when grace rains...

There are few feelings that compare to the warmth of the sun on your face

     except for maybe the refreshment of a strong breeze on a stifling day
          or the briskness of that first breath outside on a cold winter morning.

Each of these seem to be so deeply delightful at the time but all of these are trumped by one thing...

a good spring rain.

I LOVE everything about a good spring rain. There is something about watching the clouds gather and darken, hearing the distant sound of muffled thunder, smelling the sweet dew that seems to linger in the air, and then feeling that first drop that signals the multitude that is to come. Lightning seems to split the sky in an inexplicable display and thunder echos throughout the land. The parched earth soaks it up as if it hasn't felt such sweet moisture in years. The grass and flowers and trees seem to become a richer, deeper, stronger green with every single drop. Nothing, and I mean nothing, escapes the powerful drench of a good spring rain...

but that's part of the problem with it too.

A good spring rain doesn't discriminate between your raised vegetable garden and the weeds seeking to infiltrate it. A good spring rain doesn't miss the car you just washed or the sidewalk chalk art you never took a picture of. A good spring rain gets it all.

And so it is with God's grace.

Nothing compares to the intimate feeling of being washed anew when God's grace rains down. You have seen the clouds of promise and heard His thunderous declaration. The fragrance and feelings of change linger thickly around you. Then the rain comes with a mighty display and a loud roar. Your parched soul soaks it in and you are refreshed and renewed and revived. Just as plants can not live with out water, your soul can not live with out God's grace. You yearn for His redeeming flood and it comes and it rains heavy and it is sweet. Nothing, and I mean nothing, escapes the powerful drench of God's grace when it rains down...

but that is part of the struggle with it too.

We certainly want grace to freely rain down on us and others we deem deserving, but what happens when God's grace rains down as heavily on someone we consider a weed, the undeserving, the vile offender, our very enemy? What happens when our good works are washed down and we find our slate equally as blank as that weed?

Surely if asked point blank, we would all deny that we have ever felt this way. No one wants to admit this is a struggle. After all, we love a powerful from death to life testimony. Who can resist the murderer turned evangelist or the prostitute turned soccer mom or the scammer turned into a benevolent giver?

Not me...at least not from a distance.

The Bible is full of tales of God's grace flowing down and we all fully embrace each storm of grace but is our embrace wholehearted or just because we are so distanced from the situation that God's rain of grace on their life costs us nothing?

Who would deny grace to the woman caught in the act of adultry?

Certainly not us...but what if you were the wife of the man she cheated with or her child or her husband? Does that change your desire for her to receive the same grace you recieve? If we are honest, most of us would call her a homewrecker and, at a minimum, shun her but certainly deny her grace.

And who among us doesn't delight in the grace flood of the Saul turned Paul transformation?

Certainly not us...but what if Saul had been persecuting you? What if you at one time had pleaded with him for the life of your father or mother or brother or sister or husband or child? What if you had watched him stand aside, cloaks in hand, while others stoned someone you loved, a person who had done no wrong? Would you doubt his transformation? Would you begrudge his use in the gospel mission? Does that change your perspective on the grace afforded to Paul? Truth be told, most of us would have labeled Saul a terrorist and rejoiced at his blindness instead of being an instrument of grace and healing in his life.

My husband and I have had the privilege of attending for many years the annual banquet of an incredible local ministry that seeks to share the redeeming grace of God with prisoners within our county. It is a ministry close to our hearts, run by people of integrity and compassion. Year after year without fail, we hear a death to life testimony by a different former prisoner who was radically transformed by the heavy rain of God's grace. It is always overwhelmingly powerful. The amens and praises to God and even tears flow freely from those listening, captivated by a new tale of God's powerful storm of grace. We can not help but be moved by these redemption stories.

But I wonder if we would feel the same if we were the victim of that former prisoner, who is now free and successful and no longer under the condemnation of our legal system or our God. Unfortunately, I don't think we would. We all too often want people to get what they deserve and somehow grace just doesn't fill that selfish need within our hearts and minds. I have witnessed far too many believers desire vindication and punishment and justice for the person that so grievously wronged them or their family feel robbed when God's grace rained down instead. I can personally only think of one instance in which victims of a heinous crime truly, deeply, maybe even painfully desired God's grace to rain down on those that harmed them.

