Tag: christianity

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A Forgotten Humanity

I’ve been wondering lately if Jesus would have voted if He were an American citizen.

I’ve been wondering if or how He would partake in the rhetoric that has become so normalized. Humanity at its finest. Blame. Accusation. Defense. Disbelief. Mockery. Meanness. Entitlement. Superiority.

Perhaps it’s a classic case of just needing to look at my 1990s W.W.J.D. bracelet… but, I really have wondered what role He would assume in our current culture. Because that has some bearing on how, when, or if I do (or don’t) get involved. It’s as though politics, pandemics, movements, and impossible-to-please-everyone decisions have stripped people of their humanity. And we have forgotten that on the other side of a policy, or a protest, or a political party, or a television screen, or a social media post, or a decision we don’t like… that there are real people with real souls.

It feels somewhat ironic, given the causes (or people) we are often fighting for.

Oh, I thought the Bible said…

But somehow, our […hatred, harsh words, thoughts, opinions…] are justified. As if we are living as though Scripture says, “Value others above yourselves…except if you disagree with them, if they offend you, or if they seem ignorant. Then it’s okay to disregard them, speak poorly of them, and assume you are better than them.”

Or, “Love only the people who are just like you, the ones who you agree with, get along with… you know, the ones who look like you, believe like you, vote like you, and act like you. It doesn’t matter if you love anyone else. Those other people, they aren’t worth saving or caring about.”

Because we are the ones who are “right” and that begins to matter abundantly more than the people. Whether it’s our stance, our prejudices, our experiences, our knowledge, our understanding of the issue at hand, the way we are personally impacted… somehow this provides us with a “truth” that excuses us from kindness, grace, and love. It becomes perfectly acceptable to think or make generalized (and sometimes atrocious) statements about groups of people and/or individuals.

How do I be a Christian right now?

It’s been a baffling season to live in as a Christian. Maybe for you, too.

I wonder if I’m not doing enough, or saying enough, or being enough – or maybe I’m doing too much. I am often in disbelief that I can claim the same identity as another (a child of God) and yet when we are both looking at a square, I see a circle and they see a triangle. How can this be? What am I missing?

I’ve struggled with the lack of unity that grows more apparent each day. Is there any room in this world to disagree on politics, or the economy, or how to stand up against injustice, or decisions that are made… but still hold one another in high regard, to show honor, to heap blessings upon the other? Is there any thought of (or desire for) harmonious living?

I have been overwhelmingly challenged lately to check my heart, ever-aware of the judgment and disbelief that so readily surfaces. “I can’t believe she would say that… or believe that… or do that…”, “He is such a…”, “Don’t these idiots know that…?”

I am ruined

And when I look deeply within, I am ashamed at what I encounter. A spirit of pride. A feeling that I am “right”, and that I know “better”. Criticism, doubt, anger. An inability to see people as image-bearers of the Most High God. Woe to me…I am ruined!

For me to forget that I am just as human, just as fallible, just as broken… just as in need of saving grace as the person posting to my right or to my left. How dare I? How dare I forage for the ounce of disagreeableness within you while I carry a hefty load of filth within me (a load that I conveniently choose to ignore, or dismiss as ‘not as big a deal’). How mortifying that I might condemn you, but be so unwilling to admit that I could be wrong…

Have I forgotten what I have been saved from? Have I lost sight of the depth, the weight, the gravity of my sin… ? Do I remember that blood was shed to set me…us…free? Have I forgotten the Gospel?!

What a disgrace to think that I might know you well enough to know what you have been through and how that shapes your worldview. What ignorance for me to assume that my way, my understanding, my perspective is right or truth. What pride, when I refuse to really hear you or care for you, even if we don’t see the world in the same way. What shame, that I am willing to judge your actions when I cannot possibly know what decisions you have been forced to make.

I am sorry.

Will you forgive me? Will you forgive the harsh or insensitive words that I have spoken or written? Can you somehow put my grossly judgmental thoughts in the past and trudge through our differences to find a place where we can see each other as humans once again (or, maybe, for the first time)?

Can we find the time and space to care about each other? To know each other? To move past the assumptions and exist in a world where we both strive to find common ground?

And, Jesus, will You forgive me, too?

As I consider You, the Triune God who is sovereign in all things, I fall on my face… undeserving of your grace. I bring pride, selfishness, self-righteousness, and, often, an unwillingness to love my brothers and sisters – the ones You call sons and daughters. But Lord, if I know anything about Your call on my life, it’s that I cannot claim to love you and not love others. You even ask me to love my enemies… the people who laugh at my failures, the ones who smile at my pain. The ones who have caused me deep pain. The very people I want to hate.

