GETTING IN THE FOSTER GAME: GUEST POST WITH LINDSAY

A few things have happened that have seemed to hijack April, and so, here I am, less than a week out, joining in with this year's Walk for the Waiting.  But - it's never to late to join this party.  I can't believe its the third year for this amazing event, and I am so looking forward to Saturday!  In honor of this event and as one reminder of why we do it, I thought I would share this story.

Remember back at Christmas time when my amazing babysitter turned dear friend shared her mad Christmas crafting/decorating skills with us?  Well, Lindsay wrote a post for our church's adoption ministry's newsletter and graciously said I could share it here as well.

And - so you can put some faces with this, here are Lindsay and Dave, some of the world's cutest people.  Plus their dog Wrigley, who is also cute.  Must be a family thing.

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Hi everyone! What a joy to share a bit of our story with you. Foster care is something that we, truthfully, never envisioned for our family, but the experience is one that now, we know weʼd never trade.

Before we were married, Dave and I had the typical “these are how many kids Iʼd like to have and when Iʼd like to have them” chat like couples do. We settled on 2 children and that we should wait 2 years before thinking about having any. You know, in the way that any precious, mid-20s, married for 3 months newlyweds decide the way their lives are going to play out. Kinda like that. Our second anniversary came quicker than we imagined, as anniversaries are prone to do, and we concluded that we still werenʼt ready to try for babies. I think I underestimated how much fun marriage was and adding a tiny at that time felt like it would cramp our style. Because weʼve got so much of it. So again, we agreed to revisit the conversation in another year or so.

The fall of 2013 (our second anniversary was in May 2013) is when our hearts and lives began shifting. Dave works at Fellowship and sometimes church work is messy and hard and hurtful. Some things happened that really made me stop and consider what it meant to be a follower of Jesus. One of the hardest pills for me to swallow has always been the way the world views Christians. My heart has always been a little extra sensitive to nonbelievers and some of my deepest heartache has come from watching people who claim to follow Christ treat each other and people who think differently than they do. We (myself totally included) have done a fairly awful job of representing the message of Jesus and I knew I didnʼt want to be lumped in the category of “another uncompassionate Christian.” Wading through all these hurts and emotions felt more like drowning.

But looking back from the other side, I feel like those moments were probably more formative than I could have realized. It was out of that time that I began to read the words of Scripture differently, more literally. Specifically in the passages that spoke to social justice and the role of Believers in the world around us. I began to look at the life of Jesus, where He went, who He went to, and what He did. I had always explained away my inactivity of Gospel work with statements like “well, no one has leprosy in my world, so I donʼt know who Jesus wants me to seek out.” Or “Jesus speaks in metaphor quite a bit (which He does when reiterating important points), so surely the prisoners and prostitutes that He hung around with are metaphors for something else, too.” Am I the dearest? Donʼt you just want to punch me? As I began to peel back the layers of His word, I realized more and more that Godʼs heart for the Church was to love Him and give Him away to the world. Jesus came FOR PEOPLE, and if I wanted to be like Him, I needed to be for them, too.

Like I mentioned, Dave works at the church, and has worked at churches for a while. He leads worship for students and does it so genuinely and sincerely. I would always watch him and teaching pastors and missionaries who have “obviously spiritual” gifitngs and feel like I missed out. Like some people got gifts they could use “for God”, and some didnʼt. And I definitely didnʼt. I love to throw parties, laugh, create, bake, and decorate my home. It felt shallow, in light of “all Dave was doing” with what the Lord had given him. During the course of this season, I read a book called Restless by Jennie Allen with a group of dear friends. The book talks about embracing our own gifts and passions and experiences, rather than wishing for someone elseʼs. I learned that my gift and love of hospitality had SUCH an important place in Godʼs plan for His world; I just wasnʼt clear on how that looked in my life.

