God is good

God is good.

Today our dog, Rocco, died.

Sometimes it's tempting to think that the previous two statements cannot both be true at the same time, that they are somehow inconsistent. Perhaps you may have two seemingly contrary statements in your life that aren't about dogs but are about losing a job, raising a difficult child, or burying a loved one. When loss or hurt or pain hits us, it is tempting to question God's goodness. 

Yes, it is most certainly true that today our dog died. I was with him. We buried him. The vet was kind enough to confirm his passing both mechanically and with a stethoscope. There is no question in my mind that Rocco is no longer alive here on earth.

Nevertheless, it is also most certainly true that God is good. 

Today, I am equally, if not more convinced of this truth. There were so many unexpected blessings today. We did not wake up knowing that today was our last day with our faithful Rocco, yet my day was filled with kindness...from the sweet friend who forgave my abrupt departure to take Rocco to the vet, to the technician who gave me a real hug and comforted my dog, speaking sweet words over him, to the vet herself who was so gracious and loving, going the extra mile to care for me, too.

God again answered my prayers, just as he did when our other dog, Dante, died. Rocco could have died yesterday while I was out all day and Peter was at work, or tomorrow, when we will be out again. Instead, he died today, when the entire family was together. He could have died last week, when the ground was hard and the wind was biting. Instead, he died today, when the sun was shining and the sky was clear enough to dig a grave. 

This is the second grave my boys have dug within a year. There is something about digging a grave that turns a boy into a man. Even that act of service affords me something for which to offer thanks. I have the gift of keeping my kids at home and doing life with them...even the hard things in life can be moments of great growth. My kids could have been in school today, but they were home, with me. We canceled school and instead learned more important lessons.

Rocco was one of the sweetest dogs I ever knew. I remember housebreaking him as a puppy, and all it took was one correction, and he learned to go outside. He was smart and so eager to please. When our youngest was born, Dante was clearly done with child-rearing, so Rocco stepped up and took over. He would keep an eye on the baby and always made sure to sound the alarm when people came over to visit.

Several months ago, Rocco was diagnosed with diabetes. Each morning and evening, Peter and I would test his sugar and administer insulin. It was a privilege to serve him in this way, and our children were able to see what it means to remain faithful. One of my prayers was that Rocco would not develop the cataracts that are so prevalent among diabetic dogs. God answered that prayer, too! Rocco's blue eyes could see clearly up until the end. 

Today our dog, Rocco, died, but this sadness does not affect God's goodness. Rather, it is in these moments of grief that we have the opportunity to look around and find the good, to search for hidden blessings. We will almost always find what we look for.

Yes, God is still good. He is not good because of things that happen. He is good despite them. 

May 8, 2011 - February 7, 2025 ❤️

Be Bold

This morning, our dog, Dante, died. He was the best kind of dog. I should know--I've had lots of them. As the 20th-century, Pennsylvanian author A.S. Turnbull once said, "Dog's lives are too short. Their only fault, really." I agree. Dante's only fault was that he brightened our lives for only 14 years. Far too short. On the other hand, however, I must also concur with Sir Walter Scott, who noted, "I have sometimes thought of the final cause of dogs having such short lives, and I am quite satisfied it is in compassion to the human race; for if we suffer so much in losing a dog after an acquaintance of ten or twelve [or fourteen] years, what would it be if they were to live double that time?" 

But, while grief ought to be the surpassing emotion of today, it isn't. Make no mistake, there is grief. After all, Dante was Peter's and my first child of sorts. Then, he helped raise the rest of our children. A favorite memory was the time our first was just a few months old sleeping upstairs in her crib (back in the days when she slept every now and again). I had burned some toast in the toaster and noticed that Dante was missing. While our other dog, Rocco, had run to the back door because he smelled the overheated toaster and wanted to hide outside (he tends towards cowardice), Dante had run upstairs. I found him standing guard over our baby (she was part his, he thought). He was simply staring at her while she slept.

Then there was the time that one of my kids was being a bit naughty and was sent to his room. Said child tried to sneak back out and come downstairs. Dante would have none of it. He herded that child right back upstairs where he belonged. Speaking of herding, when the kids were little, I couldn't let them play outside if Dante were loose. He would run circles around them, barking in an attempt to gather them to one side of the yard. Even last night, as we are camping, he slept at the doorway to the kids' room, guarding them from whatever dangers lurk inside a family-friendly campground. Yes, he was the best kind of dog.

Still, while my heart is sad, there is an underlying awe at the goodness of God. Today will be remembered as a day in which God answered so many of my prayers. You see, over the years, I've become bold in asking Him for things. Certainly, God is not my butler and has all power and authority simply to say "no" to any and all of my requests, according to His will. The thing I have learned about God, however, is that He wants to say "yes." He loves to grant us our hearts' desires. 

