Liberty and Lily

First 48 Hours

2011-09-06T00:08:00.005-05:00

An Orphan No Longer

2011-09-03T23:05:00.000-05:00

Almost There

2011-09-02T00:31:00.003-05:00

It started with the rekindling of a dream, sparked in early morning hours as I held my precious granddaughter, reading reports online of numbers that staggered my comprehension.

147 million orphans.

I can't fathom a million of anything, let alone 147 million, let alone 147 million children without parents, some in desperate need of life's most basic requirements, all in need of families.

It's not something a person can ignore. It's not something to overlook. It's not something to forget.

And so, we made the calls, had the appointments, scheduled the homestudy, filled out the paperwork, and leaned on God for sums of money we didn't have. Six months after that, we saw a picture and made a decision. They said he was five years old. No way. So we chose an age, chose a birthday, and claimed a life.

One year after that - and more steps in the journey than I could ever describe (only those who have walked this path understand) - with struggles along the way that rocked my world and threatened our futures - we are now, finally, just hours away.

Excited.

Nervous.

Eager.

Nervous.

Did I mention nervous?

Saturday night, JFK airport in New York.

Perhaps we haven't made a difference in the world. 147 million minus one is still a staggeringly absurd number.

But Jesus changed my heart. He put me in His family. So we are putting Dominique in ours.

Whatever big ideas we had, whatever big hopes we envisioned, whatever big dreams we sought, it now comes down to this:

one boy, one family - together, for life.

Safe to say

2011-09-02T00:29:00.003-05:00

...that I never dreamed that on my 54th birthday, I'd be days away from becoming a mother again.

God definitely does "abundantly above what we could ask or think."

And then some.

Note to Self:

2011-09-01T23:39:00.005-05:00

Remember these moments...

With the Sound of Music...

2011-09-01T23:26:00.004-05:00

It is a thing of joy in a young person's life when a dream unfolds, when a new reality appears, when she realizes "I can."

This summer contained Hannah's moment, thanks to the ones who made it possible for her to attend the Theater Arts Camp of Sussex (associated with FAITH Center).

Hannah, we are so proud of you, and we are so excited for all God has for you.

Don't stop singing...

What We Did On Our Family Reunion

2011-08-08T21:41:00.028-05:00

We swam...

hit...

flew a kite...

grilled...

messed around in boats...

watched sailboats go by...

paddled...

soaked up the sun...

watched sailboats return...

had a campfire...

paddled some more...

studied...

messed some more with boats...

ate outside...

posed for the family photo...

(standing, left to right: my son-in-law Nate, daughter Bethany, son Nathan, husband Bill, me, brother Chuck, sister-in-law Lauren, niece Paige, nephew Chuck, niece-in-law Holly, nephew Eric, his girlfriend Kristy; in front: my daughter Hannah, my Mom, my Dad, my nephew Troy.)

watched the moon rise...

lit the lamps...

laughed...

sat around for the unveiling, and listened to the first chapter of the third Grandchild Novel. This one, "The Snail's Pace" ("Racing over the mighty St. Lawrence River at breakneck speed, no one believed winning was an option - but it was!") is about Nathan. The first two novels were about Hannah and my nephew Chuck; my Dad is writing them, they are treasured gifts in our family.

celebrated...

(This is our 40th year at the cottage.)

enjoyed the view...

ate out...

soaked up the beauty...

took over an ice cream line...

looked at more boats...

(this guy had turned his sailboat into a pirate ship)

made the trek to the lighthouse...

took more pictures...

(Hannah and Nathan, and niece Paige and nephew Troy, with Canada in the background)

fished...

had another campfire...

fished some more...

celebrated birthdays...

read the book...

finally caught something...

prayed together...

hugged goodbye...

and dreamed about the next time.

Packing and Praying

2011-08-04T22:48:00.003-05:00

So today, my name came up. On the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, on the continent of Africa, in an embassy in a capital city, my name - my papers - my life - our life - was placed on the desk of an official.

It's called a document drop-off, and it's an important appointment. And our papers were accepted, they were in order. Huge sigh of relief...

And still the journey continues, the path to our son. On Monday, he goes to the embassy for his visa interview. Then we wait for his visa from the U.S. government, and then we wait for his exit letter from the Congolese government. Then, we wait for him to fly home.

We packed his backpack the other night. It was like filling a shoebox for Operation Christmas Child - and yet so, so different. We bought the bag, then packed it with shoes, socks, underwear, gym pants, hooded sweatshirt (I know, odd - and yet the plane could be cool for a boy not used to air conditioning), two shorts-and-shirt sets, toothbrush, toothpaste, coloring books and stickers, crayons, play-doh, matchbox cars, an envelope with our pictures, and some colorful little cards with Scripture verses on them. He can't read them, but they were reminders to me of how God goes with him and before him.

There was a thank you card and picture for the woman who has cared for him since mid-June, the woman who took him in, found a spot for him, and helped him to smile. How exactly do you say thank you for that?

And we included a bag of lollipops, for him to share with the children he will leave behind. Some of them are leaving soon, too, and a few are leaving at the same time. But so many others are staying...

The next time we see this backpack, he will be wearing it as he walks through an airport gate.

I knelt today beside his newly made bed, and prayed for him. I prayed as I have throughout these past twelve months of waiting for him:

"Prepare him for us, and us for him."

Amen.

Connection

2011-07-28T22:55:00.004-05:00

We are nearing the end, and that means we are nearing the beginning. We are starting to pack for our son's flight home (a backpack with some clothes for him, some things for the plane, some notes and pictures), and we are organizing our home and getting his part of it ready.

In all this very, very long time, I have worked hard to keep my heart in check. I knew I had to be patient, I knew this would take awhile. I prayed much, prepared a lot, but determined not to worry. When your youngest child is thousands of miles and an ocean away, and you've never held his hand or touched his face, and you know he has been through deep pain and has gone without food - well, praying is much better than thinking. But now it's getting so close, the praying is accompanied by a thousand thoughts, hopes, and dreams.

On August 4th, our documents will be taken to the US Embassy in Kinshasa. On August 8th, Dominique will have his interview for his visa. We pray that all goes smoothly - and then the timeline starts to accelerate. First he will need to receive his visa (from the U.S. government), and then he will need to receive his exit letter (from the Congolese government). And then - he will be on his way. (By the end of August? - that is the possibility.)

Each picture of him is a treasure to us. Each picture is an opportunity to memorize his features, to learn his look, to try and discern his personality. But one picture said more than most.

It's a picture of orphan children with lollipops, and Dominique on the phone. That alone is a little bizarre; little boys in orphanages don't have cell phones. But this phone wasn't his - it was the phone of another adoptive mom, there to bring home her son from the same orphanage. She had gone there the day they were rescuing them, and it was a scary and difficult time. She called me early one morning as they were waiting for permission to leave, and she said, "Dominique wants to speak to you."

I was nervous, excited, flustered, and more than a little overwhelmed. The small voice on the other end of our unseen connection was clear and precious: "Bonjour, Mama! C'est Dominique!"

I will never forget standing in my living room in New Jersey, smiling and trying to make sense in French and Lingala and English. That memory has a permanent place in my mind.

And the other day, I got a picture to go with it.

We love you, Dominique.

Rejoice and weep

2011-06-29T12:14:00.004-05:00

As I've entered into the adoption/orphan/foster world online, I've read many blogs that have encouraged and inspired me. Some are adopting from the same African country as we are, some are even within our agency, and we have children now in the same orphanage. (Dominique has been moved to a safe orphanage, where he will stay until he can come home.)

Right now some of these families are going through deep waters. I want to use my small voice to add to the chorus of those praying for these people, lifting them up to the Lord for His mercy, His grace, His care, and His intervention.

Hilary is a Christian mom who fosters and adopts children. In a situation too reminiscent of our own, she has had to give her foster daughter to live with another family. Hilary's blog Making a Home is here.

Traci has adopted from Ethiopia. Her account of her precious son's very difficult transition has prompted me to pray, and also to prepare for what may be ahead for us. Her family has also just adopted another child, a little girl whose adoption failed with another family. Traci works to bring an organization called Safe Families to her state. Safe Families seeks to intervene before the state has to, in order to help families stay together. There is a prayer need for progress for Safe Families in Wisconsin so that all the legislative work thus is not thwarted, and there is also a serious prayer need since Traci's husband just lost his job. Traci's blog Radical Love: Living a Missional Life is here.

Raegan has just adopted the most wonderful little boy from the Congo. She brought him home to the rest of their family in February. Now this little guy has been diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia. Unfathomable. Please pray for healing for Theo, and for God's grace and strength for Raegan and the family. Raegan's blog Oh Bla Da..Life Goes On is here.

And Sallee is the mom of six children, three of them from Ethiopia. Samson, the youngest, came home just recently. Sallee homeschools, blogs, and sews beautiful clothes. And now she is dealing with chemotherapy for cancer. Please pray for Sallee, for God's presence, His strength, and for healing. Hard to even imagine. Sallee's blog (often now posted by her daughter) It's Poppy Dip is here.

Weeping with those who weep. Rejoicing with those who rejoice.

And for us - we are doing both.

Little, every-day special things - like Nathan's Most Improved Player award in baseball this season, and Hannah's role in a summer musical of The Sound of Music. Those things bless and encourage us.

And wonderful news for Dominique - we have his embassy drop-off date (August 4th) and his embassy appointment (August 8th)! This refers to the U.S. Embassy in Kinshasa. Our documents are on their way, being hand-carried by another mom who is headed there this week. Dominique is at a safe orphanage, with trusted caregivers, who will feed him three meals a day. That alone is a huge answer to prayer.

After the embassy appointment, there is the wait for his U.S. visa - perhaps two weeks or more. After that, our agency's coordinator will travel to Africa. The new no-escort ruling has not been enforced yet, so our new passports will sit on the shelf for now, as we revert to Plan A. J will go to Africa and submit the further information for Dominique's exit letter. That takes from ten days to two weeks. Each of these timeframes is approximate - and rather optimistic. But an arrival at home the end of August is not impossible.

It's hard to believe this is really happening. After so long, this all has an unreal quality about it. But we are very, very close to the end - and the beginning. So we rejoice.

And we weep. Bethany's foster daughter Little D left us 27 days ago. We have no idea how she is, we have heard nothing. We miss her more than ever, our hearts ache for her and for this loss. There is an emptiness in our lives that is acute, and very painful. We still pray fervently for a miracle, and for guidance for Bethany and Nate.

For us, for these other Christian families, and so many others right now-

God is able. And He is safe to trust.

The difference a day makes...

2011-06-17T23:24:00.002-05:00

The text came early this morning. "Can Dominique stay with us in the hotel until Sunday?"

Yes, he is having his first sleepover. And yes, I've been asked permission.

Think about it.

A woman I've never met sent me a text message on my cell phone, asking me if the son I have never met (who was yesterday in the orphanage from hell, where the children often go days without food) could stay over in her hotel with her and her son, whom she met the day before.

In Africa.

