i am a christ-stumbler.

morning song.

2011-08-24T08:39:00.000-05:00

It happens every morning. The music is there.

Going to sleep is always challenging for me. Laying down the lists and the thoughts and the ideas and the cares is a slow thing. Some nights are better than others.

The Lord knows that. And He shows His love in a most special way. He gives me a morning song.

When I wake up, it's there - playing in my head, filling my heart with a soundtrack. The music changes, but the selections are always beautiful. Songs about grace, mercy, forgiveness, joy...the playlist is a sweet gift.

Today's morning song is "I am Set Free" by All Sons & Daughters. Perhaps it can be your morning song too - your soundtrack for this day.

(musings) crazy people.

2011-08-16T08:06:00.002-05:00

The brothers live with their very sick father. Mental illness runs deep in the family.

We were told not to invest much time talking to the man who answered the door - told he was "crazy."

He said God had spoken to him in a dream once. Looking at his eyes, I knew he was telling the truth.

God has spoken to me too. I guess I must be crazy.

People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed and redeemed; never throw out anyone. -Audrey Hepburn

Everyone deserves to be told about the beauty of grace and mercy. Everyone needs to be shown love. Even crazy people like you and me. We're all People of the Second Chance.

destination and the journey.

2011-08-07T00:02:00.001-05:00

If I hunger for the destination, may I still enjoy the journey? There is such great beauty in both.

Today I was reminded of the value of gathering soul snapshots of the fleeting moments. The impression of the day may be just as precious the clarity of the instant.

French van. Personalized. We are His hands.

Late summer bounty. Oh taste and see.

Romanian forest. His ways are life.

Today I was reminded of the value of savoring the breathtaking destination given me. The value of being still after the fleeting moments, of the beautiful collision of impression and clarity.

Sunset. Surduc, Romania.

Shout it, go on and scream it from the mountains. Go on and tell it to the masses. He is God. ~All the Poor and Powerless (All Sons and Daughters)

(musings) a delicate life.

2011-08-01T17:16:00.000-05:00

This life itself is but a season, wrapped in seasons. It is a memory book filled with small moments. It is a breath, a fragrance, a song, an ever-so-delicate bloom.

It calls for divine gentleness.

The Lord expands life to those who love Him. He makes the season abundant and full. He pours joy into the delicate moments and they drink it in.

He allows the bloom to be brighter. He makes the fragrance sweeter. He makes the memories more vivid. He sings the song.

the perfect place to live.

2011-07-30T10:20:00.000-05:00

Photo Courtesy of Outdoor Home

Wisdom is calling out to you, inviting you to live in her neighborhood. She'd love for you to sit with her, talk with her, dine with her. She stands outside waving, encouraging you to pull in the driveway, come inside the house. She lives with Prudence, and her friends Knowledge, Discretion, Integrity and Nobility are next-door neighbors. They are all inside her home- drinking sweet tea and living life to its fullest. She knows other neighborhoods might look more beautiful, might be more lush and enticing with their fine stone and fancy gates. But she knows you'll not be happy there. She knows her warm, home-spun street - with its simple, sunshine-filled homes and Dutch doors - is worth the investment. Conversations there are true and honest and kind - there's not one self-serving, snide "bless your heart" remark to be found. Advice is sincere and uplifting - and the words are words to live by. Days are full and sleep is sweet.

Wisdom has lived in the neighborhood for what seems like forever. She was there when the Builder and Architect designed it. She put hand to the plow when the gardens were being designed, and helped drill the deep wells of life-giving springs. She watched Him speak life into the community - watched him craft the homes and breathe color into the flowers. She smiled as He drew the roads in just the right way to encourage slow, thoughtful drives. He set the boundaries, filled the ponds, painted those Dutch doors with bright, inviting colors.Wisdom's neighborhood is rich in all the things that count. And the gardens there? Full and abundant, with enough for everyone. Every single person has all they need. Their aprons are filled with sun-kissed, sun-ripened delights.

The sweet tea is ready. The Dutch door is open.

(inspired by Proverbs 8)

i am a cheater.

2011-07-27T09:43:00.001-05:00

Be glad of life, because it gives you the chance to love and to work and to play and to look up at the stars. ~Henry Van Dyke

I'll admit it. I'm suffering from a bad case of "restless life syndrome" right now. Though my days are full of perfectly lovely God-crafted moments, there are some rough patches that look a lot like our backyard - scratchy and prickly and uncomfortable. I'm praying for rain. I know it's coming - it always does. But right now, it's dry. And I'm dry.

And it's easy in seasons like this to allow my eyes to wander - to look longingly at the lives of others and begin crafting stories that I just know are far more adventurous and sexy than mine could ever be.

I begin writing fairy tales, when my own true story - with its seasons of drought and its seasons of rain - has a far greater "happily ever after" than anything I could imagine or even think.

And that's cheating on this life.

Don't allow the flirtations of someone else's beautiful life to catch your eye. Don't dabble in the affections of another's journey. If you chase after a different story, you'll stumble and scatter every word of your own. Live your life fully. Grab that pen and write. Let the Lord breathe the words into your heart. Let the Lord craft the most beautiful sentences out of those words. Let your God-given, everyday life be the best story you tell. (inspired by Proverbs 6)

(musings) love and faithfulness.

2011-07-19T08:14:00.001-05:00

Cling to steadfast love and faithfulness as you travel this life. Wear them like you wear the most elegant of jewels. People will be in awe of them. People will find them absolutely stunning.

And trust the Craftsman. If He created the jewels, how much more can He create beauty in you as you journey. Don't concern yourself with how the facets will be chiseled, or how each bead will be strung. The Craftsman's eye for detail will take even the most flawed of stones and transform them into perfection. His design will be breathtaking - and life-giving. And eternally beautiful.

Inspired by Proverbs 3

(musings) where the lord lives.

2011-07-14T09:10:00.000-05:00

Just trust in the Lord - move into His neighborhood. Settle in and make friends with His kind faithfulness. Sit on His porch swing, and have lingering conversations with Him about life and love and all things worthwhile and everything mundane. He'll knock on your door bearing beautifully fragrant, mouth-watering grace-filled gifts. He'll surprise and delight you daily.

Inspired by Psalm 37:3-4

the communion of solitude - a confession.

2011-07-13T09:52:00.000-05:00

This is a confession of sorts. Or maybe it's a prayer.

I am craving a day of just sitting on the balcony and listening - for hours on end. Then simply transcribing. I'm hungry for the quiet that reverberates through the heavens and into my heart. I'm thirsty for the communion that is found in solitude.

The present season is a good season, full of projects and writing and baking and hopes and dreams and friends and family. There are quiet moments early in the day and late at night - moments where I breathe in sacred words from my sweet God All-Mighty and breathe out thoughts and prayers. But there is a hole in my heart that is filled by the days of quiet listening.

So, if you read this and feel so inclined, hold me to the highest. Tell me it's OK to put the present season on hold for a day. Remind me of the communion of solitude. And listening. And simply transcribing.

I promise. I'll hold you, too.

Who I am. Today.