A few years ago, when Dante's health began to decline, I prayed that God would take him for me instead of placing the decision to euthanize him in my hands. About six months ago, Dante was showing some definite signs of aging. Simultaneously, our family was entrenched in an extremely difficult family affair. I prayed that God would spare him until we could breathe again. God answered that prayer.

A few months ago, Dante began losing his appetite. While visiting the vet, I asked how common it was for dogs to die at home. She said that it was not common. When I pressed for a percentage, she guessed around 5%. Nevertheless, I prayed with faith believing, knowing the goodness of my Abba. God answered that prayer.

Peter occasionally travels for work. As he has some work-related trips coming up, I prayed that whenever God chose to call Dante home would be a time when Peter was also home. Not only did God answer that prayer, He answered it in spades. Peter is not only not traveling, he isn't working today. 

I prayed that God would take Dante when the weather was nice, so we wouldn't have to dig his grave in frozen soil, in the middle of the night, or during a rain storm. It was supposed to rain today, but it isn't. The weather is cool and breezy. God answered that prayer.

Finally, I prayed that Dante would not die alone while we were at church or out and about. I prayed that I would know when he was dead (I had visions of nightmares thinking I buried a live dog!). Dante died in my arms this morning. He was sitting outside with me and looked as though he were having a seizure. I picked him up to soothe him and sent a kiddo to fetch Peter. A few seconds later he calmed. I could feel him breathing calmly, his heart beating, and then I couldn't. 

It may be tempting to think this post is about my dog, and perhaps in some ways it is. Instead, however, what I hope to convey is that the God of the universe, the very, very big universe, is also a very, very big God, yet He is equally the God of the small things. He is a God who cares deeply about His creation. What creator doesn't? Doesn't the artist have affinity for each painting or the author a connection to each story? Wouldn't it stand to reason, then, that the ultimate Creator, after Whom all other creators are imaged, would care enough about me and about my dog? After all, He created both of us.

If you've read this far, I thank you for allowing me to remember. I hope my memories encourage you to be bold in approaching the One who made you. The One whose words exhort: "Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need." (Hebrews 4:16).

We humans like to speculate about what happens to dogs after they die. I'm just crazy enough to believe, though, that they do go to heaven. I have no empirical data or irrefutable proof, but my conclusion is based purely and simply on knowing the kind of Creator who made all creatures. It makes sense that He would want to surround Himself with His creation.

May 13, 2010 - May14, 2024 ❤️

Laughing at the future

It's been just over two weeks since my van stopped working on the exit ramp about an hour from home. We were headed to a giant water park, courtesy of a friend, and I had pulled off just a mile or so from our destination, children eager to spend the day having fun, when my trusty Honda just died. No warning. No drama. Just a refusal to run any further. 

Fast forward to this week, and my husband is away on a business trip when the mechanic calls to give me the bad news that there is little hope of recovery. It took all my self-control not to....cry? 

Nope... Laugh. 

Crazy, huh? Just bubbling up inside of me was laughter. Not the crazy, maniacal laughter of one gone mad, but joyous, free laughter. It was uncanny. In fact, even as I retell this story, I can feel it deep inside. 

I know there is nothing funny about the prospect of purchasing a new vehicle when we thought this one would last us another five to eight years. When we just put our fourth kiddo in braces. When we just paid for a choir tour, fixed the electric, and put in some new windows. Suddenly, "Jesus take the wheel" has a whole new meaning. 🤣🤣🤣

In the midst of all this, however, is such joy. Inexplicable, unnatural joy. 

I'm reminded of the verse in Proverbs 31:25: "She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come." Oh, I'm laughing alright. You can, too.

Laughter is a good medicine (Proverbs 17:22). Like Sarah, when God fulfilled His promise to her, we can laugh (Gen. 21:6). 

When faced with the impossibility of her situation, Sarah fought despondency. It's easy to default to depression and despair when hit with the unknown and impossible, but the good news is that things are neither unknown nor impossible to the creator of the universe. 

My van could have stopped working when I was in the left lane of the interstate, but it didn't. It could have given out on me in the middle of a busy NJ intersection, but it didn't. I could have stalled while merging into busy traffic or when my husband was away on a business trip, but that's not what happened. Instead, it stopped functioning on a wide exit ramp within walking distance of a Burger King, so I could at least feed my kids lunch while we waited for help. Isn't God good?