So Father, teach me how to love. Show me how. Help me do it when I cannot on my own. May You find me willing, ready, and actively seeking to show Your love in this world, during a time when humanity feels so divided…. so…. forgotten.

Yeah, but he’s still a…

And Lord, help me to actively confess my pride, my judgments, my condemnation of others and their opinions/actions/words when it surfaces. Help me to do so, even when I feel under attack. Even if I have to do it over and over and over again.

There is no world in which I believe You condone those thoughts, those accusations, those words toward or about others – regardless of what they say, write, believe, or do. Show me how rid myself of any excuse or justification of sin or ill-will toward others. To live with the type of humility that Christ did. To be a person who, in addition to love, brings joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control to those around me. Give me wisdom on how to act, think, and speak in today’s world.

God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

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I Will Never Regret Following

We waffled a bit on if we should even do foster care. On a random Sunday, on a random fall day, I got in the car after church and told Kel I felt like it was something we should do. That same day, we inquired with our county and eventually nosed ourselves into the foster care system. I wish I could say that it had been smooth and easy. Maybe it’s better that it’s not. It weeds people out.

Despite the perceived flaws, we did walk away from our training certain that if we were trying to adopt a newborn, foster care wasn’t the route we should be taking. They did a great job of reiterating, over and over again, that babies are rarely (if ever) adopted by their foster parents. We heard story after story of heartbreak – foster parents in the process of adoption only to have a grandparent show up out of nowhere and take custody of the child. Basically they were saying: Don’t get your hopes up, people. This isn’t about you building up your idyllic family. This is hard. This hurts. This never turns out the way you think it will. But these kids need you. Will you let them in? Will you love them? Will you champion efforts to help kids be reunited to their biological families?

We decided to keep moving forward. As Kel and I talked and prayed, our hearts grew excited about the prospect of being a safe home for a small child, even if only for a season. We looked forward to the relationships we might have with biological parents, we looked forward to helping make reunification happen. We knew we didn’t know much, but we were willing to jump in. Our steps were deliberate. Slow, but deliberate.

We began the initial inquiry in October of 2018. We didn’t hear back until right around Thanksgiving (after reaching out a few more times). Our training began in December. There was some paperwork to turn in, fingerprinting, background checks. And then there was quiet. Eventually a third party reached out to complete our home study. A woman came out three different times in May and asked us lots of personal questions – we locked up our chemicals and covered our outlets. On July 12, 2019 – this same woman informed us that our home study was approved by the county.

The silent treatment from the county dragged on, so we began to get the impression that foster care wasn’t going to happen. Everything was turned in, the home study approved…but still nothing. Children, in any capacity, didn’t seem a likely part of our future.

So, I moved on. I had to. I went to California to help my family out. I remember my brother and sister-in-law being very concerned with how this would interrupt our foster care journey. I assured them that it was fine. Given our track record, nothing was likely to happen. You might say I had given up.

No words can explain the shock we felt when we discovered that we were, indeed, certified foster parents… on the same day we were asked to take in a baby. On August 29, 2019, I received a text that would alter life as we knew it. Are you interested in a placement? Oh, by the way, your certification is in the office – dated mid-July.

Maybe you can understand why we were so humbled and blown away by the amount of support we received from our community, our friends, and our family to help us prepare for the arrival of a tiny newborn in the matter of a few hours. We literally had nothing and knew nothing.

I’ll never forget the frantic calls to my mom and sister-in-law: Hey, we just got asked to take a baby… yes, somehow we’re certified. What if I don’t come back to California in two days- how bad would that be? Or the texts to my neighbors who had baby girls: Hi, um, do you have any tiny newborn clothes or baby things we could use… immediately? We don’t even know what we need, but if you think we need it- we probably do.

I’ll never forget the mad dash to Target – attempting to pick out the best diapers, formula, wipes and carseat without any prior research. We waited near the check-out with a full cart… waiting for the text that said – yes, come get this baby girl. We wrestled with our newly purchased carseat in the parking lot, too stubborn to read directions, too anxious to process what was happening. We may have exchanged sharp words as a result (I can’t really remember that part…).