2011-07-08T08:46:00.000-05:00

Today, I have a date. There won't be flowers or wine or fancy food. The picnic basket will be filled with sodas, chips, water - and sweet potatoes and applesauce. A stray or two may come along.

The music won't be romantic, and I won't wear a flowing dress.

But the date will be perfect. Because it will remind me who I am - and whose I am.

I am wife, Scooby, June Bug, Sweet Pea.
I am mom, mommy, mother (said in a deep, affected voice with a smile).
I am Gigi.
I am loved. Without condition. Regardless of what I do.
I am chosen. A pearl of great price. A princess, really.

Today, I'll not listen to the whispers of "you need to be a somebody to count for something." Today, I'll not surrender to the pressure of needing to find my place or make my voice louder in this world. Today, I'll walk away from finding the perfect words or the perfect picture to capture the perfect moment.

Today, I'll simply rest in the beauty of being on a date with God and my family. Today, I'll rest in the beauty of being alive.

(musings) a thousand words

2011-07-02T23:55:00.001-05:00

(musings) open hands.

2011-06-25T10:36:00.003-05:00

Those with hands open to give can't help but receive.

(musings) painting.

2011-06-24T09:41:00.002-05:00

Let's paint a picture of the Lord God All-Mighty that will hang on the walls for new generations to see. Let's paint one of new mercy and grace, of a tender Savior who greatly loves and sets prisoners free, of a strong Commander who is mighty in battle, of a holy Heavenly Father who is worthy of all praise. Let's paint it in vivid colors that won't fade over time. Let's paint with strokes bold and delicate, with texture and nuance. Let's paint a canvas large enough for all to see and small enough to stand ever-so-near. And let's paint a story worth reading, a scene worth entering, a landscape worth running in...

~inspired by Psalm 102

Ebb. Flow. Change.

2011-06-18T09:07:00.001-05:00

No crashing curls. No mist-filled air. Simply one rhythmic wave after another.

Orange Beach, Alabama. Early morning moments.

In moments so small they might be missed while in the moment, the landscape changes.

I stand on the shore and feel the ground fall away below me with each ebb and flow. The waves paint a watercolor picture of feast and fallow and feast again. On the shore is inscribed, “Behold, I make all things new.”

Let me not fight against the waves. Let this landscape change for the glory of God.

Lessons from a Tractor

2011-06-17T11:07:00.003-05:00

I heard him before I saw him. The hum of the motor blended with the wash of the waves on the quiet beach.

Before the crowds, before the laughter, before the sand castles and volleyball tournaments, there was work to be done. The beachcomber's work was evident - beautiful designs formed along the driver’s journey. Slowly and without fanfare, he created the palette for the colorful day. It would be a rare soul who would gratefully recognize his gift later in the day, though they would enjoy its benefits.

But still he worked. Still he created the palette. As sleepy vacationers complained about the tractor’s noise, he worked. As impatient children growled their frustration at his slow progress, he worked. As the sand shifted and moved and stirred, not wanting to yield to the design, he worked. He knew his purpose - and he honored it.

I wept as I watched the designs being formed, thankful for the picture of Colossians 3:23 in that beachcomber on the early-morning beach. I needed to be reminded of what my purpose is and Who it is I am working for - as I work and serve and simply live this life I’ve been given. I needed to be reminded that purposeful work often goes unnoticed by others but never by the Lord. I needed to be reminded to be the soul who gratefully recognizes purposeful work in others rather than complain or growl because it doesn’t meet my own self-serving expectations. I needed to be refocused - and the hum of the motor whispered "Simply. Serve. Jesus."

Work willingly at whatever you do, as though you were working for the Lord rather than for people.

Note: Thanks to Patrick Lockerman for giving this landlocked gal a vocabulary lesson. Now I know what "beachcomber" really means.

Today's Joy.

2011-06-07T00:04:00.000-05:00

Last season's swimsuit. Yesterday's hairdo. Today's joy.

For most of life, nothing wonderful happens. If you don't enjoy getting up and working and finishing your work and sitting down to a meal with family or friends, then the chances are that you're not going to be very happy. If someone bases his happiness or unhappiness on major events like a great new job, huge amounts of money, a flawlessly happy marriage or a trip to Paris, that person isn't going to be happy much of the time. If, on the other hand, happiness depends on a good breakfast, flowers in the yard, a drink or a nap, then we are more likely to live with quite a bit of happiness. ~Andy Rooney

(musings) sparkle.

2011-06-05T13:07:00.001-05:00

In every mundane moment, there's something more to be found. Lord, help me to see with eyes that see beyond the seen.

discarded sugar dust. a mess to clean.

sunshine + discarded sugar dust = beautiful sparkle.

Ritual. Reminder.

2011-06-05T11:06:00.000-05:00

The morning ritual.

The slightest bit of sun peeks through the blinds. The pup snuggles. The precious husband brings coffee and a kiss. The computer is opened to three tabs - EXAMENme, BibleGateway, and Matthew Henry's commentary.

And so it begins. And so it fills. Without morning ritual, there is no life in my veins. Listening to my Lord in the beginning of the day allows me to listen with my heart the rest of the day.

And on days like today, as I pray for so many who are needing, the words He speaks are a personal love letter.

But now, God's Message, the God who made you in the first place, Jacob, the One who got you started, Israel: "Don't be afraid, I've redeemed you. I've called your name. You're mine. When you're in over your head, I'll be there with you. When you're in rough waters, you will not go down. When you're between a rock and a hard place, it won't be a dead end— Because I am God, your personal God, The Holy of Israel, your Savior. I paid a huge price for you: all of Egypt, with rich Cush and Seba thrown in! That's how much you mean to me! That's how much I love you! I'd sell off the whole world to get you back, trade the creation just for you." ~Isaiah 43:1-4 (MSG)

God Teaches through Toenails.

2011-06-02T10:38:00.004-05:00

I wish the race was prettier. But it’s not.

Happier toes. April 25th.

Running has become a picture of my everyday life. There are days when it’s easy to put on the shoes, days when I just don’t want the feeling of my feet dancing on the pavement or trails to end. There are days when those same shoes feel like lead. There are seasons where faithfulness is easy - and seasons where I am so weary or busy or just plain lazy that faithfulness is more a deliberate decision than a joyful happening. But still I run.

Mind you, I’m not a great runner. I’ve laughed that “I run to eat.” But since 2010, running has been there, thanks to great cheerleaders like my friends Amy, Crystal, Rick, Courtney, and my sweet family. It’s less about the act of running, and more about the experience of it. It’s about the rhythm, the soundtrack that plays when music is in one ear and the birds and breeze and barking dogs are in the other, the changing palette of colors as the seasons awaken and then slumber and then awaken again. And it’s about what God says. He speaks about endurance, focus, joy, disappointment. He reminds me about the beauty of community, the power in friendship, and the essential need we all have for encouragement. He teaches through good moments, and He teaches through pain.

And right now, He’s teaching through toenails.

On April 30th, I ran the Music City Half-Marathon with one of my oldest and most precious friends, Migdalia. We both did everything right to prepare - purchased shoes that worked best for our feet, trained well, rested well, dressed well, set realistic goals, and cheered each other on. We crossed the finish line together and wore our medals with pride (as we ate fried chicken and biscuits at Loveless Cafe). The day is now documented as an official “bucket list” moment for me.

