In the Last Seven

Today marks seven months since we moved in to Clear Creek. I think I have started a new post almost every month, but can never seem to finish it.  Perhaps it is because we are always on the go. Maybe it is because when I do have a moment to sit, I do not have enough mental capacity to finish a thought. Or, it is because  assigning words to this journey is almost too difficult, nor would any string of words paint an accurate picture.

When we began, we had eight children. Within a few weeks, we grew by one. In less that two months we said "best wishes" to one, only to say it again three months later...and again one week ago.  We welcomed one more child to our home in July as well.

First there is the logistics. Running kiddos to jobs, commitments, clubs, church, and appointments keep us in a vehicle almost all evening long. There have been days that we have honestly spent seven hours straight running kids from one place to the next!! I am so grateful that we do not pay for the most of the gas we use weekly!)   We manage three different school schedules, five different work schedules, piano, home visits, caseworkers, families, counselors, agency demands, doctors, tutors, etc. Mornings must work like clock-work or everything falls apart--("WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON"T KNOW WHERE YOUR SHOE IS?!") If  the first bus is late, my second round of kids are off kilter because now they do not have the right amount of time to get ready.

  Walmart managers get excited when they see us enter the store, cashiers try to duck or take their break at just the right time to avoid the three cart-loads we haul to their registers.  The task of taking eight kids grocery shopping is not for the weak! We spend a great deal of time counting. No, not the "I'm going to count to three, then you..." We all know I don't believe in that. But counting to make sure I have everyone. We are constantly scanning the crowd, taking count, and making mental notes of who is doing what. Eating out, almost becomes a chore not quite worth the hassle. Once this summer while in vacation, we were charged a 20% gratuity because our family was so large (I mean, really, we just  took up three booths!). Truthfully, that is the easy stuff.

  Like all families, sibling arguments, or fights similar to the expectations of a WWIII, tend occur frequently. And I must say, we have some very skilled thespians among us! We could have our own, very skilled, drama club. The uncontrolled, wild hormones of teenage-hood are so overpowering that I think I am now reversing my trip toward menopause, and am heading in the wrong direction! Seriously, if I get another zit, I may scream!  I have also learned teenagers really are not that much different than toddlers. They are quite skilled at fit throwing when  they do not get their way, but if you can divert their attention ("LOOK! SQUIRREL!!"). Jealously seems to take its turn as well in the crowd. I never thought I would hear the "but you like her more than you do me!" so many times in a week!!!! There are days, moments, times that I think if I hear one more argument, my head may start to spin and I will look like the girl from the Exorcist! But even this is the not-so-hard stuff.

Life isn't always hard. We definitely have so many great moments: laughing, watching kids stretch themselves (Literally, we have cameras everywhere! My personal favorite is the one focused on the punching bag).  Okay, okay, I do mean academically, emotionally, mentally. There are moments like today, when all are in the kitchen, cleaning after supper, and simultaneous Nay Nay dancing occurs. When suddenly all the bickering stops, the mood changes, and suddenly all are whipping and nay-naying around the kitchen. (Of course, it would not be right if I left out the "Kwan". Goodness knows they hit it often enough each day! )

We have gone on vacation to Cleveland, the furthest away from Shelby County  that many of them have ever been. We have played at the aquariums, done science experiments, had nerf gun wars through the house. This may the the appropriate time to say, I am completely unaware of any food fights (snicker, giggle).  We have been to many softball games, plays, school concerts, and sat around many bonfires. We have been to the Renaissance Festival, Mansfield Prison, toured a war submarine, and oh, so much more.  We cook together, watch movies until late, and even clean together.

What makes this job hard-- a lack of freedom, limited adult interactions with friends, and an almost nonexistent social life.  The constant, "can we raincheck?" can be somewhat disappointing.  But it isn't even that, really.  What makes it hard, is the conversations that reveal wounds that each have received in such a short period of time. Conversations that are almost too painful to share, almost too much for me to process. What is hard, is knowing there is only so much I can do, so much that I can give before I have to step back and watch them wrestle their own demons. There are times that their demons turn them against us and they lash out, mentally and emotionally wounding us.  It is hard, in those moments to separate their words and actions from who they are.  It is hard to keep their demons from awakening my own. I must keep myself in check so that I can be what they need.

What makes things hard is visiting one of our children while he is in jail. Hard to let him face the consequences of his actions, when the mom inside of me is screaming to take him home, that it will be okay. It is hard saying goodbye to a child that you love and watch them venture off, not knowing whether they will make it. What makes it hard, is the constant worry about whether we are doing the right thing for each of them, and for our biological children. Is this new found defiance due to puberty or is it mocking what has been seen? Are we balancing things correctly? Are we making sure that we are taking care of the needs our biological children have?

We had been preparing our family for this job for two years prior to taking the position. We knew fully what we were getting into. We accepted this position well-aware of what it entailed, but perhaps we were still a bit naive. Perhaps, we were not quite aware of the emotional roller-coaster we would be riding each day. I can't lie: there are days that I do not like it. But truthfully, those days are few and far between, and typically exist more of fleeting thoughts, not days.  It is the moments in which we get a note that says, "please Mom, when can I come home? Have you heard?" or a conversation like that of tonight: "when I can legally change my name, I would like to take your last name" that I makes  up for the difficulty. It is the excitement of filling out college applications with kids who seven months ago had not considered college an option; the "please, Mom, will you make my lunch for me?" (not out of laziness, but because at the age of 17, this has never been done for her), that make this job worth it. It is the head in my lap or the warmth of one of the children curled up next to me, buried into my side while watching a movie that remind me that no matter the sacrifices, the self -doubt, the constant questioning, redirection, exhaustion, this is where God wants us to be!

Empty Arms

I go into Hallmark, searching for a card, knowing no matter how long I search I won't find a card that says what I want it to say, but also knowing I want something that will give comfort..  Finally, I find the cards I am searching for, tucked at the very bottom of the rack, underneath the 'loss of a pet" cards. Tucked quietly behind, is the 'loss of a baby' cards. Two designs to chose from. That's it, two. It is hard not to feel a pang of hurt and disappointment...


Fourteen years ago, I discovered, much to my surprise, that I was pregnant. I was engaged and moving in with Rick. That morning, I had talked to a friend to tell her I was getting married. Since Rick and I had only been together a short time, her first question was, "Are you pregnant?" This had not even crossed my mind, so I quickly responded with a curt, "no!"  I relayed the conversation to another friend as we carried the couch down the stairs, unto the truck, and I realized that maybe I better check.

I was the kindergarten teacher in a town of less than 600 and single, so my friend decided she would purchase the test and after Rick went to work, she would bring it to me.  I remember sitting there, on October 30th, knowing Rick was at work (pre-cell phone days) and the town was at the Halloween party. I sat there staring at the two pink lines unsure if I should cry or rejoice.  I had been told for years that having children was not in my future, but here I was, pregnant, yet the timing was less than convenient. Rick came home 12 hours later and responded to my announcement with "oh shit."

The next few months flew by in a blur. In January, we found out that our baby was a girl. We began to prepare and search for a name we could agree on. However, our dreams were cut short when at 25 weeks, I had a placenta abruption. I was home alone on the ranch. I had sat down on the floor to fold laundry. The laundry would wait, it would sit on the floor, unfinished as a reminder. I had felt it the minute I sat down. I was barely able to flag down Rick as he drove by the house headed to the field. He called the squad as I lay bleeding profusely. It didn't help that the squad was staffed by volunteers that were our  friends and colleagues; or that is was coming from 20 miles away. It didn't help that Rick was part of the fire department and his radio not only mirrored my cries and pain, but the sense of urgency in the operator's voice.

