"Do not be self-sufficient but place your trust in God." Thomas a Kempis
I read it and the tiny conjunction jumps off the page and shakes me by the collar.
"I have buts of my own, you know," I think hard hoping that troubling trio hears the harshness of my mental tone.
But...
there it stands, unmoving,a fulcrum in this scale of a sentence
and I am unwillingly forced to see my self-protective disposition balanced against the alternative--trust in the Almighty.
But...it's not this heavy. It doesn't have to be unbalanced. I can be independent, self-sufficient. I can take care of myself.
And even as I say it, think it, I know the only truth in this line of thinking is that it draws me back to the center, back to the one word that both joins and separates.
But...
Monday, February 4, 2013
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Ode to a Rodent
Almost every day of the year you can find one splattered on the side of the road, a mess of fur and flesh near the center line that you've narrowly avoided once again. He is not the kind of creature you look upon with awe and wonder. Can you believe I saw one?
Rather we pass by him casually as he stands at attention for a moment, his tiny head and twitching nose popping out just above the tall grass, before he turns and lumbers away, his furry backside bouncing with each step. We don't even notice his salute.
Some of us have even hunted his cousins. In fact I've heard stories of his kin killed with everything from shovels to shotguns. All this done in the name of population control or property protection.
I've never shed a tear over his blood shed in the street. I've never stopped to wonder at his majestic walk.
Yet one day a year, this dear rodent takes center stage. The weight of this year's weather resting on his tiny brown shoulders, he gives a glance that determines our destiny. Today, dear Phil, is your day of dignity.
Rather we pass by him casually as he stands at attention for a moment, his tiny head and twitching nose popping out just above the tall grass, before he turns and lumbers away, his furry backside bouncing with each step. We don't even notice his salute.
Some of us have even hunted his cousins. In fact I've heard stories of his kin killed with everything from shovels to shotguns. All this done in the name of population control or property protection.
I've never shed a tear over his blood shed in the street. I've never stopped to wonder at his majestic walk.
Yet one day a year, this dear rodent takes center stage. The weight of this year's weather resting on his tiny brown shoulders, he gives a glance that determines our destiny. Today, dear Phil, is your day of dignity.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
His
I have been thinking a lot about adoption. About my sweet niece in India who will be with us as soon as the paperwork is done and every step has government approval. I've been overwhelmed to see how much I love her without even knowing her. How willing everyone is to do whatever it takes to bring her home.
I've been overwhelmed watching the preparations for her arrival. How her mom and dad moved to a new home for her and set up a bedroom. How they pay the fees for the paperwork and the agency from their meager savings without blinking an eye. What wouldn't you give to bring your child home?
I think about Nana and Papa setting up a room and buying toys so she'll have a place to stay and things to do when she comes over.
About her mom and dad studying her language and eating Indian foods.
About the book they made for her to introduce her to her family.
About the words in that book: "I will forever protect you." ~ Dad
"I will forever love you." ~ Mom
I think about their dreams of her before they knew her name and their dreams for her future before she knew their names.
I think about the way they love her not because of something she has done or hasn't done, but because of one single fact, that she is theirs. She is ours.
And I can't help but think of Galatians 4:6. And of a Dad who would pay whatever it cost and do whatever it took to bring his kids home. Of children who are valued and loved for the simple reason that they are HIS.
Of an incredible adoption that included more than new toys and a nice bedroom waiting for us. Of a Father who says, "I will forever protect you. I will forever love you."
And I think I am learning something new, something revolutionary. The kind of lesson that shakes loose tar in my heart and cleanses my system of earning, performing, controlling with a fresh flush of love.
I've been overwhelmed watching the preparations for her arrival. How her mom and dad moved to a new home for her and set up a bedroom. How they pay the fees for the paperwork and the agency from their meager savings without blinking an eye. What wouldn't you give to bring your child home?
I think about Nana and Papa setting up a room and buying toys so she'll have a place to stay and things to do when she comes over.
About her mom and dad studying her language and eating Indian foods.
About the book they made for her to introduce her to her family.
About the words in that book: "I will forever protect you." ~ Dad
"I will forever love you." ~ Mom
I think about their dreams of her before they knew her name and their dreams for her future before she knew their names.
I think about the way they love her not because of something she has done or hasn't done, but because of one single fact, that she is theirs. She is ours.
And I can't help but think of Galatians 4:6. And of a Dad who would pay whatever it cost and do whatever it took to bring his kids home. Of children who are valued and loved for the simple reason that they are HIS.
Of an incredible adoption that included more than new toys and a nice bedroom waiting for us. Of a Father who says, "I will forever protect you. I will forever love you."
