Ella is THREE!

Somehow it happened.

This baby girl grew into a big, beautiful three year old.

And girl, is she a mess. Independent, determined, full of know-how (or so she thinks), nothing stands in her way if she's decided to do something. And as much as that drives me crazy, on some level, I totally understand. After all, she's the 6th of 7 kids ages 8 years and younger, she needs some fight in her!

Luke and Grace both say I let her get away with may more than anyone else has. It's true. Not because she's my favorite. Or even because because of her incredibly cute self (okay, maybe that is true just a bit). But I think I've learned some things over the years of motherhood. Yes, it's important to win the big battles with your kids. It's important for them to know who is in charge. But you know what? I don't have to prove that with EVERY battle. And with my determined little girl, I'd be fighting A LOT of battles if I did.

She's lively. Hilarious. Energetic. Full of personality. Affectionate. Head strong.

And now. She's THREE. That's so hard for me to wrap my head around. I think somewhere in my mind I have frozen her at about the same age as Abigail. That'll be healthy when she has her own kids, I'm sure. (That's a joke. Laugh people.)

The girl loves animals. So for her birthday we went to an animal park where you can drive through and feed animals. She was beside herself with joy.

But don't be fooled by those stunning blue eyes and gorgeous blond locks of hair. This girl was born to live in the country (despite the fact that we live well within city limits). On Sunday, God provided a miracle and we had all the children up and dressed well before it was time to load up for church. So we sent them outside for a few minutes. Ella is notorious for peeing in the yard. I saw her squatting from the window and I flew outside to tell her sternly that we DO NOT PEE IN THE YARD! (Especially since our yard is visible from a pretty major roadway through town - particularly driven by many members of our church on Sunday morning - Ahem).

With equal determination she said right back to me, "I DID NOT PEE! I pooped!"

Yes. In the yard. And she executed well, I might add. Not a trace of evidence of her, um, performance was on her or her clothes.

Crazy determined and Olivia's "bes fran." She's one of a kind. A total comedian and always in the mix of whatever is going on (which was exactly what she wanted to do when she was just a baby too).

At three years old, Ella loves her morning sippy of coffee juice, to watch Go Diego Go! or Dora the Explorer. Recently, she's be on a Team Umizoomi kick, too.

She loves to dress up, ride her stick horse "Pepper" and she can swing like a crazy lady. She loves sweets and just this morning I had to stop her from squeezing (another) helping of chocolate syrup into her gaped open mouth.

She can sort of spell her name outloud "E-L-A. Ella!" and she can count to ten with ease. She and Olivia share a room and Ella sleeps on the bottom bunk. Well, sometimes. Okay, really they switch about every night.

She LOVES shoes and just recently retired a pair of "flashlights boots" (the ones that light up on the toes when she walks) for a brand new pair of PINK cowgirl boots that MeMe and PawPaw got her for her birthday. She adores pink and every.single.meal she wants a pink cup, pink fork, pink plate. OR ELSE.

I have no doubt that God will use this daughter of ours to teach us a thing or thousand about patience, grace, mercy and perseverance. In fact, he already has.

Happy Belated Birthday my sweet Ella Joy! I love you so very much.

Click here to read about Ella's birth

To see Ella's first birthday

To see Ella's second birthday

Supermom I am not

Her feet slam against the side of her crib (yes, at almost 3 years old she's still in a crib) and she cries out. I roll over and look at the clock.

2:43am. Awesome.

I shake Luke awake and ask him to go upstairs to calm Ella down.

2 minutes later he is back in bed, his breaths deep. He's back into a REM cycle.

How does he do that?

The slamming begins again so I roll out of bed and trudge to the kitchen, pour a sippy of milk, shuffle through a drawer to find a stopper for the lid and pull myself upstairs.

"Here Ella," I say as I rub wild curls off of her face and forehead, "here's some milk baby." She takes it and settles back in. I cover her up and fumble my way back to bed, reminding myself that I really should clear a path down the hallway for when people wake up at night.

An hour later, Lucas climbs into bed with us. At some point I get an elbow to the face. He gets angry when I ask him to go back to his own bed. But I manage to steal a kiss before he slips back into the darkness outside our bedroom door.

Luke and I raise our voices at each other and a kid because neither of us want to deal with a night time bed wetter and finding all new bedding.

Abigail clings to my ankles as I desperately try to make dinner. It's already 6:00pm and I'm just now getting started. It's a new recipe and that always makes me nervous. What if it flops? Then I've not only wasted food but we have nothing for dinner.

She cries out and I lift her to my hip. "Ashlee! Please come take your baby sister for a few minutes so I can put dinner in the oven!"

"Mooooom!" She yells, "I'm busy!"