We rushed over the mountain pass, driving the 60 miles to the nearest hospital. They worked relentlessly to start an IV with no luck (I later counted over 27 pokes), and I lay fighting to stay alert, fighting the urge to quit. We were at the top of the Pass when I started to fade. A while later our daughter entered the world way too soon via emergency C-section. I was told she tried to cry, that she was pink and fighting. I thought things sounded good. I continued to float in and out of consciousness. Children's was on the way to take her to a more advanced hospital. But just a few short hours later, our dreams were  crushed again.

Rick came into the room, his face filled with devastation. Kailie was not well. We had to make a decision. Based on what we were told, we chose to remove the ventilator and allow Kailie to pass while in my arms. At six hours old, she returned to Jesus. I held her for a short time, then she was taken from my arms, and she was gone. I was moved to a different wing away from the newborn cries, away from the reminders that my baby was gone. Funeral arrangements were made, people came and went. I was discharged to go home. People, meals, donations arrived, but comfort did not.

A week after she entered our lives, we buried our firstborn. It was the second worst day in my life. The next four months I fought to find a reason to get out of bed, a reason to take the next breath. Three months in, I met a sweet girl who would become my lifeline. She had just buried her sweet Noah. Together we grieved, we were angry, we shared tears, disappointments, fears. Thirteen and a half years later, she is still my rock (besides my husband, of course).

Over the past  thirteen years, I have met many "empty-arm parents." Too many have lost a child. Too many have earned the title Mom or Dad, but are left with empty arms and crushed hearts. I discovered that we each are united through a bond of grief and despair, a bond that unless you have lost a child, you couldn't understand. We discovered that it is a taboo subject to mention, as people begin to squirm and fumble to find words when it is mentioned.  Then, by "chance,"  one person who has  already lived through the grief, smiles and begins to share. Suddenly an instant connection is
formed. Through these bonds, I have sadly discovered that the loss of a baby or child is far too common to hide the cards on a bottom shelf.

Today, I sat and listened to my pastor offer words of comfort to the family of a baby born too soon. As I watch the mom's chest heave in great sobs of sorrow, my heart felt each breath, each pang of overwhelming  grief. I wanted to take her hurt, but felt helpless as I knew I couldn't, but I prayed Jesus would. I too, felt the comfort in the words uttered by our pastor, in the peace of knowing that as a believer in Christ, I will be reunited with my child. That my friends, who have placed their lives and trust in Christ will be reunited with their babies. One day, the empty arms that have broken so many hearts, will be filled with the babies that currently rest in the arms of Jesus. Oh what a day that will be!

Just Another Manic Sunday...

Easter Sunday, our pastor  talked about how many pastors view Easter Sunday Sermon as the Big Daddy Sermon of the year. Churches stress over how to get record crowds into the pews, how to reach the most people on that one particular Sunday. I remember seeing ads on facebook, "come worship with us this Easter Sunday and you could win a free flat screen TV," "Come visit us and win an I-pad."  Our church, had no fancy electronics to entice wanders to cross our thresh hold. How could such a tiny little church complete with the offers of grandeur made by some churches? We can barely keep the sound system from screeching and the powerpoint operating some weeks.

I can tell how "on fire" my Pastor is going to be each Sunday before I even get out of bed. I have noticed for quite some time that the more God has in store for that morning, the harder Satan attacks. The kids fight, we oversleep, no one listens, clothes can't be found, every one is grouchy. We fly out the door, usually five minutes after we should have left, to make the thirty minute trek up the highway to Wapak, only be stuck in construction traffic. 

This morning was no different. Thing were just not good. Kids had fought all weekend, one had been caught in a big lie, one refused to get up.  I was tired, and to top things off my body hurts. My carpal tunnel is at a new all time high, waking me up in the middle of the night with numb hands and  searing pain shooting up my arms, rendering it almost impossible to find any strength in my hands.  My good ol' arthritis has began to kick in due to the chill in the morning and evening air. Yet, somehow, despite these "satan blocks," this morning we managed to leave on time, arriving before the beginning of the service.

We arrived in time to greet our church family and find our way to "our" spot. Grandpa found Rick and assigned him to the sound equipment, the kids wondered off to Adventureland. I sat and wondered what in the world was going on. There were new faces everywhere. The pews began filling up and I am pretty sure I heard our little church let out a joyful groan as it stretched its doors open a little wider, a little prouder.I thought perhaps I had missed the divine marquis above our church that was pointing down at the doors saying, "come one, come all."  There really is no feeling like seeing so many new faces to worship with you in the place you so love.

In the book of Matthew, Jesus states, "For where two or three are gathered together in My name, I am there in the midst of them" (18:20, NKJV). And boy, let me tell you, God was in our presence well before the sermon began!  As it was stated by Pastor Stephen, the sermon was just thge "icing on the cake" today.  God is working. He has great plans for this little church. It is so evident to me by how the Holy Spirit shows up each Sunday: the many new faces, the spontaneous sharing of testimonies, the occupied altar, the family that started with five attending, but now takes up two pews. 

Today it struck me, as it has many times, that we, as a church are growing both in numbers and in our faith. But how can this be since we have no fancy Sunday give aways, no television commericals advertising "Miracle Sunday." In my mind, the answer to this is very simple. We have an amazing, humble pastor whose only goal is to allow God to speak through him. He preaches nothing more than God's word, His promises, His commands. He does this in a manner that allows each of us to connect, to find what God is saying to us, what God is asking of each of us. There is no added pizzazz, no added promises, no tweaking of the scripture to fit what he wants to say, just what is written in our Grand Book.  We are growing because we have Godly leadership, but also because we have love and understand that we are a family. Never have I been part of a church that is so giving, so loving, so welcoming. Each Sunday morning, it is like returning to a family reunion, seeing family that I have not seen in years. And by the time I move out of the embrace of the first hug that morning, nothing else seems to matter.The stress of the morning has melted away. My heart is ready to worship, to receive what God has in store. 

How fortunate we are to have found our home and to be part of a growing congregation whose heart is so focused on God's will, on serving our Abba Pappa. I can think of no other place I want to be on Sundays, even if it means rebuking Satan and dealing with Sunday morning madness! 

Frank

His name was Frank. He had those big blue eyes that melted my heart, messy brown hair. He was a rule breaker, and I fell for him. I was barely twenty, he was seven. I was student teaching when I met Frank. The teacher had already developed a strong distaste for this boy who would not follow rules, that tried her patience, that just refused to cooperate. He had been separated from the others,and had spent a great deal of his first grade year counting the bricks in the hallway.  But, I liked him.  Perhaps at first it was because my cooperating teacher had a mutual distaste for both him and me (and I could not stand her).   Regardless what the early draw towards this boy was, we developed a strong bond. The last I saw Frank, he had come to school with huge bruises all over his arm. As a last resort, the teacher called me to see if I could get him to talk, I couldn't.  I have always wondered what happened to Frank.  Looking back,  I can say that Frank was the first in a long line of trouble making, rule breaking, score-crashing kids that I fell in love with.

After surviving a horrific student teaching experience, I vowed I would never set foot in a classroom. I decided to do Voluntary Service through the church since I had just wasted four years on a teaching degree. I mean, that is what made the most sense...waste money on a four year degree, take a nonpaying job--brilliant! In all honesty, it was where God was leading me. It was what God had planned for me. I was just trying to be obedient.

The first two assignments I was offerred--teaching troubled kids. Kids with severe mental illness and had severe behavior issues.  I KNEW that was NOT for me, so instead I took a job with the Boys & Girls Club and as a youth minstry director.  Even here, I found myself drawn more to those rowdy kids that others found exhausting!  There was Alex with his crazy wild hair, dirty socks tucked under his feet and stuffed into his shoes.  He ended up staying with me for several weeks after his dad backed out and his mom was training for a new job. There was Scott, who challenged every ounce of patience and self control that I had. When he moved away, I cried.