The blue polish covers the bruises underneath the toes. The bandaids cover the sadness. The tape holds the bandaids on.

Now, a month later, I’m doing all I can to hang on to two toenails. They’ve been trimmed and painted to look like all the other toenails on my feet. They are bandaged and taped tightly when I run. I’ve even gone so far as to Superglue the edges down when I wear sandals so they won’t move. But at the end of the day, those old nails are coming off. Slowly. Very slowly.

To be perfectly honest, I don’t want them to leave. They’ve worked well for a really long time. There’s nothing really wrong with them at all. In fact, they were doing their job perfectly when they were damaged in the battle of that half-marathon. And they were damaged “just because” - not due to tight shoes or a bad fall. But “new” is happening underneath the bruises and nail polish. It’s a new I can’t see, a new I don’t fully understand, and a new that doesn’t seem to be happening with any speed. I can’t rush it. I can’t fix it. I can’t fake it. But I can rest assured it’s going to be better.

And so He teaches. He reminds me that, for the most part, trials come not because of anything we've done or not done - they just happen. We run the race well and still get bruised. And if we remain faithful, the best awaits on the other side of the pain. Today, it’s through Job 23 (the paraphrase is mine).

He's working on my left, but I can't see what He's doing. He's working on my right, but I can't figure it out. But He promises that when all is said and done, I'll be refined. When His new comes, I’ll shine like gold. I'll run where He wants, I'll stay on the path.

What does God use to teach you in your everyday life?

(musings) Manna.

2011-06-01T09:11:00.000-05:00

Today, I asked "Can manna be packed in a picnic basket?"

And today came the answer.

...Even if you have only bread or water, with these you can still meet the dues of hospitality. Even if you do not have these, but simply make the stranger welcome and offer him a word of encouragement, you will not be failing in hospitality. Think of the widow mentioned in the Gospel by our Lord: with two mites she surpassed the generous gifts of the wealthy.

~St. Theodoros, the Great Ascetic

Father, please help me to keep my basket full for others, even in seasons of simply manna.

(musings) Symphony.

2011-05-28T09:51:00.000-05:00

Christ grabbed His conductor's baton, stepped into the orchestra pit, and taught each of us the fine, delicate notes of His original score. He wasn't concerned with which musicians were professionals and which musicians had never played before. He heard the song in each of us - a song of hope.

When we live in harmony, we are a symphony.

Let the peace of Christ keep you in tune with each other, in step with each other. None of this going off and doing your own thing. And cultivate thankfulness. Let the Word of Christ—the Message—have the run of the house. Give it plenty of room in your lives. Instruct and direct one another using good common sense. And sing, sing your hearts out to God! Let every detail in your lives—words, actions, whatever—be done in the name of the Master, Jesus, thanking God the Father every step of the way. ~Colossians 3:15-17

(inspired by Romans 15)

(musings) He whispers

2011-05-27T09:01:00.001-05:00

The Lord whispers definition...

Today, He whispers "quiet time is a moment - and a command."

Shine.

2011-05-26T09:20:00.002-05:00

Today, I want to be a star. Today, I want to shine.

God is - with painstaking detail - crafting His story within you. And He is giving you the power to say "yes" to that story - and to Him. Watch Him work. Savor every moment. Let Him shine in you, so you can shine like stars in a world that desperately needs His light.

(inspired by Philippians 2)

God Weaves Beautiful Tapestry.

2011-05-26T08:50:00.000-05:00

This is the story of rocks and paint and sugar and smiles. And how God weaves all things together into a tapestry – for His glory, for our joy, for the good of others.

When love and skill work together, expect a masterpiece. - John Ruskin

Making play places safer. Teaching girls sweet skills. Transforming bedrooms into places to dream. Brightening the “hello.” Celebrating 7 years of love and care for the discarded. Our time at Cerecaif was a true tapestry of joy, hope, and love.

You Bring - Love.

2011-05-23T18:38:00.001-05:00

This is the story of a little man and his sweet corazoncito – and the power of returning.

Once upon a time in the year 2008, a love story was born. In the corner of a sun-drenched courtyard at a little nursing home called Cabacitas de Algodon (Little House of CottonTops), a little man had set up his small “studio.” He carefully drew a house, his feeble hands holding well-worn colored pencils. This wasn’t any house, mind you. It was an elevation – the type of sketch used by homebuilders. Meticulous and mindful, he focused on his work, oblivious to the team of North Americans who had walked through the gates with guitars and new shoes. His art was his passion.

And it was someone else’s passion too.

Courtney walked over and asked to see the sketch. At first he was shy, but when she shared she was an artist too, he smiled. His name was Don Manuel, and he was a construction worker until an accident sent him to the hospital. Without a family to care for him, Don Manuel and his permanent limp (from a broken hip) were moved to Cabacitas to live out their days. He showed her his other sketches – of mountains and lakes and buildings. He found his inspirations in magazine photos, and copied each one with such fine detail. She asked to see his pencils, and then quickly ran to the bus to get a fresh supply of colored pencils and crayons for him to use. He hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. That day, Courtney fell in love in Don Manuel.

The next year – knowing she was returning to Cabacitas – Courtney collected even more art supplies for Don Manuel. Her friend JimBo donated a very handsome case filled with fancy design tools. She couldn’t wait to see if Don Manuel was still there, and if he would remember her. As she walked through the gate of Cabacitas, she spotted the little man with the limp. He was again working on sketches in the sun-drenched courtyard. He saw her and smiled. She showed him a photo of her visit a year before and asked if he remembered. He did. They looked at his new sketches, and she then presented him with his gifts. He wept, hugged her and kissed her on the cheek – then cradled her face in his withered hands and kissed her on the forehead. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she told him of her friends in North America who had heard about his art and wanted to give him supplies so he could do even more. And then she took one of the sketchbooks she had given him and drew. In the middle of a beautiful heart, she wrote the words “Jesus te ama, Corina.”

The next year, Courtney couldn’t wait until the day she could visit Don Manuel. She wondered if he still had his art supplies in the case he was given, and wondered if he would remember her. This time the team included six girls from Evita’s House, and she was excited to introduce the girls to the little man with the limp. As she walked through the gate, he saw her and stood. He held her face in his hands and kissed her forehead – then showed her his sketches. Grabbing his cane, he scurried off to his room, and returned with the case filled with supplies. Courtney wept as she saw how he carefully he cared for the gifts he had been given. She learned that he was now selling his sketches to visitors to Cabacitas, so that he could purchase toilet paper and snacks.

This present year, Courtney again returned to Cabacitas with her team, carrying gifts of toilet paper, pan dulce, fresh vegetables, and coffee. She laughed when she shared with her team that friends had delivered toilet paper and Pan Dulce to Don Manuel and the rest of the residents earlier in the year – and how he took an entire bag of the treats rather than just one. Standing outside the gate, she watched as he chatted with other visitors.

The once shy little man was now proudly showing his artwork to others. He spied her through the bars, and stood. She ran to him and they hugged. Again, he held her face in his hands and kissed her on the forehead. “Corazoncito,” he whispered. She sat and they talked.

