A Word from Tricia Goyer

Remembering You

By Tricia Goyer

In the last ten years since I started interviewing veterans for my WWII novels, most have passed away. Some of them—realizing their days on earth were coming to an end—returned to Europe one last time with their family members to walk along paths they've never forgotten. Those trips inspired my most recent novel, Remembering You (http://www.triciagoyer.com/contemporaryfiction.html#RememberingYou).

One of the most amazing experiences was when I received an email from a woman named Hana. She'd heard of my book and knew I'd interviewed some of the veterans. She asked if I'd interviewed any medics. Then she told me an amazing story. Hana was born on a cart just outside of Mauthausen. Her mother had survived being a prisoner of another camp and was transported to Mauthausen at the end of the war.

Hana was just three weeks old when the Americans arrived, and she was very ill. Because of the filthy conditions she got a skin infection and sores covered her body. No one expected her to live. Yet one of the medics saw the small baby and knew he had to do something. Even though it took most of the day, he lanced and cleaned all Hana's sores, saving her life. Over the years she'd wanted to find the medic, but didn't know where to start.

I was amazed by Hana's story and told her I knew one medic—maybe he remembered who that man was. I gave Hana the contact information and I soon heard the good news. My friend LeRoy “Pete” Petersohn was the medic who'd saved her life! The two were soon reunited! After all these years Hana was able to look into the eyes of the man who saved her and thanked him. After all these years Pete was able to meet the woman he saved. “Baby!” he called out when he met her.

Remembering You is a work of fiction, but the experiences of the men are true. The experiences of the main character, Ava, are also true-to-life. I was busy with life when God pointed me to an amazing story, and to even more amazing men. I'm so thankful I took time to listen and care. I'm so thankful I allowed these men to share what … and who … they remembered most.

Tricia Goyer is a homeschooling mom of four and an acclaimed and prolific writer, publishing hundreds of articles in national magazines. She has also written books on marriage and parenting and contributed notes to the Women of Faith Study Bible. Tricia's written numerous novels inspired by World War II veterans, including her new release Remembering You. Tricia lives with her husband and four children in Arkansas. You can find out more information about Tricia at www.triciagoyer.com.

Remembering You by Tricia Goyer

I'm am privileged again to help spread the word about fellow adoptive mama Tricia Goyer's latest novel, Remembering You.

About the book:

35-year-old Ava Andrews' dream job is interrupted by an unusual request--fulfill her 84-year-old grandfather's last wish by joining him on a battle site tour of Europe. Ava is sure her boss will refuse her request. But, instead, he gives her a directive of his own--to videotape the tour and send it back as mini-segments for the show she produces.

As if juggling these two things isn't hard enough, Ava is soon surprised again ... twice. First, Ava and Grandpa Jack arrive in Europe, only to discover the tour is cancelled. Unwilling to let down her grandfather or her boss, Ava and Grandpa Jack head out on their own. Then, while they're on their way, the pair soon meet up with Paul, her grandpa's best friend, and his grandson Dennis. The same Dennis who just happens to be Ava's first love.

Before she knows it, Ava and Dennis are swept down memory lane as they visit the sites that are discussed in the history books. And even though Ava's videotaping old soldiers, she can see their youth, their hopes and fears, and their pride in their eyes. Soon Ava learns the trip isn't just for them ... it's for her too--especially for her heart.

Read an excerpt, watch a video and find out more here. 

You know, this isn't a Tricia Goyer standard. Hmmm...well it might be. But it wasn't the twisty-turny several points of view heart pounding wild battlefield ride that I became accustomed to in my first introduction to her books. So, don't expect that. This is a present day visit to a vet's life through the eyes of his granddaughter. There's a bit of mystery to be revealed. A bit of romance. And a lot of growing respect for our WWII heroes and the stuff they endured and the baggage they carry because they chose to serve their country.  It is a bittersweet novel that will occasionally make you want to knock the heroine over her  head.


In other words, if you are looking for pulse pounding, stay-up-all-night reading material, this isn't your book, BUT if you like the idea of an aging WWII hero tribute with a splash of romance, this will be right up your alley.  Happy endings never hurt. ;) 

About Tricia:

Tricia Goyer is the author of thirty books including Songbird Under a German Moon, The Swiss Courier, and the mommy memoir, Blue Like Play Dough. She won Historical Novel of the Year in 2005 and 2006 from ACFW, and was honored with the Writer of the Year award from Mt. Hermon Writer's Conference in 2003. Tricia's book Life Interrupted was a finalist for the Gold Medallion in 2005. In addition to her novels, Tricia writes non-fiction books and magazine articles for publications like MomSense and Thriving Family. Tricia is a regular speaker at conventions and conferences, and has been a workshop presenter at the MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) International Conventions. On Tricia's weekly radio show, Living Inspired, she shares stories of inspiration and encouragement. She and her family make their home in Little Rock, Arkansas where they are part of the ministry of FamilyLife.

For more about Tricia and her other books visitwww.triciagoyer.com 

Tricia Goyer is celebrating the release of her novel, Remembering You, with a KINDLE Touch Giveaway for you ... and for the friend of your choice. Then on 11/29 she'll be wrapping up the release of Remembering You with a Book Chat Party!



During the first half of the party Tricia will be chatting, sharing a sneak peek of her next book, and giving away a ton of great stuff. Then she'll head over to her website for a Live Chat! Readers will be able to chat with Tricia via video or text.



Don't miss your chance to win a Kindle Touch for yourself ... and to "remember" a friend this holiday with a Kindle Touch for them!



Read what the reviewers are saying here.

One grand prize winner will receive:

• A Brand New Kindle Touch and a Kindle Touch for a Friend (winner's choice!) 
• A copy of Remembering You by Tricia Goyer for each

Enter today by clicking one of the icons below. But hurry, the giveaway ends at noon on November 29th. Winner will be announced at Remembering You Facebook Party on 11/29. Tricia will be hosting an author chat (on Facebook and Live from her website) and giving away copies of her other WWII books and gift certificates to Starbucks and Amazon.com. So grab your copy of Remembering You and join Tricia on the evening of the 29th for an author chat, a trivia contest (How much do you know about WWII?) and lots of giveaways.

Don't miss a moment of the fun. RSVP today and tell your friends via FACEBOOK or TWITTER and increase your chances of winning. Hope to see you on the 29th!

Blog tour schedule: go see what others are saying!

Community

This blog post has been months in the making. Here's hoping that I finally have enough pieces to make it worth reading. It began when someone I had thought was on my wavelength had disappointed me in some form. The post at that time would have been about the false sense of community we create for ourselves. But the more I think on it, the deeper, the more involved, the subject matter is.

This last weekend, I was in Kansas City hosting my now annual Bead for Life party. I had SO MUCH FUN. It was a weekend of reunion, reconnection and establishing new relationships. We hung out with friends. I saw people I haven't seen in a decade. I met a lady who is adopting though the same agency we are. And I LOVED all of them. It was the weirdest mix pf people I could imagine being in the same place.

I was on a high, but by Monday evening, my rationale kicked into gear.

Last year my bead party looked so different. It was the same eight or ten people that I saw once or twice a week, for the most part. What was different?

I left.