"What do you think I'm doing??!! Would you like to eat tonight??!!"

She stomps into the kitchen, grins at Abigail and laughs as I pass her over.

Aaron cries because I ask him to take a bath. He ends up in bed early for the 3rd night in a row because of incessant crying.

Olivia keeps stealing toys from the other kids and then lying about it. The lying infuriates me and I snap at her.

Elizabeth is as dramatic as a 17 year old girl suffering from PMS. I roll my eyes at her and she sees me and runs off to cry in her bedroom.

I fail. Daily I fail. I wonder if I'm ruining these little people when I raise my voice, use too much sarcasm or lock the kids outside because it's the first nice day in weeks and I just need the house to be quiet for FIVE MINUTES.

I hear it often, "Oh! You are SUPERmom!"

"I could never handle that many kids! You must have the patience of Job!" (By the way, Job wasn't particularly patient. Read the book, people.)

I look at people when they say that. I'm bewildered. Because here are two truths that I know to be certain without a shadow of a doubt.

1) MOTHERHOOD IS HARD. It's hard if you have one child. It's hard if you have 10 kids. It's hard if you work outside the home. It's hard if you stay-at-home. It's hard if you homeschool. It's hard if your kids are schooled outside your home.

It's hard. And I'm going to say this as plainly as I know how.

My journey is motherhood isn't any more difficult that any other mother.

Yes, I may have more kids. Yes, they may all be younger. Yes, I'm crazy enough to homeschool. Yes, it may appear that way. But girlfriend, when you call me SuperMom you are downplaying the hardships in your own life so much. And that breaks my heart.

Do people who have fewer children get more time to themselves? Maybe. But not necessarily. Do they have more money to go on vacations and spend money on themselves? Maybe. But not necessarily.

Girls, MOTHERHOOD IS HARD. End of story.

2) And this is a soapbox issue for me.

These little people drive me crazy. They make me cuss under my breath, wonder if I've lost my mind and question if we'll add anymore. But more than any of that, I know this to be true.

Children are a blessing. Such a sweet, irreplaceable blessing. We've never had a child come into our home and thought, "Well, crap. That was a mistake."

These people are gifts. Messy, loud, selfish, totally depraved, unconditionally loving, forever forgiving, smelly, cuddly BLESSINGS.

Yes, they are a lot of work. But they are the best kind of work. They're the kind of work that women pray for every day of their lives because their arms ache. They're the kind of work worth investing in. And I think that if our society recognized this more readily, then SUPERmom wouldn't show up on my radar. Instead, BLESSEDmom would likely be my nickname.

I'm majorly flawed. I'm no where close to being a SUPERmom. I make mistakes every, single day. And then I try so hard to press into His grace, extend more love than harshness. I load up my 15 passenger van, count heads, crank up the radio above the noise and press on. Because that's what Moms do. Regular moms.

And really, that's all I am. A regular mom with a larger than average family, pressing on through the daily grind. Wondering if I've lost my mind and trying to count each blessing along the way. SUPERmom, I am not. BLESSEDmom I am certain.

The wrestling

Grace told me I should blog. I told her that I wasn't quite sure what to say that wouldn't be 1) depressing 2) angry 3) heresy.

But here's what's been rolling around in my head and I've been wrestling with in my heart. I hope this all makes sense by the time I'm finished.

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I've known it for nearly 9 years now. From the moment that I reached down pulled a 6 pound 13 ounce baby girl onto my chest, I knew it.

Motherhood is the best thing that's ever happened to me.

It's the greatest ministry I've ever been given. One I don't know everything about. One that I'm learning as I go. One that I'm passionate about. Which, in truth, that's every kind of ministry. No one begins ministering to others with all the answers. All they know is that the burning within them drives them to gain more knowledge, love like never before and hope like hell they don't get in the way of God's master plan.

I know all of this cognitively in my head. I know that pouring my everything in to these seven little lives, loving their father well, managing my home and filling myself up with the abundant grace of God is ministry. I KNOW that.

But when I think about what our plans were this time last year. When I remember that there are unreached people in a country on the other side of the world, people we were suppose to be living with as neighbors, my heart breaks.

And some days, this motherhood thing doesn't seem like enough.

Yes, I know we have seven kids. I know my hands are full. I know that loving on seven children ages 8 years and younger is a full time job. I know that.

But somewhere in my heart something seems missing. And that's where my knowledge ends and the wrestling begins. I wrestle between two constant thoughts:

1) I hate feeling like this motherhood gig isn't "ministry enough." That is a lie that the enemy is selling and mothers are buying every.single.day.