For the first time, he shared his story.

An orphan, he had been raised by nuns in the city of Xela, and at one time was married to a lovely woman who had gone to Heaven. He had always wanted to be an artist, but a life as a construction worker provided for his family. Now he was unable to work, but could be an artist. He said 5pm was snack time on construction sites, and he still craved coffee and something sweet each day at that time – he satisfied his cravings with little pieces of cookie or cake that he would carefully wrap in a handkerchief and tuck away under his pillow.

Then he shared something else with Courtney.

He opened a notebook to a picture I drew two years ago. He says he looks at it everyday. He shows me that the three pages following my drawing have been left blank…in hopes of my return. I left him with a new drawing yesterday. He left me with a reminder that when we touch lives in ministry, it is seldom forgotten.

Yes. I am a happy witness to the love story...

You Bring - Promise.

2011-05-21T03:56:00.002-05:00

Today, I wept over French Toast.

Tostadas at Pollo Campero.

To be perfectly honest, my tears had nothing to do with breakfast. But when caught crying at Pollo Campero this morning, the quality of the French Toast seemed as good an excuse as any.

At the beginning of this journey, I had told the team I didn’t cry as much as I used to when serving the discarded. But those words didn’t hold much weight at all today. I woke with such a sense of longing – for my family back home and for the family God has crafted in my heart here in Guatemala. My mind kept flipping through snapshot after snapshot of precious kids who have become a part of who I am. I pondered what our home would look like with teenagers upstairs, and thought about what it would be like to remove the “short-term” adjective from “international missions.”

And so I wept.

Flowers beginning to bloom on the wall.

It happened again while baking desserts for an anniversary celebration at Cerecaif, the little orphanage tucked away under mist-covered mountains in Xela. My mind flashed to seven months ago, standing in the same cinderblock “bakery” with its garage door and propane-fueled ovens. “Please come back in May – teach our girls to cook, and please bake a lovely cake for us.” Fighting the tears, I stepped out of the bakery, into the diffused sunlight, and walked toward the main orphanage. A long cinderblock wall was being transformed into a field of flowers. Again, time traveled to seven months ago, and the question asked of my best friend, Courtney. “Please come back in May – and make the wall beautiful with art.”

The children share what they want to be when they grow up. Firefighter, teacher, lawyer, doctor, social worker...

At Cerecaif’s anniversary celebration – an event attended by close to 200 people – the tears came again as the story of the orphanage was shared. Though the details of one man’s vision to help the abused and neglected was powerful, an even more powerful thread was woven into its story. God fulfills all His promises. I thought about all the promises made and broken to the discarded – and the countless times I’ve failed when I said I would help or support or return. Or even pray.

Very happy bakers. They'll be able to make and sell the breads and desserts.

As the beautiful fragrance of freshly prepared Guatemalan comfort food filled the air, I thought about a passage I had read from Spurgeon’s “Morning and Evening” – “His favours are always performed with the love of His heart. He does not send to us the cold meat and the broken pieces from the table of His luxury, but He dips our morsel in His own dish, and seasons our provisions with the golden spices of His fragrant affections.” My mind flew back to the bakery, and the time spent with Magda, Alicia, Maritsa, Rosario and Nancy just yesterday – and how they loved the aroma of the freshly baked bread and cinnamon rolls they had learned to make.

Ashley and Kelly - and their new friends.

Tonight, as the wonderful team of folks on this journey with Courtney and me sang and played with the orphans, my eyes filled again with tears of gratitude. Seven months ago, a promise was made. Today, with the help of this team, the promise was kept.

You Bring - Family.

2011-05-18T03:54:00.002-05:00

Sometimes, girls just want to be girls. They want to listen to music and dance. They want to giggle about boys. They want to bake cookies, make beautiful things with their hands, braid hair, and talk about what life will look like when they grow up.

Today, in a transition home tucked away on a quiet cobblestone street in Antigua, girls got to be girls.

Evita's girls, posing for special pictures on their "girls day."

Sulma, Maria Jose, Topacio, Micelda, Brenda, and Nancy each have stories to share – stories of pain, abuse, abandonment, rejection. More than one has been sexually abused by a family member, and three now have children. None of the girls is over 18 – the youngest mom is 12. Some have a hard time remembering any life outside the orphan system. And all beam when they speak of the woman who has given her life to serve them.

Evita.

What a beautiful smile.

Evita is rarely seen without a smile. When the smile isn’t there, it’s because she’s hurting for one of her girls. This morning, she lost a girl at Hogar Solidario, the government orphanage she works at to make money to support the transition home she runs. “She has been very sick, and she is now in Heaven.” It is a blow to the heart of a woman who wants to see lives healed and transformed, and a difficult addition to a challenging week. “More girls keep coming to Hogar. We now have 293, and we have so few workers to help them.”

Everyone remembers the first time they meet Evita. She is a tiny woman with a huge presence. Her love for Christ compels her to serve. “Some people think I’m crazy, thinking I can make a difference in these girls’ lives, but Jesus tells me this is what I am to do. He gives me strength. He gives me wisdom. So I keep running for Him.”

At Hogar Solidario, Evita has provided stability and encouragement to the orphans. It is because of her persistence and influence our team has been able toteach job and life skills. It is because of her conviction we have been able to get to know the girls, pray with them, fall in love with the girls.

At her transition home, Evita has given wings to dreams. The girls are provided a safe home, education, counseling, and a sense of family that is so easily erased in an orphanage. It’s a rewarding but hard road for the girls – and for Evita. “Last night, I called my pastor so he could pray with me. Sometimes when you are tired, you forget who you are. You see only your failures and not what is good. I needed to remember. I think I am a light – a tiny light – in my girls’ lives. I love them all.”

Having God-crafted family walk alongside her on her journey is a gift she doesn’t take lightly. And her girls don’t forget those who return. “Every time you come, my girls grow. Seeing you walk through their door again and again gives them confidence. They see themselves as worthy.” This time, when our Orphan Outreach team walked through the door, we came with kitchen supplies, yarn and crochet needles, clothes, personal care items, medicine, and toys for the precious toddlers. And we came with new friends – friends who have now become family, who are already scheming to purchase sewing machines for the girls so they can use the skills they’ve recently learned. We’re now joining Evita in prayer for desks and computers so the girls can study at home, and for an English tutor so the girls can be even better equipped to get well-paying jobs once they finish school. And we’re praying for new “family” to join Evita’s family.

Because girls really do just want to be girls – with wings to dream.

You Bring - Hope.

2011-05-17T03:51:00.002-05:00

Hope is that thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops… at all. ~Emily Dickinson

In October of 2010, a brave woman named Evita quietly shared her dream. “I want people of God to come and teach my girls. I want the girls to have job skills. I want the girls to know how to make good decisions. I want my little moms to know how to be the best moms.” Today, she admitted she didn’t think anyone would really want to take the time. “When I got the phone call that your team wanted to teach my girls, I knew God heard my prayer. I wanted to scream ‘yes!’ even before I was asked if it would be OK. I had hoped and hoped someone would come, and here you are.”