A year and a half into my service commitment, my first teaching job found me. They sought me out. Teaching preschool couldn't be too bad, right? My first day teaching was the first time I had heard a four year old drop the "f" bomb and use it in a grammatically correct manner! That little gem was Stephen, cute as a button! Then there was John. He would climb out of his window at home and walk along the second story roof.  Boy, I love that kid! His curly blonde hair, his toothless grin, and those deep brown eyes that penetrated right through to my heart.  As much of a challenge as he was, I chose to keep him for the full day instead of the half day preschool session. It was what would be best for him.

When we chose to move back to Ohio, the job I was offerred was that of an special educator for a class of kids with severe mental disorders and behavior issues--the exact thing I had turned down six years before.   It was to be a transition job,to get my foot in the door with the district. I had no clue that I would fall in love.  These kids that many times other staff did not want in their rooms  have given me so many great memories.  For fourteen years, I cared for these kids, or maybe they cared for me. So many good stories, so many good memories: the boy who stole his cousins shoes and brought them to be as a gift for my newborn son, the girl with with hair piece that flew off during morning holding, that began to scream "my hair! my hair" as the entire school turned just in time to see the hair fly across the auditorium.

Long before I was ready to listen, God was preparing me for the the mission He had for my life. It is only through His strength and direction that I have worked with the children He brought to me I look back now and the path that I have taken to get to where I am now, makes me smile. It took me a long time to know what God wanted for me. I am so glad that He is patient and never gives up on me.

In the next few months, a new part of my life mission will begin. I look forward to the relationships, the stories, the challenges that lay ahead.  Only God knows what will happen. So, I will trust Him, because He  has the answers, knows what is best, what will come.

It has been almost twenty years since I laid eyes on Frank.  His face, like many other past students, is still etched into my mind, leaving me to wonder where they are and who they have become. Perhaps when I arrive in Heaven, my Abba Father will share stories of who these little guys and gals became! Until then, when their faces and memories pop into my mind, I will savor the time I had with each of them!

Ebenezer is not a "who"

         Robert was by far the living definition of a juvenile deliquent. He had lost his father at the age of 8. By fourteen, his defiance and path of destrution became too much for his mother to handle. In desperation, she sent her son away in hopes that an apprenticeship would straighten him out. Instead, he plummeted further down his dangerous path. Until one day, at the age of seventeen, with full intent to crash an evangelistic meeting, h showed up at a church.  God worked His love and changed this young boy's heart. By the age of 20, Robert had left his disasterous ways and had become a minister, preaching God's word to others. While preparing a sermon, at the age of 23, God's love inspired Robert to a poem that was later set to music. Today, 250 plus years later, we know this hymn as "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing."

   A while back, my pastor did a sermon based on this song. This sermon has stuck with me, because of one word: Ebenezer. If you are like me, immediately your mind flashed to your favorite version of the Christmas Carol and you were seeing good 'ol Scooge.  But that isn't the Ebenezer that I mean. In the second verse of the Come Thou Fount, there is a line that states, "Here I raise my Ebenezer..." Again, insert  mental image of a giant hand lifting Scrooge high into the air. Yet, the Ebenezer in this song is a "what" not a "who." 

   In the book of 1 Samuel, the Ark of the Covenant is taken in battle from the Israelites by the Philistines. This did work out so well for this clan! The Ark, did not bring great fortune for the Philistines, instead it brought death and destruction, to the point that the people were beggng for it to be sent back. Eventually, the Philistines loaded it up, sent it back, and called it good. Several years later,  they attacked the Israelites again, looking for an easy victory. Instead, the Israelites called on God's favor, and defeated the Philistines. In honor of this victory and to honor God's hand in this battle, Samuel took a stone, named it Ebenezer, placed it between two cities as a physical reminder of God's help.

Ebenezer-- a stone. A stone whose name literally translates to the "stone of help." It is a physical reminder of what God has brought us through, His holy sovereignty, His divine help,  a reminder of  His ever present, unfailing love.  I'm no expert, but I think by definition, this Ebenezer is way better than a stingy old man! 

I am thankful that like Robert, at the age of seventten, God met me and molded my heart for His love. Since then, God has brought many Ebenezers into my life: songs, passages, sermons, people. But I have to say, my strongest, most readily called on Ebenezer is my first bible. The bible I received before I knew God, that I used to discover Him, that I sought comfort in while learning who I was in Him.  Like Robert, and his struggles, there are times that my heart is "prone to wonder, to leave the God I love."   When I feel lost, and need that stone of help, it is then I open my drawer and pull out this bible. I unzip the faded, stained cover, open it, and begin to absorb the words written inside.  It is filled with notes from those who helped guide me in the beginning of my journey. Passages are highlighted with notes of importance. Prayers are written in the margins. It is there, in this book that I am able to ground myself again, refocus myself. It is in its pages that I am drawn to bow my heart before God, admit my never ending need for His divine guidance and ever plentiful grace. It is there that I can quiet my heart, drowned out the distractions, and remember why I so desperately need to fall face down infront of my God. To anyone else, this bible is just that, the written word of God. And while I know and ackowledge that, I also know that at times, it is the Ebenezer I so desperately need in order to find my way back to my Father.

As time passed, Robert fell away from his relationship with God. It is said that at one point, he encounted a woman on a stagecoach, obliviousy to who he was. Somehow,  in conversation, she quoted words from the song to him. He then told her that he was the man who wrote that song and how he would give anything to feel what he had felt when he was walking with the Lord. To this, it is said she replied, "Sir, the "streams of mercy" are still flowing."  I am not sure if Robert ever discovered the Ebenezer that he needed in order to renew his relationship with God.I would like to think that this woman's gentle reminder was the Ebenezer he needed.  For me, I am grateful for each Ebenezer I encounter, that keeps me my heart bowed, and my eyes focused upward!

Blurred Lines

Exactly one month ago, I resigned from my job. The decision, while some may think was made in haste, was well thought out. Being an educator this day and age is scary enough before adding in inconsistent expectations, bendable rules, and unpredictable responses from administration. Then top off with a little common core, student preformance based evaluations, a blood thirsty media, and it is a recipe for burnout.

Last fall  I, along with the rest of the teaching staff, attended a training by legal counsel on the topic of teachers, first admendment right, and social media. The jist of the seminar, educators are not afforded the same first admendment rights promised in the Constitution. Educators, somewhere between the licensure exam and first teaching assigment sign, away these rights, and are given the cape of a super hero. Perhaps, there is a vow of celibacy from being real that should be added at the bottom of the exam or licensure application. 

The seminar warned of how what is posted on social media can cost one their job. A single picture of a professional enjoying a glass of wine cost that individual her job. The decision of termination was upheld by the supreme court.  To be honest, this was somewhat concerning, yet really didn't apply to me. I am always careful. I don't want to be offensive. My theory is, if I am friends with my aunt who is in her 90's, with my pastor, with my family, what I write is nothing I will be ashamed of sharing. It isn't out of fear of retaliation or even of offending someone, but more because that is who I strive to be. Not that I am always successful, but it is my goal. You can only imagine my surprise when I recieved a call saying that something I posted had caused an uproar in the local school district. 

By the sound of things, you would have thought I had unveiled the district's most well protected secret, condemned the district to Hell,  or had posted pictures of me pole dancing at the local Hooters while wearing a ripped up shirt with the school's name on it.  Nope, I wrote that I had mixed feelings of being moved to a new position. I posted that my students were made of aware of this move before I was given the official word.  So, why the uproar? The issue was one of my FB friends is a parent of one of my students.  Was I really portraying the district in a positive manner? 

My faceook page is not linked to the district I taught in nor the agency I was employed by. It is not linked to what city I live in or even what school I graduated from. Why? Because I like my privacy. After that seminar,  I came home and deleted all of my coworkers from my account. But, as the year progressed, these coworkers crossed the line and became friends. Friends that I spent more time with than I did my own family. Friends that were my support system at work and in my life. Apparently they too forgot to take the oath of professional relationship only, no mingling as friends. Then there were the students and parents. I have always upheld the rule, "if I am your teacher, I cannot be your FB friend." So after students left my class,  I would get requests. This happened with family members,too. To be honest it was a case by case decision whether or not I accept. While an educator is not supposed to show favortism, there were definitely some students and parents that I clicked with more than with others.