So, when the world seems to be falling in around us, we can laugh. When life throws curveballs, we can laugh. Yes, Sarah's laughter came after the fulfillment of God's promise to her, but once we know in Whose hand we are held, we can laugh even before we see the answer. We can laugh without fear because we know the faithfulness of the one Who holds us.

The One Who Sees Me

The day is finally here. 

The one we’ve anticipated for several years. The one that seemed so far away when I sat in that first parent meeting nearly four years ago. Today is the day that C, my oldest son, newly 12, gets to board his first airplane and head away on tour for ten days. Without me. No contact. Did I mention ten days?

 

As I spent the last few weeks packing, organizing, ironing, and making sure pants were hemmed and chaperones were informed, while still parenting five other children with jobs, math, tummy aches, church picnics, and orthodontist appointments, I had little time to think. Tonight, however, as I sent children to bed and sat in mine contemplating whether I should sleep for a few hours and trust my ability to respond to a 1:30am alarm call or just wait up until our 2am departure time, I paused and turned to Peter, wondering if he, too, was suddenly struck with the miracle of our situation.

I truly don't know what other tour parents may be concerned about, although I imagine they have the normal worries such as "will my son be homesick, will he remember where I packed his toothbrush, will he even bother to brush his teeth?" I know I saw some emotional moms at the airport a few hours ago worrying about the homestay families or that their boys might not enjoy the flight. The running joke in our house was about the mom who told me a few months ago that she was concerned her son wouldn't eat enough fiber while on tour. Meanwhile, I am concerned my son might become fiber to an alligator on this swamp tour for which I had to sign a waiver!

In reality, however, I confess that I am fighting a bit of worry...will C enjoy flying? If not, will someone comfort him? Who will he look to when he is uncertain about a situation? What if there is a storm? He hates storms. Who will sit with him in my stead? What happens if a meal is delayed? Will he be concerned that he won't be fed? It took him years to overcome his food anxiety. Will his chaperone recognize the signs of confusion or distress that I have learned to spot almost before they appear?

Last night, as I sat thinking about how far C has come--from a malnourished infant, to a 3 y/o with a limited vocabulary, to a member of an Emmy-winning, Grammy-nominated choir--I was humbled that God would allow us to have been part of such a miracle, and as I sat praying for this fast-approaching trip, Holy Spirit whispered to my heart, reminding me that my worrying is in vain. 

Most of us are familiar with the story of Abraham and Sarah, but we often overlook or perhaps even look down on Hagar, servant to Sarah and mother to Ishmael. The angel of the Lord, however, did neither. Instead, he appeared to her and blessed her. Genesis 16:13 says she responded in this way:

    "She gave this name to the LORD who spoke to her:

    'You are the God who sees me,'

    for she said, 'I have now seen the One who sees me.'"

Hagar had run away into the desert, yet God saw her. When she was alone, He was there. 

The Psalmist wrote: 

    "Where can I go from your Spirit? 

        Where can I flee from your presence?"

Last night, Holy Spirit reminded me that He is El Roi. 

El Roi.

It's the name Hagar gave to the Lord near that spring in the desert. It means "the God Who sees me." 

So, as my phone pings with the notification that C's flight has departed four minutes early, and as my heart speeds up just a tiny bit thinking of him in that flying tube of metal without me, I can rest in knowing that the God Who saw Hagar, the God from Whom David could not flee, is the same God Who will keep watch over my son not only for these next ten days when I cannot, but also for the rest of eternity. 

O what peace we often forfeit,

    O what needless pain we bear,

all because we do not carry

    Everything to God in prayer. 

(1855, Joseph Medlicott Scriven)

But if not...

Three little words.

It can be easy to trust in God when things are going well, or even when things are only mildy wrong. But, when the train is off the tracks, life can be so hopeless.

I had a "train off the tracks" day today. Still, I'm guessing my day wasn't as bad as some others have been.

I imagine that discovering you have a choice to bow to a king or be thrown into a furnace might seem like a no brainer to many of us. I know I'd sure be tempted to bow to the king and repent later. I'm not a fan of being on fire.

Yet, three men of old had a different perspective. They EXPECTED their God to rescue them from what seemed to be a lose-lose situation. When the king approached them accusing them of refusing to bow and then asking what god existed who could rescue them from the furnace, they replied, "O [king], we have no need to answer you in this matter."

When they were backed into a corner, they refused to engage in explanations or defenses. Instead, they pointed to their God:

Daniel 3:17-18: "If this be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of your hand, O king.

"BUT IF NOT"

"be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the golden image that you have set up."

In other words, not only did they KNOW that God would deliver them, even if He didn't, they wouldn't bow.

What kind of crazy faith is that?

God didn't rescue Shadrah, Meshach, and Abed-nego from the furance in an expected way. He didn't put out the fire or change the king's heart. Instead, He went INTO the fire with the men.