Hope is such a beautiful word. It lights the darkest places and makes hearts glow with expectation. Today, I saw hope shine brightly in a place most people would regard as hopeless. I saw hope sing. I heard hope say, “If you believe in me, I can do anything.” I felt hope embrace and keep embracing.

So, what does hope look like?

Hope looks like 289 teenage girls learning about their incomparable worth. It looks like story after story of how Jesus treasures us completely.

Hope is a warm welcome.

Hope looks like a young woman dreaming about a better future.

Hope is a smile.

Hope looks like a beautiful challenge to rise and shine.

Hope stays close.

And hope looks like Blanca. Because hope looks like love.

On Friday, He brought contentment. On Saturday, it was provision. Yesterday, He brought people. Today, He brings hope – through cake decorating, leadership and money management training, lessons on how to care for babies and how to grow up with grace.

Hope. It lives at Hogar Solidario. It travels with our team. It has no boundaries when it comes in Christ’s name. Today we thought we’d bring it … instead we seemed to exchange it. ~Courtney Nowakowski

Theme.

2011-05-14T03:51:00.001-05:00

There’s a moment before every journey to care for the discarded where the sweet whisper of the Lord says “here’s your theme.” Last time for me, it was “Little is much.” For Courtney, it was “Jesus first.”

This time, for me, the whisper came in the words of a song:

Yesterday, as Courtney and I arrived in Guatemala 15 hours late due to severe storms – dressed in the same clothes we had worn (and then slept in) the day before – God brought contentment. Today, God brought provision – from supply purchases that were EXACTLY our budgeted amount to small “wouldn’t it be great if…” wishes that became beautiful gifts. And tonight, as we sit in a hotel room filled with clothes, shoes, baking supplies, teaching materials, and gifts for precious orphans and their tireless caregivers, we are reminded of the Lord’s provision once again. This time, He speaks through Facebook and Twitter. Yes, good old social media. He whispers through the team who will be joining us tomorrow.

Kylie McCracken suitcases packed – check! passport – check! boarding pass printed – check! alarm set for 4am – check! so excited im not going to be able to sleep…check!

Amy Studdard Hobbs Just waiting on the clock. Tick…Tock…

Shea McLaughlin Tessitore God place me right where you need me. Have me do what I was called to do.

Ashley Davidson Praying for a refreshing night of sleep, to wake up energized and ready to roll. #expectbigthings

Kylie’s photo tells the story of provision each team member has experienced as they prepared for this journey.

“My stuff fits in a carryon...but all this is a different story! Thanks to everyone who gave and get to be part of this experience with me!”

And Amy has been given a theme too. I love how the Lord whispers to each of us.

Tomorrow, our precious friends will arrive, and our team will continue a journey that began when each of us heard that very first whisper saying “go.” I wait expectantly to see what He will bring.

Oh You bring hope to the hopeless
And light to those in the darkness
And death to life
Now I’m alive

Oh You give peace to the restless
And joy to homes that are broken
I see You now
In You I’m found

And You opened the door for me
And You laid down

Your life to set me free
All that I am will serve You Lord
And You opened my eyes to see
All the wonder and awe of Christ in me
Jesus You’re everything I need

Oh You fill those who are empty
And rescue those in the valley
And through it all You calm my soul
Oh You find me in my weakness
And heal the wounds of my heartache
I worship You in spirit and truth

All honour

All glory

All praise to You

Whispers.

2011-05-12T03:44:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow night, we’ll be there again. Guatemala. Tonight, my heart is filled with a million whispered prayers. I pray for each member of our precious team – Shea, Amy, Kylie, Kelly, Richard, Ashley, Emily, Tricia, Janice, Teresa, and my fellow Wordpainter, Courtney. I pray for our dear Orphan Outreach companion Gloria and the team of translators she has hand-picked. I pray for Josue, our guardian angel bus driver. I pray for the 272 young women awaiting our arrival at Hogar Solidario, the seven girls ready to learn to decorate cakes and bake bread at Evita’s House, and the 49 sweet children at Cerecaif who remind everyone they meet of the awesome redeeming love of a mighty God. I pray for hope to shine brightly. I pray for miracles, great and small. I pray for joy like rain and power like the gravity-defying flowers that spring forth from the cliffs in Xela. And I pray for communion as rich as the time spent holding the hand of an abuelita at Cabacitas de Algodon.

I pray for beauty to be found in the margins, each and every day. Lord, let me not miss a moment.

(musings) i will

2011-04-28T08:37:00.001-05:00

I will hope in the help of You - the One who crafted this world with Your words.

I will trust in You, the One who is faithful with the faith You cradle in Your hands, who cares for those who are kicked aside by others, who feeds and nourishes those who are craving life and love.

I will believe in You, the only One who offers freedom beyond freedom, who opens blind eyes like a precious present, who lifts the heads of those who simply can't look up anymore.

I will follow You, the One who always leads and guides and directs and protects and shepherds and defends and delivers.

I will love You, God, who is always, without fail, in control - forever.

I hunger to believe with belief that is deeper than the day.

(musings) beggar's purse

2011-04-14T09:32:00.001-05:00

I am a grace-full remnant. A scrap, filled with the majesty and wonder of the Almighty. My poverty is overwhelmed by His wealth. He gives me life. He makes me beautiful.

He takes this little beggar and makes her worthy.

a short love story.

2011-04-13T23:52:00.000-05:00

This transports me to joy. Enjoy.

A SHORT LOVE STORY IN STOP MOTION from Carlos Lascano on Vimeo.

(musings) being broken

2011-04-11T14:02:00.001-05:00

Today, I surrender anew to the beauty of brokenness.

When a heart shatters, God picks up the shards and slivers and sets to work.

He takes the mortar of grace and mercy, and ever-so-carefully binds the brokenness. And when the work is completed, the heart isn’t as it was before. It is bigger, stronger, and more beautiful. Each sliver and shard now radiates with the glow of His handiwork. His light shines through the broken places. His mercy and grace hold the heart in newfound strength. It beats with the power of His craftsmanship.

Shiny Shoes

2011-04-09T09:11:00.000-05:00

I've written about shiny shoes before. Today, I've fallen in love with them even more. Today, I want to put on beautiful shiny shoes - and walk.

Those shoes were created by Christ, and He wears them daily. His love crafted the shoes that are fearless to walk in the darkest places, fearless to get dirty and worn, fearless to not be pretty anymore. Those shoes never wear out but grow more beautiful, more sturdy, more protective with every step. Those shoes of love are strong. Those shoes don't walk roads of "all-about-me." Those shoes can't be worn by those who want to carry their glory into God's glory, their kingdoms into God's kingdom. Those shoes are full of light and and light, and they expose darkness. Walk with those shoes on. They are strong and powerful, and they are highly reflective. They glow with goodness and truth. Let those shoes brighten up the darkness. Let those shoes pave the way. Let those shoes leave the imprint of their Maker...(paraphrase of Ephesians 5)

(musings) every step counts

2011-03-24T09:19:00.000-05:00

Every. Single. Step.

They all count, even the ones that are small - the ones that seem insignificant. Even the ones that seem to stumble backwards. All count, all are steps toward the prize of Christ for those who hunger for Him. All are steps toward the glory of God - even for those who deny Him.