I want to refuse to buy it anymore. I believe that there are mothers working their butts off going to work, cleaning up spilled sippy cups of milk, faxing documents while planning dinner in their heads, wiping butts, settling toy disputes, changing 27 diapers a day, homeschooling their kids and coming home to change out the laundry on their lunch breaks. And all the while, these precious mothers are wondering to themselves if they are really making a difference in anyone's life.

Friend, believe me when I say that by loving your children, your husband and your home well you are fulfilling the greatest ministry role on this planet.

I believe that myself. Most days.

Which leads me to my second thought that seems to sit exactly juxtaposed to the first.

2) If this is really it, if this motherhood thing is REALLY my only ministry, then why do hot tears spring instantly to my eyes when I think about unreached people? Why do I feel like I failed? Why does my heart long for more? Why do I nearly ache with the desire to live with my family on hot, dusty soil and watch my children build cross-cultural friendships?

And here is the kicker - even when we were speaking to families and groups trying to raise up a support team, I boldly proclaimed that my role would be nearly identical to what it is here:

Manager of our home, teacher of our children. Wife. Mom. Homeschooler.

So why, if nothing really was to look any different, am I feeling like everything has changed? Because of geography?

That's ridiculous.

This home, these children, my husband - they are my greatest ministry. My hardest job. My biggest reward. Yet somehow, in the midst of my days I feel anger welling up within me.

"This is IT God? We are stuck here? This is my life? Rural America, the freakshow family with all the kids who homeschool? This is IT?"

I'm just not even sure where to go from here. My desire to do any type of ministry is gone.

I've always said that while our children are by far my first ministry, they should never be the reason we chose not to love on people outside our family. Ministry outside the home should happen together. Teenagers. Elderly. Homeless shelter. Whatever. Let's do this as a family.

Over the last 8 months, we've dabbled our feet in trying out a few things to do as a family and each of them has fallen on my heart with a less than desirable thud.

And I can't shake the thought that maybe, this is IT. This is God's plan for my life. "Just" being a mother. (Oh that sound so horrible out loud, doesn't it?) "Just" managing my home. "Just" loving my husband well.

Somewhere inside me discontent sets in. THIS IS NOT THE LIFE YOU CALLED ME TO, LORD. This is not where I wanted to end up. This is not how I had it all planned out. When I stood before you and offered up to you my life with open hands, this wasn't part of the thing you were allowed to take away. Not Africa. Not what we'd worked for nearly 4 years to set in motion.

And so I wonder. Is this pride? Or is it a hunger the Lord has placed deep within me to yearn for foreign soil? I wrestle with those two things clutched tightly in opposing hands. Pride vs Calling. Or is it neither of those and I'm missing the very thing I'm suppose to be learning?

Just as Jacob did, I'm sure I'll not walk away from all this wrestling without a permanent limp. Maybe that's the point. Maybe that's God's plan all along.

A changed walk.
A new, albeit markedly different, gait.
An encounter with the Most High that not only changes my course in this journey but the time it takes to reach my destination.

Abigail is one!

One year ago I sat in a hospital room, sniffing, cuddling and soaking in a brand new baby. Now, that tiny little baby, who was my first baby to be born without an induction, the seventh blessing in our growing family, is ONE.

How is that possible?

Some how that sweet little baby we've all ooohed and ahhhhhed over has grown into a curious, crawling baby that EVERYONE continually dotes over.


Isn't she lovely?

I snapped a few photos of her about a month ago. I've started a small little photography business, even though I've still got LOADS to learn. It's a nice hobby.

Anyway, our sweet baby girl has been a beautiful distraction considering our last year's events. Cuddling with her in the calm of a dark room, nursing her quietly as she falls asleep in my arms, hearing her giggle, laugh and squeal at her siblings has been soothing balm to our hearts.

And, as her little personality emerges, I'm looking forward to learning the quirks, habits and character that God has planted into our tiniest treasure.

Last night we went out to eat Mexican food for her birthday, something that's becoming an unplanned family tradition. Because what else says "Birthday" other than chips, salsa, Mexican food and mediocre cupcakes?

Our sweet girl is ALWAYS smiling.

This girl is curious. Always wondering what is going on and usually breaking out into a crawl-sprint to find out.

"What 'cha doin' there, Dad?"

At first she was so shocked that everyone was singing, to her, in unison.

Then, she decided she liked it. A lot.

Then, it was time to DIVE IN. So delicately, she tasted the icing.

Then, she was all in.

She kept looking at Luke and I as if to ask, "I'm really allowed to eat this? And make a huge mess?"

Our sweet, baby girl. Already a year old.

First birthdays bring so much bittersweetness to my heart. I'm thrilled because I know that the last year has been filled with sleepless nights, countless feedings, lots of baby wearing and diapers galore and soon, most of that will be a thing of the past. But it's also sad that we will quickly watch this young baby turn into a toddler who needs less and less of Momma and is eager to walk, explore and wean.