I just love how the Spirit aligns hearts together when He wants to make His will clear. So many times I am blown away at the confirmation the Lord gives and our story really is no exception. At that time, we lived in a 2 bedroom apartment. I think it hovered just over 1000 square feet, and the ability to have people in our home comfortably was not really there. Dave is by nature very introverted and refuels by being at home. He would tell you, for quite a while, he used our small apartment as a means of disobedience. Despite clear commands in Scripture to live closely in community and bear each otherʼs burdens, he hid behind the excuse “we just donʼt have the room.”

Dave began to feel the Spiritʼs leading to look into home ownership, not just because it was the “American” thing to do, but truly as a step of obedience. We purchased our first home in March of 2014! We knew that we wanted to view our home differently and that we truly wanted it to be the Lordʼs. We didnʼt want to be weird about creating “our sanctuary” or a place to “retreat to”; rather, that God would have His way with whatever He wanted to do with those 1700 square feet. We prayed over every inch of our home that it would be a place where Kingdom work was done, where people would always be safe and welcome, and that they would walk out of the door knowing more of Christ because of what happened in that space.

So armed with a desire to live very literally how Jesus did, a renewed sense of passion, and a brand new home, we set out to put our feet to our words. If our home was to be a place of safety, refuge, and love, we had to take actual steps toward that. We knew a few families from Fellowship who were involved in foster care, so we decided to start asking some questions. We attended a CALL (Children of Arkansas Loved for a Lifetime) information meeting and began working our way through the steps of becoming an open foster care family.

We officially opened in September and got our first placement a couple weeks after! We became first time parents to the cutest, happiest, most precious 8 month old boy. Even though he was only in our home for about a month, he filled it to the brim with a joy we really didnʼt know was possible. Each day that he was with us, I felt like I learned a new facet of Godʼs character. I experienced such a deep communion with Him and those were some of the most precious moments I think Iʼll ever have. I know we provided our little guy with a safe and loving home, but Iʼm pretty sure he gave us more than we did him. There really arenʼt adequate words to describe the overwhelming grief that came when he left. Despite the thankfulness for another familyʼs restoration, ours felt like it broke in a thousand pieces. Everything in my life has pretty much “gone my way” and I naively assumed that the trend would continue. Weʼd adopt him, have our cute little family, and that would be it. Because thatʼs how my life should go. I guess I was hoping I could skate through life without a huge amount of suffering. 

Learning how to grieve really is a life skill and what I have gained in the midst of it is a deeper sense of compassion for those who suffer. For the world. For the people that God so desperately loves and came for. Suffering is universal and Iʼm surprisingly thankful for the new kinship that I feel with the world around me. Iʼd always had a fairly “hands off” approach to peopleʼs hardships, but now, we know names. We put faces to drug abuse and domestic violence. We can never unsee or unknow that real heartache exists in our world and in our city. And even though thatʼs tremendously hard, I am so humbly grateful that the Lord has allowed us to be in community with this new extended family.

Jen Hatmaker describes our calling as “the place where our burdens meet our passions.” After years of confusion on what my calling could be, I really feel like Iʼve hit my sweet spot. Jesus has graciously allowed me to learn how to leverage my gifts for His kingdom and itʼs been such a privilege. We continue to pray about what our family might look like, but, unlike 4 years ago, we hold any plans for the future so loosely. We want our family to be a reflection of heaven, and we want to be obedient in however the Lord chooses to do that in our lives. Dave and I feel so fortunate to be on this journey with all of you and are thankful to sit at the feet of and learn from those who have gone before us!

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Thanks so much for sharing, Lindsay!  To sponsor Lindsay and Dave for Walk for the Waiting - click here!

GUEST POST: CHRISTMAS DECOR WITH LINDSAY

Today I've got a special treat!  I'm thrilled to say that my sitter-turned-dear-friend, Lindsay (who I adore), is guest blogging.  Lindsay has creativity bursting from her seams, and when I saw these pictures on Facebook, I asked if she would be willing to share them here.  I hope you are as inspired as I was!  Without further adieu . . .

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Friends! Hi! 