When you live in the same city, you always have the assumption that people will be there later. It's just SO MUCH work to actually make plans to see people. I was guilty of the same.

One of my bridesmaids lived in the same city, but an hour away. You know how close an hour looks when you are staring down a full three? CLOSE. Suddenly a bead party is a chance for a reunion. Same for college friends, old Bible study partners, people who have changed churches. Oh, the laughter.....what a great day. Every time the door opened, I found myself screeching, "HEY!" and running across the room for a hug.

It was utterly delightful.

We went back to our old church on Sunday. I got hugs. Lots of hugs. From people who would have never ventured to hug me before. People just aren't huggers, for the most part. But once those hugs aren't available, they become something precious. A chance to say, "I love you! I miss you! HEY! YOU are MY friend." My love tank was filled to overflowing.

People are so precious. I think we forget that when they are available all the time. We take them for granted. They become something that is an obligation. Someone else who needs something from us.

And then, sometimes, we lose them. It almost hurts to see them again once they are removed from us. It's a reminder of that which we lost. A piece of ourselves that we won't get back. Pieces of me are scattered all over the planet right now, and I'm homesick for them.

I have dear, dear friends that I have never met. I have a writing community who know my struggle with what I have the opportunity to write and that which I desire to write. They grant me the title of "writer" and include me in their groups even when I have no physical evidence that I belong there. I have been in situations where I believed that I was wasting my time with people in my real life because they didn't get it. They let me down. And then one day we deviated from writing on our writer's loop and someone let me down. The pain that followed I still carry. But my IRL (In Real Life) friends were there to pick up the pieces.

Funny thing about community.

Right now I have another community: the adoptive community. When we adopted Eldest, our community was microscopic. Most people didn't get it. We had one set of friends that held our hands throughout the ordeal and I still describe them as dear friends even though we haven't talked since I was pregnant with Frodo (now 8). This go round I have made friends that I can't even tell you where they come from. They GET IT. I find myself wishing I could sit down to tea with them. But I suspect that if we spent much time together, they would let me down. Just because THIS passion we share, it doesn't mean we share them all. But I want to engage in email dialogue, if for not other reason than because I'm sure my IRL friends are sick, sick, SICK TO DEATH of listening to me talk about the details ad nauseum.

I don't even want to talk about the details, to be frank. I want to talk about changing the world. Making a difference.

What does everyone else want to talk about? Christmas shopping. I opened a Walmart add today and wanted to vomit. I kid you not. Physical reaction so strong I'm surprised nothing came up. Don't get me wrong. I want people to come to my next Bead for Life party and Christmas shop until they drop. I like to give a good gift as much as the next guy. But when I think about how much money goes into plastic in packages that will be forgotten by January 6 (particularly by my children) I just wonder what we are thinking. Thank the LORD He is giving me a community of like minded friends in that area as well. And from the most unlikely of sources. But sometimes even they let me down.

Right now I want my community to care that children are starving. Am I asking them to adopt? Not exactly. But how about buying them a sheep? Really. Is that too much to ask? $30. Last week I shared a image on facebook of a child's foot and a pair of shoes. For $10, you can provide a child with shoes so they don't get those parasites that make walking painful. But it gets better. Those $10 are paid to a person on the ground in Uganda to make the shoes. It gets even better than that. That $10 buys the supplies to make the shoes from a farmer in Uganda. Total people helped? THREE. (PLUS all their family). I made a comment on the photo, "Who wants shoes for Christmas?" I made a deal with myself that I would buy a pair of shoes in Uganda for EVERYONE who "liked" or commented on that photo. Not a single person. So sad.

Community. Sometimes they let you down.

The only one who won't let you down? Jesus. His people will, but he won't.

But I love my community. My online community. My adoptive community. My writing community. My old church. My new church. My family. My friends. My Bible study girls. My facebook friends. My bloggies. The people from my past life that should hate me for being a prissy bitch and love me and my new self anyway. I love the women I pray with on Tuesday and I love their children. I love that my old scientific mentor is now all in for poverty eradication. I loved him then. I love him now. I love KU. I love HHS. Did bad things happen in both places? YES. But good came out of it. God makes beautiful things out of us. Our fears. Our failures. Our successes. Our peeps. Our community. Even when they let us down.

Thank you for being part of my community. Please forgive me when I let you down.

Memory Triggers

One of the things I love about being "home" are the memory triggers.

It's also one of the things I hate about being home, but we're not going there today.

Today as I was driving over to have coffee with my parents I glanced at a street sign which also happens to be the street Brent lived on when we were in high school. It was almost humorous, the rush of feelings that followed my viewing of that street sign.

Sometimes, and I know this is a surprise for you, after fifteen years of marriage you start to take the presence of your beloved for granted. Kisses aren't savored and are sometimes given begrudgingly.

I remembered this morning how giddy it used to make me to just be in his presence. How I would ponder kisses and think about the next one. It made me eager to come home and have lunch with my husband, whom I get to have lunch with every day and also who, as often as not, gets the brunt of my irritation for that. (You want to eat AGAIN? Can't you make your own lunch once?)

Today I will savor a kiss with lunch. And attempt to be giddy about cooking for him. ;) Maybe I'll even play Our Song. As if we could hear it over Mario Cart.

Thought for the Day

I wonder if God is calling you to spread your wings over someone. A person who might not look like you, think like you, or shop where you shop. You may not have to go to Africa or Brazil to find them; he or she may live next door or be related to you. Either way, it is time for us to give of our lives as Boaz gave of his. If we clutch our possessions and ease of life, we will do so at the expense of a wealth of Ruths who not only need redemption, but who might one day be the true saviors in our own stories.
--Kelly Minter, Ruth

Friday, Friday....

My phone just rang. Actually it rang six minutes ago. And I'm still shaking.

It's Friday.

It's 8:30.

I do not yet have a court date.

And I'm going to have a good day. ALL. DAY. LONG.

Depraved Indifference

Nothing I could say is more important than this.

Overdue

What I know of pregnancy, and particularly about being overdue, I learned from my Princess and my Frodo. Charming, as always, made his own path and even gives me a My Midwife Didn't Believe I Was In Labor Until I Was WAY Into Labor story. Nevertheless, I have a theory.

Women don't go into labor until they give up hope that the baby will ever come out.

Last night, as I was laying on the couch attempting to escape reality by wasting my life away watching crappy TV, the thought came to mind, I'm never going to get a call. I'm not going to Africa before Christmas. I'm dreaming to think there is even a chance for a call any time in the near future. It simply isn't going to happen. I may never go. That is all. Time to get on with life.

It was eerily similar to the thought I had with Princess when I was three days overdue and with Frodo when I crossed the five day mark: This baby is never coming out. I may as well get used to being the size of a water buffalo. I will never again recognize my feet. That is all. Time to get on with life.

With both of them, I was in labor within 12 hours.

I am under no delusion to believe that giving up equals a phone call, or labor for that matter. I truly don't even expect one. This morning was the first in three weeks where I didn't even glance at the clock and count down the minutes until 9 AM (my phantom, if I haven't been called I won't be called cut off time period). I really, really, really might not get a call until February. It is completely out of my hands. I need to give up on the plan to buy all my Christmas gifts in Ethiopia and just start figuring out what piece of plastic crap won't drive me crazy OR into the poor house. I'm going to shop for my Operation Christmas Child boxes because the odds are, I won't be delivering my own version of it to the orphans in our care center.That is all.  It's time to get off the I'm Holding My Breath Until I Turn Blue wagon and get on with life.