When we accepted her placement that morning, there was little hope of this being a forever home. Because, adopting a newborn from foster care rarely happens. If I knew anything, it was that. But, from those first conversations with case workers, adoption had always seemed plausible. “You all are a concurrent home, right?” [That basically means when we signed up for foster care, we had also chosen the path of possibly taking a child in forever, in case reunification wasn’t an option. In those instances, it helps limit the transition a child has to go through and provides them with some continuity.]

It’s been exactly one year since we picked Baby K up from the county office (which feels a bit unbelievable to me!). As the months have passed, we have waited… and waited… and waited. There have been shifts in her case that have felt momentous, but they only lead to more waiting.

Sometimes it’s hard to hope. But it’s just as hard to imagine her being anywhere else. And while I have often wondered what it’s “supposed” to feel like to be a mom, I know that I am hers. In my darkest moments, I find myself in the cage of worst-case-scenarios – trapped by the certainty that we will be in this sort of purgatory forever. The assurances from lawyers and case workers can often feel empty.

Because this is what I signed up for. A safe place for a child, for a season. No guarantee of permanence. No promise of forever.

But then you’re given a 5-pound baby and you keep her alive. Over time, she changes you. You get introduce her to the world. You celebrate her victories as she proudly learns to roll over, crawl, stand up on her own, take her first steps, and scream “da-da!”. She reaches out for you when she cries, she holds you tighter in a room full of strangers. You put her to bed, night after night – yours is the last voice she hears each day, and the first each morning.

You are her parents – the only ones she has ever known. You are the ones teaching her about life.

You love her – more than you ever thought possible.

And yet, you still might be asked to let her go.

Let her come in. Then let her go.

To be faithful with what we are given each day. In this case, the sweetest and craziest of babies.

The most selfish parts of my heart hope I don’t have to know that pain, but it’s a reality I do not control.

Regardless of the outcome, I will never regret following the gentle urging that spiraled us into the foster care system. I will never regret saying yes. I will never regret the waiting. Because, ultimately, even the waiting means more time with her. More precious time… time that should not be wasted.

And as I reflect on the last year of becoming instant parents, I can only plead with you: Follow the promptings, friends. The small voice that pleads with you to love and know God more…and to love and know His people.

No matter how crazy. No matter how scary. No matter how much it MAY hurt. No matter how inconvenient. No matter how much it may cost you. No matter how imperfect the system. I think you’ll be surprised by what (and who) you will find when you pay heed.

Simple obedience can sometimes lead to the greatest of blessings. Whether it’s a woman who stays for a few weeks, or a baby who stays for a year (hopefully more)… a random conversation with a random stranger, a small act of kindness that feels out of the blue to the most unlikely of humans. Faithful walking. It is our calling.

These are the moments that change us. The moments that reflect Jesus to those around us. Moments of great sacrifice, generosity, selflessness… as we learn to get over ourselves, our needs, our privacy, our desires… and walk more faithfully.

Mishpat [a Hebrew word for justice in the Old Testament], then, is giving people what they are due, whether punishment or protection or care… God loves and defends those with the least economic and social power, and so should we. This is what it means to ‘do justice’.

Tim Keller, Generous Justice

Disclaimer: I can’t possibly know what is needed or even supposed to happen on county side of things in the foster care system. I can’t possibly know the amount of work or time or frustration that county workers experience on the day-to-day (especially as they deal with impatient people like me). All I am writing about is our side of the exchange and how it impacted us. My goal is not to bash the foster care system or any individuals we have worked with-I know we don’t know what it’s like on their side of it and the challenges they are up against. I am ultimately so thankful for it/them!

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To all the Women in the Midst of the Infertility Battle

“We’re pregnant!”

Kel and I looked at each other in amazement. “Were you all trying?”

“Yes, sorta!”

It’s still incredible to us that people can decide to have a child, or another child, and… voilà! This isn’t a luxury that we have. And, in reality, probably no one really has it – it can just seem like it.

We have been so honored and beyond blessed to care for Baby K the last (almost) year, but there’s the constant nagging that reminds me that she is not “ours” – she’s a ward of the state of New Mexico. We are stewards of her little soul. We have no control if she stays or goes. I know that no one really has control of that with their children… we all just like to think (or hope) we do.

When we first got K, lots of people commented that we’d probably get pregnant now that we had a newborn living with us. Because, that’s what always happens. The irony of life – the infertile couple gets a baby placed with them and then, magically, find themselves pregnant. A part of my heart longed for that to be true. Not because K wasn’t enough, but because I loved the idea of her having a little sidekick to grow up with, if we were fortunate enough to keep her.

