Some Days I Forget My Reward ~

I sat in the child welfare conference area beside friends for whom we had battled in prayer.

Children for whom we had wept from our knees. 

My heart was filled with praise to see a room full of adoptions celebrated, yet shadowed with the quiet understanding to the lessons we had been learning in light of our calling becoming increasingly defined in the past months. 

Stepping into this world of foster care, our dreams craved a finalized adoption, another child, and new face.

Yet God has continued to say, No.

His plans for us have been distinctly different. We've delighted in walking with families and witnessing restoration, and we deeply feel these experiences will continue to shape our future.

Yet I'm ashamed to say not a day goes by that my eyes aren't pricked to tears and my feet aren't tempted to stomp and display a tantrum in rebellion.

I despise the jealousy, mingled with joy, that wells within me as I note my precious friends' adoption trial dates on my calendar with prayer.

It was this past Christmas Eve morning: the fact I had just been woken to sounds of vomit from the boys' room captured how I felt about foster care in perfection.

After cleaning the mess off the floor, I locked myself away in the basement to scrub the upchuck of my heart.

It wasn't pretty.

I demanded and bargained. I reminded God of every single thing to which we had said, Yes. I explained to him that I was fully aware that those efforts did not earn my salvation, but meeting me halfway would certainly be more than sufficient.

There, you have it. The nasty ugly.

How precious my Father did not leave me there.

As God asked Job in Job 38 ~

Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation? Tell me if you understand. Who marked off it's dimensions? Surely, you know. Who stretched a measuring line across it? On what were it's footings set, or who laid its cornerstone....? ~ Finish the chapter. It's humbling.

In the quiet of my soul I knew He was beckoning us to lay it all down once again. He wasn't surprised by my fresh bout of pouting. He calls me to be a living sacrifice. And I'm pretty sure that anything alive, being prepared for a kill, uses its reflexes in defense.

So He's teaching me to be still.

He's restoring my hunger for Him, to love through Him by abiding in Him.

He's reminding me that Jesus is enough.

My heart could only reply, as King David in I Chronicles 17:16, 

Who am I, Lord God, and what is my family, that you have brought me thus far?