My second phone call from Dominique included, "Hello mama," and that voice is just as precious the second time.

The boys are feasting tonight - on chicken and rice, yogurt, french fries, oreos, and orange juice (treasures from hotel food and the nearby market), and enjoying basketball and SpongeBob. They are sharing clothes that the other mom brought from America (Dominique left the orphanage with the clothes on his back).

After his time in the hotel, he will be in a poor but safe orphanage, led by a woman who truly cares about the children there. And then - maybe six weeks from now? - he will be home.

As my husband said earlier today, it's like the weight of the world has been lifted off our shoulders. He is out. He is safe.

Thank You, God...

His First Words

2011-06-16T13:21:00.002-05:00

Our oldest daughter Bethany's first word was "Hi!" I think I chronicled every word after that, in order. Oldest child, and all that...

Nathan and Hannah's first words are lost in the whirlwind of memories that was life with them, the delight and joy and chaos (and sleeplessness) that was 'how it was' then. Yes, Bethany's babybook is detailed and full. Nathan's has a note or two, and a message from me: "You almost killed me, but I love you more than I can say." And Hannah, I think, has a book at least...

I love them all beyond any description. And now they have a brother.

I will never know his first words on this earth. But I will never forget his first words to me, this morning, on my cell phone.

From an ocean away, I heard a small, sweet voice, say, "Bonjour, Mama!"

Please keep on praying. He is not free yet, but we pray he will be released tomorrow. The battle for his life and freedom is fierce - but God is able, and He is safe to trust.

Praying, warring, resting, trusting.

Bonjour, my precious Dominique...

Please pray tonight

2011-06-15T21:03:00.002-05:00

Our son Dominique - such wonderful words to place together - is in need of prayer tonight.

He is in an orphanage. That alone merits prayer, for an orphanage is not a home. He has a home, and it's ours, and he needs to come to it. That's the basic story.

We trust it will be soon, and that this long journey will end so his life with us can begin.

But tonight, there are serious concerns.

Dominique is legally our son. There are a couple more steps, though, until he can come home. But he is in a place that is not safe for him. The plan is for him and another boy (also legally adopted) to be taken out of this place, and put in a safer one, until it's time to come home. The director is blocking access to the two boys. She sometimes says they're not even there, when in fact they are.

I've written it all as nicely as I can. I could have used the words that were told to me by one who was there. Words like "hell," and "suffering," and "starving."

A new friend shared this Scripture with me this morning, as a team of us pray for these two boys and many others:

"But thus says the Lord, Even the captives of the mighty shall be taken away, and the prey of the terrible be delivered; for I will contend with him who contends with you, and I will save your children."

Pray for an encounter that is to take place in six hours - that these two boys are released. Pray that God saves our children.

Listening

2011-06-15T20:32:00.004-05:00

Standing in the line, at the door of church. A normal Sunday, though nothing feels normal anymore.

No ceremonies for this, though I am the one who needs them, who understands them. No protocol, no Hallmark card, no pattern, no expressions.

Some say nothing. Hello…

Most in this line, and in the many other places where I must re-renter what is supposed to be reality, offer prayers, and tears, and that is enough, and more than enough.

And a few enter in.

She stops and embraces me, her hair so close it tangles in mine. “When there are no words, there are no words,” she says, with words that say so much.

Once I broke a sugar bowl, a special blue dish. It cracked completely in half, but Bill said he could fix it. In a lingering family joke, he used the wrong remedy – super glue remover - and didn't realize his mistake. He held the bowl together, proudly showing me how it was like new. But when he let it go on the counter, it was divided apart again.

That is me. I am split apart, broken entirely. And I am held together tightly by the One who loves me, and loves her. And by the One who can fix this. I am still broken, completely. Both are so true. The pain and brokenness, the being held together.

At night I sit alone in the deep darkness, the old dog breathing at my feet. I listen, carefully, quietly, for His voice. He has heard mine, and continues to hear mine, over and over and over and over and over. Didn’t He say ‘ask, and keep on asking’? I keep on. He will never say of me ‘I wasn’t sure what you wanted.’ He knows. He continues to know. I ask, and I continue to ask.

I have walked with this One for a half century. I have heard more messages – in pulpits and churches, in kitchens and living rooms, in classrooms and out in beautiful and in broken places – than I can count. I have His words in my heart, I have sought His way and His paths. I have known His healing, His touch, and His deep, abiding comfort. I have followed Jesus.

And now I am broken. I am held together, but sometimes I squirm away, until I am agonized by a thought, a memory, with pain so intense it makes it hard to breathe. And then I feel the arms again, wrapping me tightly, each broken part pressed once more against the other.

In the night, I listen. I listen through page after page. I listen carefully, not waiting for the words I want, the words I know I can find and make fit. I want His words, His voice.

I sit alone and remember, and can feel her in my arms again, and I close my eyes and pray those short, desperate prayers that ask for a sound mind, and for help in the time of trouble – for me, for my daughter, for my granddaughter, for my loved ones.

And in the midst of it all, I pray for the one an ocean away, the one who lives in a house of cement, the one who has nothing - literally nothing - but the dream of a family, and a piece of paper from a court that says we belong to each other.

A passport rests among the words from God. And when I hear ‘this thing is from Me,’ I sense it means this news of the need to travel, though it is beyond my understanding how I can leave this broken family, now, and go so far.

I ask for a miracle for her, for him, for us. It’s a foolish request, in a world that is solid and logical and moving forward, each day harder. But I still ask, and keep on asking. And I listen, straining to hear His voice, His response...wanting to know unmistakably that it’s His.

And in the quiet, He speaks His words through others. The One who was made flesh, who is Emmanuel, God with us, puts His words in the mouths and the pens and the keyboards of others.

I hear them now. From somewhere in the middle of the country, she whispers prayer with me, “Lord, have mercy.” From across wide-open Texas lands, she softly tells me, “Rock in the cradle of His grace.” From one whose home is missing the child whose one hundred days of life were way too short, and all too recent, there is a promise that He will be with me. From the one across town who has brought meals, hugs, tears, and love, I hear words of faith and a reminder of the One who does not fail. And from brand-new friends, those who know what it is to walk through the fire and through the flood, and who do it for unknown and unseen children who will become their own, there are prayers prayed with us, one line at a time. All this, and more. Overwhelming.

Each night, too, there is the benediction, e-mailed back and forth between my mother and her now grown-up child, as we share our tears, our prayers, our agonies, and our hopes, for our little girl who was made a mommy for almost eighteen months, and for her precious little girl.

We pray miracles. We pray mercy. And we walk carefully through this valley of the shadow, and listen, how we listen, to hear the voice of the Lord.

Update

2011-06-04T22:05:00.001-05:00

Rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation, continuing steadfastly in prayer. (Romans 12:12)

He is able....

With a broken heart

2011-05-26T11:23:00.002-05:00

Last night we received the news we have been praying we would never hear: the date when our foster granddaughter Little D will be placed permanently with her birthfather.

Just hours before, we had been told of a later time period (and last week we were told of an even later time period), so this was especially jarring, and yet typical of how this roller coaster has gone.

A few minutes ago, Driya was picked up for a six-day, five-night stay with her
birthfather. She will be returned to our daughter Bethany and son-in-law Nate's home on Tuesday. Two days later, on Thursday, June 2nd, she will be taken to live with her birthfather permanently. Those at social services have said this is not how they wanted this case to go, that Little D clearly thrives in this (the only home she has ever known in her nearly 18 months of life), but that they did not have enough legally to win the case in court.

This is a death in our family. Our hearts are broken. Our faith is rocked. There
really are no words. We are leaning on our Savior, deeply confused at His negative response to our fervent prayers.

"Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him." We ask your prayer support right
now - for Little D, above all; for Bethany and Nate, who are valiantly clinging to the Lord in the midst of their worst nightmare, and for all of us (Little D's grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts and uncles), who love Little D with all our hearts. We ask prayer for grace, for strength, for courage, for peace, and yes, even now, for a miracle.

He is able.

In the middle of the story

2011-05-13T11:44:00.004-05:00

My spirit is sad, no other word for it.

I have determined I will follow Jesus.

There is a verse I read yesterday in John 6:66, and it says, "From that time many of His disciples went back and walked with Him no more."

Disciples - people who had known Him, who had been with Him - decided to leave that path, to stop following Him. They were offended by what He was saying and doing, and they had had enough.

With a broken heart, I have made my choice. I will not have that said of me. I will not be one of the disciples who walks with Him no more.

My Bible reading, as so often lately, confuses me deeply. I read things daily like He will deliver, He will deliver His beloved, the Spirit of adoption, Abba Father, stand and see what the Lord will do, ask what you will, and so on. It makes me sad to read God's Word, it hurts me and troubles me, and that has unnerved me more than I can say. But I will continue.

Although it was not in my scheduled reading for today, a passage in the Bible has come to my mind, and I have meditated much upon it. In fact, I intend that it will be the theme for the upcoming youth retreat (the one without the two children we were so sure would be with us), and what I will speak on, at great length, with as much of my story-telling and visualizing ability as I can muster.

It is Daniel 3.

He is able.

He will deliver us.

But if not...

And that's where I am...at the mouth of the furnace. I thought I was prepared for this crucible. I thought I could take the heat. Or maybe I just never dreamed this would really happen.

I was not prepared, I am not prepared. I am shocked at the intensity of this moment, and at the abandonment I feel. I know, intellectually, that God is with me, and I believe it as a truth, but I do not experience it at present. The heat is too great, the ropes are too tight.

But Shadrach, Meschach, and Abednego are my heroes, my examples.

They were young, yet they had already been through deep, lingering, abiding pain. They had lost their homes, their parents, their country, their freedom, even their very names. I cannot imagine.

They had followed Daniel into strange new ways, their diet was changed, they fed on new food and new ideas. They had been strengthened. They no doubt saw evil before their very eyes - in the form of that edifice to a wicked king, the pagan idolatry that was spreading everywhere, and the punishment that was already heating up - literally. And they made a decision to stand strong, even though they knew the cost.

I am trying to imagine the fear that surrounded them, that crept into their stomachs, their hearts, their souls.

It's easier than I want it to be.

I try to picture what it was like to be captured, to be brought before an enraged, insane all-powerful king. And then to be given a way out...and not take it.

We know how it ends. We know it was one of the highest points in the entire Old Testament, and that it included a pre-incarnate appearance of Jesus Christ Himself. We know they were given an experience that would have rivaled any of today's 'near-death' moments, beyond those "I went to heaven and came back" stories. They walked through a room of fire, unbound, with the Son of God. Incomprehensible.

But they didn't know how it would end, they didn't know any of that would happen. And neither do we. We simply are feeling a sudden blast of hot air, and watching guards approach with ropes and cords. I feel faint at what is before us.

Our God is able. He will deliver. But if not....John 6:66 - I will not become one of those to walk with Christ no more.

I am still confused at some of God's promises. I am stunned at His silences, I am broken at His decisions. I am bewildered at His Word. That's as honestly as I can put it. But I can't turn back now, I can't ignore what I know about God, what I know about Christ's sacrifice, what I know about the future that is beyond this life.