I haven’t spoken or written much about infertility in a while. Partially because it feels a little cruel to the women who are still dealing with it in very real ways while I bounce a perfect-to-me baby on my lap. I have instantly been ushered into a world of mom-hood – the world where I can easily engage in conversation with the lady holding a baby in line at the DMV because I know we have something in common. I can now relate to the utter exhaustion, day-time nap challenges, and blow-outs.

But every month, I still face the same disappointment that I did before K came along. It doesn’t last as long, and there’s no time for it to be all-consuming, but I’d be lying if I said it had vanished completely. As K approaches her first birthday (in ten days!) and hopes of adoption continue to grow, I can’t help but think a second kid might be nice… I can’t help but want her to have a constant sibling companion during childhood.

Maybe that makes me selfish or ungrateful. Or maybe it just makes me human.

But, for us, a second kid means a bit more than a perfectly-timed sexual encounter. Maybe it means thousands and thousands of dollars. Or the potential heartache and ups and downs of the adoption process. Or the possibility of adoption through foster care – if/when reunification with biological parents doesn’t work out (which is usually the initial goal). Or medications, procedures, and lots and lots and lots of waiting, wondering, and hoping.

I think it’s easy to forget those who struggle with getting pregnant. Easy to think, “Oh- she has a foster baby now, I’m so happy for them – the struggle is finally over!” Or, perhaps, if we stop talking about it, all of that stuff will just go away.

I imagine the pain of infertility might have lifelong affects. A mourning of never carrying a biological child in your own womb. A letting go of something your body was created to do. A relinquishing of expectation and desire.

But, I also believe there can be extraordinary and beautiful experiences along the way. Ones that could have never existed otherwise. Ones that cause me to be grateful for the years of infertility, ones that leave me astonished by God’s sovereign plans – far better than anything I could have dreamed of myself. For us, one of those things has been K – placed in our arms at 6 days old. I would wait for her all over again. Every tear was worth it, for before me each day I have the privilege of watching the most charming of personalities, discovering both the world and herself with awe and wonder. She is strong, smart, and silly.

[K, I have marveled lately about the Lord’s perfect timing of your appearance in our life… if I hadn’t been home from California for a short visit, if my boss hadn’t been moving, if your cousin’s leukemia treatment hadn’t been deescalated, if your dad and I hadn’t been living in New Mexico at that exact moment in time, if we hadn’t somewhat randomly decided to jump into the foster care journey. You have been the most surprising and wonderful gift – more than anything we could have asked for or imagined. You, I am certain, were meant for us and we were meant for you. You are undoubtedly our daughter, whether or not genetics declare it so. We are made better by you in our lives. You were worth the wait. You have been deeply wanted from the moment we knew about you, and fiercely loved from the moment we saw you.]

It’s incredible to me that the Lord can give us a child, or another child… and voilà! God always shows up. He proves Himself faithful in the craziest, most surprising ways. And He will remain faithful, even if Baby K doesn’t get to stay.

To all the women in the midst of the infertility battle – I haven’t forgotten you. The pain is real. Don’t be ashamed to feel it, spill it, or just be in it. But don’t lose hope in the midst of the pain. Brighter days will come – even if they look different than what you thought you wanted. Even in the midst of the negative pregnancy tests, the unwanted monthly visitor, the inconclusive tests, the miscarriages, the ups and downs… His plan for your family (however small or large) will be perfect. There can be hope and joy, even in the mourning.

Press on. Into the unexpected and, maybe, even the undesirable. Who knows what awaits us there. May we continue to be surprised by a God who is good and knows what we need and want far better than we do.

“One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.”

André Gide

“By clinging to what you know, you may miss out on what you have yet to discover.”

Duffy & Maggie Robbins
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What do you want to be?

“When I grow up, I want to be a vet.” – 7-year-old me.

“I’m gonna be a singer.” – 13-year-old me.

“I think I just want to be a wife and have kids.” – 19-year-old me.

It’s funny how time and circumstances change things. The things we wanted (or thought we wanted) are no longer plausible. When I began my senior year of college with no significant other and no prospect of romance in sight, I realized my ambitions of wifehood and motherhood might have to be put on hold for a bit. Years, really. And when this happens, you adjust. You have to.

The first few years I worked full-time at camp, guests would often ask, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” … only it took on the form of, “So, what do you want to do after this?”. I knew what they were really getting at. No one actually works at camp as a professional career, so what do you really want to do with your life?

