pregnant with expectation

I feel like I'm pregnant.

I'm not (!) physically, but spiritually, I am.

I am heavy with waiting to birth whatever God is going to birth in me, in us, in this season of Dave-going-back-to-school-and-neither-of-us-is-working-in-the-traditional-sense-of-working-for-a-paycheck.

There is a time in pregnancy when the due date approaches, when the back aches and the waddle exaggerates and just turning over in bed is a special op maneuver and you know your baby can survive outside the womb that cradles... It's at this point you say "Now Lord. I'm ready for this baby to be birthed today. Please, let it be NOW!"

But He says, "Not yet."

So with every passing minute, you wonder if it is the minute for labor to begin. But the minutes keeps ticking into hours, into days, into weeks? Thankfully, those final stretch minutes don't tick into months and the longest I've heard any women going past their due date is three weeks.  A very looong, feels-like-another-trimester three weeks.

This is where I am right now.

Except I don't have the assurance of an end date in sight. Scripture is hardly comforting in this matter if you're looking for God to answer quickly. After all, Abraham & Sarah, Isaac & Rebekah, Jacob, Rachel, Joseph, Hannah, Elizabeth and countless others were waiting years, decades, to hear God's "Now!" And will I be able to wait that long?

Enter: Faith.

It carries us beyond our ability to see, to hear, to bear. Through faith, we ride the current of God's faithfulness to see us through the gestation period. And when I don't think I can bear it one. minute. longer., He reminds me how the ones who waited and trusted in Him were blessed beyond all they could ask or image...

Abraham & Sarah...received a son in the line of Christ
Isaac & Rebekah...blessed with a twins - a double portion
Jacob...returned home with a family, wealth, a new name and to a brother who no longer wanted to kill him
Rachel...birthed a baby who would save his family from starvation
Joseph...elevated to second in command in all of Egypt
Hannah...birthed the prophet who would anoint David king over Israel
Elizabeth... birthed the prophet would would prepare the way for, and baptize, Jesus


Is there something you too wait for in expectation? Or do you have a story to share of a time you waited on God and are now reaping the blessings of waiting in faith? Please share that we may pray and be encouraged.

transformation

Friday: Reese dressed as Willy Wonka for "Dress as Your Favorite Character" Day at school. At first he wanted to be a character from "Around the World in 80 Days" but couldn't remember the characters name. He was easily transformed with the additional of a paper hat and spiffy vest with matching pants and a collared shirt.

Sunday: Luke wanted to build a city and invited me to join him. Math tools, Lego (of course!) and our dining table transformed to a mini urban center.

Later that night, Dave suggested we measure Brie's hair to see if it was long enough to donate. It was! And with *several* snips she changed from our wee 9-year-old into a most definitely soon to be 10-year-old.

Monday: I cooked up additional play dough colors for Ben. He smooshed and smashed them into a cake creation and generously offered me half of the final product. I'm not sure if he would do the same if it were a real cake. But then, neither would I be able to manage to eat it all anyway.

And God spoke "tranformation" to me though them. I've been praying for God to change those inner places desperate for His Light and saving work.

But when push comes to shove, my flesh prefers the changes to happen as easily as donning a hat or bringing together many pieces to form something new. I remind God He can do anything so why not perfect me in Christ right this very. minute. Poof! A new me.

The reality is these transformation occur slowly and often involve a LOT of cutting away and smooshing and smashing - the kind that mixes up all the colors so you can't separate them no matter how hard you try.

It's the mixology of God.  

And we cannot be separated from His love. And we are made alive in Christ. And we who were separated are now brought near by His blood.

And that is good news.

celebrating the plunge

Yesterday, I shared this picture.

To celebrate.

The occasion?

Our last day on of depending us (i.e. Dave's last day on a payroll). For two months we chugged up the hill, knowing this day was looming. Yesterday we reached the top.

Today, we plunge down, falling on God's grace. It's a free fall that I know begins and ends cupped in God's hands. I'm not screaming nor is my heart is not in my throat (yet ;) and maybe this hill we've plunged over will be a short one. Regardless, the ride is bound to be one of twists and turns.

And the only way I can explain this absence of panic, this crazy peace, are the Words of the Father which quell the worries that try to niggle their way into my thoughts. The words whispered are trust and wait and do. not. fear.

Today we celebrate the plunge.

Celebrate with us?
 

thousand words thursday

I missed "Wordless Wednesday" and today is significant and so is tomorrow and I must mark this occasion in some way. So "Thousand Words" Thursday it is. And tomorrow, the story behind the significance...

losing (paper)weight

I've thought of a thousand things to post in these past couple of weeks, but technigrations (my word for technology aggravations) plus time focused on more pressing areas but some deep soul searching leaves little time for blogging. There is a post forthcoming on the recap of the urban mission trip God led me on, but that's a  weightier post worthy of  more mental capacity than I have right now.

Instead, I'm sharing a weight-loss story this week so you can celebrate with me. Because this past week Dave and I lost a ton - possibly two - of weight in paper.

ready for the curb - yipee!

 
It's part of our campaign to downsize and get rid of all the excess stuff in our lives.

Sure I didn't have to look at it, but just knowing it was there, hanging out in the basement, tucked away in file folders...it weighed me down.

Did you know you can experience great joy in shredding paper? If you haven't tried it, I greatly encourage you to give it a whirl.