I always knew that I would teach. I guess it is in my blood. In 1915, my great grandfather, a recent graduate of Miami University,was awarded his first teaching certificates--one in Ohio and one in Florida. . He taught in the community he grew up in. He taught his siblings, he taught his friends' siblings, he even taught his own children. While I am positive he was well respected as an educator, he was also well respected in the community. I bet he knew the students' parents' names, their siblings, and even what was going on in their lives. I bet he strived to not only teach academics, but the importance of being a responsible citizen. I know he had compassion and I am sure there were more times than any one knows that he went over and beyond what is expected.  In 1946, my great grandmoher was awarded a teaching a certificate. Their daughters went on to teach. My cousins, second cousins, third cousins, and cousins once or twice removed have been educators.  Not only is there a desire to teach that runs in our genes, but there is a strong gene of compassion that runs through as well.

I wonder what my grandfather would say if he knew that it was a test score, that he had little influence over that now defines who is and isn't a great educator. That it isn't about the relationship you build, the compassion you give, or the reputation you have built in the community, but a score. One score. One score, determines the worth of a teacher. Would he have advised me to "kill and drill" my students? Or would he have advised me to carry on the way I was teaching? Would he still have been considered an outstanding educator?

I was faulted for blurring the lines between professional and personal life. I was faulted for being too involved. But, this past weekend, when our family experienced a sudden emergency, it was the families that I blurred this line with, that came to my rescue. These are the people I trusted with my children when I had no one to help me. These are the people that brought us hot meals, that are praying for our son's recovery. These are the people that pulled strings and asked for favors to make sure some other issues were taken care of. I am glad that I blurred the lines and took a chance to get to know these families. I am glad that I can call them friends outside of a classroom.  These are the people that have become part of my family. And I have a sneaky suspicion that my great grandfather would tell me, this is how a supportive community works, regardless of one's role!

Good-bye Robin

 

 Two days ago on Monday, August 11, a beloved actor and comedian was found hanging in his house. The coroner's report "death by asphyxiation."  The man who had brought so much laughter into our lives had been plagued with mental illness, and after fighting what could have been a life long diagnosis, Robin lost his battle. By evening, Robin's death was on every channel and overtook the social networks. Yesterday, I opened my Facebook page to see that this had only increased, and I found myself frustrated. Don't get me wrong,the loss of this man is an atrocity for the film world, for his many fans, and most importantly, for his family. But, I found myself wondering, why are we making such a big deal out of it?

    In spite of his fame, Robin was no different that the other 107 people, who according to statistics committed suicide on the same day. No different than the woman found in her car, the man in his apartment, the man in the carry-out, or the man found in his shop. His family is left reeling like others left behind, wondering what they could have done differently.They have now joined a new culture, the group of over 4.8 billion suicide survivors (based on statistics of the number of survivors between 1987-2011).

    The reports say Robin was found hanging from a belt, but on his wrist were superficial cuts, and the knife lay near by. I know these superficial cuts, I bear their faded scars.I have been to the point Robin found himself that morning. I have been to the point that no other option made sense. Luckily, I was able to slowly climb out of its grasps. Luckily, like the estimated 987, 950 who unsuccessfully attempt suicide each year,  I did not succeed. It is shocking to know that every 27 seconds, another person feels this is their only option, and unsuccessfully attempts to end their life. It is shocking to think that we can be so blind to over look so much pain, ignore it, or play it off as nothing.

 I still struggle to keep my depression under control. I have no choice but to pop a few happy pills each day in order to help me through the day. Some may argue and say I do have a choice. I could pray harder, exercise more, find things that make me happy, or just push on (trust me, I have heard it all). They would never say this to the cancer patient, the heart patient, or someone with diabetes. It goes to show how far we have yet to go in understanding. My brain does not produce a chemical needed to keep things on an even keel. It is a medical condition, not a choice. The choice lies in what role I allow it to play in my life, although sometimes, even that feels out of my control. The choice lies in whether I seek assistance and find support to help keep me in check.

   Not only do I understand the pain Robin faced, but I understand the pain that his family and friends are dealing with. Suicide has reared its ugly head in my family way too many times. I have seen the continual devastation and pain it causes. I pray that for Robin,'s family and the families of the others who died on Monday, that people set aside their judgement, reach out to them, and support those who  left behind.

   It is my hope that shock of Robin's death and the sudden surge of  interest in recognizing mental illness does not fade.It is my hope that Robin's death will not overshadow the other 107 who died on Monday, the other 755 who will commit suicide this week, the other 39, 517 who will succeed at suicide this year. Instead I hope that it brings a deeper awareness and understanding of mental illness. I hope it challenges us to check in on others, take a minute to listen, and take a minute to care. I hope,that we, as a society, do not let this interest fade once the shock wears off, but instead we use it as the springboard to spend more time researching, educating ourselves and others to the facts, not the myths of this terrible disease.  I hope that each of us can reach out to those who are battling depression and other mental illness, that we can reach out to those left behind. It is time to set aside our stereotypes, prejudices, and ignorance and learn about the disease that is the third leading cause of death in youth and the tenth leading cause of death in our nation.

    Good-bye, Robin. You were one of the greats! I pray that you have found the peace you searched desperately for in your life. I pray that your legacy lives on, not on the screen or in the thought of lost talent, but in the research and awareness of mental illness.


(Statistics from the American Association of Suicidology, based current data of 2011)

Trusting Him and Letting Go

     I stood in the sanctuary this morning with tears rolling down my face as I sung, well maybe blubbered out the words, "Step by step, You lead me, and I will follow You all of my days. Oh God, You are my God, and I will follow you..." I remember the first time that I heard this song, as a seventeen-year-old new believer, sitting in a Lutheran service. I remember the words speak to me. Following God is what I wanted with my life, nothing more and nothing less. It seems that since then, my walk with Him has taken many turns, climbed many hills, and trudged through many forsaken and barren lands. Through this, the only thing that has remained constant, His love for me. Not my desire to always put Him first, but His unfailing love and ever open arms.

     Today, standing in the sanctuary, my tears readily fell as my arms were outstretched to Him. I meant the words I uttered. For the first time in a long time, I knew that I was where He wanted me to be, and together we were about to embark on an amazing journey. For seventeen years, I have taught children. I started with preschool, went to kindergarten, then to special ed. where I have taught every grade, except kindergarten! I believe it is probably a good estimate to say in the last 17 years, more than 300 students have passed through my classroom. At first, that didn't sound like many, but then I began to think. After my first two years of teaching, the most students I had at one time was 16 due to location or because of special education laws. Many of these children, I have loved like my own. Some I have "raised" in my classroom due to somehow being their teacher for multiple years... One in particular, I got in first grade and had him every year until he was a sophomore.

    Some stop by my house, to grab a quick bite or a can of soda, some email asking for tutoring, or just to ask me to come to their football games to support them. I have received graduation announcements, shown pictures of their children, and been asked if they could crash on the couch. I have bought coats, shoes, clothes, food, school supplies, personal hygiene supplies, and so much more. I have learned family names, been invited to family functions,and been supported by these wonderful families when my oldest child died. These families, were there for me when I couldn't be there for them. To me, teaching was never my job nor my profession; it was my passion, my life; but even more, it was my mission. This is what God had called me to do. He didn't call me just to teach, but to work with children and share His love for each of them: to teach them, love them, and to guide them.

     Now, God has opened a door, not just for me, but for my family, and we are very excited. At first, I thought I could manage both jobs, but in reality I have felt that my time in a classroom was soon coming to an end. I knew I was being lead in a different direction. This week, due to unforeseen circumstances (well, at least unforeseen by me), I knew it was time to let go. Last week, I resigned from teaching knowing that if I ever step return to a classroom, it will be as a volunteer, and eventually, maybe as a sub. This decision was difficult for me, but yet, I have been given a peace that surpasses my rationale.

