Those who are bold enough to ask questions here at the @ are rewarded with my attempt at an answer, most of the time. If said commenter is a family member then their inquiries take top priority to me. It’s just the way I roll. Yesterday on the “Who and Whose” post, my sister, a fellow mother on this rocky path of parenthood, asked a question:

As you can see I replied with a quip and a promise. Standing by my avoidance of the idea of the possibility of attaining the elusive balance I will speak of the instilling of character in our kids.

A familiar list proclaims the traits that we are encouraged to let grow in our lives: love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance.

Let’s look at that meekness bit. A good definition I have heard is: strength under control. That is fine and well. Adding on to that thought I might add that meekness is humble confidence. A meek person knows where and from whom the strength in their life emanates. They are confident in the identity that God has placed in them as a unique being. They add to that confidence and strength the beautiful humility drawn out of a life placed in the hands of the God of love, grace, acceptance and hope.

That answers what we are working into our existence. The question is how do we do it.You know I love lists! Take what you want, leave the rest and add on some practical ideas in the comment section if you wish. I welcome the creative collaboration in the parenting of our children.

1. Model it.
2. Speak of it.
3. Praise it in others.
4. Praise it in the child.
5. Read of it.
6. Show it in picture books.
7. Know what your child does well.
8. Provide outlets for them to do what they do well.
9. Praise what they do well.
10. Know what your child does not do well.
11. Speak with them about what they do not do well.
12. Help them find ways to overcome deficiencies by trusting other people.
13. Help them to see the strengths in other people.
14. Help them to praise the strengths in other people.
15. Let them express creatively their appreciation for others: drawings, writing, phone calls, sharing gifts, genuine smiles and thanks.
16. Introduce please and thank you into your daily vocabulary.
17. Thank the child, sincerely.
18. Let them see you making other people important.
19. Hang their art in your home.
20. Pray together with them confident and humble prayers.

Those are the first few that came to mind. Please do not take this as gospel. Each parent has their own journey to walk. Trust that the Lord is alongside you as you love your kids. May the God of peace be with you all.

Conversations with familiar friends is one of the ways that God gets through to me. Heart to heart and face to face sharing is unmatched heavenly glory here on earth.

One such conversation has been on repeat in my soul for a few days now. Point blank I revealed to my friend a startling fear that had come upon me. She understood. She did not condemn nor belittle the reality of my worry. She did not validate it either. She simply spoke truth to it, to me. I am so grateful for her. I am so grateful for the truth that God has placed in her which she was able to minister to me.

The fear? Irrelevant.

The truth? Timeless.

This is the gist:

“I want my children to know: who they are and Whose they are.”

Yes! That is exactly what I needed to hear!

Who…

This calls to the verse about train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it. “In the way he should go” refers to “the natural bend”. As I see my children lean towards their specific talents, gifts, abilities, passions and the like I can enable them to explore these aspects of their personalities, thereby helping them to find out who they are. We can foster an environment of confidence and freedom thus boosting self-esteem and celebrating diversity in the uniqueness of all humanity.

Whose…

A high self-esteem bolstered and flourishing can quickly rot to high-minded, slippery-slope pride when not treated with humility under the hand of our Maker. Humble humans who know Whose they are will not seek to separate themselves, rather they will find refuge in the One who can help. They also choose to see others through the eyes of Whose they are, which can only lead to a better society when we know that those are eyes of love, acceptance and hope.

Who and Whose. This is one of those non-negotiables that I am going to instill in my kids’ lives:

1. Learn to love.

2. Love to learn.

3. As parents we will make mistakes. You are welcome.

and now 4. Know who you are and Whose you are.

…now you must show sincere love to each other as brothers and sisters. Love each other deeply with all your heart. ²³ For you have been born again, but not to a life that will quickly end. Your new life will last forever because it comes from the eternal, living word of God. ²⁴ As the Scriptures say,

“People are like grass;
their beauty is like a flower in the field.
The grass withers and the flower fades.
²⁵ But the word of the Lord remains forever.”…

1 Peter 1:22 – 25

These images are dedicated to anyone who has cried the beautiful tears of displacement.