That same God today walks into the fire with us. As we stand firm in obedience and faith, we can EXPECT God to walk through the fire with us. And, just like those three faithful men, we can emerge without even a hint of smoke:

The king and his men "saw that the fire had not had any power over the bodies of those men. The hair of their heads was not singed, their cloaks were not harmed, and no smell of fire had come upon them."

No burnt hair. No singed clothing. No smell of fire.

That same God walks with us today.

"Blessed be the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, who has sent his angel and delivered his servants, who trusted in him, and set aside the king's command, and yielded up their bodies rather than serve and worship any god except their own God...[T]here is no other god who is able to rescue in this way.”

But if not....He is still good.

Why we homeschool...

Sometimes people ask me why we homeschool. Sometimes I wonder myself.

Homeschooling can be exhausting. I'd be lying if I said that I enjoyed every moment. In fact, some days I have fewer enjoyable moments than frustrating ones. Today was one of those rough days that has ended with my being up past 10pm prepping for my six hour seminar tomorrow. It's like a college cramming class all over again, and I'm tempted to question the "why."

BUT

Yesterday I had a sweet and poignant moment with one of my kiddos. She was trying to find the area of a oddly shaped figure (essentially a square with a missing corner). When she filled in the missing piece, she took a guess at one of the measurements. She guessed incorrectly, for which I am grateful.

You see, we had, in that moment, a great opportunity to discuss the difference between what appears to be true and what actually IS true.

What we think we see in our math books or in our daily lives isn't always what is true. Math is amazing because it points out truth. There are principles and laws and properties...all sorts of things that demonstrate the consistency and reliability that we crave because we are created to know what is true. We can place trust in mathematics when we do it properly.

My dad likes to tell stories of how USAF pilots are trained to trust their instrumentation over what they see. Apparently, city lights look an awful lot like stars, and pulling that nose up to climb into the heavenlies can be deadly if the plane were actually upside-down.

That principle applies not only in aviation, but also in math, and in real life. The hypotenuse of a right triangle may look to be a certain length, but only by taking the square root of the sum of the squares of the other sides can we be sure.

So it is in life. What we think is true may not be what is actually true, and what is true may not be what we see. Hebrews 11:1 - Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

Only by fixing our eyes on the Truth can we be sure of what is real. This brings great comfort in a world full of confusion and competing 'truths.'

I imagine that homeschooling can be compared to mining for gold...lots of time panning with only nuggets of the prize here and there. Yet, it is these little moments that I would miss if weren't with my children all day, every day. 

This is but one of the myriad reasons we homeschool.

To me, that is worth it.

There are no coincidences with God.

It may look like just a refrigerator, but in reality it is so much more. It will stand in my kitchen as a tribute to a God Who cares about the details.

You may know that our [not so] old refrigerator just up and died on Tuesday. Tuesday was not a good day for a refrigerator death, but appliances (like children), don't check schedules before making decisions.

Not excited about making such an expensive decision without my husband, who had important work commitments, I called my mom, and she prayed with me that I would just know when the purchase was right. So, Wednesday I spent the morning looking for a new refrigerator. 

 

Apparently, during a refrigerator shortage. 

 

Because of COVID.

 

On the day that I was supposed to be planning my first-of-the-year six-hour seminar for Thursday. 

 

Needless to say, not much luck. I found one or two that might work, but the waiting time of up to 4 weeks was a big deterrent. That’s a lot of expensive takeout. J

 

After a disappointing morning, I set out again in the afternoon for an unrelated appointment that was already on my calendar. Upon attempting to check in, I was informed that there was a mistake and that we would have to reschedule. Close to tears [I had been looking forward to this appointment for weeks], I heard Holy Spirit reminding me that He orders my steps. All of them. Even the inconvenient ones. (Psalm 37:23-24)

 

There are no mistakes with God.

 

Figuring that Peter had already taken off from work to watch the children, I decided to make one last stop at what I call the Scratch-N-Dent not far from where I was. I went into the storeroom and found nothing of interest. Happening upon a refrigerator that I didn't much like but that would do in a pinch (it was missing a handle, but at 50% off, I could order another handle and still save money), I took a few pictures to take home and show Peter. As I was readying to leave, the sky opened up with a torrential downpour. The salesman had just finished telling me that there were a few refrigerators on the truck being unloaded, so I could wait a few more minutes to see if something struck me. I opted to stay dry.

Then, they wheeled an enormous refrigerator by me, and a little voice inside said, "that's your refrigerator." (remember mom's prayer?) I took one look and said, "nonsense." It was stainless steel (I wanted black), and it had a computer screen on it. No way. Not for me. 