Thanks for having me here- to be real, I don’t even know what to do with the idea of blogging. Quite a few of my friends blog and are wonderfully good at it; for me, it’s semi overwhelming. It’s very possible it took me ten minutes to come up with the stunning opening, “Friends! Hi!” I toyed with the idea of starting a blog for about an hour last year and then I remembered that I don’t have children or a job. So instead of writing about unloading the dishwasher and trips to the antique mall, I just scrapped it. 

Carol and I go to church together and I started babysitting for her family around the time William and Violet were born. It’s no secret to y’all that she is the bombDOT, and it’s totally a privilege to sit at her feet and learn the arts of cookie decorating, child wrangling, and life doing. So when she asked me to do a guest blog of Christmas decorating ideas, I was equal parts honored and frightened. But, YOLO, right? 

I like Christmas. And I like to decorate. So you can appreciate that I scarcely have the brain capacity to handle December. Hand over my heart, the girls at Hob Lob know me by name, and I may have been asked where items were located a time or eight. I went to a Jen Hatmaker conference earlier this year and she commented that she and God did their “heavy lifting” while she studied Scripture; I’m 94% sure we do ours in the Paper Studios aisle. Truly. I am so fascinated by the way that the Lord gifts us all so differently (don’t even get me started on Restless by Jennie Allen), and He has graciously given me a love of hospitality and all things creative. I recently shared some pics of what my homestead looks like around this time of year, along with a few ideas of how to make your homes a smidge more dreamy. So excited for you to see them, as well! 

I feel like we have to start with the tree, no? Here are some pictures of mine this year:

What makes people’s homes so unique is the way they’re decorated. Why shouldn’t this be the same for Christmas trees?? Get creative! Use garland or ribbon that is unique for your family (I used ribbon with music notes on it- my husband is a worship pastor for students). String cranberries or popcorn (or your favorite family treat) with your kids as a way to get them involved. Your family tree is YOUR FAMILY tree- ornaments don’t have to be store bought and run-of-the-mill. Put things in your tree that reflect your family's personality and style, or that remind you of special memories. For example, I put old postcards, books, a paintbrush (for all of our house remodeling this year!), and glittery letters in ours. To create the illusion of fuller tree, hang multiple ornaments per branch, starting from the inside out. Along those same lines, try an untraditional tree topper- a globe, lighted marquee letter, or old drum. 

A super fun way to make your tree completely yours is with custom gift wrapping. 

Try using plain brown craft paper and sharpies to create wrapping that is totally unique! 

How darling would this be with your kids and Crayons?! Tiny human artwork AND a gift? Cue “Farrah-on-Teen-Mom” kind of ugly tears. Also, if you’re local and interested, I am totally available to gift wrap for you! Just ask Carol for my info. 

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The mantel/fireplace may be my single favorite part of a home (which SIDE NOTE, I've been spelling “mantel” wrong for 27 years. I saw it spelled -el  in a Pottery Barn catalog a couple months ago and literally had the thought “how embarrassing, PB, don’t you have a flipping spell check?” So naturally, I took to the Google, and sure enough- “mantle” is like a coat or when you refer the layers of the earth; “mantel” is what's above your fireplace. Are you as floored as I am? Still reeling..). Anyway, the first thing to do is assess what items need to stay on there, like your TV. This will help you determine what decorations can fit on the mantel and how big/small they need to be. It's important not to go overboard- pick a few pieces in similar colors or themes and add smaller fill ins. Keeping symmetry on either side is key. Symmetry doesn't necessarily mean "do the same thing on either side of the TV"; rather, maintain balance on either side with similar heights, colors, etc. In addition, hang stockings on either side of the fireplace rather than in the middle, leaving it as a focal point (especially if you plan on using it!).

Tables decorated for Christmas dinners make my heart pitter patter. There’s just something magical about our ordinary dining room tables at Christmastime, amirite? 

Instead of a normal tablecloth, try brown craft paper or chalk runners with Christmas quotes! Way more fun and waaay less pressure to keep clean. Put out some sharpies or markers and let your people go for it. Also, instead of one big centerpiece, make a deconstructed bouquet consisting of different flowers in the same color. Space mason jars down the center of the table for a more casual feel.