It was beautiful. It was inspiring. It was convicting...and it was the exception

But why is grace the exception amongst a people who have all been bought by and offered unmerited grace?
Why is grace so offensive to those of us sustained by its very presence?
Why is grace so irritating to those of us who rely on it each and every day?
Why is our grace-giving so lacking when it is so sufficient for us?

Rarely, and I mean rarely are we grievously wronged.
Rarely, and I mean rarely, are we the victims of heinous crimes. 
But far too frequently we love grace for ourselves and grace from a distance for others but just not when it is personal, costing us our own perceived justice or righteousness.

It's not a new problem. I don't know about you, but I often find myself identifying with the "wrong" character in the Bible. I have been Jonah, sitting under the wilted fig tree whining that someone that I knew didn't deserve grace had their life turned around, redeemed, made righteous, and super blessed. I have stood with rock in hand ready to cast a stone on the adulteress. As a self-righteous sadducee and pharisee, I have muttered to myself that Jesus clearly doesn't know what type of man or woman He is raining his grace upon.

And as the thoughts and feelings fester, they push me ever farther from the rain of grace that I so desperately need myself and I am parched. In spite of my stubborn selfishness though, God's grace rains. His thunderous voice booms down to the depths of my soul and reminds me of that which I have clearly forgotten...

my brokenness, my undeservedness, my lack.

and grace rains all over me again and I am washed anew. My works are but filthy rags and I find myself right where I should have been all along, dancing in the midst of the grace storm, arms outstretched in desperate joy soaking in every sweet, life giving drop...

and next to you...

and next to all the other broken and undeserving people just like us who are willing to open their heart to His reign.

You see when grace rains, nothing and I mean nothing can escape it.

foot washing

I washed my kids feet last night and not in the practical "come here your feet are filthy" kind of way that I do so many times a day that it is a completely thoughtless act.

It was impractical. It was purposeful. It was intentional. It was humbling.

and I didn't want to do it.

The truth of the matter is that yesterday was one of those particularly difficult days to be a mom for no particular reason at all. There wasn't any major event or trauma. It was just a seemingly endless marathon of whining and arguing and thanklessness and selfishness and impatience.  Just a day in the life, right?  To be honest, it wasn't just yesterday. It seems like it's been difficult for days, weeks, maybe even months.

I actually spent most of the day figuring out how to get out of doing it.

They won't understand.

They won't appreciate.

and then the final blow...

they don't deserve it.

And the tidal wave of conviction clothed in God's love and relentless pursuit crashed hard on me.

So that night during our family devotional, I opened my Bible to the book of John and I read to my whiny, argumentative, thankless, selfish and impatient kids the story of Jesus' whiny, argumentative, thankless, selfish and impatient disciples. I read how Jesus got down and washed the feet of His disciples.

They didn't understand.

They didn't appreciate it.

They certainly didn't deserve it...and neither did I

So then I filled up my basin with warm water and a drop of sweet lavender oil.  I placed a towel on my shoulder.  I knelt down and I called each of my children to me.  One by one, I gently and lovingly washed and dried each of their feet.

They probably didn't understand.

They probably didn't appreciate it.

They probably didn't deserve it.

But I needed to do it. 

I needed to love my whiny, argumentative, thankless, selfish and impatient kids the same way He has loved me, His whiny, argumentative, thankless, selfish, and impatient kid. I washed my kids feet last night even though I didn't want to

because the process of becoming not me is about becoming like Him.

sidelined

I played sports literally all of my childhood and while I was never the super star of any team, I always managed to start or at least log some decent playing time on whatever team I was on, mainly because I was fiercely competitive. Others were certainly more skilled or faster or stronger than me but what I lacked in skill or talent, I made up for with raw effort, often being completely relentless in my pursuit of winning. Admitting defeat was, well, just not an option for me until...

there were injuries.