We made it to a full year of nursing! Something I've not been able to accomplish with any of the other children. My plan is to allow her to self-wean, though with each day she's becoming less and less interested, I'm afraid.

At one year old, Abigail is cruising on furniture, has eight teeth, can sign milk, more, eat, and all done. She loves the dog and shows no interest in wanting to walk. She says Mom, Dad and Dog and can emit the most shrill scream of delight in an older sibling who is trying to make her laugh.

She is thrilled to see Daddy come home at the end of every day and is addicted to her pacifier.

When she was about 4 months old I bought 4 little ducks on the clearance rack at Target. All of our kids have "lovies" we've bought them as we've transitioned them from our room to their own bed and bedrooms. Abigail wasn't having anything to do with any of those ducks. Instead, she adopted her old swaddle blanket as her lovey and she sleeps with it smashed over her face. She loves it and it freaks me out.

She loves to be held, likes to be in the mix with all the other kids and won't shy away from a good cuddle. She has the most delicious dimple on her right cheek and every time she smiles and it comes into view I can't keep from kissing it.

Certainly this sweet baby girl is a delight to us all. Happy first birthday Abigail Mercy. How I love you so very much!

The delicate dance

Gratitude and love. Topics that seem to go hand in hand with lines blurred as to where one ends and another begins. Because, indeed, if you have ever been loved well, the gratitude of being a recipient of such is a natural overflow.

When Bethany asked me write for this blog I immediately said yes. And then, moments later, regretted it. Don’t get me wrong. I have much to be grateful for. But currently, I’m in a season of life where grief overshadows most my gratefulness. And that’s the funny thing about love. It can often bring with it a two edged sword bearing pain and piercing joy. How the two can exist in delicate harmony is something I’m learning day by day.

.....

Click here to read the rest of this post over on my friend Bethany's blog, "Your Daily Dose of Gratitude" where I contributed this post for her 28 days of love series.

Comments here are closed here, but feel free to comment on the post linked above.

Das Not Funny! Friday: Orphaned Ninjas

After my previous post, y'all are going to think I'm bipolar by following it with today. But geesh, somebody's got to lighten the mood around here, right?

So, here's a long overdue, Das Not Funny! Friday! Not sure what Das Not Funny! Friday is? Click here to find out.

These are from the last several months. Good thing funny stuff doesn't go bad.

I'm sure y'all have noticed that I've not exactly been completely emotionally normal lately. A while back I had been especially short tempered with the kids, yelled at them, said some things that wasn't patient or kind or edifying to a loving environment in our home.

I sat the older four kids down at the table to read to them and before I started, I took a deep breath, began to cry and apologized to them.

"Guys, I'm really sorry. I haven't been kind or gentle or patient with all of you lately. Mommy needs to do better. I'm really, really sorry."

With a sad look on her face, Ashlee climbs into my lap, snuggles up to me, pats me gently and says, "It's okay Mommy. Daddy needs some work too."

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Often, when the kids are picking on me Luke will tease with them and tell them to "stop messing with his wife!"

Luke and I were in the kitchen hugging and kissing. Aaron comes into the room, stops in his tracks and says, "Hey! Stop kissing my wife!"

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Ashlee is smitten with Abigail. Actually, babies in general. It's not uncommon for Abigail to spend most of her time on Ashlee's hip, wrestling on the floor with Ashlee, kissed by Ashlee, tickled by Ashlee, hugged by Ashlee..... you get the idea. So when Luke offered for Ashlee to give Abigail a bottle while I was at Bible study on Monday night, Ashlee was over the moon happy.

A little while later, I got this text from Luke:

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Me: "Ella, please don't play with those, okay?"

Ella: "But Mommy, my tummies are hurtin'!"

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Our boys are into anything Ninja/Star Wars/Karate/Army. Basically, your typical boy stuff. Lately, Lucas and Aaron both walk around singing theme songs to the shows they like to watch. Aaron's especially make me giggle.

Aaron: "Teenage Ninja Ninja Turtles. Ninjas in a half shell. Turtle Tower!"

But my favorite is,

"Go, go, go, go, go, go Power Rangers! Mighty, mighty orphan Power Rangers!"

Those poor, orphaned Ninjas. ;)

Y'all have a great weekend.

I have a voice mail and about 3 emails that I listen to and read about once a week. Words of encouragement. Words of validation. Words of love poured over our fresh wounds. Words that soothe and balm and help me remember that we did not give up.

Instead, we obeyed. We knew having children meant offering up our own wants, needs and often our dreams and goals so that we could shepherd these precious lives to the foot of the cross on a regular basis. And that is what we have done.

We have chosen to forgo our dreams and instead love our children well and help them heal, help us heal.