Laundry is calling. A holiday season is bearing down. Charming wants me to watch him play. And, besides, I like oxygen. I might as well inhale now and again.

It is a new day. I'm gonna seize it.

Thankful....

For this moment and many more like it.

Last night, we were watching House Hunters International when a woman said, "I can dip my toes in the Mediterranean Sea. How many people get to experience that?" I turned to Brent and said, "I did!"

Not only that, I got to smooch in a Med Sea sunset.

Life is good.

Waiting Purgatory Stolen Excerpt

Friends, I want you to read this.

But because it is a novel, I'll just ask you to read the first half. (The half that begins after the Halloween costume leader.)

And for those of you that won't do that, either, I give you this, completely plagiarized excerpt from Jen Hatmaker's blog in the hopes that it will whet your appetite to AT LEAST read the first half. :)

Jen, if you google yourself and discover I have plagiarized you.....um.....I have no excuses. It just needed to be re-posted.

Your friends are adopting. They’re in the middle of dossiers and home studies, and most of them are somewhere in the middle of Waiting Purgatory. Please let me explain something about WP: It sucks in every way. Oh sure, we try to make it sound better than it feels by using phrases like “We’re trusting in God’s plan” and “God is refining me” and “Sovereignty trumps my feelings” and crazy bidness like that. But we are crying and aching and getting angry and going bonkers when you’re not watching. It’s hard. It hurts. It feels like an eternity even though you can see that it is not. It is harder for us to see that, because many of us have pictures on our refrigerators of these beautiful darlings stuck in an orphanage somewhere while we’re bogged down in bureaucracy and delays.--Jen Hatmaker

And, yep, that about sums it up. Except, of course, the REST of the post.

Expectation

It occurred to me yesterday that I'm living counter-culturally these days.

On Friday, I could not get off the couch. Charming and I watched three full length movies. I stood in the corner of the library and cried the ugly cry as my boys picked out even more movies. But by Sunday evening? Laughing, singing, dancing.

The difference? On Sunday night, the Ethiopian courts open.

I'm on to my moods now. Hopefully that can keep me in check. My heart is another matter. My phone rang at 9:30 last night and my heart was racing so hard that my hands were shaking. Again this morning at 8:05.

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. Heb.11:1

Apparently, I have a great amount of faith that my phone will ring any day. Fridays signal a three day silence and are therefore something to be endured. Mondays begin five days of hope and therefore are something to celebrate.

Counter-cultural.

And a bit nonsensical.

I'm still sad that my sister has moved, but it doesn't seem as earth shaking as it did on Friday. Now I can see the benefit of having a relative within driving range of many places I'd like to visit.

But you may want to ask me again on Friday. ;)

If there was a theme song for today, it would be titled, "The Woman Has LOST it."

Expectation Failure

The last time I was this addicted to my email inbox and my ringing phone, I was waiting for a rejection for my novel.

The phone could ring any day with news of my impending visit to Africa.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to plan for a trip that will likely occur over the holidays without knowing when or if it actually will occur?

I spent hours on the phone yesterday trying to set things up. Doctor's appointments that have to happen before December 11, but no earlier than December 11, with a Doctor who works 2.5 hours from my current location. And visits to my sponsored child who lives in a country that celebrates Christmas on January 27 (but the organization's workers still celebrate on December 25 and close their offices "the second half of the month of December and the early part January."

I woke yesterday in a cold sweat wondering if I would still get Christmas cards from people if I don't send them this year, considering I sent none last year, either. And then I remembered that most people don't even know my address, so of course I won't get any cards unless I send them. And is TODAY too early to send cards if I am indeed going to be out of the country next month? And if I do send them today and DON'T get a date next month, will I feel dumb?

And DARN IT, why won't that phone ring?

My sister moved half a continent away today. And I've got a cry headache and an inability to contain my tears. And a good friend's marriage fell apart and things just keep getting worse. And I could just use some good news.

And DARN IT, why won't that phone ring?

Except when it does it is stinkin' Directv. As if I care.

So, I'm having a Pixar day.

FYI, Cars 2 makes me want to go to Italy guilt free and Toy Story 2 had a preview for Toy Story 3 which made me cry.

I need some Chocolate Chip Cookie dough and a spoon. Which reminds me of another story. Today when I asked Charming if we should make some cookies this afternoon, he informed me that he brought two cookies home from Grandma's yesterday, one for me and one for Daddy.

Interesting....

Smart Seasons

This morning, as I helped Eldest and Princess study their spelling words, I had a flash of nostalgia. The word was compliment. Which Eldest spelled with an "ie" because he was fretting so much over which one should be used, and Princess spelled with an "e."

It took me back.

For all my joking Wednesday about losing the Krebs cycle, I do sometimes mourn the days when people thought of me as smart. I miss knowing that complement is a chemical involved in a rapid immune response. And I miss the certainty of knowing that. Because today when I typed complement into dictionary.com to verify that before I typed it, dictionary.com didn't bother to even list that in it's definitions. I'm sure I could get out an old immunology text and find out for sure, but I'm just....too tired.

I sometimes miss the days when I was full of information that I mistook as knowledge and I was regarded for it.

Now, more often than not, I get the You-are-so-dumb look from my kids. And Brent, who is far more knowledgeable about many things athletic than I, goes even farther and tells me in his lecture voice how I'm doing an air squat wrong when my thighs are on fire.

I want to be smart again.

But I will choose, today, to be knowledgeable.

All of my life, in every season, You are still God, I have a reason to sing.
I have a reason to worship.

With Great [Knowledge] Comes Great Responsibility

The problem with knowing stuff is that you can't un-know it. Sometimes you can forget it. I've forgotten the Krebs cycle. I used to know it frontwards and backwards. Now all I can remember is that CO2 is a byproduct and I'm not even certain of that. But I've forgotten it because it became unimportant to me. It isn't something I have to regularly visit and, frankly, I never cared much about knowing it after the exams.

But there are other things I know that sometimes I wish....I didn't. I'd like to go through a day and ignorantly participate in life and just be normal. Except, knowing what I know, I don't really want to not know it. Lack of knowledge does not necessarily also mean lack of accountability. Just because I don't know a "J" turn is illegal doesn't mean the police officer won't give me a ticket.

I can't pretend to not know the sinister things that go on beneath fun children's holidays. I can't pretend to not know the way the more popular forms of birth control work. I can't un-know the current actions of Hershey and Pepsi. I can't un-know that my daughter's care center has a waiting list of malnourished babies to take her place as soon as she and her friends are cleared out of there. And I can't un-know that a child could be fed, clothed, sheltered and schooled for a month for less money than I spent on candy for a holiday I don't even celebrate.

And I am disgusted.

One of the awesome things about adopting is the instant community you find yourself in. One such person posted on her blog that the group she sponsored a child through in Ethiopia would let you come visit when you go for your adoption (I know World Vision does as well). She also said she had become the advocate for 10 other children in the school to help them gain sponsors. And my first thought was "I'm sponsored out."