     Leaving my job plummets our family well below our current mean and style of living. For that matter, it leaves us living below what society calls the "poverty level." It leaves us without health insurance, dental, or vision insurance. This, in itself, is going to require us to shift our thought process and learn to depend on God more than ever. But you see, financially, we may be broke and eating ramen noodles for a bit, but spiritually, we are beyond rich. I know that God will reward our obedience as long as we keep our eyes focused on Him. I know that for the next nine months, I have been given the most amazing gifts--the gift of being a mom. For the first time in my chldren's lives, I will be able to volunteer at their schools, have a lunch date with them, help them. The gift of being able to serve others. For this short time, I will be more readily available to help my aunt as she battles cancer. For the first time, in a long time, I may even try to cook meals. You are right, no need to get carried away.

       I will miss some of my amazing colleagues, Opening Day (which was really more about seeing past colleagues than anything else), and giving my boss a hard time. I will miss my students' faces and the feeling of watching them succeed. I will even miss writing IEP's, believe it or not. (No worries, I won't miss testing, or evaluations). I will miss the daily interactions with students that aren't in my classroom but have come to know. I will miss the smell of school supplies, the shiny floors of a freshly redone hallway.

        This morning in the sanctuary, surrounded by my church family, I found myself singing my prayer, praise, and promise..."step by step You lead me, and I will follow you with all of my heart!"

thoughts and tidbits

I don't write anymore. I should, but I don't. I think of what I could write each night, plan it out in my head, think of the lesson behind my thoughts, but then I tuck it away, and eventually it quietly slips from my memory without even being noticed. That scares me. It scares me to think that as my age increases and my stress level rises, that I become more forgetful. This is a family trait, it is inevitable. So today I will write. I started this blog to record my experience in Uganda. It seems odd to me that three years ago I went to Africa. It is almost surreal, like a picture swimming in a vast array of images in my brain. Lessons and emotions, still, at times seem as fresh as the day they occurred.

But so much has happened. I am not the same as I was when I went. I am not the same as I was last week, nor do I ever want to be the same. In the past couple of years, I experienced a severe bout with depression that I wasn't sure I would be able to overcome it. I dropped out of the Masters program, lost some friends, became more introverted, gained a billion pounds trying to find the right combination that would allow me to get out of bed in the morning and breathe through my day. In the end, what I needed was to pull my own boot straps and allow God to show me what direction to go.I needed to realize that I was human, and the only thing there is to help me is faith. In November, I changed jobs. I did not realize I needed to change jobs, but now, I realize how desperately I needed this change. I was burned out, stagnate. Changing jobs, brought me back to the field of professionalism, and for the first time in a long time, I found myself in love with my job.

 In November, I discovered we were expecting for the fourth time. But, not in an ordinary way. We were expecting our family to grow with the addition of a sixteen year old boy. I have the say the labor and recovery was wonderful! A quick, "he's all yours!" and suddenly we were a family of five...well, six. It has taken some getting used to, things are more cramped, laundry piles higher, but our family feels good. He fits. He belongs to us, with us. He is our son. While we know there are more obstacles ahead, he is worth it. He is worth every loss of words, every "what now" and every "how do we..." I wouldn't have it any other way. In July, he became a permanent member of our family. I am not sure if he understand the repercussions of being stuck with us forever, but we definitely understood what it meant for us.

 It was the day he became ours. The day we were to be happy and to celebrate that he as a permanent part of our family. Our life changed. I changed. We all changed. It as a simple text from my cousin, "call me when you can." I dialed, happy to talk to her and because we were going to close a crazy chapter. She didn't answer the phone. Shortly after, she returned my call. "WE are in Dayton, at Miami Valley. They found a tumor on mom's brain. They will operate tomorrow...it is cancer." It is cancer. It is cancer. It is cancer. Suddenly court did not matter, what we were doing afterward did not matter. My mind only heard one sentence...it is cancer. Surgery went as well as to be expected, and like expected, it was cancer. Glioblastoma stage four...terminal...

My aunt did not take this news with surrender and acceptance. Her response...death isn't an option. So a week after brain surgery, she was doing payroll from her house. With radiation and chemo causing her to take brief time outs each week, she continues to live her life like today is her last... never taking for granted that tomorrow will be there. Making sure we know her love. With this diagnosis, my perspective changed. My goal is to be able to stop and enjoy. To realize what a short time we all have . That it is a choice as to what we see. Little accomplishments can be celebrated in the same manner as major accomplishments. Little things can be insignificant in the scheme of the bigger picture. And at times, perhaps I need to remember this a little more.

 So this brings me to why I decided to peck the keys tonight... Perspective is my key word this year. Perspective. There is always a choice in how things are seen and processed. Tonight I was driving to get the kids from bible study when I noticed a giant, almost full moon. Right away this sent my mind reeling as to what it meant for me at work tomorrow. Anyone who works with kids will tell you there is definitely a correlation between the moon and the moods of children. While thinking of the battles that haven't even occurred and have no guarantee of occurring, I glanced into my rear view mirror. I was awed by the amazing sunset. But, I had almost missed it. I had almost missed the magnificence of God's handiwork, worrying over something I cannot control. I needed the perspective check. God gives me these little reminders that I need to bring myself back into check, and for this I am grateful. God gives each of us these little reminders that we have a choice in what we chose to see. I am so glad that God is patient with me and gives me several opportunities to learn even the simplest of lessons.

Sixth Months Later....

My sophomore year in college, I went to a missionary conference over the Christmas Break with several other students from Bluffton. I was a new Christian and in love with only Him. The conference changed my life. I knew at the age of 18 that my goal was to serve Christ with all I had. Worshiping with 18,000+ believers, and sharing in communion at midnight on New's Years Day was very powerful. I remember coming back from the conference high on the mountain top, ready to serve. Yet, some how between that conference in 1994 and 2008, I lost that feeling and forgot what my ultimate goal was. I forgot what it was to put God first and my desire to serve only Him. Somehow, I had strayed. Maybe it was the time factor,the choices I made, life circumstances, or perhaps a little of everything. Regardless of how it happened, in 2008 I began to realize, I was no where near who I wanted to be and my relationship with God was less than I ever imagined it would be. I began slowly finding God and the relationship with Him that I had lost. When I began attending Liberty, God began moving in a mighty way.

Sixth months ago, I was in Africa. When I was asked, I really had no idea why I was asked or why God would want me to go. I had nothing to offer anyone, or so I thought. My experience in Africa, like that of the missionary conference was life altering. Unlike the conference, I did not come back on the mountain top high (I came back exhausted beyond belief! :~)) I came back with the understanding that God was wanting more of me, and I wanted more of Him.

I learned a lot from the women and children that we met. I don't think that is how it was supposed to work. I thought I was going to Uganda to serve them, not to be served by them. What a surprise God had in store for me! To be given so much, to be shown such unconditional love and gratitude was powerful. To see people making sacrifices for me, when I knew it was all they had, was humbling. They didn't ask me if I deserved their welcome or their acceptance, they gave it freely.

People have asked me several times what it was like to be in Africa with those that have "so little," betting I saw things I could never have imagined. They are right in some sense. Maybe they had very little by our western, materialistic standard. But for those who had found Jesus, they were wealthier than anyone I have ever met. As for seeing things I never imagined, you bet! I saw a woman give up her only chicken in gratitude for us coming to visit her. I saw proud moms showing off their children. I saw children with clothes that didn't fit, with extended bellies, playing with bottle caps, with the greatest smiles one could ever imagine. I saw Jesus in each of them.

