learning how to cry

I’ve never been that girl that cries whenever they see a baby, or a puppy, or "the cutest proposal video ever."  In fact, until a few years ago I could easily count on one hand the number of times I cried in a year.

That was, until one day God decided to allow me to get it.

My sophomore year in college I sat in the balcony of Biola's gym with my friends, listening to a good, but not particularly charismatic speaker.  He was talking about orphans – and ADOPTION. By the end  of his spiel I was a hot mess. Tears were streaming down my face, and my friends (who were familiar with my impaired tear ducts) were looking at me like I had grown a narwal horn.

Now, I was no stranger to orphans and adoption. I had spent time with orphans on mission trips, and have family who have adopted.

So what changed?

After a decade of knowing God, I finally understood that the orphan this speaker was talking about, the children I'd met on the dirty streets of Tijuana - was me. I understood that God the Father had reached down, opened my eyes to how desperately I needed him, and in grace had paid for my life with Jesus’ blood - so that I could be adopted into his family.  And because I've been adopted I have absolute confidence that whatever happens I have a Father and a family who is mine forever.

"But when the right time came, God sent his Son, born of a woman, subject to the law. God sent him to buy freedom for us who were slaves to the law, so that he could adopt us as his very own children. And because we are his children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, prompting us to call out, "Abba, Father." Galatians 4:4-6

So, yes, now I bawl when I hear stories like this:

I bawl because I can't imagine being a child living without the assurance that I have someone who will find a way to take care of me, or at the very least BE with me, no matter what happens.  And because of that, there are few things more powerful than the rescuing or ransoming of a life through adoption.
There are few things you can do that are more selfless than giving someone a forever family, pledging to be FOR them, no matter what they do.

I don’t fight for adoption because I think it’s easy.  In fact, I think its one of the hardest things you can do. I’ve seen that first hand. But as followers of Christ we don’t do things because they’re easy. It’s the exact opposite. We are called to “take up our cross daily” and to, by our words and actions, point people to our God and his good news of salvation.

What better way to do that then living out the physical reality of our spiritual state  - our lives, ransomed by Christ. Not because we deserve it.  Or because we’ve been perfect children since our adoption. But because of grace that was freely given.

"Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you." James 1:27

So now you know my secret.
If you want to see me puffy-eyed and blotchy, introduce me to a family like this one:

Freely we've received, freely we must give.

thankful

i'm thankful for a job that's enabling me to pay back my student loans quickly and is constantly challenging me and causing me to fall at God's feet asking for help

i'm thankful for a community of friends, family, brothers and sisters spread all over the world who are constantly encouraging me and pointing me towards the Author and Perfecter of my faith

i'm thankful for families who have opened their lives to me, invited me in, and have become like family to me

i'm thankful for His mercies that are new every morning, because man do I need them every day

i'm thankful for a house full of women who are seeking the Lord and doing life together

i'm thankful for small glimpses of who I would be without Jesus, and that He has graciously kept me from experiencing the depths of where I would be without Him

i'm thankful for the roof over my head, the food i'm always able to consume, the clean water at my fingertips, the car that gets me wherever i need to go, the gel, mousse and hairspray that tame my crazy mane, and the heater that keeps our home a comfy 68 degrees

i'm thankful for the ability to write, to record my thoughts and prayers so i can look back and see proof of God's faithfulness

i'm thankful that this place that's not my home has begun to feel like home

i'm thankful for a mother who constantly lifts me up in prayer, a father who has provided for my every need and a brother who gives selflessly to serve the body of Christ

most of all, i'm thankful for the good news of the gospel of Jesus Christ, without which I would have no hope and no salvation.

God is good.

The Heart of Worship

Yesterday we took a little excursion to Santa Cruz.  

The guys wanted to find a place to go cliff jumping, so we did a little googling, phoned a friend and headed to a spot in the redwoods known as "The Garden of Eden." 

We're pretty sure it's known as Eden not because of the landscapes' likeness to The Garden, but because of the nudity some websites warned may be present.  

Luckily, no nudists were in sight when we arrived. 

I prefer to think the name refers to the resplendent scenery that surrounded us... check this out.

Incredible right?

While the boys did this...

... i wandered around the river bend, took some photos, and enjoyed God's handiwork.  

The song "the heart of worship" kept playing over and over in my head as I hopped from stone to stone, trying not to drop my camera in the stream.  The story of this song is one that has deeply impacted me, reminding my to not make worshipping God about the feeling I get out of it or singing a certain style of songs.

But this day, the song reminded me of what the heart of worship really is. It's what's in my heart.  It's not what's on my lips, what's in my brain, or what's coming in though my ears. 

As I sat, enveloped by the sound of rushing water, the song playing over and over in my head, my heart was worshipping God more holistically than if my body were jumping up and down, and my mouth was screaming as loud as my lungs possibly could. 