Find solace in the quickness of temporal life and the living eternity before us.

Find grace in your beauty that brings glory to our Maker and impresses on others the promise of destiny.

Find joy in the full-hearted love we share as brothers and sisters.

One of my favorite mom quotes from growing up as the oldest of five is: If Darwin’s theories were correct then long ago mothers would have evolved into a multi-tasking creature with eight arms. Now as a mama with five of my own I whole-heartly agree. A few extra appendages would be nice when meal times roll around, when two littles vie for lap time, or when the housework refuses to be tamed.

Full arms is one of the most wonderful feelings in the world. “She girds herself with strength, And makes her arms strong.” That is one of my favorite parts of the Proverbs 31 verses. I am so grateful that God has placed in my arms so many precious souls. Beyond that He has given me strength to reach and hold their hearts close to mine.

Then I got to thinking about it. God gave me two arms. That is the perfect amount of arms that any mother could have. Then He did somethings miraculous and wonderful. He surrounded me with people who also have arms. My husband who has two muscly arms works hard to provide for this family. Then with those same arms he tickles the kids in all their secret tickle spots and throws them high above his head until they squeal with laughter. Then there are my two oldest daughters with four more sweet and gentle arms to hold the babies and play fun games together. My eldest son employs his arms washing dishes, cleaning up and scratching his mama’s back. When I really get to looking around there are so many pairs of arms that I lose count. Close friends link arms with me as we walk these twisty roads. Church people lift their arms in worship and prayer with me as we join together in service to our Lord. Last but not least the pudgy little arms of dozens of dears lifted to me for the simple yet profound exchange of a hug give me purpose both temperal and eternal.

So maybe Darwin wasn’t all the way right. The being doesn’t evolve to it’s surroundings. Rather, in all His infinite wisdom, God created humanity to thrive in community. I am not an octopus mom, but I am so grateful for the dozens of arms that help and hold me.

(Feel free to skip to the video at the bottom if you haven’t watched it on facebook or youtube yet. I mainly wanted to capture these initial thoughts, feelings and observations during the changes taking place in my life right now. I get a bit wordy.)

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Finally we saw some real tears today.

Backing up a tad to the visitation days. It was a funny frustration, but still unnerving, to think of this child as my own, yet to never have seen her use the bathroom. Silly, I know! Still, it was not until the third day that I saw her use her little potty seat. It was a gratifying moment, to say the least.

Now back to today. Aside from the bathroom thing the other thing eating at me was that I had never seen her cry. Sure, her lip quivered a couple times and she winced and whined at a few things. And I should have been completely grateful that we had heard her laugh more than once. Which, by the way, a child’s laugh is the most wonderful sound in the world. The caregivers told me that she was a brave child. I get that. Still, I wanted to experience tears with her.

Today that happened, more than once.

The first time was when I had to tell her no. The tension had been building and the limits were being tested. A new house with new things means learning the barriers. The tears on her cheeks wet an angry face. She is the strong silent type. No wailing, not a peep, just the death stare and tears.

The second time was a double whammy of wills clashing and possibly fear of abandonment. It happened quickly. I had been complying all day every time she wanted to be held, which was about 75% of the time. The evening was upon us and I needed to tend to some other people in the house. I did the unthinkable and put her down off my lap and outright ignored the lifted arms as I turned my back and walked away from her. Then came the music to my ears. She cried! This was the tears and the audible crying out. It broke my heart and soothed it at the same time. Please understand that I am not reveling in the pain I knowingly inflicted. I am just glad that we are getting to see a new part of her personality. We are getting to know each other. The beautiful thing that followed was that Gabrielle found an opportunity to create a connection with her little sister, a connection that has been slow in coming. The older asked me if she might help the younger. I said she was more than welcome to. Gabrielle offered her arms and a reluctant yet desperate two-year-old Kaitlynn found her way over to comfort. The next half hour the two cuddled, played and cuddled some more. It was precious.