Since returning from Africa, I have sought God with a renewed passion. I have read, prayed, and studied. My goal is to allow Him to work through me and in me, all for His glory. Life has not gotten easier since my trip to Africa. If anything, things have been tougher. Some days I can focus on Him, and other days I need a reminder that His plan is far greater than I can understand. Many times, it is on these days that I run across a teaspoon laying in the strangest places (Read "The Teaspoon" if this doesn't make sense to you! ). I used to pick them up, throw them in the sink. and wonder why in the world the kids were playing with the teaspoons and why they were all over the house. Now, I stop, smile, and thank God for the reminder. He continues to show me his mercy and love, I just need to remember to slow down and allow Him the chance.

Africa changed me, but not in the way I thought it would. It changed my perspective. It changed my desires and goals. He continues to show me that the secret to my contentment is to trust in Him for the strength I need in each and every situation (Philippians 4:12-13)! I'm not the greatest or strongest in my faith. Sometimes,I have hard time trusting that He has a greater plan and allowing Him to work, but I do know one thing, and to this I will cling, "I belong to Jesus!"

done............well, almost

The last day of school for my students is tomorrow. I will be quite honest in saying I am NOT sad about this! :-)This year has been an emotional roller coaster for me. Two different bosses, staff relation problems, unethical behaviors, students that were beyond my realm of ability to help...these are just a few things that affected my year. I filed my first workman's comp claim this year...after nine years of working with students with emotional disturbances and thirteen years of teaching. Had a SCREAMING fight with my boss in the middle of a hallway (Not quite my style) It was not a good year. Well, until I started thinking about it and realized it depended on my perspective. I needed to change how I was looking at this year. When I changed my perspective, this was by far the best year that I have had with my students. I have seen amazing progress this year. I have had the privilege of watching how God moves and changes eight students. Yep, I said God, and yep, I teach in the public schools. God is awesome, He doesn't care about "keeping religion out of school" rule. I don't preach to my kids, I don't have to, God works in other ways. I had an amazing staff that were true examples of living one's faith. This year I also had the privilege of having my husband work with me in my classroom. This provided a different atmosphere than ever before. Between Rick being there, myself, and the ladies who work in my room, a family atmosphere emerged.

At the end of the year, we spend a significant amount of time cleaning. Since supplies are very limited, we reuse everything we can. While cleaning out notebooks, we ran across a journal entry written in March by the student I affectionately nicknamed "Big Guy" this year. This is what he said...

If my life was perfect, I would be in Africa, not Ohio. I would have nice clothes and shoes. My family would have a cookout without fighting. Mr. Wilson and I would hang out all day, every day.

Yesterday, there was a knock on my door. When I went to open it, there was a student I had two years ago standing there. In a fashion true to his personality, he announced his arrival and visited for ten minutes before announcing he must leave. He is doing well he said. Done with "being a bad kid." He had grown at least a foot since I had seen him last. Yesterday when he left, I knew he would be okay. He had found what he needed to be okay with himself and with his place in the world.

I can't...won't take credit for any kid's behavior changes, I am honored that God chose to use me to touch these kids lives. And I am blessed to be given such huge gifts of seeing how they are transformed...

I don't know what next year holds...but I am okay with that because I know that God already has it planned down to the finest detail. No matter where or what it is, I will do my job to the best of my abilit, and I will remain faithful that it is all for God's glory.

Lesson Learned

I will be honest, things have been a little crazy, and not so good lately. I know that with every great experience in which God is glorified, Satan does his best to attack and tear one down. This has been evident in almost every area of my life over the past few weeks. From struggles at work to struggles at home. But today was different.

I woke up and hour and a half late to discover I should have already left for work, but neglected to set my alarm. So after a quick shower,I ran out the door, knowing I did not take time to seek God and to be with Him, as I usually do. I remember thinking on my way to work that this was not the best decision! But,God had other plans.

If for some reason you don't know what I do each day...I teach...well, that might not be accurate. I have a classroom of 8 junior high age students that have some type of severe emotional disturbance. I really feel that my job isn't always about teaching what the state standards say, but instead my job is about providing stability and emotional support. Some days I get to teach a real lesson or two,and other days I am lucky to get through "How was your evening" without a major crisis.
As the day began to unfold, everything around me crumbled. The secretary was out, the teacher next door was taken to the hospital when her back went out, lunches were not accurate ( a long story in itself), but yet none of that mattered today. Instead, God gave me a gift, a lesson...

A few weeks ago, a new student arrived in my class. This kid is unlike any I have ever had in my class. Today, I had the chance to sit and work with him. As I did, Brandon Heath's song "Love Never Fails" played over and over in my head. I watched this student's eyes sparkle as he told me stories and as he caught on to what he was learning. If I didn't know his story, and hadn't witnessed the other side for myself, I would have thought he was a typical teen. After this time, I also had to meet with his family. As I listened to their story, my thoughts were on how their love never fails this child and how through their love, they have such hope for him. As the grandmother said to me through tears,"Tell me what I need to do. What more can I do to help him?" All I could say was, "You are doing it. Be there for him." I wish I could answer their questions and tell them the magical formula to change this. But I can't. Instead,I have the promise of a God who loves us and will never fail us.

When I finally had a chance to sit down today and just watch my students, I realized that I am their student and they are teaching me. I thought of the verse, "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 records of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. (1 Corinthians 13:4-8, NIV). I have never thought of this verse as it pertains to all relationships in my life or even to my job. But watching my students today, I realized that this is what God was calling me to do right now. Love each and everyone as he does...patiently, with hope, with a clean slate each and every minute. Why? Because this is how He loves me, and this is what it means to follow Him.

Tegatatoo

While in Africa, we were able to visit an IDP camp. IDP stands for Internally Displaced Persons. These camps were established during the civil war that lasted for twenty-three years. When people were forced from their village, they found refuge in these camps. Since the war is now over, these camps are being destroyed and people are being forced to return to their native villages. Sounds simple, right? Well, then one has to throw in the factors of most people have been born and raised in these camps, most do not have a savings account that will allow them to relocate and take care of their needs, there are no real estate brokers to show them the latest hut that just came on the market, and most do not have any means of transportation besides their two feet. A little more complicated than a move in the U.S..
But that isn't what we were there to experience. We went to the camp with another ministry called Every Child Ministries. As we were driving down the dirt road, we pulled off next to a large tree. They explained it was their prayer tree and it was their custom to stop and pray before going any further. After a moment of prayer together, we traveled to a rectangular hut. The hut was larger than the round huts, had no walls, just a grass roof. Inside their were four split logs for people to sit on. This was the Baptist Church. (Sorry, I can't remember the real name of the church). Someone was sent to get the straw mats for us to sit on. As soon as we arrived, the women and children began showing up. Children from the local school filled half the church to eat their lunch of rice and beans. The pastor took time to share a message with the women who had gathered to greet us. Many of the women stood up and told their stories. Some made the comment, that although they had not committed their life to Christ yet, they planned to do so as soon as things were perfect. Mama Miriam jumped on this opportunity and she shared with the women that there is no such thing as perfect that the time is right now. She shared the parable of the soils and what soil did the women want to be like. Three women gave their lives to Christ that day...Heaven rejoiced.