And I worshipped.

~~~~~

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Because of Jesus ~

Is it worth it?

Wanna know a secret?

I'm a doubter.

I've heard the name of Jesus whispered over me since I before I could talk.

My Bibles are worn from the days I've traced His name with my ink.

But in the stillness of the night, when I'm wrestling to rest from fitting the pieces of the broken puzzle of our calling,

I wonder if it's true.

If it's worth it.

I often read posts from foster parents or ministry leaders claiming the various hardships and trials they encounter, and the question is always posed...

But is it worth it?

"Definitely," they answer.

I know I'm a sinner, but the truth is some days, I want to crawl into the cocoon in my bed, stuff my face with chocolate truffles and drown myself in Coca-Cola and say, No, not a bit.

I know the Truth.

I know what I'm suppose to say.

I suspect what you want me to say.

But I don't perform well with expectations.

So I'm real.

When I can't remember their faces, or when their hand prints have faded from the walls, or when the closing paperwork is shipped and filed...

I wonder what it was worth.

Another case closed. Another child home. Another day done.

My friend, that is foster care.

There are spaces you celebrate, and you know the reunification is healthy. The answer is right. The hope is firm.

And sometimes it happens where the hand prints stay, your name becomes their own, you witness and take part in the lifetime process of healing.

But when you have reached that space, you've crossed the river of foster care and entered another land.

Some of us are asked to remain in the realm of foster care.

To wrestle with the gray areas and the decisions we don't quite understand...

And I tell you, if you don't have it written across your mirror, chiseled into your mind ~

He is God, and I am not.

Despair will gnaw achingly at the hope you profess.

The thing is, as our pastor shared yesterday, when we begin with the doings and actions of man, we will always end with the conclusion that God is the problem.

When the case doesn't go as a I plan, when the healing doesn't come as I desire, when the job falls through and the relationship ends in abandonment again...

If my anchor of Truth has not sunk deeply into my soul, I will drift away.

I must begin with God.

Because the reality is, some days, the only thing that answers the question, Is it worth it?

Is, I obeyed the One who bled for me. 

He told me to say Yes, and His grace empowered me to answer; because on those days, the ruins seem grander than the work at hand.

Photo Credit: NationalReview.com

Because He is Worthy ~

2013 ~ The Year I Got a Tattoo (or Two) and Why

I'm not weeping over these final hours of 2013, just wishing them a sober goodbye.

Because this year knocked the wind from my gut.

It would be easy to say the primary antagonist was our fostering journey, but that's a scapegoat.

It was a year we spent more than 100 days bleaching the stomach bug from our home.

We repaired the places moldy drip drops broke through our ceiling...or maybe it was more like a steady stream.

We waded the waters of the unknown when my mom was sick.

We grieved with broken hope the sudden deaths of close family, dear friends, and children of dear friends.

We battled with perseverance through the joys and trials of our marriage, parenting, and ministry.

And through it all our front door continued to revolve, bringing with each turn children with shattered circumstances and families fragmented by sin.

I found myself digging deep, more so than I ever have.

I needed to know the Gospel I clung to, this Savior I cherished, was not a product of my comfortable world, but a Redeemer able to stride the chasm of poverty, hunger, shame, and betrayal.

I ached to know that I was living out a faith, a hope, that wasn't contingent on my predictable life, but instead, transferable to the lives of the desperate around me.

I felt I had one foot in each world, and I journeyed through the truth of scripture, preaching the Gospel, the real, messy, splintered, at-the-Cross-Gospel to myself.

I wanted it carved into my very being.

So...I did it. I got a tattoo.

Hope {in dictionary terms} ~ to look forward with desire and confidence. To believe, to trust, to have faith.

Hope {in my terms} ~ to know deep within my being that it is not the end of the story. To grasp the reality there is a tapestry of His glory being woven for His kingdom.

Hope {in God's terms} ~ Through Him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in the HOPE of the glory of God. More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces HOPE, and HOPE does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. {Romans 5:2-5} 

~ For in this HOPE we were saved. Now HOPE that is seen is not HOPE. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we HOPE for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. ~ Romans 8:24-25 

There's this moment when I'm in labor to give birth... I don't care if my hair is right or my makeup is fresh, but I have to have my toenails painted, because that's what I can see. It's my tangible reminder that the agony is only temporary.

I told Jamie, I wanted my imprint on my foot because when I am old, wrinkled and decaying, I want to be able to stick out my foot and know that HOPE is evermore as strong.

And if you happen to outlive me, Jamie has been told to give me an open casket upside down, showing my foot, so you too can remember, HOPE transcends our sin, our pain, our suffering, our world. (He says I'm a nutcase.)

But this HOPE is only reality because of the One who entered the suffering and pain of our sin and shame at the Cross.

Wrong or right, I know many believers have various view on things like marks that don't erase, but somewhere in the chaos of this year, that's what I craved, a visible sign that took me back to HOPE of my Savior, by His grace, for His glory.

Wishing you a 2014 full of true, Gospel-filled HOPE ~

Stars and Sand

A few months ago I was sharing in a foster mama breakout session. As I looked across the room at women striving with all their souls to surrender their lives as living sacrifices, daily learning to return and climb atop the altar once more...I caught my breath.

And the Father reminded me of this verse in Hebrews 11 ~

Therefore, from one man, and him as good as dead, were born descendants as many as the stars of the heaven...

Photo Credit: Universe Today

And as many as the innumerable grains of sand by the seashore.

Photo Credit: Wisconsin Geological Survey