I'm not sure this is victory. It feels like defeat, with temperatures this hot and my spirit this grieved. But it's where I am, it's where I am trying to stay.

To all those mid-point in their story, facing something they prayed and prayed would never come, and desperately looking for the hope in the hopelessness: may the Angel of His presence walk with us all today, tonight, tomorrow, and beyond.

Prayer Tonight

2011-04-04T19:48:00.005-05:00

I know.

It's been awhile.

Quick blurts to facebook, more time spent on my younger two children's schoolwork, lots of time with our granddaughter, and still other time on paperwork for our adoption of our son in Africa (yes, praise God, that is moving forward! I will post on that shortly, please pray for our son Dominique, that he can come home soon!) - all has kept me from blogging.

But tonight I come asking for prayer.

Little D has been in our daughter and son-in-law's foster care her entire life, all almost-sixteen-months of it. They are all that parents should be, and their love for her is deep, abiding, unmatched.

Tomorrow there is a court hearing to determine the timeline for her return to her biological father. The plan for social services is for her to live with him in a month.

I ask any reader of this blog to pray with us for a miracle - that Little D would be able to stay with her family and in her home, and to be adopted by the Mommy and Daddy who know hold her, sing to her, teach her, feed her, comfort her, pray with her, and love her.

This is our prayer, this is our plea, this is our heart's desire. We bring it all before our Savior, believing He alone can do this, and He alone will get the glory.

Thank you.

Ice without...

2011-02-02T10:26:00.002-05:00

Tulips within...

Metaphor.

Blessed is the woman who trusts in the Lord, and whose hope is the Lord, in icy times, in stormy weather, and when the world goes cold. She shall not be afraid of evil tidings, her heart is steadfast, trusting in the Lord. She shall see her children's children, and rejoice in the Lord - whose love for her is everlasting.

Counting on it

2011-01-19T10:10:00.001-05:00

Hope

2011-01-19T09:49:00.002-05:00

It was a letter I didn't expect.

It was a response I didn't envision.

It was an answer to prayer...

Show Hope defines itself this way:

A ministry that enables individuals and communities to change the world for orphans by not only addressing a child’s need for food, shelter, care, and spiritual nourishment, but by also addressing the root issue for an orphan: the lack of a family.

As part of that ministry, it provides grants for qualified parents who seek to adopt orphans internationally. Bill and I applied, but for several reasons, we really did not think we'd receive the grant.

God had other plans.

Show Hope has informed us that we are the recipients of an adoption assistance grant in the amount of $3,000.00!

"Our prayer for your family is that God will be glorified throughout the adoption process - as He proves Himself to be faithful, provides the finances from various sources, and as He reveals His great love and care for the child you are adopting."

Our hearts are full, our praise is to God, and our anticipation increases day by day. Thank You, Lord!

Preamble

2010-12-23T00:52:00.006-05:00

The passage is so familiar.

"And there were in the same country..."

There are variations of it, told by other writers.

Matthew gives it context, listing out all the ancestors. And John goes to the ultimate beginning, Logos and all.

I love this story, I love its truth, I love all it means and how it changed the world forever.

And the proclamation of joy - great joy! - rings out from every part of Luke's rendition.

But this year, there is a difference for me. This year, there lurks a distraction, and I am burdened, weighed down. The future for two we love (one so often in our arms and always in our hearts, the other an ocean away and seen only in a photo) is uncertain, daunting, at times very precarious.

Perhaps a shepherd was like that. Head bowed and spirit heavy, perhaps he even missed the initial glow in that night sky. But he couldn't have missed the opening words, and this year, neither do I.

What did the celestial messenger say first?

He could have gone right to the details, but he didn't. It was the most important news human beings had ever heard. But instead, at God's behest, he began the pronouncement this way:

"Fear not."

Over and over this Christmas time, I have heard those words. When a friend's grandson is in peril, when another friend's health is at risk, when loved ones endure hard things and rough places, when my own anxious thoughts shake my world - that's when the night sings with angelic admonitions:

"Fear not."

Cynicism rises up. Why not fear? Circumstances loom large, potentials are chilling, heartache chokes the spirit. Why not fear?

"Fear not."

Because He came. Because He's real. Because He's here. Because He's with me - "Emmanuel," and He tells me not to be afraid.

"Fear not."

The One who graced a manger in that moment would later tell His friends, "Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." He tells me that as well.

"Good tidings!" Good news is what I long for most in this new year. Good news for the ones I love, here and around the world.

Jesus is my good news, He is my joy, He is my peace on earth, He is my Savior.

Fear not, fear not! He came, He's here, He's with you.

I can almost hear the angels...

With gratitude to God

2010-12-19T23:25:00.002-05:00

Today was our granddaughter's first birthday. She is the light of our lives and the love of our heart, and we celebrate every moment, every day she has been with us.

It is our deepest desire that our daughter and son-in-law can adopt her. For now, they are her foster parents, and have had her since her birth. The future is uncertain - but our confidence is in our Heavenly Father, who loves us - and her - more than we can ever understand.

Happy birthday, dear one! We love you!

Prayer, please

2010-12-18T13:23:00.003-05:00

If you're a reader of this blog, I ask that you take a moment and pray for the situation in Africa in regards to adoption. If you follow me on facebook, you know more details than I feel free to post here, but it's sufficient to say that there is a great need for prayer right now.

Please pray specifically for Julia, our program coordinator, who has been in the country for nearly a month (for a trip that was to be two weeks at most; she has also been quite sick during this time there). Roadblocks on both the American and the country's side have caused delays, but the current delay has the potential to thwart the adoptions of children already in the hotel waiting to come home with their new parents. (That is because the travel visas of the parents and escorts there now are about to expire in a day or so, thanks to these sudden and unnecessary extensions.)

God loves us, He loves these children, He has a future and a hope for us, for them, for our little guy. Our son there is not among those seeking to leave now, but of course everything that impacts adoption from that land impacts us. His adoption is already in the courts there, and we continue to pray daily he can come home soon. But first our hearts ache for those going through the current difficulties, and that these situations will be resolved.

The Scripture that tells me "the king's heart is in the hands of the Lord" could be changed to "the bureaucrat's heart, and his exit letters, are in the hands of the Lord." We pray those needed documents are released so these children can come to their new homes.

Start of the season

2010-12-01T00:08:00.004-05:00

My friend Mama Squirrel over at Dewey's Treehouse has written an important post about Advent, and the reason for the season.

Take a moment to read it before hurtling toward Bethlehem. You'll be glad you did.

So glad this Thanksgiving

2010-11-25T01:05:00.001-05:00

...that I know Who to thank.

By the Book

2010-11-10T20:30:00.005-05:00

I'm still working on the final revision of my short novel, "Sunday Morning." I hope the sale of it will help us with the financing of the adoption of our young son in Africa. And my plan is for that book to be available in the next couple of weeks.

But there's another book I'm working on tonight. It impacts our adoption as well, though its intended audience is one person.

One, though a very important one.

We're putting together a small photo album which will be hand-carried across the ocean, and given to a small boy in an orphanage far, far away. It will be his first introduction to us: to his new mom, dad, brother, sisters, brother-in-law, little niece, and grandparents.

And his new house, yard, room, church, dog, cottage, flora, fauna...

OK, it's a small book, it won't have all that.

But suddenly there is a temptation.

Years ago, we loved to watch the different Bob Newhart comedy series on television. I remember an episode on the show that revolved around a Vermont inn. Newhart's groundskeeper, played by Tom Poston, was finally showing his employer his apartment. The funniest moment was when Newhart picked up a framed picture and asked Poston about it.

"Is this your family?"

"Oh, no - that's just the picture that came with the frame. I liked them better than my family, though, so I decided to keep it instead."

And he proceeded to tell Newhart the names he'd given for the perennially perfect people in the picture frame.

I'm so tempted.

Yes, we've passed the homestudy. Yes, we've gone through the hoops. Yes, we've - oh, wait. There's that fingerprinting thing. ("Are you a nurse? They use a lot of antiseptic and have trouble with fingerprints. Yours are so faded." Worked my fingers to the bone. I knew it...) Hopefully I passed and that hurdle will be behind us. We'll see.

But what I'm saying is that with all that we've done - references, medical checks, job information, homestudy - the reality is that we are sinners. We are imperfect. We are flawed. (Here's hoping Homeland Security isn't reading this. "Hey, Janet, y'know that woman who wants to adopt? The one with not enough whorls and swirls on her fingertips?")

It's not a newsflash, really. We know that all our rough edges are our own, all our good points are from God.

But suddenly it's time to present ourselves to someone who will share our home, our name, our future - and to do it in a way that says, "Fear not. We know this is a big adventure - exciting but pretty daunting. Just know you are loved, unconditionally, and prayed for - daily. It's going to be OK." And to somehow say that in a language that's not even on Rosetta Stone.

I'm not sure I can communicate all of that in one small photo album. In fact, I'm pretty sure I can't, despite my best efforts.

But I'm putting my hope in more than smiles, hugs, and happy expressions. The Bible's Hannah described it, as recorded in I Samuel 1:27:

"For this child I prayed."

"Lord, prepare his heart for us, and ours for him." It's prayed constantly, and fervently. And when one young boy first opens his book, his new mama will be praying it then, too.

Velveteen Mom

2010-11-09T00:00:00.004-05:00

So I need to have my fingerprints done again. They're called biometrics, and it's part of the requirement for USCIS (United States Citizenship and Immigration Service) to give us a document we need for adoption. Bill's went through smoothly. Mine, however, apparently failed.

It's like failing Lunch in Grammar School. I mean, how on earth does one fail this?

I could go into Motherhood Martyrdom Mode and say, "I have worked my fingers to the bone for this family." I could insist that my uniqueness simply couldn't be captured on the mini-screen of a government bureaucracy.

Or maybe, like the Velveteen Rabbit, I've had the love rub it all off, and in the process, I've become real.

I don't think that will cut it with the large officer I have to get past first at the office.

For now, I will slather on the lotion yet again, cover up with cotton gloves, and hope that by tomorrow morning I become printable. Or real. Or something.

Each step brings us a little bit closer...

Orphan Sunday

2010-11-07T06:00:00.002-05:00

Today is Orphan Sunday.

Why should I care about orphans?

It's all pretty simple and straightforward.

Because God tells me to.

Where do I start?

By learning their names.

There's Kwo-Tek, a ten year old boy in Uganda, for instance. I know his name because we sponsor him through Every Child Ministries. I have his picture framed in the living room, with his little drawings and a cloth with his handprint placed before it.

And then there's D. I'll write his name online when it's appropriate, but to guard the process, I'll wait a little longer.

He lives in the Democratic Republic of Congo, in an orphanage. But not for long.

He is eight and a half years old - because we determined it. And he is our son (in our hearts and plans already, in the courts soon, and in our home, we pray, within a few months).

Out of 147 million orphans in the world, there will be one less.

