Of Being the Love

The other night, in the wake of a sleepless night brought upon by thunderous storms crashing outside our windows, shaking the walls, lightning flashing in endless succession, a similar storm, the kind that seem to come when I'm too exhausted to continue absorbing life, raged within me.

I found myself in endless tears and sick of it all - convinced I was rejected and worthless, but mostly feeling useless in a world where a truck barrels through crowds in a country you feel connected to through those you know, who have walked and lived in its streets, and twelve hours later a military is striking a coup in a country you feel connected to through those you know, who have walked and lived in its streets. And these are real places and real people dying in real ways. And this world is falling apart and all I could think is, "What's the point?!"

Why are we all still here? Why does any of this matter anymore when it feels like it's all just a matter of time, and by time, I mean months, or weeks, or just days, before it all just hits the fan. And we're in the middle of this mess that we can't seem to find our way out of. In a time when we can't even make statements as audacious as "All Lives Matter" because we're silencing a voice that deserves to be heard, even though it is beyond absolutely true that we sit here with hearts breaking and grieving for all lives. Because Black Lives Matter. Because French Lives Matter. Because Cop Lives Matter. Because Turkish Lives Matter. Because Christian Lives Matter. Because Syrian Lives Matter. Because Homosexual Lives Matter. Because Muslim Lives Matter. Because Black is not the only color hurting right now and their house is not the only one burning. The whole world is burning - and it will go straight down as long as the divisions continue.

And as I sob myself to sleep in the face of this hopeless darkness we call our world, all I can think are the words to a song that have been running through my head for a week:

"People killing, people dying,

children hurt and you hear them crying,

Can you practice what you preach? 

And would you turn the other cheek?

Father, Father, Father help us, 

need some guidance from above.

'Cause people got me, got me questionin'

'Where is the love?'"

And I wake, better rested and able to think, though still with this song in my head, on my heart and I feel God asking, in response, "Where are you?" Because God, Himself, is love and we, the church, are His hands and feet. And this love is only going so far as we carry it. And while I've been breaking into pieces in a seemingly hopeless situation, what has been brewing in my heart hasn't been love - it's been judgment, anger, frustration, sadness, hurt. 

And when I feel attacked, all my mind can process is a mental defense, even if it's never launched. When I feel rejected, I curl up and cry. When I feel worthless, I want to be done. But where is the love? Truly, can I practice what I preach? Can I be love when it feels like all is lost? Can I truly turn the other cheek to a world that seems ill-content to simply slap one and the other, but is ready to destroy for the sake of semantics? How far has my love gone?

Because the kind of love God personifies is an unconditional love. The kind that says, even when it's all falling apart. Even when the world despises. Even when we're trampled upon, mocked, beaten, wrongfully accused, sentenced to die, we love. We say, "Father, forgive them." We humble ourselves to the point of death. 

Is this the kind of love the church is known for? Is this the kind of love that could make a difference?

Maybe not to the point of eradicating terrorism or racism or bigotry or hate, but it could make a difference to one. Or maybe two. Maybe the only answer is softening our own hearts and choosing to respond with love, in every situation - both the big ones, terror attacks or racial discrimination, and the little ones, such as the tiny terrorists in our homes or the friend who cancels plans. 

When love, in the mundane and in the monumental, becomes a habit for us, the church, perhaps a new kind of fire can spread.

Of Opening Our Eyes

A few months ago, through one of the series of rabbit trails my brain follows, I was inspired to research a phenomenon related to World War II of which I had not previously heard in detail: what was known as Kindertransport.

The idea was simple: Europe was falling to the Nazis daily and people from within could see that the future for the Jewish community under Nazi rule was bleak, so they endeavored to get them out of there. Great Britain agreed to accept them, but only the children. And, surprisingly, the Germans agreed to allow the children to leave, as well. Thus, over the course of nine months, thousands of Jewish children were funneled from Germany, Austria, Czechoslovakia, and Poland. Most came to Great Britain, but some also traveled to France, Belgium and the Netherlands, where they would also later need escape. Some were accepted into homes, but many did not want the added burden of more mouths to feed, so many more were sent to children's homes in the country.

Thousands of children. Sent by their parents to a future unknown. The vast majority never saw their parents again, or even their home country. Parents forced to make this choice - put their children on a train, promising a holiday in England, not knowing what the soldiers on the streets would do the next day and if they'd ever wipe those tiny noses again.