Tears sprung to my eyes as a I realized that in that room of foster mamas, hundreds of children who had heard the name of Jesus and known the touch of love were represented...

All because these women had chosen to live by faith.

That is beauty.

Looking unto Jesus~

Awake My Soul on Days Like These

Some days Most days, I find myself muddling through the motions, sorting through the muck and mire.

I so often wake in a trance, almost feeling caged in despair.

Trapped in my sleeping hammock in Mexico ~ but how I feel a lot of days

Sifting through the seven loads of laundry a day and the lunches I've put off until morning, or the whining because her hair isn't like she wanted it, and his screaming would rather die than go to school again...

We all know what it's like. Whether we're a stay-at-home mama, or a big businessman waiting to hit the road for another day of work...

The list seems longer than the minutes, and we begin to miss the moments. 

But dig deeper with me...

I go to this same place with my Savior.

I buy the lies without even realizing it and exchange the glorious Truth for another run on the treadmill, craving to be known, to be loved, to be delighted in...

Missing once again the One who is rejoicing over me in this very moment, who is whispering gently to me in love, who has known me before time.

And I keep running, telling myself that if I hit the right speed and make it past one more hill, I'll attain the dangling carrot of redemption.

Photo Credit: www.sta.rtup.biz

And my inner beast rages with fury when I fail once again...

Sending me to my knees as I'm gently reminded that He looks upon me completely as He sees His Son; that He calls me His beloved; that His banner over me is love.

Oh my heart.

We've had the gift of playing a very small role in a Trussville church plant, Christ Church, as Jamie has served on the provisional session.

Yesterday, between shushing nine kiddos and bargaining with them to be silent, I listened to Jamie sing these works from Caedmon's Call's song "Awake My Soul":

When I stand on the edges of Jordan

The saints and the angels beside

When my body is healed, and the Glory revealed

Still I can boast only Christ

As I wrestled Daniel and pinched Benj to be quiet, tears overwhelmed me because God gave me a precious vision not of all of us standing together in Heaven having fun, but of me running racing, messy and broken, to the foot of my Savior with those dearest to me and with these children and their mamas and daddies to fall at His feet.

We aren't coming there for one another, but for Him, the fullness our Redeemer.

As James Dickson, Christ Church's pastor, began sharing his heart, he only expounded on this explaining that when we envision Heaven as a place where we are waiting on one another, we've missed the Gospel. Instead, together with sheer delight, we will be running to see the One our souls were made for...seeing Him face to face.

It's easy to become loaded down with the mountain of laundry the kiddos are sliding down or the paperwork that's piling up at the office, but these small spaces are simply a means to our ever continuing transformation from glory to glory.

And through the discomfort and our being poured out like a drink offering on the altar, we strive onwards, not because it brings us closer to the dangling carrot, but because our lives become a catalyst for the Glory of the Savior who has loved us fully and completely, and our utter dependence on the Truth invites this broken world into the reality of racing with us daily to the foot of the cross, which will ultimately lead us to behold Him face to face.

That's a life worth living.

Boasting only Christ,

The Haunted and the Pursued

I only know to describe it as a haunting.

I gaze deeply into her blank eyes, cupping her face made to be delighted in, crafted to be loved.

And, through my own lens I sink within her to knock at the door of her soul once again, longing to be let in, even if it's only a crack, enough for a shaft of light...

But I can't reach her.

I once thought the hardest part of this journey was the letting go...

Now I know it's the pursuit of the haunted.

The restless turmoil she can't escape. 

The quiet tears he can't explain. 

The cavernous aches she can't describe.

It keeps me awake at night.

On the surface, it doesn't look like ache or even fear.

It seeps the reflections of rage, anger, sadness, indulging, but these are all just symptoms of her flight deeper within the cave of her pain, the ache she nurses and hides behind because it feels safer than the light.

Perhaps the world has taught her it is safer than the light.

And so she's labeled; he's labeled.

Problem. Troubled. Failure. Lazy. Loner. Addict. Aggressor. Slow. Stupid. Intense. Lost.

People begin to look to individuals like us who have joined the ranks of housing these children, and they applaud and whisper in hushed tones, How hard it must be for you to deal with that...

And after I've had another phone call from the school, dodged another flying object, held another screaming through the night, discovered another stash of food, I begin to think, Yea, this is hard for me. See what we're willing to do.

And through the tears of a friend, my pride is silenced as she reminds me, Haven't we all been haunted?

Aren't we all the troubled, addicted, agressive, lost failures...until God, in His mercy, reached through the barred walls we built for what we thought was our safety, and He shattered the cages of our darkness to cup us beneath His tender wing, when we had never known peace.

Yet, we flee again, and again, and again. And we kick, and we flail...

He only reaches deeper, softer, stronger and whispers His deep delight over us, stilling our shifting eyes, our hurried thoughts.

And as I remember my Pursuer, I turn to the haunted one's face in my hands, and He reminds me of the depths He embraces to chase after my wandering soul day after day, after day...

And I say it's too much for me to take up my Cross another day and cherish this child, that friend, that lonely widower who has no resources but his or her aching hauntings?

The moment I say that, is the moment I forget my Pursuer and the one who pursues through me.

It's the moment I stop...

Looking unto Jesus.

Dethroning the King

I'm back :)

Between Crazy Camp Lump last week and Church of the Highlands' AMAZING serve day in our home, I failed to write even one day last week, but more on all that later...

I'm up early, beginning to sift through my list of to-do's before our homeschool cooperative begins on August 8th and the girls' school beginning on August 19th, and like so many seasons and moments in life, I am feeling like I blinked and summer passed.