There is no worthless day. There is no wasted journey. Every life tells a story. Even yours. Even mine.

Little is Much - Eleana

2011-03-22T00:46:00.003-05:00

I’m sitting on the balcony of our home in Austin, listening to the birds happily sing their symphony to sunshine and spring. The breeze is strong and the air almost sparkles with the freshness of the season. The music of Amy Courts is a perfect soundtrack for the day. I look down at the woven sisal rug that adorns our little outdoor living area, and my heart is whisked away to other birds and other breezes and other fragrances – and to a woman named Eleana.

Cerro de Oro, from Lake Atitlan

Cerro de Oro, the Hill of Gold, is a rural community tucked away at the base of a hill on the shore of Lake Atitlan in Guatemala. Legend has it there is an underground palace in the small mount that looks like a sleeping elephant. The Spanish fought and killed to find the treasure in that palace – and it’s rumored the Tz’utujil (Tsoo-tweel) Indians who battled for their lives hid every jewel and every piece of gold in an area of the palace only accessible by a secret underwater cave.

Our transportation from Santiago to Cerro de Oro.

There’s really no reason to visit the legendary Cerro de Oro these days – no attractions, no monuments, no opportunity for tourism. People visit Santiago, which is 30 minutes away. People drive to the ChukMuks, planned communities which are now home to the thousands of people of Panabaj who were displaced when Hurricane Stanley swept through the Western Highlands with force and fury in 2005. But the roads then get smaller, rougher, and less traveled. More people travel on foot from village to village – men with large bundles of wood on their backs or bags of coffee beans for the vendors that will drive along the roads to make their purchases.

Cinder block, reeds, and rock. There's electricity nearby, but not in these neighborhoods.

The entrance to Cerro de Oro is lined with beautiful trees, and the pavestone road is like hand-hewn artwork. But the welcome is short-lived. The town itself is dry and dusty and windy and worn. The few new homes stand out in the midst of the mud and thatch; most of them built by missionaries wanting to offer a bit of a better life to the families who have so little. Volcanic rock, a reminder of Stanley, is used to create “streets” in the winding neighborhoods. The fragrance of burning wood and chicken coops permeates the air. Only those who know the neighborhoods well can maneuver the dirt trails, livestock, dogs, and trash to visit the people living there.

Tomas and the deacons of Mission Bautista

I had visited Cerro de Oro in October with a team that brought humanitarian aid to Mission Bautista, a tiny church pastored by a man named Tomas. The church, with its mud floor and corregated metal walls and roof, seemed so primitive. But now, after visiting Eleana, the high ceilings and exposed lightbulbs are palatial.

You might consider Eleana one of the fortunate ones in Cerro de Oro. She has a husband. There are so many single moms because of the Guatemalan Civil War, which lasted from 1960 to 1996. The men left and never returned. Some died, and some started new lives with new wives in new places like Mexico, Canada, and the United States. Eleana’s husband stayed. But there is trouble in the household, and she had asked that Tomas and his missionary friends come and pray for her.

Her home is a crude one-room adobe and rock structure with a single window that looks out onto a courtyard of sorts. The courtyard seems to be used as a cooking area. There is an open firepit with an oil drum lid used as a cooktop, baskets with vegetables, and chickens running loose. Clotheslines are strung across the entrance to the courtyard, awaiting the laundry that will be washed either in a creek or in a community well. The door to the home is a tattered piece of cloth. There is no electricity or running water.

Eleana and Yolanda. It was early afternoon, but there was no light in the home.

Inside, the smoke from another open fire filled the dark room and our lungs. Eleana held her baby girl Yolanda and sat on a woven mat that serves as her sofa during the day and her bed at night. In a quiet voice, she shared her story.

Her husband works, but he spends the money he earns on alcohol. There is little money left for food or clothing. She is unable to work because she has small children to care for. Her baby is sick and won’t get better. Her husband worships idols. She worships God.

She asked us to pray for her husband’s healing, her baby’s healing. To pray for her family. To pray that God would provide. She seemed so helpless, so all alone. Her beautiful round face was weary from the struggle. I wanted so much to simply sit with her and hold that baby so she could stretch her arms a bit – or perhaps take her across Lake Atitlan and pamper her with good food under the tropical trees in Panajachel. I wanted to tell her just how lovely she was to me – and to God. I wanted to let her know I grew up in a home with an alcoholic dad and a mom who couldn’t work – with a dad who hated God and a mom who loved Him. And I knew what it felt like to be alone – and what it felt like to know I was beloved in the midst of the pain.

But I was helpless too.

You see, Eleana spoke Tz’utujil, a Mayan language that’s unique to the people living on the southern shores of Lake Atitlan. She understood no Spanish. To simply pray for her required translation to Spanish and then to her native language. Even saying the name God was a three-step process.

God - Dios - Ajaaw (ah how)

We stumbled through our prayers, speaking in simple phrases that were then translated and translated again. I sat on the mud floor next to her mat, thinking about the words to an Amy Courts song, “Hold You Up.” The lyrics became fresh and new to me in that moment. “If I could speak, you know I’d say the right things…”

Speak - Hablar - Tzijooneem (dzee-hone em)

I turned to my friend Gloria who works for Orphan Outreach (a great ministry that serves the people of Santiago and Cerro de Oro) and whispered, “Can we tell her she’s beautiful? Is that OK? She needs to know she’s beautiful.” She smiled, and whispered my request to Tomas. Quietly, he motioned to Gloria and me as he spoke to Eleana in Tz’utujil. She smiled for the first time – a shy little smile. That small, likely-not-noticed-by-anyone-else moment meant the world to me.

Little - Poco - Tz’iit [tz- eat]

Much - Mucho - K’iy[ k- ēē]

If you’d like to learn more about ministry to the people of Cerro de Oro, you can contact Orphan Outreach. The needs are many there – everything from shoes for the kids to safe homes and medical treatment for the families. Thanks to the amazing people at Eagle’s Nest for setting up our journey across the water, and to Orphan Outreach for allowing us to serve in Santiago and Cerro de Oro.

Little is Much - Victoria

2011-03-22T00:45:00.001-05:00

I love little fighters. You know the ones – the kids that seem to defy the odds every day. The children that keep saying, “I will not let my circumstances define me.” There are so many of them here in Guatemala. I remember years ago meeting a bright-eyed teen named Cecilia. She had literally grown up in government orphanages. But she was a tenacious girl, and she saw a life bigger than her cinder block and razor wire walls. It was that spirit that allowed her to live in a transition home with several other young women. I asked her what she wanted to do with her life, and she was resolute in her answer. “I want to be an attorney. I want to make a change in my country.”

The little fighter.

I’ve met another Cecilia, though she doesn’t know what she wants to be or what her name is. In fact, no one knows at this point. Little “Victoria” came to live at Eagle’s Nest only a few weeks ago. She was relinquished to the court system, and God made sure she found a good home on a mountaintop. She’s a feather of a baby who can easily get lost in your arms when you hold her. The mamas at Eagle’s Nest are working diligently to help her gain weight, and she is monitored throughout the night to make sure she is resting well. They’re not sure if she can hear the gentle voices telling her she’s fearfully and wonderfully made. But they keep whispering.