The third and final bout came at bath time. I was so excited to introduce my daughter to the joys of rubber duckies in a nice warm bath. It was all too new and quite frankly terrifying. I watched her eyes grow big as we started filling the tub. Then I pulled her to my lap and took off the first shoe. A scream, a jump, and she was letting it rip as she clung to my neck. The wonderful thing of it all was that she felt safe enough to cry. I let her cry it out as I continued to gently prepare her to enter the water. She is complacent so we didn’t have a hissy fit to deal with. She was just genuinely scared and seeking safety. Even as her tiny feet found firmness on the floor of the tub and the water lapped at her calves she was trying to suck in her lip to stop the crying. I let her stand and watch me play with the ducks. She found the courage to reach down and splash a little. I asked her if she wanted to sit down. She said, “Si.” Then she actually had fun! I could hardly get her out. Then all through Tyler’s bath she tried to climb back in the water.

You know, I think God wants us to feel safe enough to cry when we are with him. I think that He is just strong and confident enough to not get his feelings hurt if we let our angry tears show when we are mad at Him. I think that He wants to know our insecurities so that He can direct us to the loving arms that will hold us, even when they come from an unexpected source. I think He wants us to be honest in our emotional display with Him when we are terrified to do something that we know He is going to have us do, and that He will help us to do regardless of how we cry and cling to Him hoping He doesn’t make us face our fears.

The tears Kaitlynn cried today showed me that she is letting her guard down and we are getting to know each other. So many other things happened this Bolivian Mother’s Day, good things, fun things, heart warming things, exciting things, hard things, surprising things, etc. I am so just thrilled to share this important milestone and write it for posterity.

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Now, the promised video. It is four minutes long and shows both video and images of our time with Kaitlynn thus far set to music. Enjoy!

Click here to view the embedded video.

At the birthday party of every new week we don our party clothes and gather for the celebration of the One who created the day. Just as a party is more than the venue church is more than the locale. The people make the church just like the people make the party.

Today, Pentecost Sunday, is considered the birth of the church. It is the day we remember when the Holy Spirit showed up and the people began to do what God has designed for them to do: live in love lived out loud. You know how some people bring the party with them? That is what happened on that wonderful day so long ago; the Holy Spirit brought the party with Him.

I was slightly concerned by how our Kaitlynn would respond to the life of an MK and a PK. I had nothing to be worried about! This little lady was born for this. You should have seen her getting her greet on this morning as she worked the crowd: so happy, so confident, just shining! She smiled and played with the people sitting behind us. She gave kisses to anyone who said hello. She was saying Hola to everyone. She wasn’t the least bit shy; quite the contrary, she was soaking up the attention and turned on the cuteness. It was a real treat to watch.

We are so grateful to be friends with the orphanage director. She is a strong Christian lady who attends the International Church here in town. She was gracious enough to duck out of her service early today and bring Kaitlynn to church at our service (just a few blocks away). I cannot tell you how thankful I am that she has been so accommodating during this extended visitation period. To leave the Home Kaitlynn must be accompanied by a worker. She stepped in and was that worker this morning. So wonderful!

Here is a shot of Kaitlynn with Jennifer. I think this will be a treasured picture for Kaitlynn when she is old enough to understand the privilege of being able to spend 15 months of her life under the excellent care of this lovely woman.

Sunday, May 23, 2010. Timothy was off to the side making faces at her; that is where the smile and the diverted gaze come from.

Jennifer blogs about the orphanage: Homes of Love

A volunteer at her home named Savannah also blogs about Homes of Love: Southern Living – in Cochabamba

Prayer doesn’t work      …like you expect.

It’s not WD-40, or a mail man, or even a roll of the dice.

Prayer works on you. You get in there with your laundry list and complaint form. God gently takes them and sets them aside for the moment. He understands. He understands that you feel as though these are the pressing items that must be included in His agenda. What He wants to impress on you is the priority of the moment. And this moment. And this moment too.

God loves me. He wants me to know that love. Why can’t that be enough? Why must I strive and worry and fret and fear when He is with me? Why do I forget about the uncountable instances that He proved His love for me from creation to the cross to the Great Commission to the day I believed and said so?