Use a tiny mason jar with pine needles and sea salt to create a custom winter place setting. 

Simple white flour sacks wrapped with twine, cinnamon sticks, and pine needles serve as a darling napkin/place setting combo.

This may be my favorite idea yet! Instead of boring old place settings, try this twist! Print pictures from your guests' Instagram pages and create little Polaroids with their usernames. 

I know Carol mentioned in previous blogs that she didn’t go as “all out” as usual- I’m totally picking up what she’s putting down. I love the idea of doing a few things in a few rooms- making it feel “homey” and like Christmas without getting lost in Rubbermaid tubs of mesh and reindeer. 

A simple bunting and a pillow or two totally does the trick. "God Jul" is "Merry Christmas" in Swedish (where my dad's family is from)- do some research about your culture and add some unique, sweet details to your home (another great family opportunity!).

My not-so-secret dream is to be Joanna Gaines and have a farmhouse in the middle of Heaven (aka Texas), but, for now, I love my little house in the city. I like to use old sleds and trees in galvanized buckets to trick my porch into thinking she lives in the country. One day that old white door and Radio Flyer will be on a porch in the middle of nowhere! 

Y’all, this has been fun! Thanks for letting me share a little life with you- I like to imagine that you’re holding a cup of hot chocolate and wearing big, fuzzy socks while reading this. I hope that some of these little tidbits have helped give some inspiration for your homes this season! I am very aware (especially as women) that this time of year has a tendency to highlight our perceived “shortcomings” and exacerbate our comparison meters. More than anything, my real, “to-the-bones” hope for you this Christmas is that you are quick to leave perfection and dirty dishes in the sink, and even quicker to share that extra piece of pie with your people.  

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Isn't she the best?  I love her style and the simplicity in the ideas.  And - she mentioned it in the post, but let me know if you are local and need help from her.  She has already come and picked up my presents to wrap for me, which makes me breathe a huge sigh of relief.  Thanks, Lindsay!  ❤️

GUEST POST: BATTLING LYME & BOTTLE OF TEARS

This last guest post this week is someone that I have only become friends with through the wonders of the internet and social media.  We have many mutual friends, because she grew up in Little Rock, and I did work with her husband at Kanakuk many moons ago, but I have never actually met Lindsey Wheeler.  I hope to remedy that someday, because I feel certain that I would like her very much in person.

Lindsey and Chris have one beautiful daughter that they adopted from Guatemala and live in Tennessee.  To say that Lindsey has walked and is walking a hard road is an understatement.  But - to see her joy and the ways that she clings to the Lord is so encouraging.  Now, she is turning some of her hardship into something more - a way to encourage others who are suffering, as well as raise funds to help cover her medical bills.  It's called Bottle of Tears, and I am excited to see it flourish!  Here's her story.

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Bottle of Tears isn't something random. It is a vision that God gave me in the midst of my own pain and suffering. Some of you know my story and some don't. I am Lindsey. I am a 34 year old wife and mom that struggles every single day of my life just to get out of bed.



I went many years wondering what was wrong with me. I knew I was very sick, and doctor after doctor would misdiagnose me. I was told I had "Chronic Fatigue" and "Fibromyalgia" and that I was "Depressed/Anxious." Each diagnosis left me just feeling so alone and confused because my body kept getting worse. I would tell people I was very fatigued, and they would smile and say "of course you are, you're a new mom" or "yes, me too...busy week." But the fatigue actually felt weightier than that, like I'd been carrying a bag of bricks so long and so far that I wasn't sure how much longer I could manage, desperate for relief. Finally, after years of being misdiagnosed, I found a doctor that listened. I remember bawling in her office telling her that I felt like I was dying and no one was listening to me.

Later that day after tons of blood work, I found out I actually have Lyme disease.

I remember that day thinking "Praise the Lord, I have a real diagnosis. I'm not really sure what Lyme disease is but at least these antibiotics will fix me." Oh man, I wish that would have been the case. You name it, I've done it. I've done rounds and rounds of intense antibiotic treatments, bicillin shots twice a week, holistic therapies, hyperbaric chambers, nutritional iv therapies, foot baths, saunas, drinking things that I still have nightmares about. And guess what friends?!