Babies. Babies left in the arms of teenagers to travel by train or boat to the arms of a stranger. Babies who might not even know they had a family to search for by the time this ordeal was over. Babies who might not even know they were the only survivors of a grand heritage of heroes.

It broke my heart.

That these families had to be torn apart because the only hope for survival was in the children - because no society in Europe wanted an influx of workers that would put their own population out of work.

From where we sit now, knowing the fate that awaited the Jews left behind in the countries where the parents and grandparents remained, we weep. We weep knowing these European nations could have done more. They could have opened their doors wider. They could have stretched their food further. They could have done something more to prevent millions. Millions. Millions of Jews from facing a fate we don't even want to fathom.

I'm sure it seemed comfortable here on this side of the ocean, watching poor Europe fall apart, glad it wasn't happening here.

Because America wasn't doing anything, either. A nation forged on the backs of refugees, explorers, those who saturated a continent with travelers from foreign lands. They didn't want to accept even the children. The handfuls accepted were done so begrudgingly, with very little government support or assistance.

If they had known. If they had known, would it have made a difference?

If those soldiers had seen the trucks piled with emaciated Jewish bodies, the mass graves, the gas houses, the work camps. If they had seen them earlier, would the nation, all the nations, have responded differently?

I wondered. And I wept.

Yet, here we are. At the culmination of what has been called the greatest refugee crisis since World War II. It is a watershed moment for us, as a nation, as a planet.

Have we learned our lesson?

Or should we continue to wait as these thousands upon thousands of individuals and families see something so horrific happening in their own country, their home, that they would risk their lives, traveling treacherously on a journey many won't even survive, taking almost nothing with them and then abandoning the miniscule amount of possessions they did carefully select, for the sake of survival. They can see it, what we refuse to see. They understand the risk is worth leaving behind what is happening.

And here we sit, on the other side of the ocean - or some even on the other side of a sea, or a border, or a fence - and we think, we're glad it's not happening here.

At least it's not me who has to decide which of my children will survive.

At least it's not me hearing the sound of my husband calling my name over the waves as he drowns.

At least it's not me living in an empty shipping container wondering what will happen next.

A month and a half ago, I was privileged to visit the home of Corrie Ten Boom, one of many heroes of the era in which these Jewish people needed protection from communities that had never before given their heritage a second thought. We saw the living room where she welcomed these people of God and the very hiding place where six were concealed and protected from a dire fate while she and her family were arrested. She was the only one of those arrested in her family to ever return to that home, that living room, that Hiding Place.

As I spoke of this experience with a friend who has seen decades more of this life than I have and has the wisdom to prove it, she mentioned in her soft voice, "It always makes me wonder what I would have done."

And as I considered the news with which I had been bombarded for months of a situation in Europe I would rather pretend isn't happening now, I spoke honestly, "I think I would have closed my ears to it." Because that is what I do now. That is what I do when this crazy life inside my own home swirls around in my head and I can't even think straight as far ahead as to what will be for dinner - to the point I put a box of Star Wars macaroni and cheese on the counter in front of my face, so the next thirty-seven times I stop myself to ask that question, I'll remember the answer. How on earth could this crazy, hectic brain ever even wrap itself around what is happening a world away? And I've told myself it's ok. It's okay to close my ears to protect my mind, my sanity, from going awry. For the sake of myself and my family, I need to shut it out.

I told my friend that day, "It's hard enough just to focus on living my life, let alone think about what others are having to endure." and then I paused, as I heard my own words, "Maybe," I continued, "that's the problem. I'm trying to live this life in the context of what's going on and I can't make that work. Corrie Ten Boom had to be willing to change the way she was living in order to make a difference."

Maybe rather than fitting this truth about the tragedies into the context of our lives and, after realizing the piece just doesn't fit neatly into any corner of our minds or hearts we can find, tossing it out as someone else's piece, someone else's problem, we need to come to the reality that perhaps our lives need to change to fit the context of what is happening a world away.

We can't keep living in ignorance and hoping the world will change. Hoping those escaping horrors we would rather not contemplate will find somewhere to land and someone to lend a hand, as long as it's not us.

It's time for us, as the church, as humanity, to say we won't let this happen again. Not on our watch. We won't watch millions die because we would rather close our eyes than see what's in front of us. Because we would rather seek entertainment, comfort and numbness than do what it takes to let the truth set in - to feel the blood on our hands as we have rejected those who cry out.