But...

Out of sheer curiosity, I asked the assistant manager for the price, while also mentioning with great clarity that there was no way I intended to purchase such frivolity. She replied with a number $300 less than the aforementioned one that would do in a pinch. 

Today, this refrigerator stands in my kitchen (delivered just three days after the other one died). It has a few small dings (don't we all?), but a well-placed magnet can take care of that. You may say, that it is just a refrigerator. Yes, it is. But, it has some pretty neat features that remind me that God loves to bless us. The computer screen speaks my husband's language. If he weren't married to me, there might be computer screens throughout the house. I love that he can have something he enjoys. Oh, and I discovered that Pavarotti can sing to me through the speakers. What a special time I had reminiscing about my Nonna, who listened to him regularly with tears streaming down her precious face. Most importantly, I saved 50% off the retail price, and it was cheaper than all the other basic models I saw at other stores. 

The other night as I was rocking my little guy to sleep, my heart suddenly began to ache for his mama and all the precious moments she sacrificed because her love for him was so deep. 

And then it struck me. 

• From the moment we committed to adopting our first, it was roughly a 9 month journey.

• We applied for a home study for our four oldest exactly one week before their agency petitioned the court for permanent custody.

• Nine months before our last baby's due date, Holy Spirit led us to switch to the agency that led us to our son.

These timelines are not coincidence. Neither was my refrigerator breaking or my appointment cancellation. 

If you are in the midst of grief, pain, or uncertainty, God knows. It's tempting to think that if God cared, suffering wouldn't exist. Perhaps you wouldn't have been abused or wronged in some way. Maybe your unborn child or younger sibling would still be alive or your rights would not have been violated in some way or another. It's easy for me to fall prey to the thought that my children might not have had to suffer. 

But, that misses the larger point. 

Suffering exists because of sin. Yet, even in the midst of that sin, God is already there preparing a solution. He planted the tree that Zaccheaus needed many decades before he needed to climb it to see Jesus. And, He is already planning how to meet your need and my need. Even my need for a refrigerator (during a shortage...because of COVID...).

Nothing takes Him by surprise. 

So, if you come visit me, you may be impressed with the app that shows you what is inside of my refrigerator or the messages that I can write on the electronic whiteboard from miles away. I may even let you peruse my Pandora stations displayed on the front. But none of those things are nearly as exciting as knowing that the God of the universe not only knows how many eggs are on my top shelf, but he knows how many hairs are on my head, and that both of those numbers matters to Him.

Seeing the Unseen

Every single second is a moment in time that passes. And it seems like nothing - but when you're looking back... well, it amounts to everything.

~Ray Bradbury (American Author)

Roughly 25 years ago, I first saw his face. I don't remember the date, but I remember the moment. I can recall where I was standing and who was with me. I remember my father telling me a story about a baby he had seen in the emergency room. As I listened, a little brown boy with a round face and dark curly hair began to take shape in my heart. I was young and didn't completely understand what I saw, but I knew it was important, so, I tucked those thoughts deep in my heart for another day. Years would go by, and I would think of this little brown boy with a round face and dark curly hair on occasion. I shared him with few people. Peter was one of them. 

Life is a journey, not a destination.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I've always loved the story of Abraham and Sarah. God made them a promise; they waited; God fulfilled His promise. It always seemed like a simple story with a happy ending. Sure, I knew there must have been some struggle over the years, but since Scripture tells the story in roughly four chapters, it was hard for me to imagine how long 25 or so years felt in real time.  

Give me six hours to chop down a tree, 
and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe."
~Abraham Lincoln

When I was in my teens, I remember sitting down for my devotional time and simply asking God where in His Word I should turn. Without fail, He always led me to the book of Hebrews. In fact, it happened so often that I thought I was simply imagining it. Regardless, I would faithfully turn and read, not always understanding but simply wanting to obey. As time went on, I grew to love the verses in that book, and they, in turn, took root into my heart. Little did I understand that by reading those verses, I was sharpening my axe. God always sees the end from the beginning, and we can trust Him to plant what we will need far in advance of our needing it.

Waiting on God requires the willingness to bear uncertainty, to carry within oneself the unanswered question, lifting the heart to God about it whenever it intrudes upon one's thoughts.
~Elizabeth Elliot

In the spring of 2016, I knew it was time. So, Peter and I did what we'd become good at doing--we called yet another adoption agency and began yet another round of fingerprinting, background checks, interviews, home visits, and parenting assignments. By this time, we'd figured out how to streamline the process, so we were good to go. Except for the fact that we already had five kids and that put us at a disadvantage. Many birth moms like to give the gift of parenthood to couples without children. The odds were not in our favor. Yet, we applied to an agency in a neighboring state and completed our profile. Then, we waited.