And this wasn't the summer I had planned.

Some surprising moments have been sweeter than I could have imagined, and some halting sorrows have been more paralyzing than I could have dreamed, and I'm fighting to enter this new year with unclenched fists.

Yesterday our pastor, Brad Allison, preached on I Samuel 20, and he mentioned something I had not thought of before...

Then David fled from Naioth in Ramah, and went and said to Jonathan, “What have I done? What is my iniquity, and what is my sin before your father, that he seeks my life?” 

So Jonathan said to him, “By no means! You shall not die! Indeed, my father will do nothing either great or small without first telling me. And why should my father hide this thing from me? It is not so!” 

Then David took an oath again, and said, “Your father certainly knows that I have found favor in your eyes, and he has said, ‘Do not let Jonathan know this, lest he be grieved.’ But truly, as the LORD lives and as your soul lives, there is but a step between me and death.” 

So Jonathan said to David, “Whatever you yourself desire, I will do it for you."

David and Jonathan, Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn (1642)

Without knowing the back story, it can be difficult to interpret this passage. But you see, King Saul of Israel was once again thirsty for David's blood. If he could only have the reassurance of David's death, his throne and the lineage of his family would be secure, regardless whether God had already anointed David as the next king.

Jonathan, David's closest friend also happened to be Saul's son, next in line to the throne...and he feared God.

Jonathan understood the weight of what was happening. He grasped the reality that he had every right to the throne, the glory, the riches...the control. Deep down, he had also most likely had passing thoughts of ways he would do things differently than his father, Saul...ways he would uphold Truth and honor God.

Yet, God passed him over.

We never see Jonathan grasp or doubt. With open hands he surrenders his right to the throne and, as Brad said yesterday, believes Israel and he would be better off with David as king, rather than himself.

And with that understanding, he releases control, surrendering his future, his security and ultimately his life for this shepherd nomad who claimed a right to the throne...Whatever you yourself desire, I will do it for you.

What about me?

Am I truly believing today that I am better off allowing my security, my family's future, my plans to rest in the hands of the One who is longing to claim kingship in my own life? Or, am I grappling for the small spaces to maintain control, searching for corners to share lordship?

Am I able to lift my head from the posture of my knees and say, Whatever you yourself desire, I will do it for you, Father?

That's my heart's cry for myself, my family, and my children as we glimpse into a new school year. I want to look with hope and trust to the reality that beauty emerges when we deeply believe our lives were designed to be under the Kingship of the One who created us.

Join us.

Looking unto Jesus,

Shame.

I've been thinking about shame.

Perhaps, because it's the subject of our summer Bible Study, by Debbie Vanderslice.

Perhaps, it's because Jamie and I are drinking from a fire hydrant as we go through Empowered to Connect's six-week intensive for ministry leaders. We are finding ourselves constantly weighing whether we are utilizing shame-based parenting or grace-based parenting.

But I think it's more because each day we're on this journey, I'm becoming increasingly aware of how powerful a tool shame is for our enemy, Satan.

I remember the first day I met our former girls' mama. She had not seen them in months, and as I went to her in court, she refused to look at me and was terrified to see her daughters, who had been counting the days to spending hours in a crowded court room, just to have a glimpse of their mama.

And she said, I can't face my girls. I'm too ashamed.

Or the day a mama I know signed away the rights of her son because she said, What if he were to grow up and be ashamed that I'm his mama.

Or the mother who sat on the opposite end of the bench from her mama because she said, My mama is too ashamed of me...only to hear grandmother say the same thing, concerning what her daughter thinks of her.

Then there's the young teen mom I know who when I invited her to church replied, Come on, Miss Catie. I'm too #$@!%$#@ full of shame to be with people nice like you.

Shame.

I'm considering more and more that it's the great barrier to our personal spiritual revivals. 

I recently heard that although Satan does not know us as our Heavenly Father knows us...He studies us well. 

And the small spaces where our hope has grown shadowed, or the voices of truth have dampened...He is ready to pounce with His web of shame.

Turn the prism of Truth you're clinging to ever so slightly, and you have the whispers of shame, guilt, condemnation that begin their haunting plight.

The truth shall set you free. ~ John 8:32

And suddenly the secrets, they've...you've...been striving so intently to keep hidden, are exposed.

Walls crumble.

Boundaries shatter.

Stability splinters.

But no longer are we encaged by our fear of shame.

Because exposure guts our very insides and bares all....

The looming thoughts of what is left to be rebuilt paralyzes our hope.

Yet, those who hope in the Lord will never be put to shame (Psalm 25:3). Instead...

They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated;

they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations...

Instead of your shame, you will receive a double portion, 

and instead of grace you will rejoice in your inheritance.

And so you will inherit a double portion in your land,

and everlasting joy will be yours. ~ Isaiah 61

Three years ago, as I drove home from my first birthfamily visit, God brought this verse to mind.

And I realized, their longed for hope is the ancient ruins...

The empty arms that ache for their children in another's care are the devastated cities...

Yet, shame can be transformed to joy, if we are willing to stand in the gap and stare down the prismed lies, giving courage to the ones who lean on us to face down their bars of despair.

And moment by moment, day by day, year by year, beauty from ashes emerges as we walk this crooked pilgrimage of hope and praise together.

And we realize that rather than compounding shame, we all with unveiled faces are being transformed with every increasing glory into the image of the One who bore all shame for us.

Sheer beauty.

Looking unto Jesus,