The longer I stayed at camp, the more I realized that it was becoming a career. I was a “Camping Professional”, all while I was waiting for the whole wife thing to come to fruition. But when you don’t get married until you’re 30, you realize that your aspirations have to change a bit. And then, when you can’t get pregnant, they continue to have to change. You’re a working woman now. A true professional. An executive. A leader. You go back to school and get your Master’s. You value success in a bit of a different way. You even buy new clothes to match the new felt identity.

It’s funny how all of those dreams, even as a child, get tangled up in identity. Being a vet, a singer, a wife, a mom…. or a doctor, a teacher, a realtor, a pastor, an accountant. We “are” these things. It’s what we do, and it so easily becomes who we are. It is how we attempt to define ourselves to others, how we attempt to know others upon our first meeting: “Nice to meet you- what do you do?” It’s where we often find value and purpose. We gauge the successfulness of our humanity based on what our jobs are…or aren’t.

And when things don’t pan out the way we think they might, sometimes an abrupt shift of expectation is necessary. You find out that your foster care application didn’t get lost and you bring home a 6-day old baby a few hours later…in an instant, you’re a mom. A pandemic happens and working moms are suddenly stay-at-home elementary school teachers. Or parents who happily send their kids away to school in August are staring into a new world of homeschool and a variety of curriculums. Or people who have devoted their lives to their work are jobless, fiddling their thumbs, and not sure which direction is the next best move. Or people who are normally in an office surrounded by co-workers are now working remotely, in a kind of lonely solitude.

As I have processed through this identity crisis in my own life, I have realized I am not alone in the storm. So many of us are reeling with uncertainty and confusion, so many of us are facing realities that, six months ago, we could have never dreamed of. I am watching my husband go to work every day while I take care of a baby. A wife and a mom. It’s what I wanted… wasn’t it?

But somewhere along the way, things changed. They had to. And they will continue to morph. That’s just how life works.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” It’s a question I asked my nephews, just the other day. I expected them to reply much as I had as a kid… and they did. But if my 36-year-old self were to be asked that question? I’d like to answer much differently.

When I consider being, I want to be someone who knows Jesus and lives my life in a way that reflects that, no matter what I do. Someone who seeks His interests, not my own.

Whether I’m a camping professional, or unemployed, whether I’m a wife, or a mom. When I change the answer to this question, answering the “What I do” question becomes a lot less significant. What I do matters significantly less than how I do it, or who I am in the process of doing it. When I answer the question this way, it doesn’t matter if my career changes 100 times. It doesn’t matter if I never get paid to work another day in my life again. It doesn’t matter if I never use the diploma I just received in the mail. It doesn’t matter if I’m a biological mom or a foster mom or single or married.

When we answer the “what do you want to be” question this way, there doesn’t have to be an identity crisis when life abruptly hands us something new. Because, we know who we are… or, at least, who we are becoming.

Maybe you’re like me… a bit disoriented from sudden life changes, attempting to process through your worth and your value, considering what your purpose is. Perhaps life, even before COVID-19, hasn’t turned out the way you thought it would. Perhaps you’re still single. Perhaps your kids are doing things that break your heart. Perhaps you can’t have kids. Perhaps you’ve recently lost someone you love. Perhaps your health is failing. Perhaps you’re collapsing under the weight of what decision you must make.

None of these things have much to do with what we do, but who we are in the wake of tragedy, loss, celebration, promotion, confusion… that matters.

Maybe the question needs to shift into “Who do you want to be?” What kind of person, when you grow up, do you want to be? Occupation aside… what kind of human are you going to be? Kind? Generous? Thoughtful? Selfless? Quick to assume? Judgmental? Patient? Prideful? Hateful? Bitter? Unforgiving? Forgiving? Believing that you’re better than… more qualified… more necessary? Someone who listens? Someone who loves, no strings attached?

I know the person I want to be. Hopefully, it’s the person I have been becoming over the years… as a student, a single lady, a camp employee… as a wife, a foster mom, a laid off employee. These things teach me along the way, but they never encompass everything I am or want to be.

And I know I can’t be that person without first knowing the One who embodies all the traits I long for. I can’t be that person without spending time with Him.

This current season will end. I may not be unemployed forever. I may not even be a mom forever (foster care angst). Right now feels a bit like eternity, because it’s all we can see. But, it’ll change. Somehow, in some way.

What kind of person will you be when it does?

What kind of people are we becoming? When we look back in 10 years at this season, will be proud of the actions and words, how we spent our time, the causes we stood for, the people we cared about?

And so I have to ask… Who do you want to be? And how are you becoming that person?

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