I'm still sick.

But, I refuse to give up HOPE. I know that God has made me for more than just this sickness. I want to love others even in my brokenness. I think for a long time I was waiting to be healed before I would allow myself to dream. Not anymore. Bottles of Tears was birthed out of the many hours of my own tears. Years later, I am just now realizing and am starting to grasp how much God loves me...just the way I am. He doesn't want me whole before I start to give of myself.

So, here I am friends. I'm broken. I'm in pain most of the day. I am a mom to my precious adoptive daughter (who also has adoption trauma/struggles too many to list). But, I'm here and want to pray for you. I want you to know that you aren't in this alone. Let's keep fighting! God hasn't given up on us.

So, what is Bottle of Tears?

Mailing hope in bottles to those that need it most as a reminder that no one is forgotten.
This is my heart behind this new dream...A "Bottle of Tears" vintage glass bottle is a small token of hope to remind the grieving and broken that they are not alone. My deep desire is that you know that God sees you. He loves you. There is purpose in your pain. And, He's not done with you yet. The beauty of a vintage bottle is that every one is unique, just like you. In the midst of the pain, when everything seems unclear, I pray this gift will be a small glimmer of hope in your story.

The verse behind Bottle of Tears and what will be rolled up on a vintage sheet of paper in each bottle...

"You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book." Psalm 56:8

Lots of love,
Lindsey Wheeler
www.bottleoftears.com

GUEST POST: THE GOOD SHEPHERD LEADS THOSE WHO HAVE YOUNG

Here's another amazing guest post for you all as this week continues.  I met Mrs. Allison Herndon way back when we both had different last names.  We worked at Kanakuk Kamps together for a couple of different summers and got to be good buddies.  After loosing touch, we reconnected here in Little Rock, because her husband is one of the pastors at the church we attend.  For a glorious stretch we lived in the same neighborhood and delivered food to each other weekly, along with Courtney - I miss those good ole food co-op days.  

Here's wonderful Allison and then some pics of her crew as well.

Allison and Brad have four children ranging from 3 months old to 6.

Just so you know, Allison is one of the most entertaining people to be around, and thankfully, that shows up in her writing.  She used to author her very own blog, and I have been campaigning for her to bring it back.  After reading this post, you will understand why.

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Earlier this week my kids were playing in our back yard after school. My oldest was leading her two brothers into a world of imaginary wonderment that involved an Ice Princess and some “Bad Guys” with baseballs and sticks. As I sat inside and watched them through the window, it seemed as if the “Bad Guys” weren’t cooperating at all with Lucy’s instructions, and were instead locating piles of dog poop in the grass to fling across the yard.

Oh the joys of boys!

I sat inside observing the poop flinging, admiring their creativity and making a mental note to remember that THIS was why we bathed our children EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. I was also nursing my youngest, a three month old cherub whose main pastimes in life are smiling and cooing.

All seemed right in the world until – quite suddenly – it all wasn’t. Someone had hurt feelings. Multiple people were crying. The wind was blowing too hard. The snacks were all gone. The poop had been flung too far. And Sam, age two, was stuck at the top of the playhouse and wouldn’t come down the slide.

Sam wailed and cried as his siblings tried to coax him down the slide, but he was having none of it. I sat inside and tried to will him down the slide with my mind. He was so loud I feared the neighbors might call the authorities. So in an act of extreme mothering, I walked outside, still nursing the baby, and helped Sam down the slide.

I won’t bore you with the logistics of that operation, but I assure you I did toss a kitchen towel over myself before I trucked into the back yard.

Sometimes (or in my case, a majority of the time) a mother may find they are doing something utterly unimaginable—something they never would have dreamed of doing prior to having kids. Like catching puke in their bare hands. Or changing a diaper with Kleenex because the wipes all got flushed down the toilet. Or walking into the backyard whilst nursing a baby.

