When coordinating a handful of simultaneous moves one must consider oneself a box: flexible, fill-able, empty-able, re-fill-able, and tough.

I go behind the grocery store and dig in the the bins for boxes. Flattened, the boxes stack on the scale so they know how many coins I need to give them. I feel like these boxes. Emptied of the original and deflated. I am emptying myself of the attachment we have had to this location for years.

Reformation of the 200+ boxes by way of rolls of sticky tape makes perfect work for children eager to lend a hand. They pile by the wall waiting to be filled. I feel like these boxes. Devoid of my former attachments I wait for re-purposing. What will I carry? What will the new load be? What will fill me at the new place?

Filled yet still in use the boxes lounge around. Items will be pulled and returned a number of times still before Monday. Then the final strip of tape will shut them up for the trip down the street. These boxes mostly likely won’t stay taped for long. I feel like these boxes. I am in the in-between. There are daily chores that feel suddenly odd even after doing in them every day for all time. I want to be at the new place but we are not there yet. So I have to unpack and repack myself various times in a day.

The Berenstain Bears tell a story of prepositions using the predicament of being stuff in a box. The rhythmic verse chants in my mind, “Inside, outside, upside-down…” Our things displaced fill our spaces, inside, outside, and all around. I feel like these boxes. Insecurity of not-what-was and not-yet thrust me forward, awkward, in the way, imposing. I want to rush and be done with this. I want to quit stubbing my toes on things out of place. I want to stop stubbing my heart on a jumbled up soul.

Monday we move our house. Other moving dates will come soon. For now I focus on this one. This sweet picture taken by their older sister, Gabrielle, captures the anticipation of my little ones. I feel like this box. The burden of making this move a good one for the whole family weighs heavy. I hope they don’t feel overlooked or shoved to one side. I hope I can absorb their insecurities and stresses in this time of change. I hope I don’t forget that they, too, are feeling all the boxes-full of emotions that I am. I hope I remember to run to the One who can tape together my seems when I feel things getting to be too much.

Way back in 2008 I blogged a series called green about envy. On the last day I revealed a notebook I used for a gratefulness journal. Oh the joys of a Sharpie gliding across the lush pages of a snazzy journal.

Origami made by my son. The green swan used to be an envious ugly duckling.

Way back a long time ago before that I learned the meaning of the word unabridged. I felt gypped. How could anyone dare defile the original intent of the precious words of an author? That very day I went to the library and looked for the unabridged version of ‘Little Women’ by Louisa May Alcott. From that day forward I accepted no substitutes. Being that Alcott ranked number one, at the time, in my long ‘favorite authors’ list I diligently read every book in the library by this esteemed woman.

During that stint of Alcott immersion a practice found in the life of the character named Jo stuck with me. I tucked it away and kept it for the ‘someday’ when I would be married and have children of my own.

That journal I started in 2008 got about half way full. I put it away, for a time. Last year, as family and friends, we began writing what we are thankful for on the wall in our home. Then around the beginning of December I ran across this glass-half-full journal. As I thumbed through the pages I saw sweet Jo at her writing desk and the images of the tucked away practice returned to my mind as the first time I read about it.

SPOILER ALERT! (If you have not had the joy of reading Little Women and Little Men then you might want to wait to read the rest of this post. Really, I don’t mind. This post can wait for you to get done reading the gems. If you have an e-reader you can get the books here free: ManyBooks.net)

Jo March married the good Professor Bhaer, much to my chagrin; I wanted her to be with the passionate Teddy. She inherited her Aunt’s big old house, Plumfield. She and the professor started a school. Every so often Jo sits down with a journal and writes down admirable things she sees in her pupils. She then finds a quiet moment to share these observations with the young ones to encourage them.

I wanted to start doing that with my family. So I re-purposed the rest of those snazzy pages and started right away. I write down what I admire about my husband and my children. Then I read aloud to each one individually what my own hand has written, from my heart to theirs. The reminders help me appreciate each one. They feel good as I choose to see the good, and in turn tell them about it. I write with green ink, my favorite color for my favorite people.