It's not everything. But it's a Big Something.

We are to care - because God tells us to.

What will you do?

RSA Animate - Changing Education Paradigms

2010-11-06T08:10:00.000-05:00

I first saw Sir Ken Robinson on Gov. Mike Huckabee's Saturday TV show on FOX. I've since heard more about him from friends of mine who, like me, use the AmblesideOnline curriculum that is based on Charlotte Mason's educational philosophy.

A fascinating delivery that puts forth a very important view. Watch it for a minute, and it will capture your imagination!

Praying For Our Friends

2010-11-05T13:30:00.002-05:00

This morning we stood with our friends, our brother and sister in Christ, as they laid to rest their three-month-old daughter.

There aren't a lot of words to cover that situation. Every part of it is jarring, every aspect of it assaults the mind. This shouldn't be.

Yet in that funeral parlor before a tiny casket, in that caravan of cars to the cemetery, at that open gash in the earth that will be her grave, there was the Angel of His Presence.

God's mercy is great, His comfort is real, His promises are true.

One day there will be a reunion. In the meantime, that little one is in the arms of her Saviour.

Praying today for her Mommy and Daddy, for her big sister, and her entire family, for peace that passes all possible understanding, and for hope that goes far beyond that grave.

My daughter Bethany wrote some thoughts on this here.

My kids

2010-11-01T14:26:00.003-05:00

In foolishness and fun...

In love and togetherness.

To our D in Africa, we can't wait to add you to the picture!

Marking Our Calendar

2010-10-26T23:35:00.006-05:00

Tonight we chose our son's birthdate.

We had a few different years and 365 days from which to choose. How in the world do you begin?

You see, our little guy (I am not yet posting his name online) needs a birth certificate for the adoption, and for that he needs a birthdate. An age of 5 was suggested by the orphanage director, but that seems too young for him, based on his appearance. After a conversation with our agency's country coordinator, we landed on a birth year of 2002. And then it was time to pick an actual birthday.

We sat as a family around the living room, and also - by phone - around our married daughter's living room. First we stared at each other in a bit of shock (we're doing what?), then we laughed happily, calculated carefully, and prayed specifically - and came up with D's spring birthday.

There is a harsh reality that accompanies this unusual request. It's because D is an orphan in an African nation, in a situation that offers him no future, that preserves for him a scanty past. We can give him tomorrow; we can't give him yesterday.

But because we don't know for certain the day he entered this world, that doesn't mean we can't celebrate his life. And so, on May 6, 2011, there will be another party, another cake, another time of gifts, another child to know the circle of family, the shelter of love, the security of belonging.

Looking forward to saying - Happy birthday, son!

Because apparently...

2010-10-23T14:25:00.001-05:00

...one can't have enough gigantic mushrooms on the front lawn...

A Little Bit of Autumn

2010-10-23T14:20:00.001-05:00

Mbote!

2010-10-04T20:54:00.003-05:00

I have dabbled in languages since I was a young girl. I learned a little German one summer, went through a tiny bit of Spanish, took New Testament Greek in Bible college, tried to discover the basics of Latin, figured out a few Swedish phrases, and studied French for seven years in school. But I had never even heard of Lingala.

Until now.

Each morning, we try a new phrase. It rolls around on our tongues, awkwardly, comically. We attach the phrases to ideas, to situations - but our minds still want to be so literal, to match up the strange-sounding words with words we know. Little by little, now and then, when we're out or when we're at home, we repeat them to each other.

And then I try to imagine - what's it like to be suddenly in a new country, with an all-new language, and a desperate need to communicate?

Our little guy will need to learn English, and we will find creative and supportive ways to help him do that. But maybe welcoming him with some words in his native language will be another way of saying, "We want you. We have waited for you. We love you!"

So to our son, an ocean away and a time zone five hours ahead - know that your new family prays for you and longs for you.

Nalingi yo. I love you...

Our first phrases in lingala came from this website: http://pascal.grouselle.pagesperso-orange.fr/lecon-0101.htm Of course, the website is all in French, but that just makes it more fun.

The Singer

2010-09-14T22:57:00.004-05:00

The musical score of my childhood spans choir anthems and lullabies, transistor radio WABC tunes (back in the day) and a stack of records that covered classical themes, Sound of Music, and my favorite new artists.

But one of the most consistent melodies in my life was from my brother. Late in the night his guitar was the last sound I'd hear.

Marriages and miles have changed the music of my days, but now I can hear it all again - and so can everyone else. A dream has become reality, and he has his first album.

With congratulations, pride, and much love...

Growing Family

2010-09-04T22:26:00.002-05:00

On the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, somewhere in an African nation, there lives a young boy.

He's no longer a dream, a hope, an idea. He has a face. He has a name. And soon, God willing, he will have a future.

If all goes well and God continues to lead, we will be matched with this little guy in a few weeks (called a 'referral' in adoption terms). Will the wait be easier then, or harder? Or will it just be the right time, in God's plan, to prepare his heart for us and ours for him? For then he will be our son.

Stay tuned. If you would, please pray. And remember: an orphanage is no place to call home.

Family

2010-07-17T16:09:00.000-05:00

If My People

2010-07-03T21:45:00.000-05:00

For a cup of clean water

2010-06-28T23:22:00.003-05:00

My nephew Chuck, whose artistic work through his company NoPattern has brought much acclaim, has just returned from a trip to Ethiopia with charity: water.

His goal was to learn more and to raise awareness - through his own fundraising, through his photography, and his own artistic influence - for the desperate need for clean drinking water for nearly one billion people on our planet.

Chuck's amazing photos of this trip are here,

and his friend Michelle has put together a video of the trip (below; Chuck is at the five-minute mark, sharing photos from his camera with some children).

charity: water ethiopia from Michelle Hellman Cohen on Vimeo.

Now that you know, please consider helping with a contribution of any amount to Chuck's project of raising money for a new well here.

Franklin Graham on the National Day of Prayer

2010-05-05T18:37:00.001-05:00

Resurrection

2010-04-03T22:03:00.007-05:00

Let the (important part of) the Games begin!

2010-03-05T10:07:00.002-05:00

The 2010 Winter Olympic Games have concluded, but God's involvement in the lives of the participants and spectators has just begun.

Be praying for those who heard the good news of Jesus Christ, and that the seed of the Word - and the acts of Christian hospitality - will continue to grow to the point where many become followers of Christ.

Still...

2010-02-28T23:59:00.002-05:00

29 years ago we were married.

We're still together.

Still in love.

Still living the vows.

To the steward of my dreams and keeper of my heart,

I love you.

Adopting for Life

2010-02-26T16:18:00.003-05:00

Adopting for Life conference is streaming its General Sessions live:

http://tr.im/afllive

Friday 2/26 3:15 p.m., 6:30 p.m.
Saturday 2/27 9:15 a.m., 2:45 p.m.

So powerful so far.

143 million orphans deserve our attention.

Unseen

2010-02-24T19:52:00.010-05:00

I took a walk late today, out in the old snow.

New is coming tonight, they say. They even use expressive made-up words like "snowicane." But for now, it's just the melting kind, spilling onto the road and rushing down the brook.

I was born in summer - deep into the summer, when the days are warm and lazy, and the nights are the same. My default setting is late August - when life is in bloom, all is lush, much is ripening, responsibilities are few, and dreams are within reach. God's handiwork sparkles everywhere I look, and I bask in it.

Spring is the time when Psalm 14 is most clear: only idiots are atheists then. And autumn? It is beauty that takes one's breath away.

But winter takes more faith.

In winter, creation is less obvious, less captivating.

But God is still at work. In the winter of the year, in stark times of our lives, God is still at work.

I know it in my heart, and I saw it in the trees. The tips of the maples bore evidence: tiny buds, their long journey to full green leaves just beginning, but beginning nonetheless.

So tonight, let it snow. The winds can blow, the storm can swirl around this little house. We will not lose heart, we will not lose hope, we will not lose confidence. God's plans, God's miracles, God's designs - they're all there, all happening, all in His hands. And we'll see them, in His perfect time.

On their way to the Ball

2010-02-20T19:03:00.009-05:00

Tonight is the homeschool group's Civil War Ball. A historical group called Civil War Dance is leading the night, bringing along significant memorabilia (Civil War weapons, jewelry, and an authentic cannon), an Abraham Lincoln re-enactor, live musicians, and Victorian dance leaders. (Our kids weren't able to go last year, but photographs from that event can be seen here.)

Preparations have been in the works in our house for quite awhile. Our son-in-law (who would have loved to go) has to work tonight - but our girls convinced their brother to take them, so now all three children are having a special night together. Bethany, our oldest, did a loving and magnificent job designing and making Hannah's gown, and doing her sister's hair.

Here is the end result, along with a bit of an anachronism, as Hannah texts her friend to see if she has left yet.

Nathan is ready to play the part of the 19th century gentleman.

Bethany got her gown and hoop skirt from the local theatrical shop.

Sisters...

Friends...

Our greatest gifts.

Have a great night, guys. We love you!

A Loud Silence

2010-02-17T08:58:00.002-05:00

My life is full these days, and has been for awhile. My camera is also full, my memory card to overflowing. But -

I'm not allowed to post the pictures.

It's frustrating, because the pictures are good, and the subjects are even better.

It comes from being a foster grandmother. And foster cousin. Or foster first-cousin-once-removed. Or something.

But right now, there are three precious children in my life whom I love, pray for, spend time with, and photograph. And since they are in the foster care system, I can't post their names nor their pictures.

So - while the blog at times is quiet, my house is not.

Baby D, Little N, Baby C: I love you. You deserve lots of pictures, a stream of posts, and most of all, a more promising future. I can commit only to giving you my prayer. You have that, from a full heart.

Valentine

2010-02-13T22:39:00.002-05:00

Treasuries of the Snow

2010-02-11T09:56:00.003-05:00

It snowed all day, into a Narnia night.

Our woods...

Our house...

Our view...

By morning, all was beautiful.

Can summer be far behind? (Don't answer that...)

Our 17-year-old hero, who shoveled time and time again, without asking, and without complaining. Good job, Nathan!

Re-enacting the Gospel

2010-01-28T18:24:00.000-05:00

"What would it mean if our churches and families were known as the people who adopt babies-and toddlers, and children, and teenagers. What if we as Christians were known, once again, as the people who take in orphans and make of them beloved sons and daughters." -Russell D. Moore

Mandate

2010-01-23T09:38:00.001-05:00

Praying for Haiti's Orphans

2010-01-21T11:39:00.004-05:00

Praying for Haiti right now, and following information via facebook, Twitter, and blogs.

Where to even begin...

Pray for the orphans, and those caring for them. There are so many children in Haiti; according to Unicef, nearly half of Haiti's population of 10 million are under the age of 18. The number of pre-quake orphans is upwards of 380,000, due to AIDS and also mass migration into the cities. An official number of 200 orphanages (in December 2006) did not take into account many church orphanages, private orphanages, and missionary efforts, as the social services system before the quake had been either corrupt or over-worked and in shambles.