As with Kasubi, I found that the women were proud. They were proud of what they had, of their children, and of who they were. I had seen a young mother come into the hut with a tiny baby that looked like a newborn. She saw me watching her, she smiled, and motioned for a little girl to come to her. This little girl, who we later learned was six years old, then proceeded to bring me this tiny baby. I still don't know if it was a boy or a girl. But I dubbed him "Baby Wilson" and was instantly in love with his big brown eyes that seemed to take in my every move and understand my every word. He could not have weighed five pounds, but he was so alert. I found out later that he was a month old. I loved holding this little guy, talking to him, and loving him. His mom watched my moves and by her facial expression, I could tell she was proud of her baby and was pleased that I loved him so.
We met a little girl that stayed by Cindy's side the entire time we were there. I can't remember her name, except that it started with an "I." She brought Baby Wilson over to me and then stayed. She was fascinated with Cindy's hair and brushed her hands through it. She touched my tattoo, and took in our every move. She had a sore on her foot that looked horrid, but she didn't complain. She had an open wound filled with flies, but never winced when it was cleaned with a wet wipe and put a band-aid on it.
After all the school children were fed, bowls filled with rice and beans were placed in front of each of us. They fed us first, and then the women that had gathered shared what was left. As if the meal was not enough, suddenly a covered tray was brought out. Soda...in the middle of no where, we were served Coke. Having nothing but water with us, we offered the women the new water bottles that we had. We quickly realized that this was a bigger treat than the soda. They began handing the bottles back for someone to take off the safety seals. They didn't know how. Something so basic, a simple water bottle was a bigger gift than we could imagine.

Cindy took an empty water bottle and poured some of her soda in it for the little girl. As she took a sip, we were pretty sure it was her first taste of soda ever. Her eyes grew big and immediately her facial expression showed she liked it. She drank and would motion for more. We, of course obliged. I took pictures to show her that her tongue was orange like the soda. Cindy began singing with her, teaching her our favorite new song, "I belong to Jesus."
We went on a walk through the village. Seeing the huts that had been destroyed, the local market, and of course the people. The children flocked. They posed for the camera, grabbed our hands to walk with us, and laughed. So happy, with so little. As we walked, I realized the little girl who had been walking hand in hand with Cindy, was now taking her water bottle of soda and giving all the little children sips of her treasure. She could have kept it to herself. She only had an ounce or two in the bottle, but she chose to give it away.
As we ended our walk through the village, we were invited into a hut. There a woman, Naomi, had prepared a feast for us. We entered her hut and found chairs placed neatly in a circle around a little table and then food was placed on the table. The meal consisted of boiled potatoes and some type of warm peanut mush. (I will be honest and tell you that I was thanking God for the lack of light in the hut, while praying to survive the situation.) The visitors ate and the locals watched. Then came another round of soda. Now, looking around the hut, I realized there was nothing else there, no other furniture, no bed, no storage of food (besides the gigantic bag of rice). There was, however,a toothbrush and toothpaste tucked into the grass of the roof! We thought we had been given so much, then Naomi brought in her only chicken and presented it to Bill. Her ONLY live chicken.

Before we left, the women sang and praised God. It didn't matter that I did not know the words of the songs, I knew the message behind it. We left camp that evening with a rooster and a chicken that had been gifted to us and to Every Child Ministries. We name the chicken Fluffy Mc Nugget and left it at the Zion Project, thanking God it was too late for Mama Miriam to fix fried chicken that evening!

I think about my experience atTegatatoo a lot. I learned something there from the women who by American standards had so little, but gave us everything. They had no idea who we were, but they welcomed us. They trusted us with their children and their stories. They invited us to be part of their life. They loved us without asking for anything in return. Then when we thought they had given us all they had, they reached deeper and gave us more. I pray that I can learn to live and to love as freely as these women. I pray that I can trust in Jesus with my entire life, giving Him my all, without asking for anything in return. No holding back...all to Jesus, my blessed Savior.

Blessed

Yesterday I was sharing my pictures of Africa with a family member. As I scrolled through quickly, I realized that they really weren’t that interested. Maybe because there are so many! Afterward, he made the comment, “So you had good time?” I said "I was blessed" He answered, “Well good, I thought you would get over there and hate it.” I have thought about this conversation a few times and realized how funny it is to me. Maybe because right now, I feel it is the opposite. I didn’t hate Gulu, the people, the culture, the food (okay, the peanut mush and the meat are not on my list of favorites), the lifestyle; instead I fell in love. I fell in love with the people and the culture.
I didn’t hate Africa, I hated leaving. I hated returning to a materialistic, status driven, competitive society that has forgotten how to slow down and enjoy. I didn’t go to Africa to have a good time, I went to follow God. I can’t think of too many people that would consider being drenched in sweat and living without electricity a “good time”…Oh wait, I do, but I call it camping! I went to Africa to be obedient to God’s call, and in return I have been blessed beyond measure (and I did have a good time because of His blessings?.)
I can't believe that it has been almost a month since we left for Africa. Since returning home, things haven’t changed or slowed down, just because my perspective has changed. I realize that if I want it to change, I have to be the change for others to follow. I have to be the example and make the change happen. This is so much easier said than done. I have to learn to be on my knees more seeking God's guidance to what He wants me to change in my life, and then follow.
A few weeks before leaving for Africa, I heard a sermon about what did one want to leave behind as their legacy. I have wrestled with this for almost two months now. I don’t want my legacy to be of earthly matters. I want my legacy to be my faith and my obedience to God’s calling. I want my legacy to be of the treasures I have stored up in heaven, not here on earth. So I as I seek God's will for what and where I am to go next, I hold to the promise that God has great plans!

Tears

I am NOT an emotional person. I never have been. But today, I have cried more than I have in a long time. This morning I received a phone call at 7:30 that set the mood for my day. This phone call must have been what broke through the wall, because since then, I have been an emotional wreck! I have cried all day!
Shortly after Kailie died, I met a woman who had just lost her baby, Noah. Over the past 8 1/2 years, we have held each other in prayer and been a strong support for each other. The funny thing is, in all that time, we had never talked on the phone or met in person. It was only last week that we took the plunge and began instant messaging. Even though we have never met in person, or even heard each others' voice, I know she is my friend and will be there whenever I need her.
While God has blessed me with two more children, she and her husband have prayed and tried for more children, but had not been granted this plea. Last month, she told me that they were beginning the IVF process. I knew the egg retrieval would happen around Kailie’s birthday, which also happens to be her nephew, who lives in Heaven, and her sister’s birthdays. As it turned out, the egg retrieval was on their birthdays. This morning, she broke all unwritten “no call” rules to tell me that she was looking at a positive pregnancy test! I cried. I cried in happiness, sharing her excitement and feeling all the emotions I felt when I found out that I was pregnant with Nicholas and with Aubie. I cried out of relief that her prayers had been answered, knowing that God's timing is different than ours and is perfect. I cried in praise for our God who listens to our hearts and has great plans. I cried because I was suddenly overwhelmed with so much emotion for how awesome God is and how he can take anything and use it for His good. I cried, well, because I could…
It is funny, that even though we have never talked in person or even met, I knew her voice the minute I answered my phone this morning. It was as though we had talked a million times and knew everything about each other. There was no awkwardness, no “what to say next” moments. Our friendship has been a total blessing, a gift from God.
As I cried, I thought about our friendship and how strong it is and how it put me in mind of my relationship with God… I don’t have to physically have seen God to know what he looks like. I have seen Him in the face of my children, of my friends, of the people I met in Africa. I do not have to have heard His voice to know His words as they are whispered in my ear, shared through a friend, or through His written word. I don’t have to see God to trust Him with my life and to know that He is the greatest friend, counselor, support that I will ever have. All I have to do is have faith, be willing to trust, and make that call…

Thank you Jesus for your greatness and for having a plan that is greater than we can ever imagine for each of us!

"I come from Zion..."