So this prayer stuff. We do it not as a toddler stamping her foot for a lollipop. We pray to know God. We pray to know that He loves us. We pray to tell Him that we love Him too, that He is enough, that we do believe, that it really is going to be all right even if it is not all right right now. Not to smooth things over or put up a stiff upper lip. No. Rather to remember.

Faith is remembering.

I may feel like prayer isn’t working. That is when I have to remember that prayer is working on me.

In human communication we quantify and qualify nouns. Our adjectives and inflection give away our opinions. The slightest hint of sarcasm or condescension can skew the literal meaning of a phrase to make it mean the absolute opposite. A scowl, furrowed brows, crossed arms and gritted teeth seethe out, “I don’t care,” and we know instantly that the person cares very much about whatever travesty has landed them in this moment of defiance. Two girls walking down the street with elbows interlocked share a secret of the silly sort, a giggle, a sparkle in the eyes, and the one tells the other, “I don’t believe a word of it,” and we all know the bond of trust between the couple has been strengthened in this moment of true truth. Somehow we know how to read the signals and listen past the dictionary definitions of the words.

At times I read aloud. Yes, to my children or when I am addressing a crowd. Also, though, to myself. Some books just beg to be heard. Some technical articles are solved when I slow down and hear each step. The rough waters of Spanish bodies of words are set calm again when I take the time to pronounce each word and understand the meaning. When I practice this out loud lecture certain combinations that I would normally run right past stand still and grab my attention as if I had never heard them before.

A pair of words seen together frequently gave me pause today: good mother. You have heard that, right? So how is it that we, as a society, have come to qualify this noun ‘mother’? A woman either is a mother or she is not a mother. It is a definition in itself; why must we define the definition? We turn the noun to a verb and we say that a lady mothered or is mothering a being. Funny that we never say motherer. The female parent is a mother. We don’t ever say, “She is a good female.” Either a person is female or not. Yet, we feel inclined to describe the description.

It comes back to the way in which a woman performs her duties as a mother. A woman who neglects her children is said to be a bad mother. She is still a mother, though. This is a point of contemplation for me because mothering a brood is not easy. The gravity of being entrusted with raising these little people is not something I take lightly. I worry. Too much I worry that I am not a ‘good mother’. Too many times I ask why God would give me all these precious little ones to care for. I fall short, at times I loose my temper, more often that I should be I am lazy, sometimes I just hope no one is watching me when I am impatient with my kids, and the list goes on.

So why am I the one mothering these children? Is it because the mothers who birthed them are bad mothers? Ah, yes, to clarify, I am thinking of the wee ones that found their way to my arms not through the furies of the birth canal but through the horrors of abuse and abandonment. Were their mothers bad? The ones we have now all have at least one parent living. I hate to think of where they came from and what their little eyes have seen. No matter how hard I try I cannot hate their mothers. You will not hear me say that they have bad mothers. Maybe some can find motivation in judging people they don’t know; I simply cannot operate like that.

Am I a replacement mother? Am I an interim mother? Am I a substitute mother? Can I even be called a good mother? For the sake of the children I desire with my whole heart to perform mothering duties well. I want to care for them, provide for them, hug them, raise them and love them the best way I can. As we make the transition to ONE home for all of us I am struck, like a bowling ball in the gut, with the fact that round about a dozen of these kids may one day call me ‘mamá’. It feels like a weighty honor. I want it, but I am also so reverentially fearful of all the implications that follow.

Whether they be persons born from my womb, adopted, brought into our home, or just with me for a short while I truly do want to be a good mother for them. This is my prayer.

God, You are our Father. I trust You. I love You. This task of mothering so many is daunting at times. I do not want to fail You; for I know that these little ones, as a heritage, have been entrusted to me. I do not want to fail the children who are a precious treasure in Your eyes and mine. Please help me to mother well, God. Please help me to see them as You see them, speak to them as You would speak to them, and love them as only You can enable me to. Bless my children, Father. Hold their hearts in Yours. Help us, please. Amen.

