

More deep thoughts over at Chatting at the Sky.

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A Hug For Franzno

One of the children that we sponsor through Compassion is from Haiti.  His name is Franzno.  He’s 4.  Adam calls him “my friend Franzno.” I’d love to show you his picture, but I want to protect his privacy.  Just trust me on this, he’s a cutie.

But his country has literally split in two.

We’ve spent a lot of time the last two days talking about what is going on at Franzno’s house.

Ever tried to explain an earthquake to 5 year olds?  They keep praying for Franzno “to be safe because of the equator.”

I wish with all my heart that Franzno’s only problem was the Equator.

But it isn’t.  I don’t even know if he’s okay.  I wrote to him today.  I didn’t know what to say except that I was sorry he was sad and scared.  I tried to picture what my Adam would need to hear and my brain couldn’t even fathom.  And my mommy brain wanted to speak in nothing but hugs.

But I can’t hug Franzno.  I can’t wrap him up and make him safe.  I can’t make his broken world go away.

But maybe if we all work together, we can help.

Let’s send Franzno and his country-mates a long-distance hug.

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An Unexpected Gift

Even if it was a little late, we’ve officially “finished” Christmas here.  And our first year of Christmas Change is also complete.

When we began the Christmas Change project, my husband and I vowed to give fewer gifts in order that we might give more money away.  Our immediate families were on board, we saved some pennies with our naked tree, and I kept a running tally of how much we might give to our charity of choice.  Yet, as December pressed on, I realized that while we were going to be able to give, it wasn’t the total I had hoped for… Read the rest over at Christmas Change.

I know some of you played along.  Some of you even copied our naked Christmas tree.  If you have “some thoughts on some things” or want to share how you changed Christmas this year, please go add your link or leave a comment.

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