These are staggering numbers. How many are there now?

Articles abound, counseling U.S. families to hold off on seeking adoption of Haitian orphans (except for those already committed to adoptive families), so that vital aid of food, water, medical care, housing, and reunification of existing families (separated in the crisis) can remain a priority. No one wants a child adopted whose family has lost him or her, and still seeks and wants them.

But God places the fatherless in families - and His care for these orphans is more than the human mind can fathom. So - daily prayer for the orphans of Haiti, for them to know the love of God and the comfort of the Holy Spirit, and for their future to be guided by the Lord and expedited into loving homes as soon as possible - that can and must be part of the 'first response' for those of us who aren't doctors or aid workers, who can't go yet, and who wait on the Lord for our part in this.

Sing to God - a father of the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in His holy habitation. God sets the solitary in families...

Praying for Haiti

2010-01-15T23:52:00.002-05:00

No words. Just prayer.

Speaking the truth in love

2010-01-05T00:31:00.000-05:00

A New Direction

2010-01-02T23:01:00.004-05:00

I wrote an update on facebook earlier today that went like this:

Wishing happy birthday (74 years young) to the first man in my life, the one who is still my inspiration and guide, who made it easy to transfer trust to the love of my life, and who daily makes it very, very simple to understand the unconditional love of my Heavenly Father. I always knew our relationship was special. I now know it is rare and precious. I love you, Dad.

My Dad is all that, and more. But something he did this Christmas merits special attention.

When I was a little girl, my father (a pastor, who has been in the ministry my entire lifetime) wrote a book. Its focus was missions, and motivating the church of Jesus Christ to care, to give, to go, to get involved. It was called "Living for the Dying," and although my own special copy was somehow lost in a move at some point, I have memorized his inscription to me: "The first one. To the most wonderful little girl in the whole world. Someday when you are old enough to read this book, I pray your life will be exemplified by its title. Always love the Lord, and seek to serve Him. 'Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.' Love, Daddy."

Just a year ago, Dad wrote his second book. It, too, expressed his heart for a lost world - and sought to impact its readers to compassion, action, prayer, and giving. It is called "Habitations of Cruelty," and it is about the street boys of Peru, the child soldiers of Uganda, and the little girls sold into sex slavery in Cambodia. Through the book, Dad has been able to raise awareness and funds for several ministries and organizations that reach children in these wretched conditions.

But Dad's book writing wasn't concluded with that book. His latest work took a very different turn.

On Christmas morning, seven young people - in two different states - unwrapped a very special (and surprising) gift. It was a book - written by my Dad, their grandfather ("PopPop"), with the unusual title of "The WAGAPUR."

On the cover is a picture of our youngest daughter Hannah as she sits on the shore by our cottage, looking out at a sailboat. The subtitle is "The Sailboat That Seeks to Circumnavigate the Globe."

The back cover explains it a little bit more.

"The Anderson family has met on the shore of Lake Ontario every summer for the past 38 years. In 1971 there were only four of us, but today there are fifteen. This is the place where dreams, seeking to become realities, sweep through our hearts and minds.

"The WAGAPUR is the name of the sailboat that is still in its cradle in the real world. This book has taken it from there, placed it in the family, launched it, and set its sails for the beautiful island of Bermuda.

"In our dreams it is out on the high seas braving the elements and headed for other far-away places with those high-sounding names.

"This is the dream of a 13-year-old girl to circumnavigate the world and become the youngest person ever to do so. She is supported by her family and a team of cousins whose hearts are with her every step of the journey.

"The excitement, the dangers, the unexpected turn of events, and the providential outcome is what the WAGAPUR is all about."

Dad explained it further in an opening paragraph inside the book:

"Hannah sets out to do a "hard thing" for the glory of God. Her adventure leads her down a most unexpected path but one that strengthens her for even harder things in the days ahead.

"Her story is the first in a series of books that are designed to tell vivid accounts of happenings in the lives of the grandchildren of Paul and Lois Anderson. These books are being written, published, and given to our families on Christmas mornings."

In this funny, personal, exciting, and engaging book, I have been inspired most profoundly by my Dad. He has taken the time, cost, and - most of all - the creative medium of writing, to connect with his beloved grandchildren, so as to give them in print what he gives them by his life's example: a focus on the Savior, who is above and beyond everything and everyone else.

The WAGAPUR. The name came from a Scrabble game this summer. Someone cheated. "Someone." But a book grew out of it.

In all my father does, he does it with the love and support and aid of my Mom. I am blessed beyond words.

And guys, I hear he's already working on chapter one of book two. Which of you remaining six will it be about?

Thoughts on a little baby, an anxious nation, and Christmas

2009-12-23T09:14:00.004-05:00

At this moment, the elected leaders of our country are embattled over health care reform - and yet the issue turns on the lives of tiny, unborn babies. Will pro-life Democrats in the Congress (stalwart up to this point) cave in the way so-called pro-life Senators did? The President is putting pressure on them, we hear, yet the people's phone calls, protests, and petition campaigns are clamoring desperately to sway it all the other way.

Our daughter and son-in-law have recently been licensed as foster parents in the state of New Jersey. It's a little unusual for a young couple, married three years, and each still only 23 years of age. But - they have come to the place where they say "Our home will be a safe haven, and our hearts are willing to be broken to house the brokenhearted."

Last night, the first of these foster children arrived. Just three days old, she was born Saturday in the midst of the east coast's crippling snowstorm. She weighs only five pounds, and to this foster grandmother (whose youngest weighed almost twice that), she is startlingly tiny.

I did the grandmother thing - brought and cooked the fixings for dinner, straightened the kitchen, dispensed encouragement, threw in a little advice, and took lots of pictures. And then I held Baby D.

Oh my.

Her lightness, her gentle breathing, her soft sounds, her sleeping smiles. And then - her eyes.

We don't know her story. We don't know what prompted protective agencies to say she cannot be with the mother whose body bore her. But we know she has a right to live - someday, perhaps, reunited with a young woman whose life has been properly renewed and rearranged, with loving relatives who have lost a connection with one of their own, or with this family that already has open arms and hearts.

We pray for her future. And in doing so, we quake at her past.

For just days ago, if the mother had desired it, our government would have allowed this perfect, tiny child to die. We know how it would have gone - the terms, the procedure, the images - we've all seen and read and heard about it. Partial birth, they've called it. Frankly, on this beautiful almost-Christmas morning, I can't think too deeply on it. My mind nearly convulses at the mere thought.

And so here we are - a nation watching as its leaders tumble towards funding such horrors, at Christmas time - the celebration of the moment when the earth and its generations of people were changed forever by the birth of a miraculous, tiny, frail, beautiful, perfect - yet unplanned by his mother - baby. Jesus Christ - who came to redeem and renew, to fix and restore, to make a way for human hearts to be reunited with a loving Father, to live and die and live again.

Two thousand years later, and leaders still seek the lives of little ones (perhaps Herod, too, thought it was for 'the greater good'), while a few hearts prepare them room. And as we look in the eyes of the smallest of humankind, we hear it echo again:

Peace on earth, goodwill toward men.

Hallelujah!

2009-12-17T10:54:00.004-05:00

I am blessed - and jazzed! - beyond measure to be able to sing with the Chapel choir for this Sunday night's "Sounds of Christmas" performance (7 p.m., December 20th, Cedar Grove, NJ, if you're in the area!). My Dad is the director (and pastor), and I stand next to my daughters and my mother (my son-in-law is also in the choir, along with several other family members).

This is the best part of my Christmas this year.

We will conclude the night with the Hallelujah Chorus. If you'd like to practice along with me, check out this rehearsal practice site. The sample is the Hallelujah Chorus, and you can click on each part to hear a professional voice predominant, with the other parts in the background.

For the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!

Into the Woods

2009-12-01T20:46:00.004-05:00

I've been reading a fascinating book, recommended to me by Jim Fahringer, the director of Montrose Bible Conference. It's by Richard Louv, and it's entitled, "Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children From Nature Deficit Disorder."

Even though I wasn't finished with it yet, I included it in my 'books from this past year' that I shared at the always-wonderful, much-anticipated annual "Gloria's Book Tea" recently.

(That event was wonderful, as usual - sitting sipping tea in a country-Victorian dining room with a table full of Christian women who love books and enjoy spending an afternoon sharing about them.)

As I read this book, I nod in agreement, time after time. Louv writes about the importance of nature on mind, soul, and body, how nature enriches our lives, how it sharpens creativity and increases intelligence, how it fosters a sense of well-being. He also goes into detail about the lack of this kind of primary experience in our society today (particularly for children), and the very serious damage it causes. There is good news in the book, however, of how to restore and reclaim a love of nature in this wired, overweight, indoor-living generation.

I'm so grateful for a childhood that emphasized the beauty of God's creation. I'm grateful for parents that took me and my brother out of school on occasion, just to drive 'down the shore' for the day (New Jersey lingo for going to the beach) - and for their sacrifice to acquire the cottage on Lake Ontario, where we can bask in outdoor living. I'm grateful for the writings of Charlotte Mason (and our Ambleside curriculum) and her emphasis on nature study and natural history. And I'm grateful that we can spend several hours each week in our homeschool to head outside and go exploring: apple orchards, state parks, farms, gardens, and woods.

God has given us the Bible - the most incredible and unique book that exists, because He wrote it. It has no equal. But I'm also glad He gave us nature - another place to see His handiwork and to learn so much about Him.

October 31st

2009-10-31T13:33:00.002-05:00

Sung to the tune of Yankee Doodle:

"October 31st's the date,
In Fifteen-seventeen,
Martin Luther made it great,
Much more than Halloween.

"The just shall live by faith alone,
He nailed it on the door,
Just to prove to all the world
That you need nothing more."

That's pretty much the extent of my song-writing career. I like photography better, though - so head on back to last year's "In Praise of Autumn" post, and enjoy!

Birthdays

2009-10-27T20:13:00.019-05:00

(click on pictures to enlarge)

We surprised my father-in-law with a visit on his 85th birthday - and with a tour of the Baltimore Orioles' Camden Yards ballpark. George - or Pappy, as his grandkids call him - remains an athlete to this day. He was ice skating an hour before we arrived. His knowledge of hockey is inexhaustible. And he's still quite the ball player.

So as we walked through the bird-emblazoned gates, we learned almost as much from him as from our excellent tour guide.

The historical importance of the site starts with the B & O railroad station,

where President Abraham Lincoln came through several times: the first on the way for his inauguration in Washington, D.C., (when he arrived in the middle of the night, fearing an assassination), on his long journey to deliver the short but brilliant Gettysburg Address, and in 1865 on his funeral train.

It was a beautiful day, full of "October's bright blue weather." There were tributes to past athletes:

the Orioles Hall of Fame, one of several retired numbers (here Frank Robinson's #20), and a statue honoring Baltimorean Babe Ruth (though a leftie, he is holding a right-handed glove, based on a photo of the same).

It's a beautiful park,

with its own sod farm for necessary patching.