Secretly, I hope to be able to do this, also, for the Lifetime Dreamers. Someday.

Like everything?

By this time next month:

• the church will be in a new location.
• the ministry office will be in a new location.
• the orphanage will have a new rental house.
• the Washington’s will have a new rental house.

By the mid-year the bowling alley will be in a new location.

The only thing not moving? The school. We are fighting tooth and nail (whatever that means) for the land where the school is so it can stay put.

Moving our family excites me most. Perks:

• Three stories
• A bit of an outdoors with a little grass
• A half a block from a HUGE park
• A block and a half from a main street

A rough sketch of the floor plan:

Oh, yes, and to finish this post I wanted to share with you a verse from the New Living Translation version of the Bible found in Isaiah 54:2 which applies to our situation.

“Enlarge your house; build an addition.
      Spread out your home, and spare no expense!”

Isn’t that a refreshing look at the old verse about lengthening cords and strengthening stakes? Yes!

Who doesn’t love the opening of Dumbo when the stork struggles all plucky over the clouds until he finds the train where Mrs. Jumbo awaits the arrival of her precious child? Such sweetness when he plays a note and then sings Happy Birthday to the little tyke.

Where did all this stork business start anyway? Wouldn’t the pouch of a kangaroo make more sense? Or if this delivery creature had to fly why not a big strong pterodactyl?

So we somehow have this idea that offspring find their way to us by a mystical force. Logically a stork has little or nothing to do with the acquisition of children, so maybe fate plays a hand, or possibly God. As parents we know the process involves more than the multiplication of cells and the influence of genes. Heredity gets us closer to idea of a child placed in our family by design. Be it through conception, adoption, marriage, or other family-making ways it would seem that a force is at work placing children in the arms of their parents.

Some intimate conversations followed my writing an article on our orphanage blog called “Sometimes I don’t know how to pray“. Then a few other blog posts trickled in giving me cause to pause. One friend speaks of the waiting pangs as they painstakingly walk the steps to adopt their first (or first, second and third kids all at once). Another dear friend rejoices over the eleven children God has blessed them with; arms wide open to more should they come into their lives.

So I wonder which ones are mine.

Hannah cared for Samuel for just a few years after month after month of agonizing infertility.

Moses’ mother let the child suckle at her breasts in preparation for a destiny of liberation away from her.

Jesus started to pull away from his mothers’ grasp as a youth as he discussed business with grown-ups.

Rebekah had a boy with failure to launch issues.

Moses ended up running away from his adoptive mother after a life of privilege.

Our children never really walk out of our lives. No matter how long, or short, they stay physically close to us a mother is changed forever. Each child leaves a mark.

I currently mother five children. They are mine. I know this.

We have an orphanage. We provide for the kids. We interact with them and they know us. We have placed caregivers in the home.  But, someday I will be more closely involved in the lives of the children who live in The House of Dreams. I have yet to mother these children.

Because, I wonder which ones are mine.

To date 53 children have lived at the House of Dreams. Seventeen of those are still with us: 10 boys and 7 girls; ages 10 and under. Two of those 17 are assigned to be adopted soon. Two others are on a course to be reunited with their birth parents. The math and statistics tell us the 13 that are left will grow into adults under our care.

So, I wonder which ones are mine.

Should you choose to believe in dreams one of those 13, a little girl, is destined to a family. I saw another of the 13, a boy, running to his adoptive parents in a vivid dream one night some time ago. That would bring the number to 11.

11+5=16.

Which ones are mine?

When we started our adoption process (before we knew how things worked) there were three little girls in our orphanage we would have loved to adopt. Pati, Carolina, and Ximena are now lovely European young ladies. Our girl is Kaitlynn. She came to us as a surprise, hand-picked for our family from an orphanage on the other side of town.

People ask us if we will adopt again. It was never in the plans. So to give the surface answer I say no. Yet I know that about a dozen or so kids will be dropped in my mothering arms. Maybe sooner than I think.