I'll bring You more than a song/for a song in itself is not what You have required 
You search much deeper within/through the ways things appear/you're looking into my heart 

There's something so worshipful, so right, about sitting in God's presence in his creation. I get why Jesus went off by himself and prayed.  There's a special intimacy with God I've found in those redwoods. Something that can't be created, replicated or manipulated. 

I'm coming back to the heart of worship/And it's all about You/All about You, Jesus 
I'm sorry Lord for the thing I've made it/When it's all about You/It's all about You Jesus 

living broken

To live well in this life is to live broken. Brokenhearted, but wholly restored in Christ.  Another paradox of the “already not yet.”  Already made whole, but still waiting for the complete fulfillment of our restoration through Jesus. We are not called to ignore, invalidate or distance ourselves from the world’s pain; we are to enter into it. To feel the depths of the hurt and devastation that affects each person on this planet in a unique and personal way. That’s what Jesus did. He continually entered in, putting himself in situations where he not only would feel others hurt, but he would be hurt himself. He was abused, mocked, invalidated, judged, ridiculed and misunderstood. If I want to be like him I can’t forget that.  Forget that he chose those things.  And so I’m called to choose them too. 

Gloriously Ruined

I’m new at this whole blog thing. I’m not quite sure how you’re supposed to start or what you’re supposed to talk about, so I’m just going to start with something I’ve been thinking a lot about lately. Hopefully it will help give insight into who I am, and won't make you all fall asleep.

January 2009, I had just finished my first semester of clinical nursing. Myself and 6 other students from Biola University flew down to Honduras and El Salvador to hang out with orphans, and try our best to show them God’s love. 

We partnered with a great organization called Orphan Helpers, and spent most of January at several government run orphanages and three privately run halfway homes (for orphans who have aged out of the government system).

I could tell you so much about this trip, because it shaped so much of who I am, what I’m passionate about and what I believe God is calling me to.  But I want to tell you about one 4-year-old boy God used to change me forever.

Meet Eduardo:

Isn't he precious? Eduardo lived (and probably still lives) at Nueva Esperanza (which ironically and tragically means “A New Hope”) in San Pedro Sula, Honduras.  Because Honduras is so poor, and there are so any orphans, the government can afford few workers for their orphanages.  I believe there were about 5 workers at any given time to take care of the 100+ kids at this orphanage. There were 30-50 babies in the baby room, and only 2 workers at any given time.  It's heartbreaking.

Each day we would spend a couple hours with each of the groups of kids that were separated by age.  We normally went to the 3-5 year olds first thing in the morning.  These kids were sweet - young enough that they hadn’t become calloused and aggressive like many of the older kids who fought constantly (one time i saw a kid pick up a piece of glass and attack another child with it). 

The first day we were there, Eduardo caught my eye.  The other kids were mostly engaging with our team, coloring, getting piggyback rides and playing games.  Eduardo was sitting by himself. 

I tried to get him to play or to color, but he was seemingly uninterested. My gringo spanish couldn't even make him laugh (seriously, i'm so bad). Every morning we’d hang out in his class, and I’d try to get Eduardo to play with me.  It had become my goal to get him to smile. We were at Nuevo Espiranzo for a week and a half, and for most of that time Eduardo didn't let on that he was having any fun. 

The last day we were there was so hard. None of us wanted to leave these kids we’d grown to love.  We went into Eduardo’s classroom, and I sat down with him in the corner and began to play cars with him, trying to engage him one last time.  And for whatever reason, for the first time I saw Eduardo come out of his shell.  I saw him laugh, have fun and be full of life.  For over an hour we played.  We developed this game where he would climb up on a desk (super safe, I know), and I would pretend to not see him and hide behind a bookshelf.  Then I would saunter by, still pretending to not see him, and he would jump on my back (like I didn't know he was going to do it) and I would give him the world’s best piggyback ride. I never got tired of it, even after the 35^th time.

This little boy taught me so much. That hour we spent together, laughing and playing, was one of the best hours of my life. I saw a freedom in him that I hadn’t seen all week.  It was such a victory, I can't even begin to explain how excited I was. And it made it that much harder to leave, to take that bond that was built between us and throw it away.

I can’t even explain how much it breaks my heart that I can’t go down there and get him.  Sometimes I think about just picking up, driving down there and making the government let me adopt him.  I know, a 22-year-old girl adopting a now 6-year-old Honduran boy sounds like an awful idea.  But even the little I can offer is so much better than what he, and all those kids, are getting down there. 

Here’s a few more of the many children that touched my heart at Nueva Esperanza:

It’s been 2 and a half years, but these kids are still very much with me.  I’m sure many I wouldn’t even recognize now. But I love them, and think about them and pray for them frequently.  God used my experience in Honduras to develop within me a brokeness for kids like Eduardo. I will never be the same person I was before I met Eduardo. I can't go on living my life the same way I did before I saw the tragedy of what life looks life for orphans. I’m ruined, gloriously ruined, and I wouldn't change it for the world.