What will you choose? As we walk in Christ, let our answer always be that we will choose love. And a love that is not just in word or in speech, but in deed and in truth. Love with your actions, your very life. Love. And act.*


*For those unsure of where to start, please visit wewelcomerefugees.com or samaritanspurse.org/refugees-europe

Of Faith, Hope, and Love

A friend texted me this week, mentioning how she lost her book, For the Love, the day before our much-anticipated book club (well, she’s a mother of three and care-taker of a fourth, so, let’s be honest, it was lost long before then). I offered to share, no worries, before she corrected herself:  it was the book What Love Is – our morning Bible Study book - that was lost. 

“Lol – there’s a lot of love going on!”

And it couldn’t be closer to the truth. You could definitely say, God is speaking to my heart about a lot of things lately – but the greatest of these is love.

After working since January to memorize my way through Colossians chapter 3, I was inspired to study the rest of the book – because when the chapter starts with, “If, then, you have been raised with Christ,” it leads one to wonder, well what brought us to this point? How did we start this discussion about being actually raised, brought to life, with Christ, or, more accurately, in Christ – where my life is now hidden, as the verses go on to say.

And so I duped my small group into studying it, too, so I would have more motivation to follow through. Because that’s what small groups are for. And you know it’s God’s will for this study to happen when one member of your small group says, “Actually, I wrote the study notes on Colossians for the Holman Christian Standard Study Bible when I was in seminary.” Because of course he did.

And then, I cracked open my study Bible, aforementioned study notes, and journal and spent an hour and a half on four and a half verses – two of which were Paul and Timothy introducing themselves, which you know is weird when the man who earned that doctorate in New Testament something-or-other, the one who literally wrote the notes on the subject asks, “An hour and a half? Really?” Yes, really.

But that wasn’t enough, apparently, because God has been confirming this lesson continually in the past week and a half, so because we cannot but speak of what we have seen and heard (Acts 4:20), I’m going to share this lesson with you – in a whirlwind of a blog post that will hopefully be much shorter than an hour and a half, so buckle up.

It all starts in Colossians 1, verses 4-5(a) – “since we heard of your faith in Christ Jesus and of the love that you have for all the saints, because of the hope laid up for you in heaven.”  I noticed, after reading these verses, in both sets of study notes I had in my possession, this sequence of attributes was a favorite topic of Paul – faith, hope, and love. Which sound pretty and look all spiritual on our walls, and may have been turned into fancy wire ornaments by, well, me. But I didn’t know this was a specific Pauline (see? I totally could have gone to seminary) theme. I needed to know more about this, because as another small group member stated, when someone in authority mentions something multiple times, it’s important to them (We have a lot of smarties in our small group).

So, I looked up every cross-reference listed* in the notes and made a three-part list, to see what, exactly, Paul had to say about faith, hope, and love and what they actually meant for him, other than a great theme for wall décor.

If you happen to have spare time, I highly recommend this activity, but if you don’t, I boiled it all down in my journal to this:

“Faith, Hope, and Love are the foundational pieces of genuine Christianity. Faith in Christ Jesus, Love for others (pouring/overflowing from the love poured into us by the Holy Spirit [Romans 5:5]), based on our one hope of salvation and righteousness awaiting us in Heaven.”

So, this love, that is a strand in this cord of Christianity, isn’t just a love for Jesus, which is wonderful and necessary, but a love for others – as 1 Corinthians 13 says, our faith and our acts of service are useless without it. And this love partners with our faith, based on the foundation of hope.

I wrote more (shocking, I know):

“What’s beautiful is, according to 1 Thessalonians 5:8, faith and love protect our hearts in spiritual warfare, while our hope protects the head. Hope is the knowledge we have of what’s coming. Faith and love are the emotional outpouring stemming from that knowledge.”

So, this knowledge, this hope is what protects our minds from the attacks of the Enemy, while our faith in Christ and resulting love for others protect our hearts.

I don’t know if this is exciting or interesting to anyone else, but it was surprisingly mind-blowing to me.

But, then, let’s go back to 1 Corinthians 13 – as I considered this in Bible Study the day after verbally vomiting all of the above on our small group, I was reminded of the final verse, “Now these three remain, faith, hope, and love – but the greatest of these is love.”

Well, but, really?

Our hope, our knowledge of salvation, and our faith in Christ, are inferior to love?! And, specifically, as Paul emphasizes multiple times, love for people? Not our love for Jesus?

As I pondered, the truth hit me, or, more accurately was whispered to my heart. Our love poured on others – that love that was once and continually poured into us by God through the Holy Spirit – is the outward demonstration of that inward faith and hope. That is how we show what we believe and what we know to a world that can’t see our hearts or our minds – and, more importantly, can’t see God. 

