Sunday morning, Ben and Tucker stood outside our church, on one of the coldest mornings we have had this winter, looking at the cross. Earlier in the week, during our family Bible time, we read the story of the 12 men being sent by Moses to explore the land (the land of milk and honey) the Lord promised to be theirs. The men found the majestic land and all of its bounty, but when they returned their perspective was jaded by the fortified walls and the giants that lived there. Caleb and Joshua tried to persuade the Israelites that God would be faithful and would give them what He had promised. But the people were overcome with fear, and no one listened. So instead, the Israelites missed out on their promised land and spent 40 years wondering without direction in the desert.
Afterwards, we discussed the story, and I asked Tucker, “What places are scary to you?” With all seriousness in his eyes, and no hesitation in his voice, his answer was simply “church”. Wanting desperately to get to the root of this fear that we had known about for a while, I prodded him gently until I got more. “The building is big, and I am afraid of the cross”. Oh, how often I am afraid of things that seem too BIG — too BIG, I believe, for God to accomplish, too BIG a trial for Him to carry me through. Like the Israelites, I wander aimlessly missing God’s best because I’m afraid to trust. And oh, I wish I didn’t have to admit it, didn’t need to write it but I am often afraid of the cross. Afraid to die to it. Afraid to pick it up. Afraid of what it might cost me. Recently, my fears have been threatening to drown me. I have fear of the unknown, fear that we will keep hearing the word “longer” for our adoption (like we did on Friday), and that in a few years it will be “a few more”. Fear that we won’t be able to raise this $5,000 (let alone the remaining $16,000). Fear that the country will close its doors on adoption halfway through our process. I fear writing a blog ... I am afraid of criticism, afraid of putting our family’s life open for other people’s opinions. I have fear about the long flight back with a little one who doesn’t know us, doesn’t know we won’t abandon him/her, doesn’t know we’ve loved him/her for a long time. Fear about the transition for our family. Fear about raising a little one struggling with the scars of a broken past. Fear of people’s response to our bi-racial family. Fear of how I will respond to people’s response. Fear that He will lead us to the hard places. And if I were to recite all of my fears involving our adoption I could fill up the book my mom’s been wanting me to write with just a list of them. Sunday morning, Ben took Tucker to get close to what he feared and to even reach out and touch it. And as they walked back, hand in hand, Daddy asked son “See that didn’t hurt, did it?” And somehow Ben managed not to laugh when our 4-year- old responded, “Yes, it did! It pinched me!” That’s what I must do. I must reach out and take hold of the cross and all of the pain that goes with it. Sometimes, the small things I’m afraid of happen and sometimes the BIG … and they hurt so much it’s hard to breathe. And sometimes I’m simply drowning in my fears of “what if”. But as I tread water and wait until the very last minute (as I so often do) to throw my hand up and grope blindly in the darkness for His, the Prince of Peace pulls me up gasping for air. Then we carry the heavy, painful cross together and Jesus reminds me that I was never meant to carry it alone. And in just the tiniest way, I get to share in His suffering. And then I get to share in His glory (Romans 8:17). And there is nothing better. *We covet your prayers right now as we are facing some “speed bumps” in our process and have some hard decisions to make. Will you pray with us?
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I’ve been walking around in a fog for the last few weeks: my perspective greatly impacted by the book Kisses from Katie. I have wanted to tell everyone that has come into my house, everyone I’ve talked to on the phone, shared an email with, seen at church, the lady in the checkout line. But in my fog the only words I can think to string together into a coherent sentence sound a little ridiculous even to me “Do you know that there are millions of poor, starving, dying, hurting people in our world?!”
Of course you do, and so do I. We’ve seen them on our TV’s, on our computer screens, at our schools, under our bridges, and even down the street from us. We’ve served them on trips or places we volunteer; we talk about helping them in our churches. I could share a lot of statistics with you. But maybe you’re like me. I’ve heard all the statistics, and my heart hurts, and my hands feel compelled to act -- until a few minutes later I go to Target and find something cool on clearance. And I forget. But I don’t want to forget anymore. I want to keep living in this uncomfortable place that I’ve been for the last few weeks of crying for starving, dying people I don’t know. I want to keep wrestling over what things I should buy and which things I shouldn’t because I don’t want to live in excess while millions of people live in need. I want to keep praying with my family about how we should simplify our lives so that we can give more sacrificially, more generously, and I want us to do it. I want to keep feeling this keen awareness as I sit down to eat that there are people in my own town wondering if they will be able to feed their children tomorrow. I want to remember as I go to the pharmacy to pick up our prescriptions that there are people in Africa who lie dying in hospitals because they can’t pay for medical care. I want to ache as I tuck my kids in at night because there were thousands of children who were sold into slavery today. I want to remember as I lay down in my bed (that has more pillows than the number of people that are in my family) that there are people sleeping on park benches and in cardboard boxes and entire families living in one room huts. And as our little ones tackle Ben and me as we share a hug, I want to remember that there are lonely people in need of someone to wrap their arms around. And my Father’s plan is to set the lonely in families (Psalm 68:6). And as we move forward on our road to give an orphan a family tree, I want to trust in His plan and provision and power. I want to find peace and hope in that as we do this tiny little thing in the scheme of the world’s overwhelming orphan crisis, that we are doing a big thing in the world of one orphan. I want to wake up each day on this road and take small steps with shaking feet and trembling hands and embrace this new level of trust that He is calling us to. And while we wait, I want to stay on my knees and be willing to stay there and get dirty as I serve. I want us to keep asking Him about what we can do, how we can give, who we can love TODAY. And Jesus, help me to remember that You spent most of Your time on earth with the least of these. So today, let me draw near to Your people and all the while draw near to You. |
AuthorWe are a family of five (Ben, Beth, Tucker, Libby, and Zane). We started this blog during our 7 year journey to bring home a child through adoption. This is our story of how God is faithful in the good, the bad, and all the in between. Archives
June 2020
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