You betcha. There's my compassion in a nutshell. It ain't pretty, is it?

But something in her message grabbed me. She referenced Tom Davis whose book I'd reviewed a couple years ago and my curiosity got me. I linked through.

Only one child of the ten was left. His name was Setotaw and he had a tooth out of alignment and his zipper was undone. And I looked in his face, thinking, "How many $35 monthly commitments can I make?" When I saw a vision of my receipt from Target a couple days prior. All we'd gone in for was the bag of candy each child is allowed to pick at the end of October for our Reformation Day party. Let me just say my receipt MORE than covered Setotaw's care.

CANDY.

I can't un-know that I spent more on CANDY in October than it would take to care for a child.

What have we come to?

A friend of mine posted last week that Americans spent 6.7 billion dollars on Halloween this year. (Or maybe that is last year's figure. Someone else commented that this year it was closer to 7.) Gee, I don't know people, can we think of something better to do with SIX POINT SEVEN BILLION DOLLARS?

In case you are interested, I immediately inquired about Setotaw. Because how on earth could I stand before God someday and say, "Well, the candy seemed more important at the time." And by the time I'd emailed her, three other families had stepped in to lay claim to him. He was the last child of her 10 sponsored and he became the prize. I am saddened that my hesitation lost me out on his sponsorship. That precious boy.

And if you are still interested, she's already posted 10 more in need of sponsors. It would appear that I might be able to hand deliver letters and gifts to your child if you were so inclined.

HA! Interesting....I was just revisiting the blog and ran across this. Use it as you will. Or better, should. :)

Shopping as a Virtue

Parent teacher conference week means long weekend, which is flippin' awesome. Setting my alarm last night was torture. That is all I'm going to say about that.

So, I used my long weekend to make a mad dash to KC to "help my sister move." See the quotes? That is because.....apparently I'm not much, um, help. Not by most definitions. I'm just not a take charge personality. My sister is type A by the strictest definition. I pretended to be type A until I turned thirty at which point I embraced my inner freak and fell all the way past B to C. There isn't a C? Come over, watch me, and prove it.

Sooooooo basically I followed her from room to room while she sorted stuff I am incapable of sorting, and taped up boxes when she finished packing them and watched as she had to untape them to put another thing in or take another thing out. Yeah, helpful, I know. And then I and my four offspring unpacked five sleeping bags and pillows so we could sleep there and "help" the next day....wherein I watched her hold her supremely tired little girls.

I really would have packed for her, but in each room she was down to The Crap Which Must Be Sorted. (Note: Type B: throws in box a deals with it a year later. Type A: Sorts and packs.)

Anyway, at some point in this process, I mention that while I'm in the city, I intend to take my Eldest shopping for a winter coat, seeing as how it is getting cold and the child doesn't have one. My sister gets a hopeful expression on her face and asks if I will take Teen Girl 2 shopping for a coat also. I say yes, we move on to another room where I do nothing and she sorts.

Eventually it is time for sister to leave to pick her husband up from the airport. I and my offspring leave to have lunch with a friend. By the time we all return, her husband is there and she is flat booking it through the sort/pack. I get Teen Girl 2 and head to the mall where Eldest spots the coat he wants (green and black) in 0.04 seconds and is Done With All Things Mall (and can NOT believe that I don't have anything in my purse to entertain him while his cousin puts a little more thought into her coat selection).

An hour and two coats later we return to sister's house where she now has a friend there to help her. Who is apparently Type A as well because now the kitchen is in boxes, my sister is moving at the speed of light and the single most important thing I can think of to do is get myself and six children out of her house. So we leave.

When I got home, my husband asked me How Did It Go? and Was I Any Help? And all I could think to tell him was that it seemed my purpose was to hold my sister together until helpful people could show up. Because apparently the most helpful thing I could do for her was to go shopping.

Which she confirmed later in a most eloquently worded thank you email in which there was profuse gratitude expressed for just such a service.

So, there you go. Next time YOU move, let me know and I'll go shopping for you.

OH! And the song. Traveling forces me to flip radio stations. On the way home I got to rehear this oldie but goodie that I intended to sing to my beloved for our wedding, but chickened out. I still know every word. And considering my husband now talks my ear off, it has a whole new meaning to it. ;)

Have a great Monday!

And sister, if you read this, please don't take offense. I'm poking fun at ME not THEE.

Undone

When Princess was six months old, I attended a Women of Faith conference on an anonymous donor's dime. I'd signed up to go not knowing how I would pay for it since we hadn't had an income for a full year. When it came time to pay for it, I was told someone had not only paid for my admission, they'd also sprung for the box lunch.

I worried what people would think that I was eating that $10 lunch when it was well known around my circle that we couldn't afford....well....anything.

And then they did their World Vision sponsorship push that they do. And God said, "Go." So, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. And look the long way. And stood ten feet away from the table. When I finally mosied my way close enough to the table covered in children's pictures, there she was.

Almnesh.

I refused to pick her up. I chit-chatted with the lady who was saying things like, "You usually know right away who it is. Blah, blah, blah." And I was saying things like, "Yeah, no income for a year. No way. Just thought I'd check it out."

Walked away.

Came back.

Walked away.

Took the long way round.

Came back.

She was still there. And God said, "Jamie, you need to know someone has it worse off than you."

Jamie: Roof over her head. Haven't missed a meal. Has a back-up plan if evicted. Loving husband. Great kids. Exhausted, yes. Broke, yes. Blessed, yes.
Almnesh: too thin, carries water, can't afford school, yup, she wins.

So I went home and told my husband, with hanging head. And HE said, "Well, I won't argue with God."

We've sponsored Almnesh for ten years now. And it started when we had no idea HOW we would find the money to do so. I was worried that whoever paid for me to be at WoF would see me signing up to sponsor a child and think, "Well, sheesh, she's not as bad off as I thought." I was afraid of what my parents would say if they found out. I feared what Brent's parents would say if they found out. I feared anyone knowing. It was a terrifying act of obedience.

The next month we received the first paycheck we'd seen in 13 months. We spent the next I don't even know how long, clawing and scratching and digging ourselves out of $25,000 of credit card debt we'd racked up in the preceding year. More babies came. Hard times came and went and we paid those off, too.

And now I find myself on the flip side. We have reached a level of comfort that feels incredibly.....uncomfortable.

I am completely undone.

I find that my thoughts are consumed with ending poverty and injustice. I'm constantly sharing stuff on Facebook and here on my blog about places to give and things to do and books to read. I spend too much time on blogs of people serving selflessly. I'm reading Mother Teresa and Katie Davis. And my heart cries, "Not enough. We aren't doing enough."

And I worry what people think. I'm afraid that someone will see me in the park with my Kindle (an unasked for gift) and judge me for the post I made earlier in the day regarding "necessity." And I'm afraid of what people will say when they see me eating at the local Mexican restaurant after I've made a comment about starving children. And I'm afraid of what people think when they see me snap at one of my children right after I tell them I'm adopting another.

And yet, I find myself angry with people for not getting it. For not seeing how good we ALL have it.

And I picture them thinking about me Yeah, you're one to talk. You have something to give away. I've seen your house.