When I was younger, I had a few minor injuries but nothing that ever kept me on the sidelines for too long. I remember the day that all changed.

I was a sophmore on the girls' varsity soccer team, the first one for my school. Practice was coming to a close as we scrimmaged in preparation for our upcoming game. I jumped up to head a ball and as I landed, one of my teammates jumped unintentionally into my knee, hyperextending it in the wrong direction. (If you are visualizing this, yes, my leg literally went the wrong direction). I fell instantly to the ground grasping my knee and popping it back but I knew right then that it wasn't right...that it would never be completely right again. I spent 4 weeks on crutches in a knee immobilizer before having my ACL reconstructed and my shredded meniscus repaired and then I spent another 6 weeks after surgery on crutches in a knee immobilizer.

 I missed the entire season, but more than that,,,

I didn't even attend the season. I didn't go to the games and cheer on my team. I didn't watch during practice to support my team. I just didn't go. I'm sure I blamed it on the inconvenience of traveling to games on crutches or the pointlessness of sitting in the cold to watch practices of which I had no hope of participating in. While those are certainly understandable and justifiable, they were just excuses. In reality, I wasn't there because I was sidelined for the first time in my life and I didn't know how to process that reality...so I just distanced myself. As soon as I started physical therapy, I set out determined to get off the sideline and back on the field stronger, healthier and more skilled than I was before and somehow I did.

But here I am again...on the cusp of 35 and struggling to process the reality of feeling sidelined once again.

For nearly 10 years, I delighted in going and serving and leading and mentoring and planning and visioning and teaching and discipling and laboring in ministry right beside my husband. Everywhere we went and everything we did felt like home to me. In New Orleans, I was at home. Colorado, home. Arizona, home. Georgia, home. Ecuador, home. Low income neighborhoods, home. Streets of Austin, home. Youth events, home. College Campuses, home. Small group Bible study, home. It was a fit and always felt like I was right where I was supposed to be until...

Five years ago, life slowed down for me when God brought us Matthew. Because his adoption came together in literally less than a week, I was forced to make a decision early on about sidelining myself.  Matthew was 1 week old when Danny left to lead his first mission trip without me. We actually discussed just taking him (our 1 week old baby) with us but quite simply, I just couldn't go and do and be and so I sat that one out. I was so exhausted and elated from being a new parent that it didn't register to me at the time that I was missing anything. Before too long I was right back at it. I gladly gave up things like lock-ins and 5th quarters but not the "real" stuff. I just packed Matthew up, strapped him on and did the work with him attached and as he got older, right by my side. Before ever turning 2, he had been on 3 US mission trips, 1 international mission trip to SE Asia, youth camps, conferences/retreats, numerous outreach events and countless worship services and small group Bible studies. We were still very much involved in Danny's ministry so even though the haunting thought of being sidelined crept into my heart and mind from time to time, I didn't feel sidelined in general until...

Danny went to Haiti without me.

Danny worshipped and labored beside Haitian brothers and sisters without me.

Danny led a group and loved on sweet little orphans (whose faces and names I knew well) without me. 

 Danny came back different...changed...transformed...renewed...empassioned

and me...

well, I held down the fort,
which felt a lot more like being sidelined than anything else

But I handled it well even though this process of "without me" repeated itself many, many times in the last few years.  It was okay because I had this sweet, precious life literally entrusted to me. I was sidelined for this season but knew a day would come when I would be right back at it, going and doing and being. The day would come that I too would worship and labor and lead and love, that I too would be changed and transformed and renewed and empassioned.  So for a bit, I embraced my time on the sideline. Danny and I planned in our hearts and our minds for the day when WE would go and take Matthew with us to Haiti or wherever the Lord led us...

But then we brought home 3 more kids that we would inevitably adopt.  So the day we had planned and dreamt of came and went.  Danny went to Haiti but I was once again left behind...sidelined...

and so it has been again and will be several more times just this year.

Danny will go and be and do

while I hold down the fort.