But I'm going to be honest.

I feels a lot like we just gave up.

Lately, for some reason I cannot pinpoint, Lucas has melted into a puddle of tears on numerous occasions and just keeps saying things like:

"Mom, I want Paige. I want her to be RIGHT HERE."

"I really wish Paige was here eating dinner with us."

"I wish Paige was going with us to the dentist."

"I miss her. I can barely remember what her voice sounds like, Mom."

Each of those things make my heart break into a million pieces.

I don't want this blog to become the "We miss Paige blog" but truly, I'm not sure what else to write about. The days stretch on between blog posts, they turn into weeks and often I think, "Oh I should blog about that funny thing the kids did" but when I sit to write, deep emotion pours from my fingers.

Writing is my release. And when I sit, emotions surface and spill over. Often emotions I've been trying my best to suppress.

I went to her grave yesterday. It was mostly unintentional. Elizabeth has started piano again and though we live only a few minutes from her lessons, it seems like a lot of work to bring the other 6 kids home, unload them and then load them up again 45 minutes later.

So after driving around in frigid temperatures, I decided that one of the playgrounds at the church might be in the sun. It's also the playground nearest the cemetery. I pulled up and saw that it was not in the sun but the kids insisted on getting out anyway, despite my warnings that it was painfully cold.

We all climbed out, I bundled everyone up and they sprinted for the slide. The slide that's maybe 100 feet from Paige's grave. I've avoided it for the last six months because, well, sometimes it's easier to deny that she's really there in the ground.

But as the kids sprang onto the playground, my feet carried me causally over to the spot I'd stood six months ago as I watched my husband heave with sobs into the chests of his closest friends. The spot where I watched her casket lay above a giant hole that would swallow her up. The spot where I sat next to Grace, clutching her hand, so consumed with worry for her that bile rose in the back of my throat.

I couldn't stop myself. My mind told me at least a dozen times to turn around but I couldn't. I just kept walking until finally there I stood. Looking at the tiny little marker with her name written on it.

My heart recoiled. The grass. Oh God the grass. How in the hell is there grass!? No dirt. No pile of muddy grass and seed, still swollen with the newest offering into the hard, cold ground.

Just normal looking grass. Weathered by the cold winter, grey and brown and looking just like the rest of the grass in the cemetery that covered the plots of people who had been buried for years.

How is it that a 10 foot by 5 foot hole has already completely healed and my heart has only begun?

Today, I took Ashlee out on a lunch date. My sweet girl is always begging for special time alone with me or Luke. We sat in a booth of the Japanese restaurant, noodles slapped the sides of her cheeks as she slurped, my heart swelled with love for her.

"Ash, you know I think you're pretty awesome, right?"

And as casually as she could, she responded with, "Yeah, I know. But not as awesome as Paige."

She's in our thoughts everyday, never far away from intersecting reality and memory. Which is exactly how it was when she was alive. We called or texted her often. Skyped her regularly. The kids wrote letters to her, drew her pictures and asked when she was coming over next. We missed her when she was at school and now, we miss her even more.

Six months tomorrow. It makes me angry that time has dared to move on so quickly. Yet here we sit, life altered, plans changed, hearts sad, new plans on the horizon.

It feels a lot like we just gave up on our old life. But I know that's not true.

I got an email on Monday. It was from our sending organization. A simple email with a lone attachment.

New support goals for 2013.

It felt like a slap across the face. I know it was just routine for whomever updates and sends records. But once again our support needs had gone up. It's not like we are planning to leave the country in 2013 but seeing the dollars we would need continuing to mount seemed like a heartless joke.

I know this is a ramble. And it's sad. And it's not what this blog was ever designed to be. But I really don't know what to write about anymore. I have pages saved on my computer of emotions and thoughts poured out from me, hoping that if I just let them out then I could begin to move on like nearly everyone else I know.

Somedays I feel fine. I rejoice in the testimony of her life, of our life, and what God has done already. And then there are days like yesterday, and the day I know tomorrow will be, and I turn my eyes onto my own broken heart rather than the One who could provide true healing.

It feels like we gave up. It feels like our identity has been stripped from us. Our feet should be firmly standing on African soil right now. Instead, our feet pace around a beautiful property that will soon be ours but I can't genuinely say I'm joyous about owning. We are buying a house out of sad circumstances that we didn't ask for.

It's funny really. I look out our window right now and it's a sunny, clear day. Mildly overcast, with mostly sunny skies. It looks like a nice, warm spring day.

But if you crack open the door, the cold rushes in and the reality of the freezing temperatures outside rush in and send a chill up your back. The hair on the back of your neck prickles and you realize, things aren't what they seem.