And waited.

Waiting doesn't seem so hard when it only takes up a few chapters in a book. In real life, it's harder than in the movies.

After about a year the time to renew our home study was approaching. Our agency sent out a letter that they had had zero placements in the past year. This was a first in their 20+ year history. But God knew. So, we prayerfully contacted another agency over 600 miles away and were accepted, despite the fact that they only accept out of state families on a limited basis.

Not long after, we began reading the book of Hebrews at church. Nothing escapes God. He is a God Whose signature is in the details. With our church family, we began studying the words that had become so very dear to me, and I was again reminded of Abraham's faith being counted as righteousness. 

Just like physical birth pangs come more regularly as the moment of 

birth draws near, so did the intensity of the yearning of my heart increase as my little boy's arrival approached.

In the Fall of 2017, I went to WalMart and purchased what we would need to have a little boy in our home. There I was, on a whim, desperately wanting to be like Abraham, without a baby on the horizon, but with five children, ages 11 and under, buying bottles, blue newborn outfits, and a beautiful blanket that I didn't need, but I wanted my son to have. When I got home, I called Peter at work and told him how much I spent for our promised son (I may have also reminded him that Noah built an ark before he saw any rain)...He said what he always says: "ok." Then he came home and set up the crib in our room.

Love bears all things, believes all things, 

hopes all things, endures all things.

~I Corinthians 13:7

By the time another 8 months had gone by, I knew we were approaching the time for us think about renewing our homestudy. I was done. The majority of our marriage had already been spent with the intrusion of social workers. I was tired explaining my budget; I was tired of discussing my parenting techniques; I was tired of outlining the delegation of responsibilities in our home and how my upbringing affected my relationships. I was tired of being emotionally invested in expecting. I yearned for normal (whatever that is).

And, that's exactly what I told God. On April 12, 2018. In a prayer meeting at my parents' church. I said I was done. (Unless, of course, He insisted strongly and clearly that I wasn't.)

Then [God] said, "Go out, and stand on the mountain before the LORD." 
And behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind tore into the mountains and broke the rocks in pieces before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice.
~I Kings 19:11-13

Years of listening had attuned me to that voice. The same one that Elijah heard. And Moses, and Miriam, and Noah, and Mary. I heard it that night in a little church in Pennsauken, NJ. It said "wait." One month. God asked me to wait until May.

A month later, at that very same church while dropping off my kids for an activity, I answered a call from our agency. A little boy had been born on May 5 and needed a home. His mamma chose us. Why? Because we had a big family.

There are so many more little miracles in Baby G's story, from the way that his mom even found our agency to the two other little boys needing families that crossed our paths before our little boy did to the timing of my shopping spree nearly nine months before his due date. But there are no coincidences with God.

Sometimes I will get a look at my son's face, and I'll pause because my little brown boy with a round face and dark curly hair has been familiar to me for nearly 25 years. Most days, I'm too busy to notice. But every now and again he'll smile or stand still just long enough...and I see it.

When I first walked into the room where I would meet Baby G, I was surprised at my lack of excitement. Even as we brought him back to the hotel and began the adjustment that a new baby requires (including hanging with seven other people and two dogs in a hotel), I expected to be ecstatic at the fulfillment of a promise made to me decades before. But, I wasn't. It was just another normal day filled with relatively normal emotions.

It was then that my husband spoke to me perhaps the most amazing words of life and wisdom. Words that unraveled for me what our Lord talks about in the same book of Hebrews that I had read for years. Peter told me that I wasn't experiencing any kind of overwhelming excitement because what was happening to our family was not news to me. It had been real to me for 20+ years. I had already seen the unseen. I had the experienced the evidence. 

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, 

the evidence of things not seen.
~Hebrews 11:1

Listen and obey

It was the best of times...well, actually, no.

It wasn't quite the worst of times either, but it was mid-December in the grocery store with six children...six hungry children...one a squirmy toddler...food all scanned, bags being loaded into the cart...coats...lots of coats and scarves...and, I forgot my wallet.

No driver's license, no credit card, and no way to pay for the groceries....

I'll get to my story in a moment, but first a word:

Obedience.

Such a difficult word. Leaves an unpleasant taste in our mouths, if we're honest.

Obedience.

It's much more pleasant to be the one obeyed rather than the one doing the obeying.

Obedience.

Yet, if we are honest with ourselves, we all obey something. Whether it's our own internal desires or some external authority, we are all governed by something.

The question is what.