But they can see our love.

And it’s that love that will draw others into Him – as they gain their own hope for salvation and faith in Christ.

Love is the key to all of this – it’s the seed we plant for others.

And, let’s remember, as another beautiful friend pointed out, our outward demonstrations of love look different for each person. Remember The Five Love Languages? Those are important – so don’t think that just because you’re not good at showing self-less acts of service or maybe your words of encouragement aren't as eloquent as someone else's you have failed in this regard.

You show love to others the way God designed you to do, so long as it comes from a heart of faith and mind firm its knowledge of salvation.

And, so long as it’s a pure love reflecting the love of Christ – the kind of love that lays down its life for another – which doesn’t always mean stopping a bullet for someone else, but it may mean sacrificing your “me” time (not always, but when necessary, yes), sacrificing your possessions, your money, your self-righteous need to speak out in defense, your culture-driven need for perfection. Sometimes it means not having a clean house because a child needs some personal attention. Not getting the sleep you so carefully planned out because a friend needs someone to talk to. Not living in comfort so that someone else can just live.

This kind of love – the love that so perfectly reflects the love of a Father Who sent His Son into a dirty, dying world so that this loved Son could be the replacement for these dirty, dying people in their death. This kind of sacrificial, self-dying love isn’t just what draws the world to Him, it’s the pure evidence of Christ in us.

It is not optional.

As that author of WhatLove Is so beautifully put it, while discussing 1 John 3:23, “We can’t separate loving others from our belief in Jesus. Both are intertwined. Our confession of Him will lead to action, and true love in action will result from our knowing Him. Belief without love can make you a Pharisee. Love without belief can make you a humanitarian. But if you have both, you’re a child of God” (Kelly Minter, p 103).

I couldn’t have said it better.

*For your own study, these are the cross-references I looked into:
Romans 5:1-5; 1 Corinthians 13:13; Galatians 5:5-6; Ephesians 1:15, 4:2-5; 1 Thessalonians 1:3, 5:8; 2 Thessalonians 1:3, Philemon 5 

Of My Legacy

At the beginning of the year a sweet friend asked if I would join her in memorizing Scripture*. Always being an item on my wish list, but lacking the accountability to follow through, I accepted. As we thought upon what it was we'd like to memorize, God led me to Colossians 3. And I almost feel as though I should apologize to her, because He has been speaking to me so much through this dedicated time of committing His Word to my heart that I'm beginning to wonder if this passage was meant specifically for me and my poor friend is just along for the ride (though, given His promise that His Word does not return to Him void, I'm almost positive He's reaching her through these words, as well).

The two of us took off at a sprint in our endeavor before we realized we have crazy lives and maybe we needed to turn things down a notch. Slow and steady and all. So, it was around April that I reached verse 8: "But now you must put them all away: anger, wrath, malice, slander and obscene talk from your mouth." And back then, they were just words to memorize. I was on a mission, I had an item to check off my list: memorize Colossians 3. Because, you know, it's good to have Scripture to call upon when needed. But, it's not like I need it now.

Oh, dear, sweet Angela.

Now, anyone who has read my words for any length of time might recognize, maybe, that I've had a problem putting away these things labeled above. Anger? Pretty sure I lashed out at my kids just this morning. Wrath? See item A. Slander? Was that me judging others as I gossiped with my husband just the other day? Do you see what I'm saying?

This is my struggle, defined perfectly clearly right here in this Scripture. And, to be fair, I come by it honestly. My ability to lash out verbally, in great force, and with astounding volume, is my grandest inheritance. I gained it from my father and his father before him (and his father before him, so I've heard). It feels an impossibility to overcome such an ingrained family trait, though I have fought over and over to weed it out.

I pondered this genetic code of anger just last evening, while I sat at my sewing table, mindlessly stitching, Spotify playing in the background, when I heard words that pierced me to my soul: 

"You didn't ask for this

Nobody ever would
Caught in the middle of this dysfunction
It's your sad reality
It's your messed up family tree
And all you're left with, all these questions

Are you gonna be like your father was and his father was?
Do you have to carry what they've handed down?

No, this is not your legacy
This is not your destiny
Yesterday does not define you
No, this is not your legacy
This is not your meant to be
I can break the chains that bind you"

And right there, he answered the very question of my soul: Can I change this legacy? 

The answer: I am a child of the King. That is my legacy. This anger, wrath, malice, slander, obscene talk from my mouth - this is not a part of me. For I have died and my life is hidden with Christ in God. And when Christ, who is my life, appears, I, also, will appear with him in glory. (Colossians 3:3-4). This is the family tree into which I was grafted the day I accepted Christ.