I am Broken; Hear Me Roar...

In 1972 activist singer Helen Reddy first sang the words to "I am Woman":

I am woman, hear me roar
In numbers too big to ignore
And I know too much to back an' pretend
'cause I've heard it all before
And I've been down there on the floor
No one's ever gonna keep me down again.

Well, I tell you Helen...

I am woman; I am broken.

In the span of three days, I've seen...

The newly widowed wife of 30 years take her husband's ring from the mortician, slip it around her neck and turn to soak my shirt with her tears.

I've heard Brother and Sister whisper of their nightmares from watching the father who redeemed them leave this world before their eyes without notice.

I've seen my friend stand by her husband as he watched his mother leave this world.

I've cried for a woman who has been asked to understand it is time to say goodbye to her son. The finality of no more treatments.

Then there's the husband, the father, praying for the wisdom to face the future as he studies his wife on the hospital bed.

And from my knees, I've wept for my mother as she and dad have begun the delicate, hassled dance of doctors and tests for the tumor within her. 

So, I looked into the mirror tonight and uttered, Jesus, I am broken, as tears finally choked through my gasps.

And, because of my precious friend Stephanie, I am reminded that the name of Jesus is stronger...than the stroke, the tumor, the prognosis, the death. For in that name is victory upon victory, and it holds the very keys of death and Hell.

Yet, I remain broken, restless, aching...because all of this is unnatural. It is not what I was designed for.

I was made for wholeness. I was created for beauty. I was crafted for Glory.

And we all, with unveiled faces, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image with ever-increasing glory. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.                                                                                                                            ~ 2 Corinthians 3:18

I was made to look like Jesus, and one day I really, truly, fully will.

I'll mirror the One who was broken for me.

And in this mess in between, this chaotic, crazy gal is seen robed in righteousness of Christ.

Broken Beauty.

Each pain, each chisel, unveils a little more glory as He threads a new dimension in the Tapestry of His Glory.

And all I must do is trust, and watch, and obey from my knees.

I've been considering how we as the Body of Christ often want to keep these painful places hidden, quiet, buried.

Yet, is it just about me? Or just about you?

Or could our unveilings be for one another, as together we are formed into the Bride of Christ?

If so, let us roar, as Helen Reddy punned not so long ago. Not for our invincibility, but in our broken neediness. 

I'm reminded of one of my current favorite hymns, "The Lord Will Provide," by John Newton:

Though troubles assail and dangers affright,
Though friends should all fail and foes all unite;
Yet one thing secures us, whatever betide,
The scripture assures us, the Lord will provide

The birds without barn or storehouse are fed,
From them let us learn to trust for our bread:
His saints, what is fitting, shall ne'er be denied,
So long as it's written, the Lord will provide

We may, like the ships, by tempest be tossed
On perilous deeps, but cannot be lost.
Though Satan enrages the wind and the tide,
The promise engages, the Lord will provide.

His call we obey, like Abram of old,
Not knowing our way, but faith makes us bold;
For though we are strangers we have a good Guide,
And trust in all dangers, the Lord will provide

When Satan appears to stop up our path,
And fill us with fears, we triumph by faith;
He cannot take from us, though oft he has tried,
This heart-cheering promise, the Lord will provide

He tells us we're weak, our hope is in vain,
The good that we seek we ne'er shall obtain,
But when such suggestions our spirits have plied,
This answers all questions, the Lord will provide

No strength of our own, or goodness we claim,
Yet since we have known the Savior's great name;
In this our strong tower for safety we hide,
The Lord is our power, the Lord will provide

When life sinks apace and death is in view,
This word of his grace shall comfort us through:
No fearing or doubting with Christ on our side,
We hope to die shouting the Lord will provide

Looking unto Jesus, The Author and Perfecter of our Faith,

Lessons Learned from a Busted Toilet Pipe

I knew something was up with the bathroom, but I honestly thought the constant drips from six girls' playtime baths was beginning to catch up with the floor.

That was until I walked into our Forgotten Initiative donation room to see a steady flow of water streaming from the ceiling.

Enter screams, panic, and totally faithless tears.

The reality was our previous home owner had attempted to fix a toilet leak, but his repairs were a simple redirect into the bathroom wall.

Multiply a leak times five years and imagine the damage.

Homeowners' insurance is a wonderful thing, EXCEPT when they refuse to cover damages.

Sigh.

Guess our backup plan is we actually have to be totally dependent on God.

What a thought.

In the middle of a 24-hour plunge to remove 100 bags and boxes of donations and canned goods, we received not one, but two calls from past families terrified DHR was re-entering their lives.

I gave the Father pause, but honestly, I jumped into full blown "fix-it" mode.

First opinion said we would definitely have to move out, possibly a couple of months.

It's one thing to move out, but then think about displacing a three-year-old struggling with attachment issues, and then attempting to find a home for three sisters, ranging the age spectrum.

Surely, God couldn't be completely sovereign over their lives, right? It's up to me to make this work.

How quickly my theology shifts.

How seldom my actions reflect my deepest heart longing to rest completely in the One who holds me in the storm.

My precious friend listened to me on the phone, and gently remarked about how Christ's presence in the storm is possibly as much about the disciples' reaction as they cried out for help when they thought they had been abandoned as it is Christ calming the storm.

I was reading in Deuteronomy this week and came to chapter 20: When you go to war against your enemies and see horses and chariots and an army greater than yours, do not be afraid of them, because the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt, will be with you.

Which reminds me of Exodus 14:14: The Lord will fight for you, you need only be still.

Over and over we are told throughout scripture not to fix, but to stand.