And that's exactly the state of my heart. Life is moving at normal pace. I attend Bible study and church, go to the grocery store and run into people I know. All appears okay, like a nice, normal day. And then reality slices in, the bitter cold reminding me that this is not where I want to be and the hairs on my neck prickle, my stomach lurches and tears fill my eyes.

I found this scripture this morning while searching for some encouragement for a friend. I want this to be true for me. I need this to be true for me.

Sing aloud, O daughter of Zion;

shout, O Israel!

Rejoice and exult with all your heart,

O daughter of Jerusalem!

The LORD has taken away the judgments against you;

he has cleared away your enemies.

The King of Israel, the LORD, is in your midst;

you shall never again fear evil.

On that day it shall be said to Jerusalem:

“Fear not, O Zion;

let not your hands grow weak.

The LORD your God is in your midst,

a mighty one who will save;

he will rejoice over you with gladness;

he will quiet you by his love;

he will exult over you with loud singing.

I will gather those of you who mourn for the festival,

so that you will no longer suffer reproach.

Behold, at that time I will deal

with all your oppressors.

And I will save the lame

and gather the outcast,

and I will change their shame into praise

and renown in all the earth.

At that time I will bring you in,

at the time when I gather you together;

for I will make you renowned and praised

among all the peoples of the earth,

when I restore your fortunes

before your eyes,” says the LORD.

(Zephaniah 3:14-20 ESV - emphasis added by me)

Joy amid sorrow

We sat in the sanctuary, the same one where her casket laid almost 5 months ago exactly, and the grief washed over me once more.

I hid my face behind Abigail’s head as tears flowed freely down my cheeks. I contained my sobs only barely until finally, a familiar chord struck the piano and I could handle it no more. With Abigail wrapped tightly to my chest, I squeezed her close and made a quick exit out of the back of the room and slipped into a darkened classroom down the hall. Muffled sobs filled the small space as Abigail nursed quietly and her chubby little hand grabbed for my mouth, like always.

It was more than I could bear sitting in that room and trying to worship. Especially given why we were there. Our dear friends, a woman I would consider within my inner circle, leaving the country, being commissioned, going to unreached people. Gosh how I love these people. How a part of my heart rejoices in the work the Lord is doing in and through their precious family!

But the rest of me....

To the rest of me that commissioning service felt as much like a funeral as the one I’d sat through just five months before. The funeral that changed so much for us. The funeral that changed our lives forever, that took our dreams, our world, and flipped it upside down.

We were suppose to be departing for Kenya this month. I clinch my fist at God and ask Him why He even called us if He knew this would happen. I lay in the bed most nights and cry silent tears, mourning the loss of our dreams, our hopes, our future and all that I had imagined it to be.

I know this probably won’t make sense to many of you, but my heart was already gone. I fell in love with a people group I’d never met. Faces lacking detail slipped into my dreams, into my prayers and danced across my imagination as I pictured us living with them, earning their trust - and they ours - living along side them sharing with them the greatest, most certain love I’ve ever known. Sharing Him.

I gathered myself and Abigail, who by this time had finished nursing and had begun crawling all over the room looking for tiny objects to pincer grasp and put into her mouth. I wrapped her back onto my chest and snuck back into the sanctuary just as our pastor began speaking. I stared straight ahead, careful to not look around, in fear that I’d make eye contact with someone and they’d be privy to the depths of my pain.

And I sat there in that service feeling like we were burying yet another thing so precious to us.

Yes, this last 5 months have been hard. Hard because we lost our friend. Hard because our children still have weekly meltdown sessions where they collapse into our arms and tell us how much they miss their Paige. Hard because all we know to do, as parents, is simply sit and cry with them. No words will act as a healer. No perfect scripture will make the pain less real. Only tears and cuddles and rocking and the hope that one day we can remember her and it not crush us with grief and sadness.

But it’s been hard on so many other levels. Hard because WE were the family headed to Africa. WE were the ones who were excited to go and see. Hard because this life isn’t the one we’ve spent the last 3+ years preparing for.

“Mom, why aren’t we going to Africa? I want to go to Africa.”

Me too, baby. Me too.

This isn’t our plan A. Plan A was Africa.

We are buying a house. The house we are in now is a rental. It’s served us well over the last nearly 3 years but we are cramped. It’s seen us bring two babies home and our children grow from little kids into school aged children. We moved here with the knowledge that God was calling us somewhere else. It was temporary. We knew that from the get-go.

But now, we aren’t sure how temporary our new life is. There is no way we’d be effective missionaries right now. We’re too busy trying to hold ourselves together to minister to anyone else.

We looked at renting something bigger but it would nearly triple our monthly expenses, which was not an option we could afford or desired. Plus, I don’t know many landlords eager to rent to a family with 7 kids and a dog. The one that I did find in our budget never emailed me back when I told them how many kids we have.