The main focus of our trip to Uganda was to work with the Zion Project. The Zion Project is the result of the prayers and hard work of Sarita Hartz and her dedicated staff (and family). Part of the Zion Project consists of a Children's Home that houses fourteen girls ages four to thirteen. These girls are orphaned or custody has been given to the Zion Project in order to keep these girls safe from a lifestyle that would be considered our greatest nightmare. At their young age, they have seen and experienced more than many of us ever will in our entire lifetime.
The girls were so excited to have company from far away. Each time we went to the house and each time we went to leave, it was like a flood of hugs. When someone grabbed a book to read, there may be one girl sitting at the beginning, but soon a crowd would be gathered. They loved their pictures to be taken. They would pose and then gather around to see. These girls have every right to be bitter and and angry; to not trust and shy away from strangers. Instead, they were happy and welcoming.
The first night we arrived, Mama Miriam who helps care for the girls, had helped the girls prepare a program. As the girls sang songs of praise and danced, I teared up. To be so young, yet so full of love for God. The girls sang with all their heart and prayed unlike I have ever heard any child pray.
The next time we went, the girls were so excited to sit outside and color! Their pictures were filled with vibrant colors. I knew Joseph had a coat of many colors, but I was unaware that Joseph himself was so colorful, until I looked at the pictures! :-) While playing outside, they would randomly break into song. One would start and soon others would follow. They were happy to spend time with us and with each other.
I have been surprised by people's reactions to my trip to Africa. For the most part, people are supportive and anxious to hear about it. But there have been the people who want to know how spending a week in a third world country filled with poverty, AIDS, disease, trash, stench, hunger, etc could be so rewarding. I try hard to respond by smiling and understanding that if you haven't been there to see and experience it, it would not make sense. Yes, all of these were present, but all it took for me to see a different side of Africa, was to pull through the gates of the Zion Project. Fourteen faces smiling, showing excitement. Fourteen sets of feet jumping up and down. More hugs being shared than I ever dreamed possible in a two minute period. These girls are a walking testimony of the healing power of our mighty God. This was the reason that Africa was so beautiful to me. It was through the compassion of these children and all the other welcoming people that I experienced Africa.

The Teaspoon

One of the first places we went outside of the Zion Project was to the Kasubi Slum. This was a small area outside of town where the Congolese sex workers and the mothers to some of the girls at the Zion Project live. The first thing I noticed was that in all actuality, it was cleaner than Gulu. Not nearly the amount of trash laying around. The children were outside and naturally curious at the arrival of our van. As we unloaded the van and assembled in the middle of the slum, a young boy caught my eye. He did not come up in the crowd initially, but he stood in front of his hut. Clutched in his little hands was a plastic white teaspoon. When he came over to check us out, he still held that teaspoon tightly in his hand, held to his chest. I realized that this tiny piece of plastic, as insignificant as it seemed to me, was this child's prized possession. I went through my pictures to see if I could find this little guy, but no such luck.
Kasubi, I think was I think one of the best parts of my trip. When we arrived, people began to assemble around us. One of the girls grabbed our drum and began the beat. We then danced and praised our God under a mango tree...in Africa! Afterward, the women began bringing couches out of the huts so that we would not have to sit on the ground...as they did. Then the girls each took a turn sharing their stories with us and telling us how God's love was so important to them. The girls were very proud of their children. They brought their babies for us to hold and to awwww over. I received quite the visual demonstration on how the copper bracelet kept Baby Joy from puking after breastfeeding (Use your own imagination here. Gestures are the universal language!) Baby Patrick christened my shirt with pee. The women straightened dresses and stuck the children in front of us for pictures to be taken.
Each wanted us to pray over their huts. They took us by the arm and led us around the slum, stopping when needed to share with us a story and ask for prayer. It was at Kasubi that I met Sarah, the young mother that had recently lost her three children.
I met Joseph at Kasubi as well. He looked to be about six, so I am sure that he was probably nine or so. Joseph came and stood next to me while I was sitting on the couch, listening. I felt his little hand touch my arm a few times before I really paid attention to what he was doing. Each time the wind blew dirt on my skin, he picked it off and cleaned my arm. When a seed fell in my hair, he picked it out. I took Joseph and sat him on my lap, where he settled in. His clothes were dirty and ragged, the back of his shirt was missing, and his skin was dirty. Yet, he spent his time making sure I was clean. His eyes were filled with a smile and his face was welcoming. He took my hand and walked with me for as long as he could before returning home. Joseph taught me a lesson in humility. To have so little, but to be willing to serve with what he did have...heart.
Today, I went to walk down to the basement to wash laundry. Laying in the middle of the stairwell was a metal teaspoon. Immediately, my mind shifted from the agenda that I was mulling over to my time under the mango tree. I am so thankful that God loves me enough to remind me of the little boy and his teaspoon, and how little it takes to really be happy. It isn't about what I don't have or how much I do have. It's all about God's love. I am thankful that as the little boy clutched that teaspoon with all his might, that God does the same for each of His children. Clutching us in his arms, close to his heart, telling us over and over that we are His prized possession...

Nine Years...

Nine years ago today, my daughter, Kailie was born. Nine years ago today, she returned to heaven. I remember the pain and grief that I felt. I didn't understand and I was so hurt. Never would I have thought God would use this experience to do great things in my life. Losing my child has allowed me to minister to others and has created deep friendships with so many others that I may have never connected with. For this I am grateful. Yet still, I had no idea how God could use this...even in Africa.
While at the Kasubi Slums last week, I was given the opportunity to pray with a woman who had recently lost three of the four of her children in a fire. Later I had found out that the woman had just accepted Christ in her life. As I prayed for her and then shared that I understood her pain, we embraced. In that moment, nothing else mattered--language barriers were lifted and circumstances faded. We were two mothers sharing a grief that I would not wish on anyone. It is my prayer that as she learns to walk in faith and finds comfort in God, that she will remember the white woman that came and shared her pain with her. This one moment that we shared, is by far one of my favorite moments of the entire trip.
God doesn't wish anything bad on anyone. He did not take Kailie or Sarah's three children. He didn't take my friend's little Noah or Syre. The truth is we live in a fallen world that is so far away from what God had intended. But when we can reach out and give the situation back to God, He will use our pain and suffering in ways that is beyond imaginable. He has proven this to me time and time again! For this I am grateful!

wow...

There is so much that I want to share, but right now there is too much to process and so much else to do.
Our time in Uganda was nothing short of a magnificent gift from God. We witnessed God working in ways that is beyond measure or words. We went to minister to the women and children of Uganda, but I feel the table was turned and we were ministered to by the women and children of Uganda.
Hopefully by this weekend I will have time to sit and share the experience for all of those that have supported the team financially and or spiritually.

We serve a mighty God, my friends. My life has been richly blessed...

Becoming a reality

Wow! I just read on Facebook that we are going to Uganda next week...NEXT WEEK! WHAT?! Ohhh, yes, that would be happening next week. Wow. It seems like forever ago when I was first asked to go on this journey.

This past weekend I was given the opportunity to share my testimony (the short and concise 3 minute version) at church. The sermon that followed dealt with choices each person makes. In Pastor Paul's words there is "grasshopper mentality" (Numbers 13:31) in which we tell ourselves "we can't" or there is Faith mode (Joshua 2:24) that tells us we CAN! The sermon went on to compare the attitudes of the people during the attempts to enter the Promise Land. I could not have designed a sermon to fit what I felt God was calling me to share if I had written it myself.

Over the past three months I have had "Grasshopper mentality" several times. I have thrown my hands up and said "WHAT AM I THINKING? I CAN'T GO TO AFRICA!" I have gone through every excuse--it cost too much and there are many other things we could use the money for, who will care for the kids, I have too much schoolwork, the loss of wages from taking time off is too detrimental. You name it and I tried to reason with God and myself, telling myself that this was something I could not do. But each time it came down to a simple response of "Go." And if God says "Go," I am going to follow His command and trust that all is under control!

Never would I have thought that God could use me...someone who struggles with my faith and remaining obedient, to go and minister to people on the other side of the world. But maybe that isn't God's plan. Maybe I am to go so that these young girls and their stories can minister to me. Or maybe I am to go to hear their stories in order to share them with someone else who needs to hear them. Whatever the reason, I am ready. I am ready to serve.

I ask that each of you continue to pray for all those that God wants to be on this trip. Pray that the financial burden will be taken care of. (Pray that I am able to cram three weeks of school work into the next 8 days) Pray that each of us will remember to open our spiritual ears, fight the grasshopper mentality, and reach out in faith.

I feel it my friends, God is about do great things in the lives of so many!!!