The Orioles' groundskeeper is Nicole Sherry, only the second woman to hold that job in Major League Baseball. Though the season was over (but not for the Yankees...had to mention that), her work is not; she and her team will keep at it until the grass stops growing. Her team's workclothes stay at the stadium and are even washed there so that no foreign object goes onto the grass. The design of the field is kind of like the nap on suede, that's how they make it.

We visited the mahogany-and-carpet executive suites,

walked along hallways with 200 miles of wiring,

and went into the jumbotron control room (normally run by as many as 19 people).

We went behind home plate where the press sees the game,

(the groundskeeper is standing just right of the pitcher's mound)

and saw from afar the orange seat that marks the spot of Cal Ripken's record-breaking 278th home run (above the blue Bud Light sign). One other orange seat is in the bleacher section (not in this picture) to mark Eddie Murray's 500th home run (the fan paid $7.00 for his ticket, and sold the ball for half a million dollars).

Our girls Bethany and Hannah sat in the Orioles dugout,

and three generations (Pappy, Bill, and Nathan) looked upon a field of American dreams.

There were other bits of information on the 90-minute tour: how the warning track absorbs water almost instantly (demonstrated for us), where the special mud comes from that is rubbed on every ball before a game (Pennsauken, New Jersey; it costs $100 for 18 ounces), the 20 mile pipe that carries beer through the stadium, the equal number of women's and men's restrooms (25 each), even how the balls that hit outside the stadium are commemorated with plaques:

Only one ball has hit the B & O warehouse building, it was hit by Ken Griffey, Jr.

We had our picture taken together, by the cobblestones,

and then outside the park when Pappy received a cap from the tour guide.

The retro-styled 48,000 seat baseball-only Camden Yards, located in downtown Baltimore's Inner Harbor, opened in 1992. Memorial Stadium had been the home of the Orioles before that, and was dedicated to those who had served America in battle. When it - and its significant motto - was torn down, many were justifiably upset.

So a monument was built to make sure that sacrifice was not forgotten.

And that caused me to remember...

Pappy worked throughout his life for the federal government, but he also had several part-time jobs, usually involving skating. For many years, he was a guard at Memorial Stadium's outdoor ice rink. As a result, he worked on-site with the help staff when Billy Graham came to Baltimore in June of 1981.

Pappy was (and is) a good man, a faithful husband, and a devoted father. But he thought a personal relationship with Jesus Christ was something for his wife, not him. During those meetings, however, that changed - and his eternal life began one night in Memorial Stadium.

Important things happen in ballparks.

Happy Birthday, Pappy. Twice...

Sister Act

2009-10-19T18:56:00.002-05:00

The Chapel choir began Christmas rehearsals tonight - and there are three sets of sisters involved. Two sets are my family (left to right) - my Aunt Thelma and my Mom (who have been singing together since they were toddlers), and my daughters Hannah (13 - her first time in the church choir) and Bethany (23).

Hannah and Bethany (who is married) did not plan on wearing the same thing, but they both have on their Do Hard Things T-shirts from The Rebelution Tour in D.C. Christ is born - sing Alleluia!

Fifteen chairs

2009-10-15T01:25:00.003-05:00

When we had our family reunion at the cottage on Lake Ontario this summer, we kept up the tradition of eating as many meals outside as possible. The food, usually prepared by my brother, was as good as the incredible setting.

The best part of our time there? Being together. All fifteen of us.

Each chair represents a family member, someone I belong to, someone I love.

It's not the empty rooms.

It's the people that fill them, and that fill my life.

"Perfect"

2009-09-16T16:27:00.003-05:00

(Well, "perfect" would mean pictures from my summer. I'll do that soon. But first, a little homeschool moment.)

To know me is to know that the words "perfect" and "homeschool" are rarely mentioned in the same sentence.

But this week, a few things went rather, well, perfectly.

There was the science experiment. Atoms, molecules. The way copper turns that greenish color. A 9-volt battery, some baking soda. And it turned out just right. No scrambling to re-read the directions, mutter something about 'how it should have happened,' and state that bit about 'even a failed experiment teaches us something.' Lesson learned, illustrated, understood.

And then there was trap shooting today.

Nathan's been on the team for several years, from when he shot with a .410, to the progression to (his own) .20 gauge, and then his .12 gauge shotgun. He worked his way up through the awards, until his walls are papered with them. Attention issues? Focus struggles? These framed certificates, pins, patches, and medals shout otherwise.

And today, the elusive goal was achieved: a perfect score. 25 out of 25.

A certain mother keeping score on the stand let out a yell. Might have been me....

Not all days are perfect. Most aren't. But there are lots of perfect moments, and I rejoice to celebrate them.

Never forget

2009-09-11T08:56:00.000-05:00

Days of shock. A skyline of smoke. Cars at the train station, covered with flowers. Story after story. Prayer. Tears. Hope that some would survive. Resolve. Flags everywhere - every house, every car...Praying today for those left behind, for those who serve, for those who remember, for those who lead. Grateful for the heroes of that day. And so, so proud to be an American. Never, ever forget....

Morning

2009-09-03T22:00:00.002-05:00

Sunshine igniting the moving water,
Green leaves in a stage-whisper
beside me,
Coffee brewing, and fragrancing the air,
Books and journals and pens
waiting, with promise
but no demands,
While family stirs and rises
one by one
To meet me and the day
on the cottage porch.

Remembering

2009-09-03T21:59:00.002-05:00

"Remembering Katrina, and Lakeshore Baptist" - from Chapel on the Hill's perspective.

My mink

2009-09-03T21:51:00.001-05:00

Rather cute...
(Click to enlarge. Taken on the shore of our beach at Lake Ontario in upstate New York.)

Now Hear This :-)

2009-08-21T11:14:00.003-05:00

I expect to start blogging again.

(Gasp from someone in the back....)

Later.

Hopefully.

See ya in a bit...

Fourth of July

2009-07-03T12:58:00.001-05:00

My thoughts on this special day.

Because There's More

2009-05-18T23:16:00.013-05:00

The words were slipping out of my mouth before I could stop them.

“If I can play paintball, ANYONE can play paintball.”

It was one of those moments when the brain apparently really has no control over the tongue, despite what those anatomy books say.

It was shortly after my husband and I (along with our daughter and son-in-law) presented to our church the idea of a youth retreat that included “Paintball with a Purpose.” The lure of five hours of paintball had nearly all the boys and several of the girls so excited they could hardly wait to sign up. But a couple of girls and one or two boys were not so sure.

“I heard it really hurts” was one remark. “Do you have to do paintball if you go?” was another. And in the midst of the nearly deafening chorus of “Aw-right!”s and high fives, there was one individual who just stared at us, with a mixture of wide eyes and an expression that said There-Is-No-Way-I’m-Going-On-This.

We wanted all the church kids to go, and to invite others to join us, too. We knew it would be important for them spiritually. We knew it would challenge them and they’d have a great time. We knew we just had to get them to say they’d go…

So that was when I blurted it out.

It was meant to be an encouragement, a statement of confidence in how great this would be, and almost a dare. It was all that – and it worked. All those worried kids signed up. It’s just that I forgot it meant I would one day be putting on a big scary-looking mask, picking up a ‘marker’ (looked more like a machine gun to me), and quickly scrambling up the side of a wooded hill to get to the bunker I was supposed to ‘defend.’

Oh, and did I mention rock-wall climbing, too?

This is not the official pictorial report of the retreat. We’ll do that at a Relive The Retreat luncheon a week from Sunday. Nor is this a blog post of all that happened. I’ll put that on the church blog soon.

This is just my own personal story of two and a half days in the Endless Mountains of Pennsylvania, when God spoke to my own heart, even though it was a youth retreat, and even though I was one of the speakers.

The work of preparation was all-consuming, and went on for a couple of months. It got so it was on the back – or front - of my mind, every waking moment. The last few days before we left were non-stop retreat work (packing for us and our two teens, planning, organizing, coordinating and shopping for this group of twenty-seven kids and four leaders going 150 miles away), and there wasn’t a lot of time to reflect on anything personal, other than what Bill and I were going to say in our messages to these kids.

Our theme was to be Looking Unto Jesus, and our verses were, of course, Hebrews 12:1 & 2. ‘Therefore, we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him, endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.”

Let us run with endurance. We thought of that many times during the weekend, when we marched the entire group three quarters of a mile down the road for each meal, and then back again afterwards, and when we walked them into the woods to have our services in the Youth Chapel.

And I thought of that on Saturday, when I was ducking behind a log barrier that looked like something from the Revolutionary War. I kept thinking as I peered out through my slightly foggy mask into the mass tangle of spring green, ‘What must war really be like?’ But then I forgot such big thoughts in the sudden battle that ensued.

The games continued into the afternoon, with different rounds, different objectives, different strategies. And although I started out the day expecting to hang back and pretty much hide (um, I mean, defend), it wasn’t long before I was going from tree to tree, rock outcropping to wood pile, crouching, ducking, shooting, and – getting shot.

I took my first hit on the elbow. I never saw it coming, I don’t know who did it (though one of the kids later bragged that he was the one), all I knew was that it hurt like crazy. (It stings? Excuse me, that is not a sting. That is pain.)

It went away, though, and soon I was showing off the splatter on my outer layer of sweatshirt like everyone else. In another game, I got hit in the eye. Those masks are amazing, and of course, I never felt a thing. It was a bizarre thought, though, to wonder, again, what it ‘must be like.’ My last hit was in the chest, and by then I must have been pumping so much adrenaline I didn’t even feel it.

By the last round, I gave it all I had. (If any of you kids are reading this, don’t laugh. For me, that was all I’ve got.) I didn’t hold back, I wanted to leave nothing on the battlefield. I wasn’t even sure where the flag was at that point, I just knew I was headed in the general direction. And by game’s end, I’d reached my own objective: I was still standing.

The camp’s leader, Steve, got all the kids to sit up on the rocks, and he talked to us about running our race with endurance, about having a strategy to do it, and about going to the Rock which will never fail us. He did a fantastic job, both in coaching, guiding, and in complementing our message topics.

And yes, I was very glad I’d been a part of it. In fact, I couldn’t imagine, at that point, having missed out on those hours of paintball in the woods.

After hiking back to the dorms, getting changed, then walking the three-quarters of a mile to dinner, and walking back (the rule was you couldn’t walk ahead of Mrs. B, so I had to jog for a bit to get ahead of the group. Please note: I do not jog. So even that was really ‘big’ for me, too), it was time for rock-wall-climbing.

The hillside gymnasium (where we stayed, the dorms were connected to it) had one section of the wall covered with hand and foot holds for climbing. There were four side by side ‘paths’ to the top that you could take, each one harder than the next. Strong climbing ropes attached the climber’s harness (through a sort of pulley at the top) to four harnessed people at the bottom.

After a time of instruction and encouragement (and again, parallels to what we were teaching in the Youth Chapel times), Steve got the kids to start climbing.