And I think I am learning something new, something revolutionary. The kind of lesson that shakes loose tar in my heart and cleanses my system of earning, performing, controlling with a fresh flush of love.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Adoption as Sons
This week I had the privilege of attending my friends' court hearing to finalize the adoption of their little boy, Will. Having followed his story over the past 2 1/2 years and having seen the miracles God did just to get Will from Haiti to the US, I entered the courtroom with what felt like an ice cube in my throat and group of moths in my heart.
As the attorney stood up, and began to describe the papers she was handing the judge, I thought back to Mme. Soliet, the orphanage director in Haiti, and the innummerable phone calls and conversations she had had to get signatures from the biological father on those papers.
I thought of the Haitian judge, leaving in the middle of a meeting late on a Saturday night to sign papers that would allow Will to head to the embassy the following day and leave the country on a special post-earthquake visa.
And I thought of our dear friend Magistra Dahame translating those papers while sitting in a dusty classroom where the occassional rat graced the rafters and asking "Teacher, how would you describe the word "duress"?"
The South Carolina judge could never guess how many hours of stressing, running, and praying went in to getting those papers in his hands.
Then the attorney called upon the parents to testify. One by one, Beth and Justin, the parents who had fought 3 years through a forest of red tape for their son, were asked to make public affirmations of that love and commitment.
"Do you understand that this adoption is permanent?"
"Do you agree to take care of this child and meet his every need?"
"Do you understand that health problems could arise in the future?"
And on they went. "This adoption will make this child your legal heir, which means he can inherit from you and you from him, just as if he had been born to you."
Though Will had been living with Beth and Justin for over a year and had been their son even before that time, there was something powerful about this public declaration that this is their son.
And I couldn't help but think back to the bible passages where God sends his Spirit to declare about Jesus, "This is my son, whom I love. With him I am well pleased." How affirming for Jesus, and for Will, to hear their parents publicly affirming their identity as a beloved son.
While I tried to keep the tears pooled in my eyes and tried to swallow the ice-like lump in my throat, Paul's words popped into my head. "The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.”" Romans 8:15
Wow! The fact that God has adopted us as his sons and daughters makes so much more sense to me. After watching Beth and Justin and the things they were willing to invest just so they could bring their son home--the finances, the time, the tears--I think maybe I'm begining to get a glimpse of the love Paul was talking about.
When I walked out of the courtroom Wednesday morning, Will was in his Daddy's arms, friends were hugging Beth, and I'm pretty sure God was smiling and saying "Yep, those are my kids, and I love them!"
As the attorney stood up, and began to describe the papers she was handing the judge, I thought back to Mme. Soliet, the orphanage director in Haiti, and the innummerable phone calls and conversations she had had to get signatures from the biological father on those papers.
I thought of the Haitian judge, leaving in the middle of a meeting late on a Saturday night to sign papers that would allow Will to head to the embassy the following day and leave the country on a special post-earthquake visa.
And I thought of our dear friend Magistra Dahame translating those papers while sitting in a dusty classroom where the occassional rat graced the rafters and asking "Teacher, how would you describe the word "duress"?"
The South Carolina judge could never guess how many hours of stressing, running, and praying went in to getting those papers in his hands.
Then the attorney called upon the parents to testify. One by one, Beth and Justin, the parents who had fought 3 years through a forest of red tape for their son, were asked to make public affirmations of that love and commitment.
"Do you understand that this adoption is permanent?"
"Do you agree to take care of this child and meet his every need?"
"Do you understand that health problems could arise in the future?"
And on they went. "This adoption will make this child your legal heir, which means he can inherit from you and you from him, just as if he had been born to you."
Though Will had been living with Beth and Justin for over a year and had been their son even before that time, there was something powerful about this public declaration that this is their son.
And I couldn't help but think back to the bible passages where God sends his Spirit to declare about Jesus, "This is my son, whom I love. With him I am well pleased." How affirming for Jesus, and for Will, to hear their parents publicly affirming their identity as a beloved son.
While I tried to keep the tears pooled in my eyes and tried to swallow the ice-like lump in my throat, Paul's words popped into my head. "The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.”" Romans 8:15
Wow! The fact that God has adopted us as his sons and daughters makes so much more sense to me. After watching Beth and Justin and the things they were willing to invest just so they could bring their son home--the finances, the time, the tears--I think maybe I'm begining to get a glimpse of the love Paul was talking about.
When I walked out of the courtroom Wednesday morning, Will was in his Daddy's arms, friends were hugging Beth, and I'm pretty sure God was smiling and saying "Yep, those are my kids, and I love them!"