You see, Victoria only has one little misshapen ear. And she’s prone to seizures. Though she’s two months old, she is the size of a newborn. It’s difficult for her to suckle. The odds are stacked against her.

But Victoria is a fighter. You can feel it when you hold her and let her tiny hand wrap around your finger. You can hear it in her cry. You can see it when she’s sleeping. She wants to grow and thrive. But she needs so much care, so much love.

So her family at Eagle’s Nest fights for her and alongside her. And when you meet her, you can’t help but want to join her team. It’s easy to picture her running on the playground or reading books or singing “Sapo Sapo” with the kids at New Day School. And I believe she will do all these things – and more.

Tonya and Teri join little Victoria's fight.

Last night, as my precious team from Austin Christian Fellowship spent their last evening with the kids at Eagle’s Nest, several of us took turns snuggling with Victoria. As she slept, her rhythmic breathing captivated me. It was bigger than she was. It seemed to say, “I’m strong. I’m brave. I’m here.”

Yes you are, little fighter. Yes you are.

You can help Eagle’s Nest care for Victoria by getting involved in their sponsorship program. And you can serve at all the Eagle’s Nest ministries too.

Little is Much - Irma

2011-03-22T00:43:00.000-05:00

She’s a tiny little thing, with a shock of disheveled black hair and huge eyes that seem to drink in everything around her. She journeys to Eagle’s Nest every day at lunch with her aunt (only a few years older than she is), where she will be fed a hot meal. More often than not, you’ll see her take a portion of her food and put it in a plastic bag or a cap to take home to other family members. Her aunt will then let her eat any scraps left from her plate.

Irma and her aunt, eating lunch at the Manna program at Eagle's Nest.

Her name is Irma. And she makes my heart smile.

Irma and her family live below Eagle’s Nest in a small mud and clay home. I’ve watched her walk home, through the fields of onions and potatoes, along well-worn dirt paths leading to gravel roads which lead up to Eagle’s Nest or down to Solola. She seems so small compared to the world around her, so easy to ignore.

Irma in 2010.

I first met her last summer, as she sat at one of the little tables with her brightly colored plastic plate in front of her. We stared at each other, and I made funny faces to get her to smile. She didn’t say much, but she loved seeing her face in the viewfinder of a camera. Each day, we would smile and take pictures as she ate lunch.

Her face was one of the first things I looked for on Monday when I walked to the cabana where the Manna kids were being fed (Manna is a wonderful free lunch program at Eagle’s Nest for children in the community who are needy). She was there – at the same little table with the same brightly colored plate. Her aunt sat next to her. I showed her the picture I carry with me, of her smiling.

“Hi there Irma – I know who you are.”

She smiled, and I made funny faces. And we took another picture or two.

Yesterday after lunch, the Manna kids got to swim. Irma was too small for any of the swimsuits provided to the kids, so she sat quietly in the shade and watched. I sat next to her for a while. She pointed to my camera and said in almost a whisper, “Photo.” And for the first time, she posed for me – without her aunt, without the security of the table and the plates and the food.

I showed her the picture, and she smiled brightly. She then jumped up and joined a few children who were playing, making sure I was still there watching. For the first time, I heard her laugh.

I sit now, listening to birdsong and looking at an awe-inspiring view of flowers, water, and volcanos. And yet, it pales in comparison to the beauty found in a tiny little girl living in a poor village.

True beauty.

Where little is much and the least is greatest, Irma is a princess.

Little is Much - Jose Pablo

2011-03-16T00:04:00.000-05:00

Never underestimate the power of little.

We watched through the window as the nine 3 and 4-year olds and their caregivers, also known as “mamas,” marched around the building to our door. This was a rare treat for them – an opportunity to be little chefs. Most of the children live at Eagle’s Nest, an orphanage nestled high in the hills overlooking Lake Atitlan in western Guatemala. The children’s home currently has 22 little residents, ranging in age from newborn to 13. At Eagle’s Nest, they are are provided more than food and shelter – the kids are given a good education, lots of love, and a strong foundation of faith. The children are reminded of their worth and value daily. It is evident in their eyes.

Our “GuateMission” team from Austin Christian Fellowship had transformed the apartment below the orphanage into a makeshift cooking school for our special guests. The recipe was a simple one – some cookie mix we had brought from the United States, a few eggs, and sticks of butter. One by one, the children took turns stirring the eggs and butter together, and brave volunteers carefully poured the mix into the bowls. They waited patiently as the grown-ups then made sure the dough was blended, and each little chef took their turn with the scoops to transform that dough into perfectly round circles of sugary goodness.

Every child, that is, except one. Jose Pablo.

Making the perfect cookie.

Jose Pablo is only small in stature. Inside the bright, talkative 4-year old is a powerhouse of personality. He was the first to raise his hand to help make the cookie dough, and he was the first in line to scoop that dough onto the cookie sheets. And scoop he did – with no help from any of the grownups. His little face was intense as his little hands gripped the scoop with all their might. He first tackled the walnut chocolate chip dough. A smile and two lovely cookies later, he was ready to move on.

Sugar cookies meant more than simply scooping out dough onto a sheet. It also meant getting to decorate with stars and jimmies and colored sugars. Each child sprinkled and sprinkled and sprinkled.

Every child, that is, except one. Jose Pablo.

The little chefs design their special cookies.

When it came to decorating his sugar cookie, he made sure his would be noticed. Those little hands selected a purple star and three yellow jimmies to create a design that would be different from all the others. He giggled as the cookies were served, knowing there would be no mistaking his sweet masterpiece.

Delicious.

When the little chefs finally got to enjoy their creations, Jose Pablo relished his. When the children said their “thank you’s,” Jose Pablo’s was just a little louder. And this evening, when we said our goodnights to the sweet kids at Eagle’s Nest, Jose Pablo’s hug was big and strong.

Today, the power of little invaded my heart. As I find myself once again wondering what good can come of the little things I can offer in this life, I am given a mop-topped reminder that even the smallest things – like baking cookies with an orphan – have the potential to make hearts grow. And that same mop-topped little chef reminds me to live big, even when life feels small. May I be willing to go first, unafraid to be different, eager to say thanks, and always ready to give big hugs.

Little is indeed much when God’s in it.

(musings) a small canvas

2011-03-12T09:56:00.000-06:00

My canvas is still too small. My colors are too limited. My point of view is still skewed.

Oh Lord, please help me to see the fulness of You. Let my palette hold every eternally beautiful vibrant and monotone hue. May I truly understand You as a God who is Lord of the day of goodness and Lord of the day of trouble.

Let each stroke in the story my life paints tell its own story - of fear and salvation, wrath and mercy, sorrow and joy. And let the painting grow richer in depth and texture as it reveals more and more of You.

(musings) come and listen

2011-03-08T08:34:00.001-06:00

God Himself crafted the story of salvation, and then, with wonderfully vivid and dark hues, Jesus hand-painted each illustration. He embossed the storybook with the cross, and His Holy Spirit personally reads it to each of us.

He didn't write the story for angels, didn't write the story for earth. He wrote it for you. And me. And those we love - and hate - the most.