But how does one sit on the sideline well

when all they long to do is run out on the field with arms wide open in reckless abandonment? 

And how does one cheer on others who are in the game

when they so long to be a part of the game themselves?  

And why is it so hard to embrace THIS season as equally important

when I know that God has brought the greatest assignment into my very home?

The TRUTH of the matter for me is that while I feel sidelined (a feeling I truly, truly struggle with), I am not sidelined at all. I am right in the muck of it all. The laundry and the dishes and the cooking and the cleaning and the homework and the correcting and the training and the instructing and the loving deeply ARE indeed the work of discipleship and ARE indeed the work God has called me to and ARE indeed the most difficult tasks I have ever faced. Every day, I am binding up the broken hearts of the children God has brought to me. Every day, I am caring for children formerly known as orphans. Every day, I am doing the work He has set before me for this time and this season...

but every day I am longing
for another day, another season,

where I will go and do and be,

where I will be forced further away from the known,

where I will be challenged in ways unimaginable,

where I will feel like I am right where God wants me to be

where I will feel at home so very far from home...

BUT I have committed

to go where God would have me go

and do what God would have me do

no matter where or what that is. 

Of course in my heart and mind, I had settled on the reality that it would be reckless and extravagent and risky and far away and unknown and challenging but for now it is here...in my comfortable small town american home, with the kids He has brought to me to be orphans no more.

In the process of becoming not me, I am learning to embrace the dream God has for me at the time He has it for me...

I know there will be a day and a time when He calls me to go and do and be and risk and leave but it just isn't yet...



When God and sinners reconcile...

Hark the herald angels sing

"Glory to the newborn King!

Peace on earth and mercy mild

God and sinners reconciled"

Joyful, all ye nations rise

Join the triumph of the skies

With the angelic host proclaim:

"Christ is born in Bethlehem"

Hark! The herald angels sing

"Glory to the newborn King!"

This is a song most of us could probably sing or at a minimum hum.  It's a song I have sung literally my entire life and has remained one of my favorite Christmas hymns over the years. We might not know all the verses, but the first verse seems to be a fairly popular one and rightfully so. Every word of it is a beautiful theological truth that preaches a gloriously triumphant message that Christ has come for a reason, with a purpose.  It's something to rejoice in and cling to, but this year something stuck with me in a way it never has before.

God and sinners reconciled

It's a truth I know well.  It's a truth I rely on daily. It's a truth I don't want to escape.

This year the lesson was different.

My dad is the eldest of 3 kids, the responsible one but never the favored one.  My grandad's blessing rested upon my uncle.  My grandmother's blessing rested upon my aunt.  Upon my dad rested criticism, blame, wrath and responsibility.  If anything went wrong, it was ultimately his fault and his job to fix it.  From what I have gathered, my grandmother's Irish temper and fondness for alcohol often created the perfect storm for chaos and dysfunction and my father usually stood directly in the path of her fury.  He took it so no one else had to. My grandad frequently took job assignments which took him elsewhere but used alcohol and passivity to cope when he was there.  It didn't change much as my dad grew into adulthood.  On my parent's wedding day, their car had to be hidden because my grandmother threatened to break out the windows.  She threatened to miss the wedding too but instead just showed up late.  My parents had every reason imaginable to sever their relationship with my grandparents...but they didn't.  Years passed and my brother and I came along.  My grandparents still drank and smoked.  They still criticized my dad, excluded my mom, and fought.  Their favor still rested upon my aunt and uncle. One would assume that my parents would keep us from them...but they didn't.  They protected us but did not isolate us.  We gathered at Christmas and Thanksgiving.  We honored them on Mother's and Father's day.  We celebrated their birthdays.  We invited them to all of our birthdays, events and activities. My parents called frequently to check on them and helped whenever possible.  My mom was always warm and caring.  My dad was always helpful and concerned.  From the way my parents treated them, no one would have ever suspected the deep wounds of these broken relationships.  When I was in high school, my grandmother died and my father rushed to her side and to my grandad's aide. That was many, many years ago.  Since then my grandad has given up smoking and alcohol but something much more miraculous has occurred.  My dad's relationship has been restored with my grandad in a way I never imagined possible and I am closer to him now than I ever was as a child...and all because my parent's chose to continuously extend unmerited grace and mercy to people that wounded them deeply.  They chose to be RECONCILED.