But the REAL CRAZY to me—the utterly unimaginable --is that these people are watching me – these tiny people are following me, observing me, and learning a lot about right and wrong as they study my words, actions, facial expressions, and reactions to tense situations.

Like a little flock of sheep, my children are watching me.

My little flock knows my voice, and I pray that they know it as a voice of love and encouragement and laughter. My little sheep know I’ll take care of them with an ample supply of band-aids and kisses. Like a good shepherd, I must find good pasture for my sheep – feeding their minds and bodies with what is wholesome and beneficial. My little sheep can feel safe and secure following me, but only because I’m following The Good Shepherd Jesus.

A verse that makes me cry every single time I read it as of late is this one:

“He tends his flock like a shepherd:

He gathers the lambs in his arm,

and carries them close to his heart;

he gently leads those that have young.”
Isaiah 40:11

What a peace in my soul that I don’t have to lead alone. I’m being gently led by a Good Shepherd who lovingly considers the “young” that I have. A shepherd must lead all his sheep, but a Good Shepherd pays special attention to those ewes that have little ones. He carries them close to His heart.

Gently, carefully, tenderly, Jesus the Good Shepherd is leading me. And I, in turn, can gently lead my young as well.

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Thank you, Allison, for bringing such encouragement through these words!

GUEST POST: GETTING MY BABY'S CYSTIC FIBROSIS DIAGNOSIS

As I mentioned yesterday, I am sharing some guest posts this week while John and I are out of town.  First up is my best friend from childhood, Carmen Smith.  So many of my growing up memories are intertwined with Carmen, because we spent almost every afternoon together for all of elementary school as pseudo-sisters.  We would walk to my house from school and play until her Mom came to get her.  We dreamed and schemed.  We wrote plays together and managed to perform them in front of our whole school.  We dressed up together for several Halloweens - here we are as a Cat and Mouse.

All of my life, God has richly blessed me with friendships, and I am so thankful that I can still call Carmen a great friend.  She has recently entered the ranks of motherhood by having her precious first son, Crosby and started blogging at The Crosby Show.  It has not been an easy road, and I asked Carmen if she would be willing to share how God is working through this season of her life.  She so very graciously and honestly told her story.

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When my son Crosby was 15 days old, he was diagnosed with a life-shortening, incurable illness - Cystic Fibrosis.

To say that day will go down as one of the hardest days of my life, would not be an overstatement. Receiving the devastating news that Crosby had CF was shocking, overwhelming, and isolating. On a cool day in early October, in a matter of a couple of hours, my entire world was flipped upside down. I remember leaving Arkansas Children’s Hospital that day holding my perfect baby and a binder full of medical pamphlets feeling beaten down, with a red face and puffy eyes, and in disbelief from the bomb that was dropped on us.

And then I completely shut down.

People react differently to hard news. Some people run to God and beg him for mercy, grace, and hope. Some people fall to their knees and turn it all over.

Not me.

I gave God the middle finger.

Yep, I was so mad, so distraught, so despondent and so disgusted, that I cussed at God.

And then, I gave him the silent treatment.

I ignored Him like we were in middle school and had a falling out over unshared French fries or a mutual crush. I refused to pray. Like Mel Gibson’s character in the movie Signs, I decided to not waste one more minute on prayer. I was really mad, I tell ya.

But you know what?

He never left me.

For as stubborn as I am, God is even more so than I.

In quiet moments (times that before the CF bomb I would have prayed) God would be in my heart and I would hear:

I know you’re mad Carmen, but I’m still here.

My reply? I’m not talking to you anymore, @$$%&! Bold, I know.

And yet, still He stayed.

In one of the darkest times of my life, He was there like a persistent Light. A Light that doesn’t dim despite the cuss words of a moody girl, who has an affinity for their use. His Light continued to shine, even when I tried to in every which way to shut my eyes and be in the dark.

As it ended up, it was in the dark, in the still quietness of the night that I began to speak to Him again.

I was lying in bed in the middle of the night, my husband Lance asleep beside me. I was nursing Crosby and wrestling with my anxiety. You see, I feared the worse for my baby. I feared the worse for his life, our life and our family. I let the reality of CF suffocate me. I let the fear control me and not the Holy Spirit.