I ask myself why I do not yet mother them, the 17 over there. The reasons too deep and hidden still, I settle back into mothering my five. I don’t feel guilty about it. It just doesn’t feel like the time for more yet. I know it’s coming. I know there will be a time when some of the children living now in the House of Dreams will be mine.

So I wonder why I don’t run over there now and squeeze them all tight. I wonder why I don’t say to each of them, “You are mine until you belong to another.” What am I waiting for?

I am waiting to know which ones are mine.

Dare I ask the Great, Stork-like, Pterodactyl, God person?

Which ones are mine?

A few months ago a member of our church told me she had an idea of a way to honor us for ten years of service in Bolivia. She had rallied some other people from church to help her with this idea. They wanted to bring DaRonn’s mom down for a visit. She had never been to Bolivia before. This member of the church said that she wanted DaRonn’s mom to see all we had accomplished and be proud of her son. I told them this was a great idea.

For the following weeks we communicated across the continents to prepare: the tickets, the time off work, the passport, the visa, and the vaccination. Finally she came! We had a wonderful week with Grandma Charlie in town.

On her final day in the city of Cochabamba we observed Pedestrian Day, during which use of motor vehicles is prohibited. After the church service we had a nice little walk together. Back at home we made fun photos for posterity.

We are so very grateful for this amazing gift given to us by the church body here at Iglesia Cristo Nación. ¡Los cristonacioneros son lo máximo!

Enjoy some pictures from our final day together.

"Aragatza" best ice-cream in town and it's sold from the side of a truck

Gabrielle wanted to bring our poodle Shep along for the walk (photo by Raimy O.)

Another photo by Raimy O. of Timothy

DVD sales in front of our gate. That's our ministry's sign. DaRonn and his mom share a love of movies.

The blue graffiti says "Rechaza el Engaño" which means: Resist Deception

Our neighbor in the market. She sits here every day.

The Washington family with Grandma Charlie

Mother and Son

The wall started white. A blank canvas beckoned.

A tree emerged. A tree to carve our thanks upon. A tree like the one of our Lord. For we know that giving thanks often follows sacrifice.

We mark the entrance to our home with thanks to Him. The rebellious act of scribbling on the wall redeemed by His grace in an act of penitence. Our sin redeemed by His love. Our hearts purified as we enter His gates with thanksgiving.

The first thanks: books, snakes, my children, and three prayers.

Thanks grew as a tree does. Friends coming and going added their thanks to ours. Thanks given in community ministers grace to the givers. Some approach the wall with timidity and say with their mouths, “I feel uncomfortable writing on the wall.” Yes, breaking from the routine to say thanks can make one uneasy. Facing the wall and taking action does not come easy to all. Others grab up a marking tool and jump up and down in front of the opportunity before them. “How many can I do?” They beg to pour out permanent thanks. Not surprisingly the youngest ones, and the ones with childlike hearts, are most prompt to spill out heartfelt thanks. Shorter lives make for longer thanksgiving. How can that be when longer lives have had more time to be filled with blessing? I must decrease and become like my short ones so that He might increase.

Love, the word most often inscribed by many hands and hearts. Unintentional, yet we know Who intended it. The One who first wrote love on our hearts.

Family, sisters, brothers, husbands, wives, and friends follow as the most common thanks. Unity, the graffiti of gratitude.

Thankfulness taught while kneeling down by modeling and molding, we write then we pray.

My top three favorite ones:

Tyler told me the two figures he drew are himself and God, and that God is the bigger one.

In red letters across the truck of the tree a child thanks God for The Cross. Amen.

And a final look at the whole wall on this Thanksgiving Day. If you come to our home, please add your thanks to this gratitude collection.

“Enter into His gates with thanksgiving” (Psalm 100:4)

Sunday’s a day of hope. It’s the day we remember the very first resurrection Sunday when Christ conquered death, hell and the grave opening a way of salvation to all who would believe on Him. What better day to look ahead at the coming years and bear my soul of some of the hopes I have?