This past Christmas Eve, I sat at a candlelight service next to my parents.  As we sang the hymn above, I looked back for some reason and saw a dear older couple sitting alone on the back row.  The husband was someone I knew well.  He was a constant fixture on church youth mission trips when I was a teenager. My memories of his grace and mercy and humor are still so very fond.  He was a person I respected and admired at a time when I respected and admired so few.  When the service drew to a close, I hurried back to see him.  We quickly reminisced about the good old days on youth mission trips and it was as if neither of us had aged a day.  Then I asked him about his kids and he aged in a moment.  His response broke my very heart as I watched tears well up in his eyes.  "My kids don't have anything to do with me..." Those are words that cut.  How could I possibly respond? I hugged him and said I was sorry and that I would pray for changed hearts. What more could I say?  I am not naive. I don't assume he was the perfect father or that he was faultless in the brokenness of his relationship with his children.  I assume quite the opposite, that he was and is indeed a sinner...just like me...just like you...just like his kids.

As I walked to my car and watched my husband herd our 4 into the car, a thought stuck with me:

If God and sinners can be reconciled, why can't sinners and sinners be reconciled?

And I looked over my shoulder and saw my parents, who BOTH chose reconciliation over anger and hate and bitterness, and I was overwhelmed with one thought:

Reconciliation only occurs when the person in the "right" remembers their own sinfulness and reaches out with unmerited grace and mercy and forgiveness to people that wounded them deeply.

So someone hurt your feelings...BE RECONCILED

So someone was inconsiderate...BE RECONCILED

So someone criticized you...BE RECONCILED

So someone didn't support you...BE RECONCILED

So someone made you feel fat or ugly or unwanted or unintelligent...BE RECONCILED

So someone forgot your or abandoned you...BE RECONCILED

So someone wounded you in ways unimaginable...BE RECONCILED

Whether it happened 15 minutes ago or 15 years ago, the message of the manger, the message proclaimed by the angels, is that reconciliation with God is possible and if reconciliation with God is possible than reconciliation between sinners is certainly possible as well. 

This is a hard message.  This is a painful message.  This is a personal message. 

This is a message that I will have to wrestle with because I have kids who come from hard places.

In the process of becoming not me, I am learning that I must let go of hurt and bitterness and anger and I must choose to be reconciled

...to God

...to sinners

The message of the manger is the message of the cross...BE RECONCILED

the promised change

Last April, I promised that something BIG was on the horizon, something I couldn't wait to share with those I love (and those I don't even know but have chosen to read my words anyways.)  I promised something big and then I went completely silent.

Why?

Because my something BIG,
       the thing I had dreamt of,
       the thing I had envisioned over and over in my head,
       the thing I had been preparing my heart and mind for,
       the very thing I remodeled my house for
       and had seen pictures of and prayed for by name

didn't happen...it didn't come to pass...it wasn't going to be.

The BIG thing that didn't happen was that we were going to welcome 5 (yes 5) kids into our home.  We had seen their pictures, we had said their names outloud, we had prepared their rooms, and we had waited.  For almost 3 months, we waited for their files.  BUT when their files came and we read over them with tears and broken hearts, we knew almost immediately that we would not be a good match for these kids.  Even knowing that didn't make the decision easy.  For days, we agonized over it because we longed for these kids to have a family and we longed to be that family but knew we couldn't.  I cried (which I don't do) almost constantly.  I couldn't sleep.  We had been chosen and had long awaited their arrival, but we were not to be their forever family...and it tore me up.

What if no one else would take them?  What if they would end up being victims once again of a system that couldn't find them a safe forever family? Could we deal with that?  I didn't know.  I did know it happens...all the time.  Thousands of kids "age out" of foster care because they were too old or in too large of a sibling group or too troubled or broken or damaged for someone to take them.  We knew the statistics too well and we knew that saying no to these kids might mean that they would not find a home...but we still had to say no. There was no other choice.

