Happy Birthday Zoe

Her name is Zoe Elizabeth. Her name means “Life Dedicated to God”. I’m not sure it was fair to name her like that but it seemed appropriate at the time. The name still seems right-especially the “life” part.

She burns brightly, this one. She sings with abandon and loses herself in her imagination. The worlds she roams in her mind are filled with ideas as brightly colored as her wardrobe. She lives fast and makes decisions slowly as though each decision, even those as simple as red or green, is monumental.

On the back of her daddy’s bike, she throws her arms out and screams “woooohoooo”. In the back seat of the van, she tells stories of her dreams and gets lost in the clouds.

When she prays, she isn’t afraid to tell God just how she feels even if the rest of the family is ready to eat.

She leaves a trail behind her wherever she goes. Shoes, backpacks, toys, half eaten poptarts, all things forgotten as the next idea explodes and leads her down its path.

For years her dream was to marry her grandpa and live in a polka dot house next to I 30 where her mommom would mow the grass.

She loves bacon and gummy bears. When she eats chocolate, she wears most of it on her chin.

Today is her birthday. She is 8.

Obedience

What an awful word-obedience. It means to do what you are told to do and very often you don’t want to do what you are told to do. Well, you may want to do what you are supposed to do but I rarely do. Most of the time if given a choice I would much rather do the disobedient thing at least in the moment when the decision needs to be made.

I remember one of my first run ins with this word. I was about 2. My mom was ironing something. She told me not to touch. I touched. I learned then that not obeying was a bad option. There were bunches of times after that when obeying one or the other or both of my parents was just more than I could bring myself to do. Almost every time, disobedience ended badly.

Then I grew up. I grew up and got married and realized that marriage involves this little concept called “submission”. As a wife, it is my duty to let my husband be the boss, except that, I’m not some weak willed, easy going woman. I’m accustomed to being in charge. I’m opinionated and quite certain that my opinions are the correct opinions. So, in obedience I learned to submit (okay past tense isn’t the most honest tense).

Then I lived a little longer. I started walking closer to my Jesus. My Jesus said “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:62) That is where all the lessons learned before had to be applied. My hands were on the plow and for a minute there I almost looked back. I wanted to run my own way. I wanted to do just one more thing the way I wanted to but that still, small voice spoke into my hard headed ear. The voice said “what do you want more?” My soul screamed louder than my will. In that moment, I wanted Him more than anything else.

Obedience often brings tears to my eyes. They are tears of extreme pain and tears of joy. I think that soon I will be asked to be obedient again. My only hope and fervent prayer is that when asked, I will say “yes, my Lord.” I will say yes without hesitation and without looking back.

I watched one of the CMA videos yesterday and saw the pictures of men, women, and children face down in supplication, worship, and surrender before our awesome God. I remembered in that moment who we are. We are sons and daughters of the Most High God locked in a battle for the Kingdom. Our joy is complete and the battle is already won. We have only to obey the voice of our Father. 

Time

Time.  There are not many words that can be a sentence, fewer that can be a paragraph, and so very few that just in saying them you can convey an entire novel. Love is one. How many dreams have been made and unmade around that one word? Truth is another. Truth though is often convoluted, more like a music video than a novel.  But time is the one that twists and turns and stretches out and flies forward.

Time was when I held him in my arms. His tiny body twisted in rage and fear. He was terrified in the night. The dreams woke him up and he didn’t know where he was or who he was. I’m not even sure he was awake sometimes. I held him and rocked and prayed because I’m not that nice a person in the middle of the night.

Time was when the nightmares stopped and he became normal. He learned to depend on us to help him when he needed it. He learned that everything wasn’t an emergency. He learned that the world was safe and that cameras were for smiling at.

Time was when the realization came that for him to have a normal life; we had to let him go. We had to let him go. If we didn’t he would always be caught somewhere in between our world and that other nightmare world. I knew a bit of what Moses’ mother must have felt putting that basket with her precious baby in the river. Only, I was handing him off to the government and trusting that God would take care of him.