I hope…

10. …we can get the Dreamers into a permanent home with a big yard they can call their own for years to come.

9. …we can get a home with a big yard and guest quarters for the Washington family that we can call our own.

8. …we can help the church purchase or build an excellent facility.

7. …I can get a book published, in English. (more than one would be great too…)

6. …we can help our two youngest kids become bilingual in speaking, reading and writing.

5. …we can do some big time traveling with our kids.

4. …we can solidify and grow the mechanisms we have began to provide for us when we get old.

3. … we can get our kids started out well on their adult lives.

2. … we can establish and implement a working plan for helping launch the Lifetime Dreamers into adulthood.

1. … we can stay focused, strong, and impassioned about knowing God and doing His work.

*** Next and final list in this 10 Lists series: 10 Scariest Things About Missions  [Because it is Halloween... scary... get it?] ***

At the end of our senior year of high school a fellow classmate handed me a wallet sized picture of herself. She had written a nice message on the back. It was the things to do at our school in 1994. I thanked her and immediately flipped it over to see her precious words. Perfect bubbly letters said, “Never change! Stay just the way you are! xoxo.” [flowers, smiley faces, hearts and her signature.]  Even though she had already walked away I said out loud, “Well, that ain’t gonna happen.”

I didn’t intend on freezing myself at the maturity level of a high school graduate. I appreciate her sentiment; she affirmed my character. Nice. Still, I had ambitions of change, things I wanted to learn, places I wanted to go. In pursuit of these goals I refused to stay the same.

Quite a few years have passed since then. I have met so many people who have been like rocks along a stream altering its course, altering my course. I procrastinated with this list because I reached 10 too fast and still had a huge pile of people to name who changed my life. I decided to, instead, make a list of people groups. In fact, these people groups continue to determine the direction of my life. For that I am eternally grateful.

10. Antagonists – Challenge me to be strong and know what I believe.

9. Bosses – Taught me the value of a strong work ethic, and confirmed I prefer to be self-employed.

8. Pastors and church leaders – Walk alongside as we love God and love people together.

7. Teachers – Display my passions and help me strive for accomplishment.

6. Friends – Lifelines. Reality checkers. Dream believers.

5. Aunts, Uncles, Cousins and Grandparents – Bloodlines of validation.

4. Siblings – Lucas, Emily, Terry, Shawn, Nick, Kent, Jerrod and Eric, I love you!!!

3. Kids (mine and other people’s) – I imagine I shall forever have young people in my life.

2. Parents – You guys continue to amaze me with your boundless, unconditional love.

1. Spouse – Teammate. Soul mate. Partner. Mind reader. Friend.

*** Next list: 10 Best Missions Books and Articles ***

In Cochabamba, the city of Eternal Spring, Fall comes and goes unnoticed when the world celebrates the resurrection of Christ. So we have a pretend Autumn when the months start to end in brrrrr. Our luck this year brought early rains which usually don’t start until our Summer comes in November. Our September Spring chilled off a bit and put me in the mood to celebrate Northern Autumn.

While in the States I visited my favorite bean shop in the whole wide world. Spice Merchant in Wichita, Kansas has never failed me. I found a new decaf flavor: Pumpkin Spice. Whence first I laid my eyes on it I knew I had to have a party.

This week my coffee loving friends gathered around the fresh brew and the Autumny yumminess they graciously brought to share. I opted for an evening party so the house felt more cozy with candles and low light. Knowing the theme a few of the gals even dressed in warm Autumn colors. What a night! The kids buzzed around indoors and out. The conversation rivaled the treats with a tantalizing nature. My heart swelled with the goodness all around.

Even though in all that fun I forgot to snap a few pics I do have a nice fallish one to share. My daughter Gabrielle and I just happened to be both wearing orange to a different party not long ago. A clown there gave her an orange heart shaped balloon. A perfect photo op if I do say so myself.

Happy Autumn my friends!