So we found a foreclosure on a nice, large piece of land. It needs work. Lots of work. We’ll have to finish an entire basement, create bedrooms and bathrooms. But it’s doable and it won’t change the face of our budget too much, which is always a good thing.

But it’s bittersweet. This isn’t our plan A. This wasn’t even our plan B. This plan falls somewhere on the list of things we never really thought was in our immediate or 5 or 10 year plan. If you’d have asked me a year ago if we’d ever be homeowners again I’d have probably laughed at you. I saw us as nomads. Living life in rented spaces for as long as we possibly could.

But here we sit. Hoping to close sometime in the next month. Beginning renovations and moving in sometime this spring.

There will be no memories of Paige in this house. No late nights of eating peanut M&Ms as we sit on opposite ends of the couch and we tell each other our fears and dreams and plans. No memories of sitting across the kitchen table from potential supporters, pouring our hearts out to them and wondering if we are able to express to them just how much we love a people we’ve never met.

Part of that brings sweet relief. But another part of that bring such pain and sorrow. As we walked around the house yesterday with a contractor, explaining to him all that we have imagined for this new house, we didn’t have to talk about our old dreams. We didn’t feel the need to fill him in on the reasons why this house isn’t our plan A. He probably couldn’t even fathom that this wouldn’t be plan A.

And somewhere amid talking about flooring and where to put a laundry room and where to put the 5th bedroom and a play room, I found a speck of joy. Joy amid the sorrow. Joy creeping in that this is a fresh start. A new dream. A new hope. Something new to hold onto in the face of so much loss.

As I texted my friend Kate tonight, she reminded me that there must be ashes before they can be made beautiful. As I sit in Job’s ash heap, scraping my wounds, I look forward to the beauty. I pray it comes quickly. And I wonder how many more times we will find joy amid the sorrow. A sorrow often so deep that I cannot understand how the joy seeps in. But He allows it. He ordains it. And He provides it. This joy amid my sorrow. Proof once more that He is the giver all gifts. Even the ones we never, ever thought we’d ever ask for.

His understanding is beyond measure

Our church has begun the formative stages of an adoption and foster parent ministry. It's in its infancy and Monday night was the first public informational meeting.

After a few families shared their stories of adoption (including us) a woman I'd never seen before began to share her story. As she spoke of talking with a potential birth mother, the tears came quickly for her. My heart was swiftly carried back to the times my own heart ached over each of our children. If nothing else, after the meeting I wanted to hug her and tell her that she's not in this journey alone.

As we talked, we chatted about foster care. Finally, a familiar quip rang in my ears as she said that some people she knew had said this about fostering to adopt, "Oh, how could you ever give them back if you had to?"

How many times we've heard that (and still do) when we share about our experience and calling to foster, then adopt!

I've avoided our church's sanctuary as much as possible over the last four months. Every single time I go in there, my mind reforms a closed, white casket stretched in front of the pulpit, a spray of roses and sunflowers across the top of it and my dear friend laying inside. Nearly every time, the taste of bile rises in my throat as I enter.

What should be a place of refuge has become a place of loathing.

But as I sat there, in that same sanctuary, telling this stranger that this journey of adoption isn't meant to be taken alone I hear words come from my mouth and spill into the space in front of me.

"You know though, when people say that they could never foster to adopt, it bothers me. If God clearly called you to this season, if God chooses to make it painful, then it will hurt and you will certainly hit rock bottom. But God is the rock at the bottom. You may land face down, but you will land on Him."

I sat back, looked at my friend Emily and as tears quickly spilled onto my cheeks I said, "Wow. I needed to hear myself say that."

And that's basically where I feel myself right now. Face down on the rock. Unable to stand.

Sure, there are joyful things happening around me. Amanda had her sweet baby on Sunday and I was able to be in the delivery room to take pictures. Birth is miraculous and I am still in awe of her strength. I try to find the good in the fact that we aren't going now. We get more time with our friends and family. Christmas isn't quite so bittersweet this year with a departure looming on the horizon.

But Paige won't be home this Christmas. Just like she wasn't at our house the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, which was typical.

Then, I read Missy's post today and my heart ached so desperately to be gearing up to head to a land full of brown faces, brown eyes and new culture. I sat in front of my computer weeping over all that we've lost lately and I looked back for the post I'd written about the tears and trials that came with our first 5 children. This scripture that I'd once held so close was sitting before me, begging me to believe it all over again.

He heals the brokenhearted

and binds up their wounds.

He determines the number of the stars;

he gives to all of them their names.

Great is our Lord, and abundant in power;

his understanding is beyond measure.

Psalm 147:3-5

I'm brokenhearted. I'm wounded. I'm weak.