Come and listen.

(musings) a clear view

2011-03-07T01:54:00.001-06:00

Time is such a peculiar thing. It always seems to fly by or crawl, one tick of the second hand at a time. Simple and profound moments cause the shift from one extreme to another, crafting a beautifully blurred stop-motion movie of life.

Somewhere between the fast-forward and the frame-by-frame, what's important comes into clear view.

Eternity. Community. Divinity.

(musings) being somebody

2011-03-01T17:18:00.001-06:00

I am so thankful for everyday, ordinary people. They trump pedigrees, resumes and fancy titles any day.

In a world where everybody wants to be a somebody, I think being a nobody just might be the most profound thing ever.

More than Labels.

2011-02-27T00:41:00.000-06:00

Double-orphan.

Gary Schneider, founder of Every Orphan’s Hope, used the term at IdeaCamp: Orphan Care in talking about programs to care for kids with HIV/AIDS in Africa. Though I understand the term – it means the child has no mother or father – it lands hard on my heart. I fight back tears.

There are so many labels in this whole “orphan care” space.

Biological Orphan

Social Orphan

Single Orphan

Double Orphan

Special Needs

Adoptable

Unadoptable

With every label, there’s a statistic.

More than 165 million orphans in the world, over 18.5 million double orphans in the world, 500,000 adoptable orphans in the United States, less than 1% of all orphans adopted. 38,000 orphans age out every day, 20% will commit suicide in the first year.

Lomonosov Baby Home

In Lomonosov, Russia, there is a beautifully ornate three-story home sitting on a wooded acreage. I remember walking down an icy road to visit the children from the ages of birth to three who lived there. I fell in love with my first orphan there – a sweet bundle of blondness named Ulla who looked a bit like my dad and a whole lot like love. While I played with her, my husband held a little baby boy in an area of the home designated for infants with HIV/AIDS. Lomonosov was the only orphanage in the region that would take in those infants to care for them. Some of the children at Lomonosov would be adopted, but the overwhelming majority would remain there until they “aged up” into a larger facility in a different city with more orphans who would live together until they “aged out.”

My sweet Ulla. She now lives with a forever family in Russia.

I returned to Russia, and asked about the babies living at Lomonosov. “Lomonosov doesn’t exist anymore,” a sweet friend who works in-country shared. “The government appraisal of the house and land was high, so the orphans were sent to other orphanages and hospitals in the country.” To the government, the building was far more valuable than the contents inside. The orphans living there were simply numbers – something easily divided, subtracted, added. 1 million orphans in Russia. Only 20% eligible for adoption. 90% will never leave the orphanage. Only 1% will have a viable life 5 years after aging out.

The labels and statistics are meant to stir charity in the hearts of all of us. Even I use words like “discarded” and “rejected” in describing the people who are the focus of my personal passion. But labels and stats tell an incomplete story. Because there is something deeper, something more profound in each child labeled “orphan.”

Each orphan, no matter their location or their circumstances, is known by God. Each child is made in His image and His likeness, made for His glory. Each child is fearfully and wonderfully made. He calls them beloved. He calls them blessed. He calls them family. He knows every hair on their head.

Every single one. He knows them all.

And He knows them by name. Each one. Without exception.

None are accidents. None are misfits. None are statistics. They are His.

And because they are His, they are mine. And they are yours.

“Every number is a child that God loves and we are called to love.” ~Jason Kovacs, ABBA Fund

(musings) desperate

2011-02-12T12:09:00.001-06:00

I'm learning what it means to be desperate for Christ. It is not about having no options but Christ. Being desperate for Christ is about choosing Him fully in the midst of the options - even when they are pretty and good.

Pondering the Definition of Discarded.

2011-02-12T11:58:00.001-06:00

It’s been a week since I returned from my journey to Romania. I’ve drunk countless cups of caffeine at planning meetings about a worship conference in Russia and weekend church services here in Austin and mission trips in Guatemala.

: Left: My sweet students bake cookies for others. Right: Cupcakes and brownies baked by NomNom Global for a special event. The proceeds go to help orphan care efforts in Guatemala.

I’ve baked cookies with my 10th grade bible study girls, made tarts and brownies and delicate mint marshmallows dusted in cocoa for a special event at Austin Christian Fellowship, and cooked dinner for my sweet husband. There has been good food savored with my family, good work done with my best friend, and good time communing with the Lord. Work and grad school and life are all swirling together in a common paisley pattern.

It feels normal. But I don’t.

It would appear Romania still has a tight grip on my internal clock as I try to adjust to a life that differs by 8 time zones. Then again, perhaps the struggle makes sense – she also still has a tight grip on my heart as I think about the country and her people.

I knew so little about Romania prior to July 2010. Yes, I had worked at a nonprofit which had at one time served the country’s orphan population, and had heard stories from those who had both travelled and lived there – but I didn’t fully understand the country’s plight. A request to attend a meeting with several Texas ministers in Abilene changed everything. It was in that west Texas town I was introduced to both the challenges facing the people of rural Romania, and to the individuals and churches with a passion for providing life-changing assistance in 31 villages in the westernmost region of the country. I learned about the House of Joy, the vision of pastor Ovidiu Petric and his wife, Adina - a facility in Susani, Romania, that will serve the villages with sports camps, after-school programs, life skills training, and the Gospel.

And it was in that town Red Page Ministries was first given life.

Now I’ve been there. I’ve seen the cities, visited the countryside, seen the poetic contrast between Romania and her western European neighbors. There is a gallery of faces brilliantly displayed in my mind, story after story painted in my heart, and a fire inside me to affect change in a country that is beautiful in such a rough-hewn way.
80% of those living in rural areas in Romania are classified poor. Unemployment is high. Residents who rely on agriculture eke out livings doing seasonal labor while storing up for long, harsh winters that render fields useless. Parents who want a better life for their families are sometimes forced to live apart from them as they work in larger cities. And it is common to find rural teens living alone or with strangers in larger communities, in the hopes of having greater access to higher education once they graduate from high school. While the country is now part of the EU, little has yet been done to provide improvements in systems and processes for those living outside major cities. Romania isn’t considered a developing country, yet clean, safe drinking water is a need in her villages. She’s not on the priority list of most nonprofits or foundations, yet her needs are as significant as her neighbors to the east or west. Her people may not be “third-world,” but they still struggle in a world that looks the other way.

Is it possible the term “discarded” could apply to not just people, but a place?

: Ovidiu Petric shares construction details of the House of Joy. The facility is being funded by individuals and churches.

A week ago, I stood in the snow as the sun rose over a maze of red brick walls. I closed my eyes and imagined the sounds of children laughing, imagined the aroma of soup cooking, imagined the lives that would be impacted when the House of Joy becomes more than a construction site. I imagined the teens I had met at WinterCamp serving others there - teaching, playing games, leading sports camps, talking about what it really means to be a Christ-follower. I imagined teams of people dedicated to caring for communities in need of a brighter future. I imagined hope taking root, and love growing - and the word “discarded” being destroyed in Romania.

A week later, I still imagine it. I believe it will happen, with the help of people who see Romania and her people as precious and beloved. I long to be there when it does.