And the most beautiful part of this passage is that it doesn't just tell us what not to be - what to weed out, leaving merely an empty patch of fallowed ground - it then comes in and tells us what we should be. "Put on, then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness and patience" (Colossians 3:12). Oh, that I could parent like that. That I could be a friend like that, a wife, a daughter.

That I could be one who is known for compassion, kindness, patience. This is my heart's greatest desire.

And then we move to verse 14: "And above all these, put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony." 

Love.

The beautiful ribbon that ties all these characteristics into one beautiful package. Were I to only begin each day, each moment, each opening of my mouth, with the decision to love. 

I'm breathing deeply in pure, sweet relief as I type these words. 

He has chosen me. And I am choosing love.

He is not finished with me yet.

*On a side note, I highly recommend ScriptureTyper.com, and its accompanying app, for Scripture Memory. It has really accelerated things for me in the past few weeks as I've started using the app each morning.

Of Marriage

Marriage is so weird.

It's pretty much the only time in one's life (barring unforeseen circumstances) that you look at another person and say,

"You know what? I like you. And even though I haven't known you for an extremely long time, I know I like you so much that I want to see your face pretty much every. single. day. for the rest of my life. I want to hear your voice every morning and every night - I don't think it will ever annoy me.

"I want us to make tiny people that look just like us and will drive us insane - I mean, literally, we'll question our sanity - but, for the most part, should be fun. And then we'll somehow raise these little people to be responsible adults. You and me. Who are barely responsible adults ourselves. Yeah, we're gonna do that.

"And because you'll be breathing the same air as me every day, you're going to see me be pretty ugly. It's okay, though. I mean, I like you. And I trust you. And I trust that you'll see that ugly and still somehow like me. Most days. And you'll see me go through some really hard things - because life, itself, is awfully ugly at times - and I trust that you'll hold my hand when I cry and somehow still see beauty on that scrunched-up, red, blotchy, tear-stained face. And more than that, you'll somehow help me to survive those days. And I think I can do the same for you.

"Don't get me wrong. There will be days we'll get pretty angry with one another. We're not going to agree. And we might get to the same page, or we might have to agree to disagree. We'll get so bitterly angry on some days that if you were anyone else, I'd probably stop responding to your facebook messages or I'd just decide we're better as arm's-length friends. But since it'll be you, I'll have to remind myself that I really do like you and that we're stuck with each other, so I'll try my best to see things from your point of view or at least to admit that, while you may not be right, you're not necessarily wrong, either. And that will have to be okay.

And then we'll do this. Every. Single. Day. Until we die.

I mean, really, how does that sound? Sound good? Want to do that?"

"I do."

Really. It's crazy.

If anyone else said that to us, we'd run away and maybe file a restraining order. But when we wrap it all up in a pretty white package tied to a shiny ring, we're okay with it.

It's clear to me this is a God-created institution. Because only a man in a different kind of institution would have decided we were capable of such a commitment. Yet our Creator created us to love - in the same crazy, unconditional way He loves us. And He welcomes us into this kind of relationship with one another to show us just how crazy and unconditional that kind of love is. How hard and, yet, how unbelievably worth it it is, too.

Which is why the only reason this insane institution works is when we choose to let Him show us how it's done.

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres." - 1 Corinthians 13:4-7

Of Love

I have a secret to tell.  One this world tries so hard to keep buried.

Love is not a fairy tale.

Love is not butterflies in the stomach, a wedding drenched in sparkly things.  It has nothing to do with white horses, dancing in the moonlight or, even, a magical kiss.

We are surrounded by lies – that without a spark, a special gleam in the eye or a tingle in the spine, our love is dead.

We are often told, to counter the lies, love is a choice.  And, yes, it's true, but love is also a journey, one with a definite beginning point – a series of choices we follow to a certain outcome.

I look at my children and I recognize I love them without question.  They frustrate me at times, yes.  But I don’t love them any less or wonder what life would be like if I had different kids.  I don’t consider leaving them to find myself or to find a better life with better kids.  They are mine.  A part of me.

And the most amazing part of this relationship is that I did not get to choose it.  I did not go through life meeting children along the way, writing down a list of characteristics for the perfect child, take a few to the playground to test them out and then, finally, declare, “This is the child for me!”