Increasingly, the Father is inviting me into spaces where I can only stand.

Consider Ephesians 6:13, Therefore, put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.

Isn't He inviting us all into these places of utter trust?

With the child who is in rebellion?

With the marriage that has grown stale?

With the finances spinning end over end?

With sickness and death staring our faith down?

With the adoptive child that continues to hold you at a distance?

With the child's mother sabotaging her reunification?

And when we have done all, we are called to stand.

So Jamie and I began standing, from the posture of our knees, surrendering once again all we are and all we hope for into the hands that hold all.

And the thing is, if insurance had said they would cover the damage and if we had caught the leak before the flood, we would have missed the love you have shown us: the friends surrounding us, the meals, the texts, the calls, the hard labor...the reality that we were made to do this life together, not alone. We would have missed Jesus.

This week I changed my signature to Looking unto Jesus...

I stole it from Kim Wagner who was sharing on Nancy Leigh DeMoss' broadcast Revive Our Hearts.

She took it from Hebrews 12:1-4, Therefore since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and the sin which clings so easily, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, LOOKING UNTO JESUS, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider Him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted. In your struggle against sin you have not resisted to the point of shedding your blood.

The battle is our Father's, and as we look unto His son, the One who shed His blood, we are empowered to stand as He moves in His sovereign grace.

So, together we will stand in faith as we watch the One who fights for us.

And, all this emerged from a busted toilet...

Looking unto Jesus,

Detour: Some thoughts on a (NOT) Missional Life and How We Got Here

If you've been following this month's series, Voices of Foster Care, I'm taking a slight detour to offer some rambling thoughts on something that has been all over Facebook.

On Saturday, Anthony Bradley, an ethics and theology professor at King's College, wrote on article on what he considers to be the "New Legalism." In his article, he claims he has examined a rising epidemic among collegiate students. He outlines the increasing number of students he sees pursuing or feeling the need to pursue a missional lifestyle out of shame and guilt. He actually does go further and somewhat attaches this trend directly to what he calls "radical preachers" like David Platt, John Piper and other, as he refers to, "missional" leaders. He claims, Again, this was a well-intentioned attempt to address lukewarm Christians in the suburbs, but it is primarily reactionary and does not provide a positive construction for the good life from God's perspective, it misses the "radical" ideas in Jesus' own teachings like "Love."

Later, both John Piper and Anthony Bradley addressed the article on their Facebook pages. And, the comments were not all pretty.

Are we cheering for a football team here?

Bradley then went on to link a review he wrote on Radical in 2010.

Straight up disclaimer. I do not attend Brookhills. Jamie and I attend a small reformed PCA church here in Birmingham. However, a large amount of our support group  and many close friends are from Brookhills. I also had never bought or read a copy of Radical until two months ago. David Platt became our baseball coach, and I figured I should read it :) However, I had listened to many of his podcast sermons. Jamie and I have both been amazed how many people have commented in a divisive way that we must have read the book Radical, and that's why we are doing what we're doing. We actually just read the Bible, followed the Spirit's leading and trusted in the Father. Hmmmm.

Second disclaimer, I grew up "charismatic," married a PCA man, who is now an elder, and remain a charismatic at heart. I deeply believe in reformed theology. However, there are places I do not agree with my man's views on scripture or even my church's. Yet, Jamie and I seek humbly to learn from one another's views. It pushes us to dig deeper in the Word to explore together, rather than to react in an impulsive way. Our marriage of Scriptural views has shaped who we are to the core of our family. God knew that.

Third Disclaimer, and you've probably figured this out by now. I'm a social media junkie. And where we could say, none of this should be thrown over Facebook or Twitter, I do think there is something pretty cool regarding how we are able to discuss an article with believers across the country and hear various perspectives, rather than only those who look and feel just like us. It's all about how we keep it in check.

So...from this point forward, I'm going to check the articles at the door, and give my wimpy opinion that no one may ever read.

The "missional" or "radical" lifestyle should not be separated from what we are called to look like as Christians. Christ was radical in every sense of the word: His lodging or lack thereof, His companions, His clothes; the way He talked; His beliefs. He was a pretty radical guy. I think we do ourselves and fellow believers we are spurring on a massive disservice when we categorize our Christianity by levels. As John Gunter wrote in his blog yesterday, There is no Varsity in Christianity. 

Jamie and I were not always this way. When we were married, we wanted 2 kids (boy and a girl four years apart), Jamie to have a great and prosperous career in accounting (for God's glory of course), and me to have a stable freelancing avenue from home.

Enter God (or at least our awareness of Him :)

We knew God. Coming from 12 years of Briarwood, we could quote you any scripture or debate just about any theology point. But, the love of Christ had not penetrated our hearts. We were content to do the, as the article refers, "suburban life."

But we remembered two things Fran Sciacca challenged us with in our senior Bible class:

1. Choose your lifestyle early. Determine the way God is calling you to live, and do not let yourself inflate beyond that. It's all His anyway. Find ways to use it intentionally for His glory. 

2. If you want to be doctor or lawyer, that's great. Where are you going to be one, and who will you be them to? 

I go more into these challenges here.