Just don't shred the stuff you really need. Like those tax papers from the past seven years. Or any warranties or titles that go with the possessions God gave you. If you aren't sure what to keep and what to shred/recycle, here's a link to a helpful guideline. And you can always check with your accountant and/or lawyer to be sure.

bye bye paper, hello to lighter living .

 
And if you like, when you've shed the weight, take a picture and come back here with the link to it to let me know and we can celebrate the weight loss together.

Jesus was a refugee

 {Continuing with the "relative foreigner" series this week as I gear up for my urban mission trip this weekend.}

Twenty (!) years ago we moved to England. So I know what it's like to be an "alien in a foreign land."

Despite the fact that I cried for the first month of moving there because change challenges me, it wasn't exactly a hardship. After all, we already knew the language (grin), were familiar with some of the traditional foods (my grandmother was a British war bride) and I attended an American Community School which minimized the differences in my high school education. Enhanced it, in fact. (See the bottom of this post for some fun differences we experienced across the pond.)

My mom saw it as a 2.5 year vacation. I think coming back and readjusting to life state-side proved the bigger challenge.

But what if that move was not really our desire and to a country where the language, customs, people, everything, were completely foreign to us? I think I might have cried longer than one month.

So the plight of the refugee is especially close to my heart. And knowing God chose this status for His Son in His tender years makes it all the more dear.

Because it's hard to imagine leaving a country you love, mostly like displaced because of war. Or trying to navigate multiple airports without a guide. Or arriving in your new country where the language barrier makes every. day. harder. And receiving a whirlwind tour of your new home and encountering a stove, a fridge, a light switch for the first time.

And over the course of the next few months, trying to learn English, get a job, find childcare, get around without a car, decipher the piles of paperwork arriving at your door and try to navigate the establishments that are just part of the American scenery...schools, grocery stores, banks, post offices, libraries, restaurants, not to mention the laws and customs spoken and unspoken.

It's exhausting and overwhelming just typing it.

But there is hope for these families because of refugee mentor training programs. Dave and I are signed up to attend one later this month. We're hoping to join the other couples in our church who mentor refugee families, helping them to transition to North American life. And a quick online search or inquiry at your local city government could reveal a similar program available in your area if you have a refugee population settling there.

Jesus was a refugee. He still is. And the good news is that He's in my own backyard.

Do not oppress an alien; you yourselves know how it feels to be aliens, because you were aliens in Egypt. (Exodus 23:9 NIV 1984)

Life in England: A Snapshot of Differences

• The door handles are placed much higher on the door, perhaps to prevent children from opening the ones they should not touch? (my theory)
• I don't know if this still is true, but twenty years ago, the stores closed by 5 p.m. or 6 p.m. - planning required!
• The fridges were smaller requiring frequent trips to the store - the focus was on fresh
• If we desired it, we could have had our milk delivered in bottles daily
• The parking spaces were much narrower, but the cars were smaller too
• They served ice cream in the movie theater
• Cadbury (chocolate) vending machines were in the tube (subway) stations.
• "Mind the gap" was not an advertisement for the chain store - it was a caution for tube travelers to mind the space between the platform and the tube
• Ploughman's lunches are standard offerings in pubs - usually consisting of bread, cheese and fruit
• I miss, miss, miss the roundabouts - they make so much more sense than stop signs!
• You couldn't turn left on red (equivalent to us turning right on red. the whole driving on the other side of the road thing)
• Peanut butter was not such a big deal there (gasp!). Marmite (yeast extract) was. What would I do now without the PBJ standby for the kid's lunches?
• They had unique flavors for their crisps (chips) like prawn cocktail.
• To my delight, most black candy was flavored black currant, not black licorice

Jesus was homeless

{Continuing with the "relative foreigner" series this week as I gear up for my urban mission trip this weekend.}

It's a thought that brings me up short. Jesus was homeless. God again choosing the absurd things of this world to shame all that would appear to make sense.

Crazy.

Yet there must be some lesson in this for us comfort-loving creations of His. Perhaps along the lines of what it means to really live by faith? Day in day out trusting Him for the daily bread He promises if we seek His kingdom first.


So far, my relationship with the homeless has been one of distance. I see them on a city street corner and I see evidence of their "shelters" in run down parts of the city. Never in suburbia, mind you, because when we have, we don't want the have-nots reminding us what we are all a few steps away from.

I pass them by at highway on-ramps and off-ramps conveniently designed to keep our interactions brief, impersonal, unless we step out of the car...

I'm tired of this distance, these walls that keep us from knowing poverty and homelessness personally. From knowing the faces and the stories and deep thirsts and hunger of the hurting among us.

So what I am to do?

I don't know exactly. At this point, the best ideas I've had so far are striking up a conversation with a beggar on a street corner, even if it means parking somewhere and getting out of my car. Or driving around the city on a Sunday morning with a huge pot of oatmeal in our car, looking for the hungry, sharing a meal before we head off to the place we called church. Somehow that feels right. Being the church, not just visiting it.

Any other wacky, Jesus-loving ideas out there for loving the homeless, Jesus-in-disguise? I'd love to hear what you've dared to do or want to dare to try.

If you're looking for additional reading material, here are two books I can recommend. The first I've read, the other is on my list (but I've heard from a friend it's really good):
Under the Overpass by Mike Yankoski
How to Hug a Smelly Guy by Jeff Johnson