And they are right. And I'm unhinged. I'm sick of the extravagance. Because I can hold bead parties (and will) and I can sell goods crafted by women in vocational training (and will) and I can sponsor children and I can give to my church and I can adopt a child (and get all sorts of wild accolades about my selflessness) and I can donate to the local food bank and I can volunteer at the meat cannery and I can boycott stinking Hershey for their child labor practices (and Pepsi for their fetal testing--knife to the heart--fire your PR guy) and it's NOT ENOUGH.

Because there are still children going to bed tonight that won't wake up tomorrow. Malaria is still rampant when all it takes to slow it down is a $18 mosquito net. Women are still selling themselves to feed their children and ending up with AIDS so they leave them as orphans anyway.

Oh Dear God when will we wake up and see that this life we have in America is so crazy extravagant and DO SOMETHING so that babies don't have to starve and their mothers have no choice but to let them be raised by strangers or watch them die?

A dear woman in my life gave me a t-shirt the other day that says "ordinary hero." She gave it to me with the sentence, "I'm not doing anything heroic." And the unsaid sentence was, "Like you." Which is bogus. I think I know her heart well enough to believe that she IS an ordinary hero. And I'm still sane enough to believe that adopting one child only makes me a hero in the eyes of people who can't fathom it. But what no one seems to understand is that the thing that would make me a hero today is if I could find a way for her to stay with her mother. If I could turn back time and get her daddy the medicines that would keep him alive and providing for them. If I could come up with a crop that would withstand drought.

I'm hoping ripples count for something.

And as I've said a lot lately, I have a lot of questions and not a lot of answers. But I'm stinking tired of not speaking up because I'm afraid of what people are thinking. If I can convince the people around me to be an ordinary hero: sponsor a child, donate to the food bank, volunteer, serve, love, give....if I can do that, maybe I can deserve the title on my tee. And until that time, I'll still wear it because it says, "I heart Africa." And my daughter is there.

And if you want to be a hero for me today, I have a letter I need LOTS of people to send to their respective congressmen about the hostage situation that is happening in Ethiopia with our babies. Email me and I'll get a sample to you. (But this is NOT why I wrote this blog post. This happened in the last few minutes.)

Perseverance

A friend of mine suggested a couple weeks ago that I camp in James during our wait. At the time it didn't do much for me, but on Friday, when I was considering allowing myself to have a mental break, I found James chapter 1 to be very reassuring.

2 Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters,[a] whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3 because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. 4 Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. 5 If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you. 6 But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. 7 That person should not expect to receive anything from the Lord. 8 Such a person is double-minded and unstable in all they do.

Yesterday in church, I found all the songs and the sermon to be about being OK while in the (figurative) dark. (A friend of mine just emailed to tell me that the sermon was about expectation. I love it when God does that. Multiple messages, same words.)

So, this is where I am today.

My daughter, on the other hand is CERTAIN we are getting a court date....today. As the courts are closed for the night, I'm not holding out too much hope. I hope her faith isn't shattered. And, shoot, maybe, just maybe, we'll get on in the Ethiopian morning after our business day is over.

Can I Just Write a Check?

Never mind, I decided to write the cutsie, lighthearted, post anyway, seeing as how I am incapable of doing anything else and my son is camped in front of Curious George.

So, the Girl Scouts are doing a garage sale fundraiser this weekend. I filled my van with donations. Several garbage bags full plus a few larger items. I loaded all of it, together with my two clothing racks at 8 PM last night and drove to the warehouse where I spent two hours and fifteen minutes setting up for the sale that started four minutes ago, now (and which I am probably supposed to be at and am not because I'm trying to not have a public meltdown). By the end of the night, I was freezing, my nose was running, my back and my feet hurt and we still had hours of work to do. Only half the clothes were hung, we were out of hangers, we were out of space and there was still a huge pile of stuff that needed to be sorted.

It was at this point in time when I discover that we are doing this sale in order to cover the cost of the girl scout handbook, which is, apparently, $7, and dues, which, if my information is correct, are approximately $12 a year, which can be paid monthly. (My information may not be correct, because this is not an easy number to come by, even in the age of google.) So I found myself thinking, Can't I just write a check? Shoot, I could probably scrounge up enough loose change in my van to cover a couple months of dues.

When I related this to my husband, he began referring to me as "Princess."

Yes, just call me Princess.

And hand me a pen.

Aft note: I sincerely hope that families who can't afford the $19 benefit from the sale. Girls who wish to be in Girl Scouts should be able to be in Girls Scouts whether they can afford it or not. This isn't to downgrade families who need financial help. I am mocking self. It is called satire. Please don't be offended.

Pray

I had a really cutsie, lighthearted, post planned, but I find my mind CONSUMED with anxiety.

I mean, really, I'm certain that if I would allow myself, I would be a sobbing, blubbering mess on the floor.

I know what the Word says, Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, by prayer and petition,with Thanksgiving, bring your requests to God and the peace that passes all understanding will guard your hearts in Christ Jesus.(Philippians 4:6-7). But the fact is, I can't. So I need you to do so on my behalf.

I really can't reveal details without dragging a bunch of people into it and probably, by definition, gossiping, but I can tell you I need some clarity and soon. Or peace. Peace would certainly go a long way.

Whatever you do, don't pray for patience for me, however. I couldn't take the lesson I would have to go through to get some.

***added***
I was just driving along thinking "gee, Jamie, that was a serious overreaction. You need to post a retraction," when it occurred to me that MAYBE the reason I've cooled off is because people are praying. So, I won't post a retraction, or delete the message, but say thanks.

Tell Me What You Really Think

When Brent and I first moved to Kansas City we fell into a routine that included weekly Sunday afternoon matinees of craptastic movies, for lack of anything better to do, which my sister referred to as "dates."

"I want to go on a date!" She'd say. Or, "Ah, you're so lucky you can go on a date!"

Personally I thought she was crazy. We were bored out of our ever loving minds. We were seeing movies we didn't even care about because we had no friends and there are only so many weekends you can foist yourselves upon the self-same family members with whom you work the other five days a week. I couldn't get/stay pregnant to save my life so we had little to no responsibility and it wasn't like we were rolling in cash so that we could go on a real date. We were seeing the $4 movie in our comfy clothes. I'd dress up for a date. And maybe get dinner out of the deal.

I digress.

So last week I told Brent, "We need a date. Do you think there is any chance we can find someone to watch the kids so we can go see a movie?"  And by Saturday I'd gone from "I want a date." to "Get me OUT OF HERE for the love of all things holy!" Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've been to a movie that wasn't animated? May. I just remembered. We sprang for a movie for our anniversary. But before that? I'm guessing it tends toward the "years" category. Avitar. Pretty sure it was Avitar before whatever unremarkable thing it was we saw in May. And before that was Star Trek in Branson when my old babysitter drove down from Springfield to give us a reprieve.

So what do we do on our "date?" We shopped for running shoes. Oh yes we did. And then? Say it with me: Target. With a Latte. I know. We go all out. And then what does this idiot do? Talk her husband out of PF Changs because I had a hankering for the chocolate cake with bourbon butter at Granite City.