Now, on the surface, this challenges may seem what Bradley claims is the "New Legalism." But let's be real. We are in comfy America. If we are not challenged to dream there could be something more, we fail to see the vastness of God's glory and vision. I want to drill into my kids that they can GO, and DO, and BE anything God has designed for them to be and anywhere HE leads them to go.

We prayed every single day that God would give us the courage to live these two things out, even though we didn't see how or really even feel it.

And along the way, something shifted. Maybe it was three boys in three years. Maybe it was almost losing our middle son. Maybe it was a marriage that just wasn't seeming to take off the ground, or maybe even our sin-soaked mess :) But May 18th, 2009, we looked at each other and both said, I want to know the love of Jesus deeper than I ever have, and I want Him to have it all.

And He said, Follow me.

I don't know that I've ever felt a shift in my life so clearly. Everything changed.

There were times we pushed the cart before the horse. We wanted to jump into ministry before we knew we were being driven from the love and calling of Christ. A need does not always justify a call. But, we knew we were being called to love deeply because we have been deeply loved.

So, here are some thoughts on this (NOT) Missional Christian Living:

1. Missional living must be driven from grace. We love because we have been loved. Once we know love, we cannot help but seep His glory because we are being transformed into the very image of Jesus with each passing day. We are never the rescuers; we are the rescued.

2. Missional living is intentional. I remember when I first had Caleb. I was drowning, and I was pouting to a close friend because my world "for Jesus" felt so small. Yes, loving Caleb was and is a high calling. However, after having 100 kids listen to you preach from your soapbox every day, it's a jolt...a good one, but a jolt. However, she challenged me by saying, Catie, you're not looking. Your mission field is all around you. She went on to challenge me to go to the same store, on the same day, at the same checkout line each week and build a relationship with the clerk.

I did. Her name is Jennifer. Our boys are the same ages. Her life is hard, harder than I will ever know. Now, she's at Chick-Fil-A. For 10 years, I've followed her. I pray for her kids. That was Publix.

Walmart is a whole other story. Every single person in that store at 4 in the morning knows me by name, and I know them. They know my faith. They ask me to pray with them.

I knew when Christine's husband lost her job and was able to hook her up with someone who could help.

I knew when Jazzy had her baby as a single mom.

I knew when Christina didn't have money to get school supplies.

And they know my kids. My gang got Christmas presents from the early Walmart shift.

I don't say any of this to prop me up, but I do think that we can use our callings as wives, mothers, and husbands sometimes as an excuse to be a singular calling. We can have a missional lifestyle in the midst of doing life. But it takes intentionality.

3. Missional living is costly. Ask any of the apostles or disciples. Ask William Tyndale as he was led to be choked to death and his body burned. Ask Elisabeth Elliot who held her husband, her family's future with open hands. Ask John Wycliffe whose body was exhumed after death to be burned along with his writings. The list could go on.

Life to life ministry is costly. Discipleship is expensive. Faith is dangerous. It's an investment of our time, or resources, our hearts...whether it is our own children, our neighbor, or the woman standing on the street.

4. Missional living is not forever. Fellowship, though we are commanded to do it now, will continue forever for those in the Body of Christ. Worship, though we are commanded for it to be part of our life now, will also go on for all eternity. Missions, alleviation of the poor, orphan care, mercy ministry will end one day. This realization does make us pause.

5. Missional living comes from our design. Our purpose does not shape our design. Our design shapes our purpose. We are designed for a calling, for the space He longs for His glory to be made known to the world in a way only we are able to do that. If we invert these two things, we can quickly begin chasing after one another's stories, rather than watching the beauty He is writing through our own.

6. Missional living has no guarantees. We often want the promise of an end result. It ain't gonna happen on this earth. But, we do cling to the promise that all things are being made new, that we are being transformed into the image of Christ, and one day we will fully look like Him.

But, I will say, that since we have followed the Father's leading and grace in our lives to our messy missional lifestyle, we know more peace and joy than we have ever known in our lives. Is it hard? YES. Is there grief and pain? YES. Is it inconvenient? YES. Are we tired? YES. But, am I tasting more of my Savior than I have ever known? YES, a thousand times. And, am I learning more about the heart of God than I ever have? Yes.

7. Missional living is not about us. I did appreciate how Bradley pointed out that a missional lifestyle apart from knowing the deep love of Christ, can only produce narcissism and self-absorption. Just as a comfortable life apart from Christ can produce narcissism and self-absorption. It's a constant battle to examine and re-examine our hearts.

So grateful to be reminded of this verse yesterday from a friend I admire:

We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us. If your gift is prophesying, then prophesy in accordance with your faith; if it is serving, then serve; if it is teaching, then teach; if it is to encourage, then give encouragement; if it is giving, then give generously; if it is to lead, do it diligently; if it is to show mercy, do it cheerfully.

~ Romans 12:6-8

Because of the One who is the Author of our Calling,

On Vomit and the Gospel

**Warning ~ Don't read if your stomach can't handle it.**

Yesterday we emerged from day nine of the most violent stomach bug I have ever witnessed.

No lie.

Total, I cleaned up just over 35 vomit episodes in a week. (And that was only two kids.)

That's not counting the "bottom" pit statistics, which were honestly close to being just as bad.

Jamie had an unusually busy week of commitments and things at work. And women, I think many of us can vouch for our men's reactions when things that are suppose to be inside the body, suddenly mix with bodily fluids and spontaneously emerge outside the body. (Though he really did try.)

So there was me to help the Lumpkin bunker persevere in sickness. For nine days.

Folks, I did not leave the house for nine days. And honestly, you wouldn't have wanted me to.