Very early on in our marriage, Peter and I made the commitment that we would obey God in our giving. That meant that we would give both out of our abundance as well as out of our need. If we were ever wavering, we would err on the side of generosity, from tipping waiters to volunteering our time and services.

Because we believe and obey, we have seen God's faithfulness in this area of our lives. It hasn't always been easy. When God called us to adopt, we looked at the staggering costs (monetary and otherwise), and hesitated, then trusted. When God called me out of my part-time job and into full-time homeschooling, we took a leap of faith. I could fill pages with the "miraculous" checks we got in the mail or the times that strangers have picked up our dinner tab or friends have given us clothing and free childcare.

My grocery story is no exception.

Fast-forward to my recent and hectic day. I took all six kids to the grocery store to pick up a few things to tide us over the few days before our pre-Christmas trip to visit Peter's family. Those few things totaled $115 and change. My arms were full; my ears were full (my precious children had been fussing, to put it mildly); and my patience was, well, let's say I was making a valiant effort.

As I juggled hungry kids, a squirmy toddler, and a cart load of food on the conveyor belt, I asked one kiddo to dig through the diaper bag for my wallet. My missing wallet. The one I forgot to bring to the store. The one that held the magic plastic rectangle that was the key to my leaving with food. It wasn't there. It didn't even magically appear when I expertly looked for it.

Desperately, I asked the cashier if I could give him the card number (oddly, I have it memorized). It was a long shot, I knew, and he said no. He did kindly offer to suspend our order so I could go home and get my card. Knowing that my children were watching my reaction (and trying not be overly dramatic about having to drag a toddler [did I mention squirmy?] in and out of the carseat multiple times), I put on a smile and was just about to agree when a lady from the next aisle walked over and stopped me. She proceeded to pull out her credit card and inform me that she was going to pay my bill.

All $115 of it.

I offered her a check (I had one of those...but no ID to use alongside it), but she declined. I asked for her address to reimburse her. She hugged me and said, "no" and "Merry Christmas." As my children watched me stand there stunned with tears running down my face, they were shocked into silence. Well, not really. But, they were surprised and full of questions.

What they, and others, didn't know, was that just the night before I had asked Peter if he would be willing to give away some money that we had planned to use to pay a bill. The Holy Spirit had been prompting me to give money to two families in particular. As is most often the case when I ask Peter if I can give, he says "yes" without any qualifiers, In fact, this particular time, he didn't even ask me how much. We gave away $175 without his even blinking.

For those of you who may think, "well, she gave away $175, but only received $115 in return," let me add that only two days later, we were given two $40 tickets to my son's concert. These tickets were offered to me by a mom that I barely know. God gave me back more than I gave away. He always does.

Obedience.

Or, as we repeat to our children, "listen and obey." It is our prayer that as we train our children to listen to and to obey us that they will one day learn to listen to and to obey the Almighty. Life is so much easier that way.

Obedience.

Who will you choose to obey?




"[G]ive, and it will be given to you. Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.” (Luke 6:38)

Red Light, Green Light

Last week, we were running late to our weekly homeschool community meeting.

I hate running late. I mean, really....dislike. Loathe. Hashtag - stressful. (I can hear my sister laughing as I type this...)

Even with six children.

My mother drilled into us that being on time was showing respect to others, and I try to teach this to my children. So, you can imagine my delight when just about every single light on our way was green. We arrived with quite a few minutes to spare!

Definitely not a lesson on natural consequences.

As we were coasting through those green lights, my natural instinct was to thank God for the green lights, for His mercy on a mama who deserved to be late (given my need for Starbucks that morning). But, as I was offering my thanks heavenward, I was convicted for the ease with which I showed appreciation. Why, just last week when my kids were in tears because their first soccer game was cancelled because of lightning, I gave a brilliant commentary on one of our Scripture memory verses, I Thessalonians 5:18, which exhorts us to give thanks in all things. I articulately expounded on how we are called to be thankful in all circumstances even if we aren't necessarily thankful for all circumstances.

Clearly I should have listened to my own sermon.

But God in His great goodness then reminded me of all the tremendously painful, yet gloriously life-altering red lights that He had also sent my way. Red lights that altered the course of my life. Red lights for which I am eternally grateful.

You see...each of my six, precious children came to me after a red light, after a clear and resounding "NO" from our Heavenly Father.

After starting and then stopping and then starting again our first adoption journey, I clearly remember submitting our profile in the Fall of 2012 for a precious little baby boy in Texas who I just knew was our son. Except, he wasn't. Oh, how my heart can't even handle thinking about how my life would be without my precious first child. She has been my life's greatest joy! She came only several weeks after that little boy's first mom chose another family. I am eternally grateful to her.