Oh, I have to back up. We're driving through W-town after buying shoes when Brent asks, "So, what do we want to do?" To which I responded, "Well, when this whole thing started it was because I wanted to go see a movie. Shoes were the conduit to a date. But, whatever. I just needed out. Target it is." We'd timed out for the movie. Our distance from a movie theatre and the length of time we have to beg persuade harass manipulate bless people to watch our offspring in order to do so, is prohibitive to doing anything else lengthy on the same trip. Which, interestingly, I was weeping uncontrollably about not too long ago. A date will never again just be a date. It will have to be functional. Multi-purpose. Home Depot AND Dinner. Movie AND Wal-Mart. It's depressing. Trust me on this. Some day I may get used to it. I haven't yet. When you use up all your free babysitting for the necessities, dates don't happen.

And no, this isn't That Thing That's On The List in case any of you are wondering.

Anyhoo...

Granite City, yippee skippy, has their flatbread pizzas for $6 on Sunday evenings as their game day special. LOVE their Olive Procuttio (I have zero idea how to spell that and outlook is making prosecution their spelling option) flatbread pizza. But last night? Not so much. And I happened to say something like, oh, "I'm done wasting calories here. Let's go get ice cream," to Brent's "Do you want chocolate cake?" When who pops out from behind me but the manager. And she's all, "How's your flatbread pizzas?" And Brent's all, "Great!" And she looks at me, who cannot tell a baldfaced lie, "And yours?" And I squirm because I've waitressed enough to know that complainers can ruin your night and hesitate and finally say, "It isn't as good as it usually is." Because it wasn't. And she's all, "Oh?" and I, who can't keep my mouth shut once I start, said, "It's usually my absolute favorite, but something off with the procuttio." And she says, "Yeah I noticed when I brought it out with was just kind of laying all out there..." and I finished with "It's like a slab of ham."

It WAS. The "Procuttio" was thicker than the flatbread.

And she offered to bring me another pizza of a different recipe and I thanked her and said no, I was full (And I was looking at the clock by then because we still had an hour's drive home and it was less than an hour from bedtime for the kiddos). Then here comes the waiter who can see his tip dwindeling (because he doesn't know me and the fact that I always tip waiters well, even the crappy ones, because I used to be one and I want to prove that people who order water aren't necessarily cheapskates when it comes to tips, but I think all it proves is that crappy service still gets good tips) to offer me desert, but I just want to bail and go home. So he brings the check and our boxed up flatbread pizzas. $6.41.

I was not asking for a discount. I was certainly not asking for free food. So we tipped him the cost of my pizza and left.

And about a mile down the road got the giggles. Brent started it when out of the blue he says, "Yeah, could you box up these crappy pizzas we didn't like and didn't pay for but want to take home?"

In our defense, we did not know they were going to comp the pizza when we asked to have it boxed. Also, in my defense, I'm not even sure we will ever eat it, but I hate to leave food on the table. Besides, we were boxing Brent's and I thought they'd just throw mine in on top of it. All of which we talked though while getting a little light headed from laughing.

Car goes silent. Moment has passed. At which point the words "Slab of Ham" ricochet through my brain.

Maybe it's just me. And I'm sure the delivery will be lost in print. But I might as well have said "Side of beef" with as much disdain as you could inflect in three words.

Oh. My. Word. I laughed until I cried. Off and on for the full hour it took to get home and off and on throughout the day today.

I have a friend who is well enough acquainted with me to clarify. She's known for saying, "I know you tend to speak in extremes, so what do you really mean?" She would have blown off my "slab of ham" with a shrug. Poor Tia-the-Manager. She didn't know I hadn't been on a date since May or that I'm weirdly blunt, especially when pressed for information that I don't want to give. I only insult people without meaning to and I beat myself up for nearly everything that comes out of my mouth. She was right that I was unhappy with my flatbread and she is probably also right that I won't be itching to go back any time soon....of course I didn't get that cake. Regretting that now.

Slab of ham...compliment at a BBQ place. Not so much on flatbread with a "misting" of olive oil. It just doesn't paint a pretty picture.

Lucky for Him, That's on the List

When Brent and I were first married, my Aunt Mary sent me, together with a box of Godiva chocolate, a clipping out of a Reader's Digest. I can't remember the exact wording, because the clipping has long since been lost, but here's the gist:

"At my bridal shower, women were asked to share words of wisdom for the new bride.
My grandmother, married for 60+ years, wrote, 'At the beginning of our marriage, I decided I would make a list of ten things that, for the sake of our marriage, I would forgive him.'
When she read her advice aloud, we asked her what was on the list.
'I never got around to making that list,' she said. 'When he did something that got me hopping mad I would just think to myself Oooooo, lucky for him that's on the list!'"

I had that story posted on my fridge until we moved, approximately two years, but we were pretty blissful at the time and it didn't really apply. Tubes of toothpaste and toilet seats not withstanding. Mostly it gave me a good chuckle.

Yesterday afternoon we were driving along and I found myself stewing on a particular matter when it flashed across my mind, and not for the first time in the last fifteen years, Lucky for him, that's on the list!

The truth of the matter is that had I actually made the list, most of the things I've felt compelled to forgive "for the sake of my marriage" would never have been on it. It would never have occurred to me that I would need to forgive such offenses for which I have pulled out the list. I probably would have put things like, "Not calling if he's going to be late from work" rather than "Buys company without consulting me first," or "Forgets our anniversary" rather than "Takes on questionable business partners."

For the record, I now like some of his business partners who have proved more faithful than I expected....and I did tell him that I wanted to have no part in the whole buying a company decision. I just didn't expect him to actually listen to that bit of advice.

I'm not saying Brent doesn't have a list a mile long of things that he's forgiven for the sake of our marriage, because I'm sure there is one. He just doesn't talk about it much. He just faithfully gets up every day and loves me anyway. Some days a little more sullen or loud than others.....

Lucky for him, that's on the list.

But if you are struggling in your marriage today, tack a blank list of 10 in your psyche and be prepared to pull it out and use it when you can find no other reason to forgive--particularly when they don't ask for forgiveness.

It really does work.

You can think some devoted Reader's Digest writer's grandmother for that bit of advice.

Oh, and also for the record, we are getting along just fine today. I don't post crap when I'm mad. No sympathetic or otherwise husband-bashing type comments needed.

Tiny Tyrant (T Squared)

Mom! I won the cweaning race!

You did?

Yeah, I cweaned my bed and I cweaned my cars and I cweaned my wegos and that's all my crap!

*gut laughter*

*high five*

Chaos Thought for the Day

Pointing out the stupidity in others takes little imagination. A true ability is one that can find a way to love them despite their stupidity.

Arrogance is not a virtue.

Yes, I am talking to myself. And yes, I do see, at this moment that my thoughts on the matter are, in fact, pointing out the stupidity in arrogant people. Today it feels like a risk worth taking.

Misreading Vibes

I am reading a novel I imagine I shouldn't be reading which just triggered a funny memory and all I could think was "blog fodder," so there is little to no excuse for the following post except that it is Wednesday, my blog, and a reason for laughter. Particularly now, 14 years later.