Now, on with the crunchy, munchy, mixed-up life I lead…

• On Palm Sunday, March 28, 2010, I celebrated 25 years since the day that God called me and I chose to make Jesus Christ the Lord of my life. My quarter century saved was recognized in some beautiful ways. Friends gave me gifts, I gave my children each new bibles and I was able to share the message of salvation at church to everyone. It was a great day.

A card, a candle, a fridge magnet, a little box, two cakes, a sushi lunch, and a lovely necklace were my gifts. I feel loved!

The bibles I inscribed and gave to my kids. Metalic and Spanish, fun!

• This past Friday marked 24 years since I was baptized in water on April 9, 1986. Saved at eight and baptized a year later when I was nine.
• In the past few weeks one of the little girls at our orphanage was adopted and another was reunited with her birth mother. This means there are now 20 kids under our care. I update the Kid Pics page if you would like to visit the blog and get to know the kids a bit:

• We voted in the mayoral elections on Easter Sunday. It was obligatory. Had to work through some culture shock a bit.
• Met a couple missionary gals. It has been fun getting to know them.
• DaRonn is leading the Monday morning all-school chapel sessions now. The kids are loving it. We started out in ministry working with kids so he is full of dynamic and silly ideas to help kids fall in love with God and His word. I am so proud of him.
• The U.S. consulate office in our city is shut down. Big bummer! This means a trip to Santa Cruz or La Paz for any official stuff we need to do like passport request and renewal, born abroad certificate, etc. Travel is fun. I choose to be glad for the excuse.
• In an odd mix between Spring Cleaning and what feels alot like nesting I have had a drive to clean out closets, do repairs and clear out clutter from the house. Those who know me well know that keeping house is not something that comes naturally to me. So this has been really weird.
• Finally, for my friends who are Chiefs fans out there take a look at the snap-shot I got of our little Fernando yesterday. Ha!

Go Chiefs!

Jaime Guerrero of Spain was one tough warrior. He was the son of a whore; Señor Guillermo Guerrero was his father. Meanwhile Guillermo’s legal wife had given him other sons, and when they grew up, his wife’s sons threw Jaime out. They told him: “You’re not getting any of our family inheritance—you’re the son of another woman.” So Jaime fled from his brothers and went to live in Portugal. Some riffraff joined him and went around with him.

Have you read the above bible story before? What? Bible story? You ask. Oh yes, the names have been changed as well as the locations, yet relatively same in distance as the original. They story line was untouched.

This is a doctored up cut and paste job from the Message translation (Judges 11). The concept is true to the Hebrew from whence it first was transcribed.

This is not the only instance of earthy adultery seen in the pages of the Bible. On this same page where our tale of “Jaime” is found there is bloodshed, polygamy, human sacrifice, and more sexual sin. We also see the guidance of God, His mercy and people who are wholeheartedly dedicated to His will.

The bible is a fascinating book. When we slow down and really think about the whole situation in any given portion we find true humanity alongside sovereign divinity. People have been people since Adam. Not much in our nature has changed.

As a writer I have been grappling with a question of content. It would seem that nothing is hidden in the stories of the bible heroes. Noah got drunk. David slept around and committed premeditated murder. Peter was a turn coat. The list could go on. As a storyteller, mainly in the fiction realm, how does this affect me? My question is:

As a Christian writer what licence do I have in the themes I choose to include in my stories?

For much of my younger life I was a gullible literalist. Things were very black and white. It thrilled me to be able to proclaim fearlessly and foolishly things as “right” and “wrong”. As the hairs on my head have started to gray I have begun to see the beauty in the shades of life lying in the in-between. I have to fight the urge to slap labels on things, especially in the very public creative expression arena.  There is truth to the notion that some things are neither “right” nor “wrong”, per se.

When I read this part of scripture my thoughts went to the characters in the novel I wrote last year. One of the main themes is teenage pregnancy out of wedlock. A twinge in my gut said that this topic is taboo for a Christian writer. Yet there are also elaborate lies and disobedience to parents. Where does one draw the line?

By telling a story true to human nature I do not feel as though I am being irreverent. What are your thoughts on this topic?