During our next adoption, we hit a low point when we were rejected for a sibling group that prompted us to start the journey of adopting through foster care. You can read about that in more detail here (or just skip to the end here). Once again, God sent a red light.

Finally, our newest addition came after several red lights. First, we got a call to see if we were willing to consider a baby born addicted to opioids, but mom decided to parent. Then, we were notified that our agency had no placements all year, an usual situation for them. We found ourselves having [again] to switch agencies mid-process. Next, we considered taking placement of an infant boy headed to foster care, but God clearly closed that door for us. Ultimately, we got a call in God's perfect timing for the exact baby we needed in our family. His story will come soon.

Until then [and even afterwards], I intend to remember that red lights are sometimes blessings in disguise, stop signs can be good things, and unanswered prayers may just be life's greatest blessings.

I don't want to die

I don't want to die.

For at least several weeks now, these words have been circling my mind, bouncing off the inside of my head, consuming my thoughts. 

I imagine that few of us really want to die. Our instinct is to seek our own safety, to preserve ourselves. Notice how we naturally duck when we think something may hit us, or how we jump out of harm's way if we perceive danger. When receiving a frightening diagnosis from the doctor, we immediately seek hope for healing. We pursue treatments, despite their being unpleasant. We are wired to seek hope, to live.

I don't want to die.

How many of us think about death? I guess we all know that we must pass through those waters eventually, but at least I know it will be sometime in the future. Whenever my children may ask about my dying, for example, I respond that we all must die, but chances are we won't die today. With some exceptions, I suppose, few of us know the day we will die, let alone the method. 

As children, we dream of living to a ripe old age. We don't dream of a life cut too short by death. Whenever we hear of someone wishing to die, we immediately and instinctively know that something is amiss. Perhaps there is suffering so that death is perceived as an escape. Perhaps there is some kind of psychological trouble or illness. Whatever the reason, we all know that wanting to die isn't the norm.

I don't want to die.

And yet, today, I must.

Several weeks ago, I received a message from a friend considering adoption. It's not uncommon for people to reach out to me to ask questions, so we began a dialogue. Our conversation covered several things, but in one message, I left her with these words: "Adoption requires death, and part of that death needs to be ours."

Oh, how easy to say those words and how very hard to live them.

What a hypocrite I am.

I simply don’t want to die. I want things to go my way. I want an orderly day with children who love one other and enjoy learning. I want a husband who meets every need I have. I want a supportive family and a circle of friends who know just how to see things my way and love me as I am.

I don’t want to die.

And yet, today, I must.

Ok, maybe tomorrow, but not today. I’ll die tomorrow, when I’ve had enough sleep, or when my needs have been met, or when I’m better prepared.

Tomorrow, I’ll be willing to navigate the messy relationship or comfort the grieving child. Tomorrow, I’ll pick up the laundry that should have found the basket and smile lovingly when my child asks the same question for the umpteenth time. Tomorrow, I’ll hold close the screaming, defiant child and whisper soothing words in her ear.

Maybe next week I’ll have the compassion to explain why my kids can’t see their first mom and why they are “stuck” with me or why they can’t just leave my house and find another mom. Perhaps on Thursday, after my alone time, I’ll eagerly clean my messy home and prepare a three course meal for my husband (and smile sweetly when at least one child complains). Later, I’ll really mean it when I respond to “I’m running away” with “But I would miss you so!”

But not today. Please not today. Today, I don’t want to die.

I don’t want to let go of my frustration at the thousands of dollars my child’s curiosity just cost us. I prefer irritation at the broken ceiling fixture or the clogged sink drain both caused by my children’s meddling. I’d rather express my displeasure at my husband’s handling of a situation. Nope, today I’d just rather not die.

And yet, today, I must.

I’m not the only one who pleaded with God to remove His calling of death on my life. Jesus did the same in the Garden: “If it be Your will, Father, remove this cup from me.”

If it be Your will.

Not my will, but Yours be done.

Oh, how grateful I am that Jesus submitted to His Father’s will. Because of His death, I have life.

So, today I will die. I will die by choice, and I will die by grace. I will die because Jesus died for me.

When my children argue, I will choose to walk the road of compassion rather than irritation. When they complain or defy, I will be firm and loving. When my husband is late coming home, I will graciously greet him at the door and listen as he recounts his day. When I encounter an unexpected conflict, I will respond with grace and flexibility. 

And tomorrow, when I awake, I will again choose death.

I will die because death brings forth life. Unless a grain of wheat falls to the earth and dies, it remains alone. But, if it dies, it bears much fruit (John 12:24).

I will die so that Christ may live through me (Gal. 2:20).

I will die, because only then can I truly live.

Lord, help me today to die.