When I was living in San Antonio with roommates I didn't choose doing research on stem cells (I threw that in for effect. Did it work? Marrow stem cells, not embryonic. I've done cloning too. Don't hate me.) after I was married and living half a country away from my husband, my Brazilian roommate came home from the lab with a story. The story was, in general, an "artist" guy had propositioned her at the bus stop to pose nude for him. Our third roommate and I assured her he was a creep and she was smart to have walked away. She insisted that he really was an artist and she felt bad for turning him down.

Fast forward a week. I am at the self-same bus  with roommate three when a guy stares at me long enough to creep me out (approximately 0.05 seconds will do it) and then sidles up and says, "I can't help but notice how lovely your form is." (eyeroll) Um, thanks? "No, really. Your figure is amazing. I want to paint you." Yes, he got The Look.

"Paint me."
"Yes."
"Where, here?"
"My studio."
"Which is...?"
"Just over...." (General gesture towards the north)
"And just how would I be painted?"
"Well, I want to paint your amazing figure."
"Yeah, you, um, tried this with my roommate last weekend."
"Really?"
"Uh, huh. She said you were hoping to paint her nude."
"Of course."
"And that is what you'd like to do with us."
"Of course."
"Yeah, see, the thing is....that's just supremely creepy. Normal people don't just take their clothes off for the guy who picks them up a the bus stop."


I really don't remember his response. I do remember anger. We'd asked if he was a student at the school. Or maybe he asked us if we were. He wasn't. I remember that. I think I also passed on riding the bus and chose to walk home in the scorching heat instead. I'm now also hoping he isn't a serial killer. And that his bus stop propositions were never accepted. We really should have notified security about him.


Creepy.


My sister once told me that I put out "don't pick me up vibes." This guy clearly did not pick up on them.

A Servant's Heart *snarf*

On Saturday night.....

...and oh, could I regale you with stories of WHY this occurred to me on Saturday night....

...it came to my awareness that my family thinks very highly of my spiritual gifting of Service.

(Stop laughing Joyce)

See, I've read the books. I've taken the tests. I've mentioned this before. My spiritual gifting is Prophecy/Mercy. Which means I am, not bi-polar....more....split-personality. I make instant, accurate, judgements about people and an instant and a half later find their excuse for their dreadful behavior.

It makes me a really crummy friend to have because I can almost always find an excuse for the person who treated you poorly, even while being furious on your behalf, I'm making excuses for the jerks in your life.

(Right, Wendi? Mandi? Can I get an Amen? Thought so.)

I can't help it. God made me this way. I don't know WHY, but I know it to be true. Sadly, Mercy always, ALWAYS wins. Which means I go through life angry at jerks and being forced to excuse their behavior, anyway. And getting on the wrong side of my friends' woes when I'd rather lend an enraged listening ear.

Guess what? Prophecy and Mercy are spiritual gifts that cancel each other out on most tests. Which is why, for years, service kept rising to the top on those simplified tests.

(Stop laughing Brent. And Brent's mom.)

I KNOW. It's utterly laughable. I am SO very not a servant. Prophecy: 49.4% Mercy: 49.5% Service: 0.1% (WHY can't I make this math work?) My house isn't the place you come to relax. You are welcome to my chaos, but don't expect to be served, and for the love, don't expect it to be clean. If you are hungry, find some food and eat it. But after I've done the dishes for the night, do NOT ask me to feed you. And have a little respect and put your dish at least near the sink.

So you would think that after fifteen, eleven, ten, eight, and/or four years, my family would have caught on to the fact that I am no servant. Not a service bone in this body. Judgy, yes. Merciful, yes. Servant, unequivocally, no.

So I'm going to consider it an HONOR, that my family considers me to have the spiritual gift of service so strongly that I would WANT to do two hours worth of kitchen weekend restoration before cooking for the next day's potluck, so that I can do THOSE dishes, and rather than sit on the couch with the rest of those slackers, I would be excited to prepare for them Second Supper just as their movie is ending.

It means I've come a LONG way, baby.

In their defense, they did offer to wait the movie for me and I did tell them no, because, they would, in fact, still be waiting, now, three days later.

It's a dreadful curse, this mercy. And an amazing gift.

Speaking into the Good

A friend of mine related to me this morning a conversation she had with her daughter.

Daughter: When with the Chaos girl be home?
Mother: Soon.
Daughter: How soon?
Mother: Soon.

When she told the story she said, "We may as well start speaking it."

Yes and Amen.

Would you speak it with us? The news is not good. It LOOKS like it will be a very long time before Iris is home with us. But if we keep saying that, we are giving God no room to perform a mighty thing. He may or may not bring her home "soon" as that mighty thing, but I, for one, and going to speak it.

Soon. She will be home soon. May the path be paved with no speedbumps.

Kinda Goofy

This morning, my first thought on waking was, "Please God, don't let it rain until all the football games are over so we don't have to reschedule."

I repeated the prayer often this morning and then I went to the games.

Where I watched storms roll in.

And listened to people on cell phones around me explain to people on the other end of the connection, "No, we haven't had any rain. It's really windy. And it looks stormy...really? It's pouring there? Huh. No, not yet." Etc.

Two hours and seven minutes later, as we walked back to our van, and threw the lawn chairs in, it began to spit. As we pulled into our driveway, it began to pour.

Sometimes you pray, knowing it is silly and not really expecting anything to come of it.

And sometimes you pray hoping Someone will hear you, but not really anticipating it is worthy of hearing.

And sometimes, you sit on the football field, staring at the sky in awe, and wanting to shout to the people around you, "It isn't raining because I prayed, but you better hustle to your car as soon as those boys are done shaking hands!"

Today was one of those kinds of days.

On all counts.

Feeling Kinda Snarky

...because not everything I post has to be serious, I offer you a visit to my snarky self.

So, since mid-August, when the local college students returned to town, I've been intending to make the following post to Facebook:

Dear Tabor students. There are two crosswalks connecting the north and south portions of campus which span D street. Neither of them are in front of Ampride.

(Trust me, the locals would get it.)

Nothing quite brings out the road rage like stopping at two crosswalks for students, only to stop at a third cross point so that a pack of pimply faced wanna-be adults can mosey in front of my vehicle while checking their phones for incoming texts and not even acknowledge the fact that a vehicle has stopped for them to cross, mid-block, where there is no crossing.

And then this week? Whadda ya know. The city painted a cross walk for them. Yes, a FULL ten yards from the other one. Because to ask students to actually walk to the crosswalk to cross is just asking too much. Let's just put another in.

And, just because it's my blog and I can.

I do have some compassion for the students and their crosswalk. Singular. Dashing across that street would be taking your life into your hands and was in the 90s (when we didn't have a crosswalk that was acknowledged by any drivers). But then I went to KU where you don't even look before entering a crosswalk because everyone WILL stop for you. However, not at a crosswalk, all bets are off. You enter the road, you very well may die.

And, for what it's worth. The cross point where my roomie and I crossed to get to campus did not have a crosswalk and I very nearly did die there on several occations. And the nearest crosswalk from there was down a steep hill and probably more than 100 yards.

When I revisited campus a few years back, I noticed they'd added a crosswalk there.

That one, I get.

Dreaming

I had a dream last night about my little girl.

It really started strange. We were visiting Israel and then suddenly we were at the care center visiting our little Iris. Maybe I figured if we were that close, we could just jump another plane and stop in to see her?