I knew it was now or never. I admit, I chose the first or ‘easiest’ path. But hey, I’m not after medals here, I just wanted to encourage the kids – and myself – that they could do more than they dreamed, when they do it for the Lord.

So on went the harness. The helmet was another story – I must have a big head or something, because it ended up more like a big red necklace. But I didn’t care, I was going to try to climb, so I pretended it fit and announced to my team ‘Belay’ or whatever it was I was supposed to say.

I told whoever was listening nearby ‘I’m just going to see how far I can get.’ Maybe I was lowering my expectations, so I wouldn’t show disappointment, or embarrassment. The old feelings of klutziness flooded my mind (I guess I forgot to mention: sports - or anything even remotely connected to them – are not my thing; I was chosen dead last for anything I ever played, and my coordination is simply non-existent. I. Am. Not. Kidding.). This wasn’t me hiding in the woods where no one could see. This was me, on a wall, with lots of witnesses, several of whom had cameras, and who weren’t afraid to use them.

One hold at a time. Some shouts when I paused. “It’s just to the right of your foot!” “Reach for the purple one!” “You can do it, Mrs. B!”

There was that midpoint moment when I realized I was higher than my five-feet-seven-and-a-fraction inches ever want to be, particularly up on a wall – but in that same instant, I knew I was going for the top.

That ceiling on my head felt incredibly great.

I did it.

Not huge to some. We’re not talking Everest here.

But for me, a 51-year-old non-athlete, the aches I feel today, the day after the retreat, are my reminders: I ran with endurance the race set before me, with the Lord, and for the Lord.

We ended the retreat on Sunday, after our morning gym time, walk to breakfast and walk back, walk to the Youth Chapel (more music, memorizing Hebrews 12:1 & 2, and messages, complete with helping the kids with note-taking ideas) and walk back, with a hike.

We all walked on what this Bible conference calls their Scripture trail. Along a three-quarter to a mile long trail, they have white wooden signs with verses on them. We ended the trail on the top of the mountain, where we spread out the elements for communion, Bill spoke to the group, and we ‘showed the Lord’s death until He comes.’

It was one of those times that you know will just linger in your mind and heart for good.

There was so much more, and I’ll write about it and show more pictures. But I wanted to write here about how Jesus spoke to me. I had wanted so much for these kids on this retreat – but I had also begged God for my husband, my own children (all three, and my son-in-law – we were all on this trip, which was such a gift), and – please, Lord, I had begged – for me. I knew I needed that time of refreshing from the Lord.

I got more than I’d ever imagined.

We taught the kids that they need a strategy for the race, that they should not go defenseless into battle, that looking unto Jesus means joy (and if it doesn’t, they don’t really know Jesus). And the strategy for the individual race God has set before them is all in His Word. Read it, we told them. Study it. Memorize it. Listen to it taught and preached.

And yes, love it – because it reveals Jesus to us.

That was what I’d needed. I needed to know that it’s not time to sit back. It’s not time to say I’ve done all I’m going to do, I’ve reached my goals, I’ve gotten to know God as much as I’m going to in this life.

There’s more. Jesus is our example: “who for the joy that was set before Him…”

And it’s worth whatever it costs to get there.

Full heart, crazy schedule, big plans...

2009-05-13T23:28:00.002-05:00

Bill and I lead - and speak at - our church's first youth retreat this weekend.

You'd think we were moving with these kids, not just going away with them. I have lists of my lists, my head is spinning.

Sleeping bags. Messages and Bibles. Camo and sweats for paintball. Cases of snacks. Sheets of music. Supplies for communion on the mountaintop. Games and funny plans for the three hour bus ride. Pillows. Towels. Ponchos (please, God, we'd really rather not have to use them!). Travel size toiletries. Hangers. First Aid kits. Lock boxes for the medicines. Ingredients for smores for the campfire. A notebook full of charts of who is allergic to what, who can and can't take what, whom to call (with multiple back-ups, it's amazing how many phone numbers each family has) when and if someone can or can't or should or shouldn't take something. And NO cell phones. (Except for the leaders.) A technology-free weekend. An amazing thing...

Twenty-seven teens and a few pre-teens in the mix. And the four of us (me, Bill, daughter Bethany and son-in-law Nate) leading. Thirty-one in all. A big, gorgeous bus. A gym. Rock wall climbing. (Did I mention five hours of paintball on Saturday?) A youth Chapel in the woods. A lovely dining hall. Bunk beds. The Endless Mountains of Pennsylvania, in May.

Hebrews 12:1 & 2. Looking Unto Jesus. By this time Sunday night, we should know it: in our minds, and in our hearts.

Tonight, we sat in the messy living room (piles of stuff, in that pre-packing state that fosters excitement and yes, panic) and ate take-out Chinese food, talking over what to do if, how to tweak the schedule, and how we are working on the messages together. And then - we got out the music and went over it, singing together and finding the melodies and harmonies that will be the score to God's work.

Refiner's Fire. There is a Redeemer. Open my eyes, Lord. Come, Holy Spirit. I love You, Lord. I surrender all...

All to Thee my blessed Savior, I surrender all.

Pray for us. Pray for these kids - their names are here.

(Are we really doing this??)

National Day of Prayer!

2009-05-07T09:51:00.001-05:00

Leaving in a few minutes to go to our town hall, to stand with my (homeschooled!) children outside at the flag pole, and join with several others from my township. We will pray together for our community, our state, our nation, our president and other leaders, our military - and ourselves.

I wrote about it here.

Worth a thousand words...

2009-04-28T20:19:00.003-05:00

I'll post some of my favorite new spring pictures soon, but thought I'd share the link to my political blog (A Vertical View - for a Change) and a very special picture I have there :-)

http://averticalview.blogspot.com/2009/04/why-i-volunteer-for-huckabee-and-for.html

Our Good Friday

2009-04-11T09:44:00.003-05:00

Last night, we joined together as a church to adore and worship our Lord and Savior. The choir sang (what a thrill to have my Dad lead the choir and to have my mother, daughter, son-in-law, aunt, uncle, and cousin sing in the choir - as well as all the others who are my dear spiritual family), Pastor (my Dad) gave a stirring message, and members of the Cross Culture youth group presented "I Will Arise."

My daughter Bethany choreographed and directed it. My sixteen year old son Nathan portrayed Jesus. And my turning-thirteen-year-old daughter Hannah had a part in which she steps into the middle alone, then has two of the other girls by her side.

To see "I Will Arise," go to our church's blog, Chapelccino.

Looking forward to tomorrow - and celebrating the Resurrection!

Edit: It's also up on youtube here.

Forgiven

2009-04-10T07:46:00.001-05:00

Tonight...

In celebration of crocuses

2009-03-21T11:12:00.004-05:00

One of the more recent joys of my life is taking pictures. ("Photography" sounds much more official and serious. I just look for light and beauty, and try to capture it...).

And while I do think of my blog as an occasional home for these shots, my primary objective is to provide a background for the lyrics of our songs of praise and worship in church each Sunday. This week, there will be some more traditional hymns sung ("All Hail the Power of Jesus' Name," "Crown Him with Many Crowns," "It is Well with my Soul," "The Savior is Waiting," and "I Surrender All"), and my own anthem of praise to God will be a celebration of crocuses as frame for those words on the 'big screen'.

There is something brave and hopeful and encouraging about a single crocus, emerging from a bed of winter-deadened leaves.

New life. Real promise. Joy. Resurrection....

Though your sins be as scarlet...

2009-03-21T11:05:00.002-05:00

...they shall be as white as snow...

(yes, I actually took this picture...)

Unspeakable

2009-03-12T23:36:00.005-05:00

It's unfathomable, unthinkable, unspeakable to me to think of the murder of Pastor Fred Winters while he was preaching in his Illinois church on Sunday morning.

The church website says this:

On Sunday, March 8, 2009, a little after our 8:15 service began, a man entered First Baptist Church and fired several gunshots at our Senior Pastor, Dr. Fred Winters. Pastor Winters was taken to the hospital but died of his wounds.

Please pray for Dr. Winter’s family, our two brave members who were injured when they stopped the assailant, for the assailant himself and his family, and for our church members as they deal with this tragic loss.

In this day, where uncertainty seems to abound creating an environment in whichhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif people are vulnerable in doing things they might not do otherwise, one thing is certain, we, as human beings need a foundation upon which we can live our lives. We at First Baptist Maryville, along with other Christian believers, share this conviction: that foundation is God’s Word. In the pages of the Book we call the Bible, we find the pathway for peace, hope, and a quality of living life despite what circumstances we find ourselves in.

To those who believe in the power of prayer, we covet your prayers right now.

On Friday morning, March 13th, at 10:30 a.m., the funeral for the slain pastor will be held. It will be streamed live on the church's website, www.fbmaryville.org

Habitations of Cruelty

2009-02-01T01:02:00.003-05:00

My Dad writes this on his new blog, "King's Cupbearers":

Stephanie Freed, Director of Rapha House in Cambodia, tells a sad story of a 15-year-old Cambodian girl who was sold in Phnom Penh by her mother to a Korean man for $500. She goes into great detail to describe how he used and abused her. She concludes by saying, "Everthing about this story sickens me. Then I realize that nobody is helped by my disgust, indignation or outrage. So I will channel my energies more productively. I will give, I will serve, I will write, I will pray, I will speak up and speak out, I will do whatever I can to relieve the suffering of survivors of trafficking and abuse and prevent other girls from becoming victims, too."

For a more productive response, read my Dad's blog post - and then write for your free copy of his book, "Habitations of Cruelty." All he asks in return is that you read the book.

It just might make a difference....

Hope....

2009-01-31T22:15:00.000-05:00

Surely spring can't be that far away....

My promise to President Barack Obama

2009-01-19T23:33:00.004-05:00

Dear President Obama,

As I write this, you are 12 hours away from becoming the 44th President of the United States of America. Congratulations!

I have a promise to make to you. I promise to make supplications, prayers, intercessions, and giving of thanks for you, just as I did for President George Bush.

Since only God knows your heart, I pray that Christ is your Saviour, and that you know Him intimately and rely upon Him fully - for eternity, and for each and every coming day in the Oval Office. I pray that He leads you to the knowledge of the truth - all truth - for that is so important in the leading of this nation.

I pray that your administration makes the way for a quiet and peaceable life for me and all of us, so that we can be a people characterized by godliness and reverence. And I pray that nothing is done in these next four years that is a stumblingblock to the salvation of anyone, and that the Man Christ Jesus is seen in this land and throughout the world as the one God and Mediator between God and man.

I got the idea for this from the Apostle Paul's first letter to another young man, two thousand years ago. In a second letter, he said this: "Be diligent to present yourself approved to God, a worker who does not need to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth."

That's what I want to do in this new year - and that's what God wants you to do, as well. With His help, and if we lean completely and totally on Him, we can.

Yes.

We can....

I. Love. This. Picture....

2009-01-12T23:45:00.003-05:00

I'll write more about this soon - but 'til then, check this out:

my brother's blog and pix of him and my Dad.

I am blessed to love them, and be loved by them...

The Party Goes On...