It was almost impossible to say outloud.  I texted or e-mailed most people who knew we were expecting the 5 because I just couldn't verbalize it.  The one person I told face to face was Matthew. 

I remember vividly trying to explain to Matthew that we wouldn't be their family.  He just wanted to know why.  He didn't understand...and how could I explain it to him when I understood why but couldn't embrace all that meant?

He too had prayed for them by name for the last 3 months at every meal and every night before bed.  He too had envisioned them as his brothers and sisters.  I would hear him imaginary playing with them in his room, laughing and giggling and sharing as if they were right there.  And he so longed to be with them that he even arranged their pictures at the table so he could eat breakfast with them.  It was a loss for him too. 

For weeks, maybe even months, he would ask about them and ask why.  He asks still (although much less frequently.) He would ask if they had found the perfect family fit and I would just sigh.

  I didn't know...I still don't know.

But what I do know is that in July, we welcomed 3 kids to our family...3 kids that will be ours one day.

That, however, is a story for another day. 

and in the meantime, know that EVERY day nowadays is another day in the process of becoming not me...

love keeps no records

I know, I know...it's been 6 months since I wrote.  They have been 6 months of uncertainty and change and yet life as "usual".  Something big is coming soon...and I promise to update my blog when it comes! 

But for today, I just need to share something small.

Matthew turned 4 at the beginning of March...and it seemed like almost immediately he began to struggle with life.  He was easily frustrated, easily agitated, constantly emotional, always demanding and unable to handle life when he didn't get his way.  For the first time, he started throwing tantrums, real tantrums. 

Of course, I started looking for reasons.  I asked all sorts of questions and blamed all sorts of things, including myself.

Was he just struggling because he had been sick?  Was it his shots?  Was he trying to process all of the upcoming changes to our family?  Was I stressed out and he was reacting to that?  Was I not doing enough physical activity with him or being "present" enough with him?  Was he frustrated because he was trying new things on his own and sometimes failing?  Was he not getting enough healthy foods, water or sleep? Was there just something wrong?

I would like to say I pondered all of these questions and instantly found an answer.  I didn't.

The truth is that Matthew has always been a complicated, sensitive child in many ways.  He is extremely sensitive to unexpected, loud noises (machinery, trains, even public "power" toilets) yet he plays the drums louder than anyone I know.  He's painfully shy and skeptical around people he doesn't know REALLY well and will frequently hide but at unexpected times is a social butterfly and indescribably friendly and talkative.  There are a "select" few in this world that he seeks and is comfortable receiving physical affection from but from those people he wants almost endless affection.  When "others" tousle his hair or pick him up or tickle him, he just goes straight to fight or flight mode. (So please - don't tousle his hair, pick him up or tickle him:)  If he can't get something simple done the first time without struggle, he becomes incredibly frustrated and "defeated" yet he is always wanting to try something new on his own.

To be brutally honest, I just don't get most of his quirks!  For the most part, I am the exact opposite and I  can't fathom anyone getting upset over these things. Loud noises are never an issue except when I'm trying to sleep.  I'm an extrovert's extrovert and have never known shyness or fear of a crowd.  I'm not in the least a touchy, feely person but even affection from absolute strangers doesn't phase me.  (After all, my husband was a youth minister for nearly 11 years and I did teach middle school...there were LOTS of uninvited hugs!)  While I am a perfectionist, I take difficulty and even failure as a personal challenge.  I refuse to get frustrated, give up or say "I can't."  And to top it all off, I am extremely unemotional.  In fact, crying is almost foreign to me!

SO the last several weeks have been a real struggle for me as a mom and yesterday was the last straw.  He threw tantrum after tantrum after tantrum over the most trivial, inconsequential things.  I was so done with tantrums and I made sure he knew it...then I did what ever good mother/former teacher does, I made a chart!  I picked 5 behaviors that I wanted him to work on the most and informed him that there would be a system.  When he was successful, I would give him a smiley sticker to put under that column.  When he failed, I would give him a plain dot that would be the equivalent of a naughty sticker.  At the end of the day, we would be able to see if he had more successes or failures.  