Grand Tour of America and Haiti Trip
My fiance Matthew and I often joke that when we came home from Haiti for a break, we were coming for a Grand Tour of America. Often driving 10 hours one way to visit each other's families, going to weddings, and squeezing in vacation time I think it was a fairly accurate statement.
Well when I moved back from Haiti, it was no different. From April to July I had slept over night in Indianapolis; IN, Dayton,OH; Lynchburg, VA; Detroit, MI; Central, SC; Stoneboro, PA; and gone back for a visit to Haiti.
Below are a few pictures of my travels:
Well when I moved back from Haiti, it was no different. From April to July I had slept over night in Indianapolis; IN, Dayton,OH; Lynchburg, VA; Detroit, MI; Central, SC; Stoneboro, PA; and gone back for a visit to Haiti.
Below are a few pictures of my travels:
Saturday, March 26, 2011
My Dear Friend Merline
I had a really good time hanging out with Merline tonight. The two of us did a little bit of work in the afternoon then hung out in my house talking life and watching a movie.
While we're together, we switch back and forth between Creole and often blend words between both languages. Example I said tonight You can see my zos (zo creole for bone). To be honest I'm rarely conscious of which language we're speaking. At one point tonight I thought we were speaking Creole and realized she was speaking English, and I was responding in Creole.
We've figured out the perfect movie watching system, French dubbed with English sub-titles, and again, I honestly hardly notice that I'm reading while we watch. It's amazing to think how much the two of us have learned about each other these past two years.
Tonight we went for a walk along the sea. Probably the last of several seaside walks. As we walked we talked about our first walk together. How nervous I was when I read the Creole words on my note card: eske ou vle mache avek mwen (would you like to walk with me?) and how surprised she was that I genuinely wanted to be friends.
We laughed again at our first conversations and reflected on how good God has been to put us together. I can't believe what an amazing friend God has given me here in Haiti and can't believe my time here is almost up. It looks like I may have to find my way back to visit in the near future and in the mean time invest in several Skype minutes.
While we're together, we switch back and forth between Creole and often blend words between both languages. Example I said tonight You can see my zos (zo creole for bone). To be honest I'm rarely conscious of which language we're speaking. At one point tonight I thought we were speaking Creole and realized she was speaking English, and I was responding in Creole.
We've figured out the perfect movie watching system, French dubbed with English sub-titles, and again, I honestly hardly notice that I'm reading while we watch. It's amazing to think how much the two of us have learned about each other these past two years.
Tonight we went for a walk along the sea. Probably the last of several seaside walks. As we walked we talked about our first walk together. How nervous I was when I read the Creole words on my note card: eske ou vle mache avek mwen (would you like to walk with me?) and how surprised she was that I genuinely wanted to be friends.
We laughed again at our first conversations and reflected on how good God has been to put us together. I can't believe what an amazing friend God has given me here in Haiti and can't believe my time here is almost up. It looks like I may have to find my way back to visit in the near future and in the mean time invest in several Skype minutes.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Peer Evaluation
Last night in English class we were discussing of the meaning of the word peer. Taking my cues from Keith Folse's Great Writing 4, I defined peer as someone who is equal to you and proceeded to give examples. Teachers' peers are other teachers. Parents' peers are other parents. Etc. Then, trying to stretch this definition a bit, I said in church all the attendees are peers.
One of my students quickly posed this question, "But teacher, why are we peers in the church and then when we leave church we aren't all peers?"
Not wanting to let the moment pass, I invited the whole class to respond. The discussion that followed reminded me again of what an incredible opportunity I have to teach English class here in Haiti.
We talked about equality and submission to authority and ended with a bit of theology. "Teacher, I think that church is not a building. Church is in your heart, and wherever you go, you should take church with you."
The mayor chimed in, "The bible says we are supposed to love all people. And even if someone is not our peer we're supposed to love them and give them respect."
I'm sure I had a huge grin on my face the whole time my students were discussing this. I cannot hide how proud I am to hear their hearts and how excited I was that the definition of the word peer could provoke so profound and rich a discussion.
One of my students quickly posed this question, "But teacher, why are we peers in the church and then when we leave church we aren't all peers?"
Not wanting to let the moment pass, I invited the whole class to respond. The discussion that followed reminded me again of what an incredible opportunity I have to teach English class here in Haiti.
We talked about equality and submission to authority and ended with a bit of theology. "Teacher, I think that church is not a building. Church is in your heart, and wherever you go, you should take church with you."
The mayor chimed in, "The bible says we are supposed to love all people. And even if someone is not our peer we're supposed to love them and give them respect."
I'm sure I had a huge grin on my face the whole time my students were discussing this. I cannot hide how proud I am to hear their hearts and how excited I was that the definition of the word peer could provoke so profound and rich a discussion.
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