Dreams.

She was so full of love and hugs and I was so relieved that she was open to receiving our love so quickly. She also spoke English. Dreams can be nice that way. So I told her how very much we loved her and she responded "I love you, too." And we hugged, and kissed and giggled and played.


And then I woke up.

I just wanted to go back to sleep so I could hug her again. And all day long, I've missed my little girl. It hurts to go through a day without her. To have a birthday party where I watched the cousins play, minus one. To see cute new little girl clothes that I'd love to dress my Iris in. And I don't even know what size to buy for a daughter that I don't know when she's coming home.

I know this is temporary. And on the scale of world matters, it isn't really that big of a deal. She's being well cared for in a place suffering a horrendous famine. Most days just feel like any other. But the days following the dreams, they hurt.

Courts should be open now. Hopefully a court date will soon follow. I'd still love to be there before Christmas. With our schedule, Christmas will be here in no time. I might be losing hope that this will actually happen. Delay, delay, delay, delay, delay. That is the latest story. And it is aggravating. Even when God's timing is prefect. Even when I have eleven children in my backyard. Even when all things work together for good. And especially when I have dreams about my little girl.

There's no poetic ending to this post. I'm sad. The end.

Abundance

I have a story for you.

When Brent and I were first married, we moved into an on-campus apartment that had cinderblock walls, green industrial tile, centipedes, and no air conditioning. The day we moved in, it was a bazillion degrees. I remember that night we had the door and all the windows (all four of them) thrown open in an effort to breathe.

I was a house cleaner.
He had a work study job.
We were both full time students.

At the time, we were also involved in an MLM and were apparently making money (my overall impression of the MLM is negative in my mind, but that must have come later as we were clearly waiting on a check at the time), because we decided that, broke as we were (all we need is love and air...), if the check was at least XX dollars (maybe $350?) we would buy a window ac unit. The check comes, it is, let's say, $349.90. It was really close to whatever the magic number was. That I remember.

We must have had $250 worth of bills and the cheapest AC unit we could buy was $100.

But we'd forgotten to figure in the tithe.

Can you hear the conversation?

The Lord had really worked on  my heart regarding the tithe just the year prior. This was a non-negotiable. I mean, I'd been raised to tithe, but I'm not sure I was very consistent until late high school and maybe well enough into college. Though I DO remember the summer before my Sophomore year it really hitting home.

And, remember, we are talking about something like $35. Or, as I was in college, $34.99. And yes, I was that specific. I was a broke, letter of the law, kind of girl.

I don't remember the conversation. All I remember is that both of us knew we had to do it. We were establishing our giving as a married couple and it felt like an all or nothing moment. We either believed the tithe, or we didn't. But I still remember standing at the offering box, check in hand, and verifying over my shoulder with my sweating husband that we were going to drop that $34.99 in. He nodded, I dropped, and we walked out of church...

...and came home to not one, but two air conditioning units. (one for the front room, one for the back)

I kid you not.

See, some people believe that we should "give out of our abundance," but the thing they seem to be missing is that when we give, abundance follows.

It isn't always cash. Sometimes it is two air conditioning units that were sitting in someone's garage and they heard third hand that someone's kids were sweltering in cinderblock military barracks and offered their use. Sometimes it is a Pell grant that arrives just in time. Sometimes it is the sale of half your stock at the top of the market, just in case, the week before the market unexpectedly crashes. Sometimes it is milk and bread hanging on your doorknob when you leave your house in the morning. Sometimes it is a year after year hand-me-down wardrobe from a friend with excellent taste. Sometimes it is a pristine crib/cradle combo or deep freeze for a steal at a garage sale just when you need it. Sometime it is cars that go long after they should have given up the ghost. Sometimes it is five amazing, beautiful children. And sometimes it is your dream house at a Groupon price.

Selah.

I know a lot of people want to argue the tithe. They want to argue that the church misuses funds. And in many (dare I say, most?) churches, they would be right. The people were to tithe to the storehouse and out of the storehouse, the priests were to feed themselves and the poor. God didn't tell His people to tithe only when the priests were doing their jobs right. He told them to tithe, pure and simple. What the priests did with the tithe was between them and God. The tithe isn't about money, it is about obedience.

In 58: Fast Living, he brings up the tithe. He even brings up the fact that churches spend too much on buildings and other things. But he also brought up the fact that only a small portion (like 20%, maybe fewer) of professing Christians tithe. (Brent's reading the book now, so it is AWOL and I can't give exact numbers, but I think I'm close.) And 8-10% don't give AT ALL. NOTHING. But if all professing American believers would tithe, that is give 10% of their POST-tax income, it would produce something like $133,000,000,000. I'm not even going to delve into the pre-tax tithe debate today.

Oh. My. Word. Can you imagine if we freed up 133 billion dollars in giving? It would certainly out give the government and WE would have a say about where it went. We want to complain that our churches are spending all their money on salaries and buildings, but they are working on a budget sliced by, what, 70%? I don't know about your priest/pastor/minister, but I have enough faith in mine that if our giving went up by 400% (? I am so much not a quick thinking math person and this is my math and nothing I got from the book), I'm relatively certain building a larger, fancier building wouldn't be on the docket. I'm guessing that the church's giving outside its walls would increase exponentially and proportionally.

But let me back up and even let the 10% not go to a church. If all professing Christians would give 10% somewhere? Mercy. What a difference we could make.

Do you make $350 a month? 10% would sponsor a hungry child.

I'm just sayin'.

Lately I've heard a lot about people who believe we need to sell it all off and give it all away. That we can't be Christ followers if we don't. But, what's next? Frankly, I wonder who funds those people after that happens. Someone has to make the money to donate to the programs that are started by the people who give it all away and live under a bridge feeding the poor--which they are now. I'm not saying that some people aren't called to that, but I don't believe that ALL people are called to that. If we are all living under a bridge, I don't see a whole lot of incentive to join us and I'm not sure who is providing the food for us to give away.

Maybe that's just me.



Let's think along lines that people can actually buy into, like, I have been blessed, let me share in the blessing. Because I think before people can see Giving it All Away, they might get Share A Portion.

Don't trust a church? Find someone you can trust. Live 58 has done a lot of research into groups you can trust with your funds. It wouldn't be a bad idea to start there. I like World Vision. I like Victory Christian Children's Home. I like Stillwater life Services. I like Main Street Ministries food bank. There are lots of programs that would happily provide a start to your giving. Shoot, start with donating 10% of your grocery cart to a food bank.

In Malachai 3, it says:
 ⁸ “Will a mere mortal rob God? Yet you rob me.
   “But you ask, ‘How are we robbing you?’
   “In tithes and offerings. ⁹ You are under a curse—your whole nation—because you are robbing me. ¹⁰ Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. Test me in this,” says the LORD Almighty, “and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be room enough to store it. ¹¹ I will prevent pests from devouring your crops, and the vines in your fields will not drop their fruit before it is ripe,” says the LORD Almighty. ¹² “Then all the nations will call you blessed, for yours will be a delightful land,” says the LORD Almighty. 

I can attest that God's word is true.

Quit waiting for the abundance to come so that you can give. Give. And see if abundance doesn't follow.