Time was when only the wind and the roar of the bike could cover the screams from my heart. Time was when God reminded me that He was in control and that I had obeyed and that the baby was safe. Time was when the hurt started to heal and scabs began to fall off revealing new skin-only slightly scarred. Time was when the phone rang and lawyer said “He needs you again”. Time was when I prayed a prayer of thanksgiving that my faith was strong enough to help.

Time was when in my morning Bible I read “And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord” (Luke 1:45) Time was when I watched The Passion and wondered how Mary could have believed that what was spoken would happen. How could she when the angel had said he would reign forever and he was lying dead in her lap? Somehow, I know without understanding that whatever the outcome of this trial is, it will be ok.

I so want him to go to his new family. I want him to be happy and well and loved. I want his mom to love him even more than I do. I want him to forget this part of his life. I would love to watch him grow up. I would love to go to his birthday parties and get Christmas cards. I would give up any chance of ever seeing him again to know that he is safe and loved.

Time is when I will pray. I will pray and trust that my God’s plan will be fulfilled on earth as it is in heaven and that this little one will have the best possible life. Time is now.

Pain and Potatoes

The pain tastes as fresh today as it did a year ago. You would think after all this time healing would have left a somewhat different flavor on the wound. The only difference is how long the taste of it lingers on my tongue after I dare to try it again.
Not too long ago, you wouldn't have been able to make me taste something this hard to understand.If this pain were an unpleasant vegetable, I would have shoved it deep into a pile of other thoughts, like a child hiding her peas in the mashed potato mound, hoping that the flavor would be hidden. The flavor though always pops up and if you are trying to hide it in your mashed potatoes, you end up with nasty potatoes and an even worse aftertaste.
Another technique I've seen used is to leave the unpleasant thing on your plate and eat around it. Every bite you could enjoy is tainted by the smell of the pain waiting its turn. The juices from it run into delightful things and soon everything is unpleasant.
So now, when that plate is handed to me, steaming with freshly cooked pain I go ahead and taste it. I eat it first so that it is off my plate and all the bites that follow taste that much more joyful.
Pain is inevitable. The victory though  is already won.
I rest knowing that the outcome is decided. I know that even if I don't agree with the methodology God has already worked out the ending. This pain from the past will continue to appear on my plate. I can eat it and know that it will not cause me harm. It is only pain and, in time, it will be gone.

Green Shoe Girl

We were at the American Airlines center, Michael, the two oldest girls, one of their friends and me. We were waiting for the start of the concert. The center was filling up fast with the kids who represented our hope for the future.
She had on these green ballet shoes when she stood up to sing. At 19 you could see Jesus shining through her. My first reaction was to recoil. How could this girl sing to me about Jesus? What could she know about forgiveness? The hardness of my heart gave me pause. There was still jealousy there. After all these years that icky feeling of being judged and found wanting was still there. My teens and early 20s were anything but Jesus filled. The anger left over from earlier stuff blossomed into self-hate and depression during this time. I looked at that green shoe girl and could almost taste that bitterness.
Then, my daughter said something. I looked at her and her sister beside her. They are beautiful those two, each so different from the other and different from me at their age. I laughed at myself as I realized that the prayer I pray for them daily is to let them be like that green shoe girl. Let them grow in purity and love. Let them grow strong but not be bitter. Let them show Jesus in their thoughts and actions.
Then, I didn’t want to recoil from the girl. I wanted to hug her. I wanted to thank her for being a model for them.
Here's to the green shoe girls. May you stay strong and persevere. Know that your choices are influencing others. Your testimony is beautiful, full of light. Continue to live as you are.meant to live. I’m praying for you.
And for those of us who haven’t forgotten the sting of a misspent life, embrace the forgiveness that is given to you in Christ. We are free to walk in a new life. We are free to be the green shoe girls now.