The chart was made, the plan was set, the stickers were sitting on the counter...and then God did a funny thing - He led me to the exact scripture I needed (even though I sought it for a completely different reason)...

1 Corinthians 13:4-7 (2 versions)

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. (NIV)

Love never gives up. Love cares more for others than for itself.  Love doesn't want what it doesn't have. Love doesn't strut, doesn't have a swelled head, doesn't force itself on others, isn't always "me first," doesn't fly off the handle, doesn't keep score of the sins of others, doesn't revel when others grovel, takes pleasure in the flowering of truth, puts up with anything, trusts God always, always looks for the best, never looks back, but keeps going to the end.  (MSG)

OK God, I get it...NO NAUGHTY DOTS!

So today began and Matthew asked where his chart was...I got out the chart and the smiley stickers and explained them to him again. Then he asked where the naughty dots were and my heart sank a little bit.  I told him we weren't doing naughty dots and then I read him the scriptures above.  I told him that God didn't keep a record of our wrongs or failures or naughtys and I didn't want to keep a record of his.  There would still be consequences for bad behaviors and attitudes but at the end of the day, I wanted to celebrate his goodness.  Of course, he agreed that was a good idea and so did I.

But here's the honest reality of it for me -  it takes every ounce, and I mean EVERY ounce, of self control not to grab for one of those lousy dots and slap it on there when he chooses to misbehave.  My human side wants him to know exactly what he's done wrong and how many times.  I want a record of it so I can force him to face it the next time he misbehaves as a looming reminder.  I WANT that record of wrong

BUT I want something else more...

I want my son to know that I love him for who he is and not what he does or doesn't do.  I want my son to live so deeply in grace and mercy and forgiveness that as he grows up he will not hesitate to extend it to others.  I want my son to know the boundless love of the Father and I realize that right now, I am the living example of that.  

BUT more than anything...

I want to become so unlike the me I am that I no longer even desire the record of others' wrongs.  I want more than anything to love just like I have been loved...

but I know I can't and stay the way I am so I am realizing that this is just another step in the process of becoming NOT me...

Life Under Construction

Sorry it has been so long since I last blogged.  We've been a little busy around the Davis house...

God is constantly remodeling our lives. Anyone with remodeling experience knows, it is messy, risky and takes time. God’s remodel has moved us from one church or position to another. In 2008, God’s remodel brought Matthew to our family through adoption. Last April, God’s renovation led us to leave the comfort and security of church work and invest our lives at Hope for the Hungry. Immediately, we thought the sale of our home would provide us with “rainy day” security so we put it on the market and waited. There were tons of showings and no negative feedback but absolutely no offers. One day in my quiet time, I heard God clear as day ask me,


“When will you finally trust me to provide? When will you let me be your rainy day security?”

Through prayer, we decided that God desired us to stay here in our home, but why? We knew the answer almost as quickly as we asked the question. God wanted to do a new remodel and it would require us to remodel too. We looked around and knew that He had given us the perfect home for just such a remodel. With all conviction and confidence, we knew that God wanted us to travel the road of adoption again but this time it would be different. For years, we have known that our next adoption would be older kids and probably siblings but when and where? The answer is here and now.  As God would have it, our house has a sunroom that could easily be remodeled to become a 4th bedroom and bathroom. God provided the perfect “tent” to expand and was now calling us to do it. We began remodeling Sept 1. The process has been messy, risky, tiring and time consuming. It isn’t done yet but will be soon.

We have also begun the adoption process through CPS. We have filled out the applications and are attending class twice a week for 3 hours each over the next 5 weeks. After interviews, we will begin the matching process and then who knows! Like I said, remodels are messy and risky and take time but God’s remodels are always worth it.

Please pray for us in this process and consider how God would remodel your life as well.