But God was wrestling back.

I looked down at Crosby and thought about how I wanted to grip him so tight with every fiber of my being. I want to protect him and never let him be hurt. I want to shield him from pain, from sickness, from all the ugliness. The amount that I love Crosby was squeezing my insides so deep that night that I couldn’t breathe. I was overtaken by the overwhelming love that I have for my baby.

And then, suddenly, awareness flooded over me. My goodness, how fierce a mother’s love is!  Is that how God feels about me? Yes, of course, was the answer. As my arms were around my sweet baby, I realized that God is also holding me. Constantly. And He never lets go. Even when we try to wrestle away.

As much as I love Crosby, God loves me more. In fact, as much as I love Crosby, God loves him more.  I can cuss at God and turn my back on Him, and He will keep on holding me and loving me. And He will do the same for Crosby.

And so, I began praying again.

Are there times that I am still overwhelmed by the unknown of the future? Absolutely. Life has thrown us a challenge in the form of CF. There will be hard days. Days I want to give in to the anxiety again.

But, God has made me strong.

And, in the end, I cannot conquer my own fears alone. I have to turn them all over to God.  I am learning to cling to the hope that God’s love is greater and that the world is fleeting. His love is greater than my fear, my anxiety, and it’s greater than CF.

This life is a gift. My life. Crosby’s life. It’s a crazy, beautiful adventure and I want to take in every moment of it.  I don’t want to waste any more days or nights due to fear and what ifs.

And I know I need His Light, to help show me the way.

-Carmen

THIS & THAT

I'm sure by now all of you have seen Geico's camel Hump Day commercial.  It never fails to make me laugh - seriously.  And then I am reminded of being in college and having one of the women who helped clean our dorm write on the dry erase marker boards on each of our doors - "Happy Hump Day."  She took the time to do this every week and would draw a little hump.  At the time I thought it was a bit strange, but looking back I think - She took time to be extra kind to us.  Just because.  What a gift.

All of that to say, Happy Hump Day - we're half way through the week!

I wrote a guest post for sweet Kelcie at This Beautiful Inheritance.  I gave it the cheery title of "Dead Dreams," so if you're interested, you should definitely check it out.  I was a little intimidated to be writing a post for someone else's blog, but it turned out to be fun.  Thanks for the chance, Kelcie!

Today I have been awed as I have driven around town.  The sun has been playing peek-a-boo, and every time it appears from behind the clouds, it seems that the trees are covered in diamonds.  They are sparkling, and it is gorgeous.

The creativity of God is declared by nature so fully.  I am amazed with the diversity of beauty that the four seasons bring, and I love seeing something unusual that transforms the ordinary to something extraordinarily lovely.  I also love that we have not lost power through this storm cycle, and I am so grateful.

In other news, this week I am covered up in Valentine's cookies, but they are coming along really well!  I just love Valentine's Day.  I can't help it.



I'm off to cover all those bare cookies with sugary, almond flavored goodness.  Yum.

GUEST POST: HOLY BEAUTY

A couple of weeks ago, I got an email from one of my BFFs, Stephanie Claus.  She's made many guest appearances on the John and Carol Show, since we try to get together as families at least once a year - this year we met up with them in San Antonio and did Sea World, which resulted in one of the best vacation pictures ever.  Steph and I roomed together our senior year of college and could often be found playing Boggle in our room when we weren't hanging out with Brian and John or when Steph wasn't studying.  We walked some hard roads that year, since it was the last year of my dad's life and her sister had a recurrence of cancer.  When she asked if she could share this story on the blog, I was thrilled.  It is such a redemptive God story, and Steph (who is a doctor and mother by day) writes so movingly and honestly.

With no more adieu - here it is!  Thanks, Stephanie.