2009-01-02T19:21:00.003-05:00

I'm enjoying - truly enjoying - a few days away, visiting my brother Chuck and his family in Chicago.

It's been a wonderful Christmas and New Year time, and today we celebrate my Dad's birthday. (Happy Birthday, Dad - I love you!)

Last Sunday, I put together a slideshow with pictures from the past year at our church, combined with notes of praise to God from our people. (One of my favorites: "Coming to church on Sunday helps me to become a better person all week. It is like medication for the spirit. Stop taking it and you go back to your old ways.")

It made me think of my own "year in review" - and I hope to post that, along with 'three people who influenced my thinking this past year.' But beyond looking back, I look forward - with gratitude to God for the overwhelming amount of blessings He gives me.

On to a birthday dinner!

Sixteen years ago -

2008-12-28T01:26:00.002-05:00

The world became a better place.

Nathan was born.

You're an incredible young man. You inspire me to never - ever - give up.

I love you. Happy Birthday!

And I can't forget to wish son-in-law Nate a happy 23rd! (Son and son-in-law: same name, same birthday. Kinda cool...)

From my house to yours...

2008-12-25T02:07:00.005-05:00

Merry Christmas!

Christmastime

2008-12-19T19:33:00.002-05:00

Blogging's been light, but life has been full. I will post several pictures shortly, but in the meantime, remember:

Emmanuel.

God with us.

The most incredible thought, ever.

Billy Graham Christmas Special

2008-12-13T23:21:00.002-05:00

In my neck of the woods, it's on this Sunday night at 7. Check out your area's time and channel here.

There are also lots of video clips there from the show - of Steven Curtis Chapman and many others.

World AIDS Day

2008-12-01T16:28:00.001-05:00

Thank you, Mr. President.

Read here.

Watoto - Tonight!

2008-11-22T12:04:00.003-05:00

The other day I was reading about Compassion Art, an incredible vision - and endeavor - in which Christian artists are using their art to raise money for 16 groups that are touching the lives of people in the worst situations of poverty throughout the world.

These thirteen artists (Martin and Anna Smith, Michael W Smith, Israel Houghton, Darlene Zschech, Matt Redman, Tim Hughes, Stu G, Chris Tomlin, Graham Kendrick, Stephen Curtis Chapman, Andy Park and Paul Baloch) have written the majority of the Christian songs of the past decade, and they have joined together to write a book and songs for an album. All of the sales will go to CompassionArt and its charities.

Their vision:

CompassionArt is a catalyst for people to do something about the plight of poverty.

We will connect the world of much with the world of little, to create change. The giver and receiver of compassion will both be changed.

As a global charity CompassionArt is endowed with a recording and a book created by some of the most popular and biggest selling Christian recording artists in the world. All of the proceeds and royalties from the Album will be used to help the poorest of the poor.

CompassionArt will also raise funds from donors around the world to support projects that alleviate poverty and bring hope to those that are most in need of it.

CompassionArt will support projects amongst the poor globally through advocacy and financial support. Through the Ambassadorship of Artists and the financial giving of donors we will create a global fund to fight poverty with a focus on Africa, India and Asia.

Half the proceeds will go toward four 'headline' charities, the other half will be divided among an additional 12 charities.

So - where does this intersect with me?

It intersects tonight.

Tonight, at Chapel on the Hill, we host the Watoto Children's Choir of Uganda, one of the four main headline charities to receive CompassionArt's gifts.

It's a perfect 'companion' night to my Dad's new book "Habitations of Cruelty." Taking your gifts and using them to turn the hearts of people to a world in need - whether through writing, singing, giving, going, sending, or caring - and always, always, through praying - it's something we all can, and must, do.

If you're in my area, come out tonight to hear this amazing group of children (made orphans by war and by the scourge of AIDS) sing with joy and the love of Jesus. Consider having them come to your church! And pray for a work of the Holy Spirit throughout the world, in which we act like Jesus so that others see Him and come to Him.

The Watoto Children's Choir, singing "I am not forgotten - He knows my name":

Shoeboxes!

2008-11-15T11:38:00.002-05:00

Our shoeboxes are packed and ready. We collect them in church tomorrow - can't wait!

Edit: We collected 95 shoeboxes!

A special weekend

2008-11-10T21:37:00.004-05:00

Oh, what a weekend.

At Chapel on the Hill's missions conference, Dad handed out "Habitations of Cruelty" (yes, handed it out; in an unusual twist, he is trying not to sell the book. He just wants people to read it. "If I've done my part," he says, "they'll do the rest." The 'rest' is to pray, give, support, care about the plight of the world's invisible, suffering children.)

It's a thin, beautifully-designed hard-cover book - with a powerful message. I'll blog soon about how to get a copy.

Because of his passion to reach for Christ those trapped in these unspeakable situations (Cambodia, Uganda, Peru), he invited two very unusual women to our conference: Grace and Stephanie.

Grace Akallo is the author of the book "Girl Soldier." In it, she tells her story of the nightmare of being abducted in the night at the age of 15, and being forced to endure seven months of an unfathomable existence at the hands of Uganda's LRA. Grace is now a graduate student, a wife and new mother - but because children are still enduring the unendurable, Grace speaks out.

Stephanie Freed is an American woman whose heart is in Cambodia. Stephanie is the USA Director for Rapha House, a place of healing for girls rescued from human trafficking. When Stephanie relates what is happening to little girls all over the world and throughout Cambodia, it is nearly paralyzing to hear. But Stephanie has determined to take that emotion and that information, and act- and to tell these stories so others act - because this must stop.

Because of Dad, I got to meet Grace and Stephanie. And because of my Dad, I get to help the other Graces out there - and help Stephanie rescue more girls, in the name of Jesus, and with His love.

Thanks, Dad! (more to come about his book...)

7 x 7

2008-11-09T23:56:00.002-05:00

For an important post about praying for our children, head on over to Angie Smith's blog.

(And while you're there, just ponder getting over 350 comments on a blog post! She's a compelling writer with a heart for God that inspires me.)

Celebrating Billy Graham's 90th Birthday

2008-11-07T01:16:00.002-05:00

I praise God for Billy Graham - a man who has inspired and challenged me for my entire life. His marriage to Ruth, too (now with the Lord), has been a blessing to me - and I have loved her writing.

For Billy Graham's 90th birthday, the opportunity is being given to share a greeting with him, and also to tell him personal stories of lives changed by the power of God through his witness. (My father-in-law accepted Christ at a crusade in Memorial Stadium in Baltimore, Maryland, in the early 1980's, and I related that in my online letter.) Go to BillyGraham90.com and have a part in thanking this man of God for a life lived to God's glory.

Making History

2008-11-04T23:53:00.003-05:00

I voted for George W. Bush twice, and I still have much respect for him. I wanted Mike Huckabee to be the nominee of my party, and then I threw my support behind John McCain and his running mate, Sarah Palin.

I lost with Huckabee, I lost with McCain/Palin. And now I have a new president (as of January, obviously).

I disagree profoundly with President-Elect Obama on many things, but I set that aside for tonight, to celebrate an America that has come so far, even in my lifetime.

Tomorrow morning, our homeschool's history schedule takes us in our 20th century study to the Civil Rights Act of 1964. What timing, for that to coincide with our country's electing the first African-American president.

John McCain put it best when he said in a very gracious concession speech, "We never hide from history, we make history." (Obama wisely called McCain "a brave and selfless leader.")

And I commit myself tonight to pray for this new president, as I have prayed for presidents before. Daniel 2:21 tells me, "And He changes the times and the seasons; He removes kings and raises up kings; He gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to those who have understanding."

God bless America.

"Voting for Trig"

2008-11-03T17:18:00.001-05:00

I just shared some thoughts from my heart about this election, and how I will be voting tomorrow, on my political blog. Click here to read it.

Praying for tomorrow - and thanking God for the right to vote!

In Praise of Autumn

2008-10-30T00:09:00.008-05:00

These pictures were all taken this fall. I use them as backgrounds on Sundays for the lyrics of worship songs in the powerpoint (well, except for the one of the family!) - so I am constantly taking pictures. It's been so beautiful recently.

I'll close with this fun picture from last fall.

Enlarge....enjoy...

October Surprise II

2008-10-28T21:40:00.004-05:00

Tuesdays, we head out about 15 miles north of our home to go to FAITH Center - that's the homeschool arts program (about 125 families) that meets in a church. That part wasn't a surprise, it's what we do every week. The surprise was the snow - in North Jersey, in October!

It never snowed at our house, though, so when we got home, the kids took what remained on the hood, made a snowball, and put it in the freezer!

October Surprise

2008-10-22T21:33:00.012-05:00

The most beautiful time of the year means a very special event in our family: Mom's birthday.

My Mom is someone who does not seek the spotlight - but her life is worthy of emulating. She is, quite simply, the most amazing woman I have ever known.

And so - we celebrate her.

Dad orchestrated it all - and kept it all a secret. So last Wednesday, my husband Bill and I went to the airport to pick up my brother Chuck and sister-in-law Lauren. That afternoon, I took Chuck and Lauren to our local grocery store, where we got the ingredients for a veritable feast: a dinner Chuck and Lauren would cook for the entire family. (Dad had told Chuck of his plans for us to eat at a very fancy restaurant. Chuck offered to cook instead. Anyone who has eaten his food would jump at that opportunity. We don't regret it...)

Shopping with them was fun. It's something you don't take for granted, when you live so far apart (we're in New Jersey, they're in Illinois). Meanwhile, my nephew Chucky and niece-in-law Holly drove from Michigan - and that night we were finalizing all our plans: what time we'd have to leave in the morning, where we'd hide the cars, who would come to the door first...

And that wasn't all. Just when she was getting used to the idea, in walked two more surprises.

The party had just begun. We had breakfast together at a local diner, and then it was time to prepare...

...the birthday girl...

I figured out that if a dining room table is put on a diagonal in the room, with a card table placed on the end, and (this part's a secret; shhhhhh....oops, unless you enlarge the picture!) little bowls placed upside down under the four legs so it's an even height, you can fit a lot of people (12, to be exact).

My grandmother's Waterford crystal and various pieces of china added to the beauty of the table. (And yes, I added leaves from my aunt's sugar maple.)

Meanwhile, the chef (and his gorgeous assistant, who is a fabulous cook in her own right) was hard at work. Chuck planned the gourmet menu: breaded shrimp scampi, stuffed mushrooms, romaine salad with Asian pears and crumbled blue cheese in an apricot vinaigrette, garlic slow-cooked roast beef, twice baked potatoes, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, bread and olive oil with parmesan cheese, and tiramisu.

It was so, so good...

(left to right: Bill, me, Lauren, Chuck, our son Nathan, Holly, Chucky, our daughter Bethany, daughter Hannah, behind them: Dad and Mom)

Mom got presents, too, special things she wanted and needed. The most special, though, was the picture Holly drew of the family cottage on Lake Ontario.

The best gift she got, though, was family itself.

We got an even better gift, however - we got Mom.

We love you!