There were moments I imagined myself as Jack Bauer flying upstairs and downstairs to eliminate the terrorism of throw up.

There were moments ~ probably too many ~ that I busted out the Gangnum Style in order to restore some sense of sanity to our home.

I threw some Harlem Shake in there just to spice things up a bit.

You gotta do something.

Last night we celebrated our survival with a pinata, balloons, and surprises for all.

Because hey, nine straight days of anything is worth celebrating.

But, in the midst of the sleepless nights, running upstairs and downstairs, and mounds of laundry, there was a sweet stillness in our home, and the Father took me back to the heart of the Gospel.

Reminding me that...

~ The most beautiful place on earth I can be is at the feet of the One my soul loves most. Because even in rivers of vomit, Splendor and majesty are before Him, and strength and joy are in His dwelling place. ~ I Chronicles 16:27 ~ And there was a precious joy (in a sick way) and a renewal of His strength that met me each morning as I made Him my dwelling place.

~ There is nothing I can do to make the Father love me more. With vomit in my hair and Lysol-layered clothing, He sees me as His son, and one day, I will fully be like Christ. ~ But God, being rich in mercy, because of the GREAT LOVE with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ - by grace you have been saved - and raised us up and seated us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus so that in the coming ages He might show the immeasurable riches of His grace in kindness towards us in Christ Jesus. For by Grace you have been saved through faith and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast. ~ Ephesians 2: 4-9 ~ How's that for a promise of His faithfulness as we persevere on this earth...and in vomit. 

~ Because I am so GREATLY LOVED, I can LOVE GREATLY, and it's okay to be real when I fail in that. ~ Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. For you are serving the Lord Christ. ~ Colossians 3: 23 and 24 ~ He doesn't need me to love, but He allows me to be part of His love as He draws others to Himself so that HE may bring Himself glory. I have the honor of being part of that crazy adventure. Some days it means being in a courtroom, advocating for a child; some days it means teaching a classroom of students; some days it's praying with a friend or homeschooling my children. And when I have the gift of cleaning up my children's vomit for His glory, I can do it with great love, because I know the place where I am deeply loved. He does not need me for that, but He chose me to be the one with that honor, and it is a beautiful honor. And when I fail in frustration or from leaning on my own strength, the most wonderful love story I can give my children in that moment is my broken repentance in hope before them, reminding them that I do not get it right, but I can lead them to the One who got it right for me.

So as we emerge from this week of hermithood, I am grateful. Grateful for the quiet, the moments, the lessons and reminders that my soul belongs to a great God. A God who sees the vomit of my own life, and cloaks it in the beauty of His greatest love, Jesus Christ. So that when He sees me, He sees His son. And it is not my job to always get rid of the vomit, but to rest in the cloak of righteousness in which He has covered me.

And, I don't blame you if you walk on the other side of the hall when you see us for a few days.

Because of Jesus,

"My Mother Taught Me Purple"

I snapped today.


Something is haunting me, gnawing deep within.


I've been thinking about some of the conversations we've had with some of our children's families. I've been considering how several times now I've heard the comment, "It's okay if my child doesn't become anyone special. It's okay if they're just like me."

There's a poem I've taught my students almost every year of the last twelve:

"My Mother Taught Me Purple"

My mother taught me purple

Although she never wore it.

Wash-gray was her circle,

The tenement her orbit.

My mother taught me golden

And held me up to see it,

Above the broken molding, 

Beyond the filthy street.

My mother reached for beauty

And for its lack she died,

Who knew so much of duty

She could not teach me pride.

So I'm aware we're not all English teachers, but bear with me.

Here, the poet Evelyn Hunt, who actually displays aspects of her own life through her poetry, describes an impoverished, urban, single-mother, who is trying to survive. Though this mother fights to survive, her greater fight is to instill vision in her child, to implant within him that he was made more. However, in the end, though she's whispered day after day these truths within her child's ears, she fails to demonstrate before him the truths of self-respect and dignity that are required to obtain and fight for the vision she had created for her child.

I was recently talking to an older foster child who explained to me how she wasn't worried about when she aged out of the system. She would simply apply for disability and welfare, and "get by," with responsibility to no one. Why not? That's how her mother did it.

Deep within, it shadows my soul to think there are numerous cultures who have given up on vision, on hoping, on believing that they were made for more than themselves, for more than survival.

Yet, dig a little deeper with me. 

I look at that momma or that daddy and ache for them to rise above. And, it's so easy to quickly point fingers at financial observations, life choices, education hindrances, or political programs that have enabled and held them in this place. Those are real factors. 

Yet...

Isn't that me, too? 

Isn't that you? 

Isn't it all of us?

Isn't there a subtle place where we allow ourselves to forget that we were made for more than what this world tells us? 

Isn't there a looming weight that forces us to believe we must fight to survive, and abandon hoping or creating visions for beyond? 

Isn't there a story we've been told that tells us we're the main character, and if we make it through today, we've survived?

Is it possible that we've forgotten like that Momma that we are princesses and our Father is the King of Kings?

Is it possible that we've lost sight of the fact that our sons and husbands were made to be warriors for the High King who holds the keys of Sin and Death?

Is it possible that we've distanced ourselves from the One who already obtained the victory for us, just so eternity could be implanted in our hearts? 

So that we could remember, we were made for more than what this world holds out to us?

We were made for Jesus.