Holy Beauty:

My sister's story and why I haven't given up the faith

I am a doubter. I have a tendency to question, over-analyze and argue myself out of my own convictions. I am naturally empathetic and that empathy more often than not allows me to see quite clearly the validity of another viewpoint. I question why the Old Testament is so full of violent and abusive/oppressive narratives, I question why good people with strong beliefs who happen not to have heard the gospel might not be saved, I question why certain people seem to struggle with so much while others seem to have everything handed to them. In the end I don't really have answers to most of my questions. I have a fair amount of inner struggle and arguing back and forth in my little overwrought head. I have a lot of unresolved questions and a fair amount of doubting my own faith. There have been seasons where the thread holding me to this faith has felt as fragile as a strand of silk, but somehow it has held strong through all my doubts. The one thing that has anchored me through these questions and unresolved issues, the thing that brings me back to a place of peace every time, is story. The story of a God who cares, who risks everything to bring peace and redemption to a people who are difficult to love, the story of a God who is near, who is present, who is all-loving, all-merciful and who can be trusted. The character of God is real and when I hear the stories, whether through a hymn or a Scripture reading or a soul plunging conversation with a friend, my soul is filled with the recognition of Truth. I know that I will always question, always doubt. And in some ways I think it makes my faith stronger, or at least more authentic. But when my faith feels tenuous I look at the beauty of God's story and the stories that He has written, is writing, in my life and others', and my soul finds rest.

The thing about God stories is they're real. They don't have any guaranteed happy endings and you can pretty much count on some messy sin-nature, pain and injustice. But there is a cord that runs through them. A cord of hope, of redemption, of unwarranted joy. And it is that cord that I find myself clinging to even as my doubting mind runs this way and that looking for the logic of faith.  It is a cord of strength, of hope, of holy beauty. So as I have thought through my sister's story over these past several months, I am gripped with awe as I so clearly see my God's loving hand. It brings me to tears every time. It brings me to the heart of God.

Her's is a story of reality at its harshest, of cancer involving the most personal pieces of one's body and soul, cancer not just once as a child but again as an adult. Her's is a story of seasons of depression, oppressive thought patterns and attempted suicide. A story of a womb being lifted out of the belly of a 22 year old virgin with a grapefruit sized tumor clinging to it. Her story is not mine to claim.  Though I walked with her, sometimes closely, I have not walked her road. I have not shed her burning tears. I have not felt the pain and helplessness of looking death in the eye. But in her story there is a cord of hope.  A cord of protection, provision and over all love. And that cord is mine. That is my God. And I cling to that cord because it is my hope and my faith. And because He has written me into His story.

So, ten years later, ten years after that second cancer diagnosis and hysterectomy, I get to see the next chapter of the story. The part that seemed impossible from her hospital room with IV poles and smooth pale head. The part that, if I'm really honest with myself, I did not believe God could do. The joy of family and second chances and miraculous provision. Of twin 8 month old girls received with open hearts of joy last summer. Of watching my sister step gracefully and beautifully into the role of mother. The news of 12 and 14 year old older sisters' stories and lives working their way into my sister and brother-in-law's hearts and their clear conviction that God had opened the door for these too to be their daughters. It has been an incredible story to watch unfold. To see someone beaten down by life in every possible way walk away clothed in joy and peace, without a trace of bitterness or anger. To see your Father respond to every need in a way that so perfectly addresses the intimate details of each void that it leaves you wondering at your own unbelief. To see your sister and dearest friend step up to the courthouse bench, beaming, one daughter in arms and three by her side, stepping into a covenant of love with these four beauties.

But then there was also the part, earlier on in the adoption process, where the CPS worker looked my sister and her husband in the eye and said "are you sure you realize what you're doing? This isn't going to be your fairy tale ending." And they said "yes we do, and we're committed to these girls."  Because they understand that God doesn't commit himself to us only if we don't have baggage, or thinking this is all going to turn out pretty. That's not how a God story works. It is painful, it is unpredictable, it always involves sacrifice and dying to self, and the ending (on this side of eternity) is not guaranteed.

In the end no scientific argument or logic can create the hope that resonates in my soul that I feel when I see God's redemptive story played out in real lives.  There is a hope that can be trusted. My God is here.