These children were given to me by God.  This relationship was created by Him alone.  And it may not always be easy or fun or lead to those magical Kodak moments, but when I work hard to recognize the blessing these children are and make a deliberate effort to mother them well, all I receive back is blessing.  And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

What if we approached romantic love with the same heart?

What if we recognized that our choices in the very beginning – going on that first date, indulging in the first kiss, giving a little bit of ourselves (or all of ourselves) – to another being is an act which will lead to conception – the conception of a relationship that cannot be torn apart quickly and painlessly? 

What if we recognized that relationships aren’t easy, but they’re worth it?  What if we recognized that only God knows our souls to the core and only He knows what we truly need?  What if we acknowledged this person next to us may not be perfect, but he is a part of me now – an action that became complete the day we said, “I do”?

What if we put as much effort into loving our spouses well, to encourage them to be the one God created them to be, as we pour into our children?  What if we recognized that the days we make the deliberate effort to hold them close, tell them we love them and look out for their best interest are the days when it all seems to feel right – even if there is so much going wrong?

What if our culture viewed the permanence of marriage to be just as crucial and unquestionable as the permanence of parenthood?

What if we followed God’s path for the family rather than Disney’s?

What if we stopped perpetuating the lies and showed our children what “true love” means?  What if the love we display for them to our spouse was more enchanting than any fairy tale?  What if we impressed the importance of only starting a relationship they intend to finish?

What if we started in our own hearts – uprooting the dis-satisfied notions, taking our focus off the areas that lack and appreciating what we have been given?  What if I noticed the empty dishwasher, the playful caress and the time sacrificed for me more than I longed for flowers, a sappy card or the perfect date?

What if we woke up every morning determined to love well, rather than demanding to be loved the way we dreamed – the way we saw in fairy tales?

To my wonderful man, who may not be Prince Charming, but is still more than I ever thought to imagine for myself.

Of Physical Touch

We have learned over the past twenty-one months (has it really only been that long?) that our eldest son's primary love language is clearly physical touch.  He loves to snuggle while watching TV, he'll smack us lightly on the leg with a mischievous grin just to say, "I'm here and I love you."  Spanking works as a punishment for him because touch is very important and speaks volumes.

I definitely enjoy this language of his - the language that causes him to run into the kitchen and hug my legs while I make dinner before scampering away once again - but sometimes it can be a trial, like the other times I'm making dinner and he is melting down either from a rumbly tummy or too little sleep and all he wants is simply to be held and, as holding a toddler doesn't really work when trying to chop vegetables, I have to deny his request to fulfill his emotional need in the interest of meeting his physical needs.  Times like those are rough.

But times like these, when the kids are sitting at the table, watching cartoons on the iPad after breakfast and Micaiah says, "Look, Mommy, Emmett's holding me!" and I walk over to see him simply watching the screen with one hand rested casually on his sissy's back, so as to say, "I'm here and I love you."  These times are wonderful.

1,000 Gifts (inspired from the lists here and here):

194. Piles of puzzle pieces coming together to make beautiful images of God's love.

195. A willing spirit inside a stubborn heart.

196. Beautiful bread out of my oven.

197. "What do I do next, Pirate Daddy?!" - a fun game to make helping a joy

198. Philip: "Deal?"  Emmett: "No deal!" - a Daddy encouraging his kids to obey

199. "You hep me, Diddy?" (Translation: "Can you help me, Sissy?") - knowing who to turn to when you need a helping hand.

My Life: My Smile
One of the reasons I smile.

Of Belonging

Over the years, here and there, Satan has hit me in my lowest points of insecurity to convince me I am an outcast.  No one cares and in my social circles I am merely tolerated.  These are the lies with which I have been attacked and to which, in helpless moments, I have succumbed.

If anything, God has used this "overdue" Little One to show Philip and I just how much we are loved, by Him and His Family.  We have felt, in just the past week - the week of waiting, watching and hoping - the love of Our Father through the words of encouragement and affirmation, the acts of service and the most unnecessary tangible gifts of those surrounding us.  Our family, our friends, the hands and feet of God Himself.

His perfect timing has allowed us to be showered upon with an acceptance and love we have been told by the enemy didn't exist.  This a blessing greater than any due date or early arrival could have ever produced.

We appreciate every one of you and are so humbled to know you are there to lift us up as we stumble through this period of waiting, simply waiting.

And the ice cream hasn't hurt, either.

Photos of the Day:  This is how I spent my morning and post-lunch/pre-nap hour - snuggling with my two Big Kids who dragged their blankets and pillows to the couch all on their own and settled in with me uninvited (but so welcome):