I'm forcing myself to believe that Great is our Lord, and abundant in power; his understanding is beyond measure. I must believe it. It must be true. His understanding must be beyond my own ability to measure. Beyond my own ability to understand. It must be so.

Lord, prove to me this truth. This truth that my heart already knows but my head is struggling to comprehend.

Please, prove it once more, like you've always done before.

More of Him

I pushed send and sat back, my stomach already turning in knots.

I closed the laptop and pushed it to the other side of the table telling myself that I would not obsess over how people reacted.

I won't do it.

But a few minutes later, the glow of the laptop illuminated my face as I looked at the list that continued to grow that told me who had received our last newsletter.

This is God's plan, this is God's plan, this is God's plan.

I keep reminding myself this over and over again because even today over chips and salsa with a very dear friend I couldn't keep my voice from shaking as I told her how desperately I long to be in Africa.

God knew when He called us to Africa what was foreboding on the calendar of 2012 for our family. He knew. And yet, He still called us, still let us proceed to this point. Because He knew somewhere in all of this mess is something that I need so desperately.

More of Him.

I need Him now more than ever before. Because y'all, at times, it feels like my whole life is crumbling right around me. Like it's slipping through the space between my fingers and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

You know when you're at the beach and your kids have built the sandcastle of all sandcastles. It's a good distance from the water but you know that tomorrow, it won't be there? You know how a few hours later you're warm and crispy, the kids have moved on to collecting seashells and then it happens.

THE wave comes. Through futile attempts you may try to dig and dig and dig to allow for a barrier of some sort from the water. A trench, anything, to divert the impending loss that the waves will bring. But it's pointless, really.

Slowly, all you've worked so hard to build slips away in one fail sweep of waves. And just like that...

it's gone.

Knowing this was all part of God's original plan and feeling contentment and peace in my heart with our current situation are two totally different things. The first one I'm okay with. The second is a daily struggle.

This summer we went on a road trip to see family and friends. For the second year in a row, Paige went with us. She'd met our friends Mandy and Micah the last time we went over and connected with Mandy right away. The three of us girls sat up into the wee hours of the morning talking and laughing while the men were being sensible and sleeping.

That night will forever be burned into my memory. Our conversation had quickly turned to relationships, dating and, for Mandy and I, the mistakes we'd made in both of those areas. Paige was confessing some of her own struggles as she strived toward purity.

Mandy and I sat on the couch and Paige sat cross-legged in the floor with a blanket over her lap, on their floral print rug, picking at the carpet lint around her.

She looked up at me, with tears in her eyes, her voice shaking.

"Jess, I know why you guys aren't in Kenya this summer, like you were suppose to be."

Tears spilled over her eyelids and ran down her cheeks.

"It's because of me. God knew I needed you here this summer."

I think about that night and it nearly takes my breath away. That was two weeks before she died. Little did she know that she was speaking words of prophecy.

But now, she's gone. Our plans and goals have crumbled. The thing we've been working toward for nearly two years (and planning and praying about for nearly 4 years) seems like a lofty, far-off dream and I'm struggling to see the glory of God in any of it.

I'm left surrounded by mess, heartache and grief. The kind that takes you by surprise and you wonder if you'll be able to hold it together through the rest of your conversation so you can slip into the safety of an empty room and cry.

And yet I know that in the midst of all of this the Lord is waiting, calling, desiring me to come and just lay it all before Him.

He's waiting.

I'm hesitant.

I'm desperate to feel His presence and yet I'm just not sure I'm ready to submit myself to the One who built me up and then allowed me to fall and our world to crumble.

The song "Steady My Heart" by Kari Jobe has spoken to me over and over and over again, especially the chorus.

Even when it hurts,
Even when it's hard,
Even when it all just falls apart.
I will run to you,
'Cause I know that you are
Lover of my soul
Healer of my scars
You steady my heart
You steady my heart

I know He will steady my heart if I will just allow myself to have more of Him and less of my own self pity and sorrow. If will allow Him to overshadow my grief, my disappointment, my fear of what our future might hold.

More of Him. That's exactly what I need to steady my heart.

Uncharted hairy territory

As a Mom to 7 kids, I've seen just about everything. Friends will talk about things going on with their kids and usually I can offer a suggestion because, you know, we've been there. Often, several times.

But last night was whole new territory for me as a Momma. And it's territory I'd like to never go into again.

I like to think I'm pretty cool, calm and collected even when blood and falls and bumps are concerned. Lucas busted his mouth open and ended up needing minor oral surgery the weekend before Abigail was born and while I panicked a little bit, I didn't just lose it.

But last night? I borderline lost it.

All was going well. Abigail wasn't really wanting much for dinner, which is odd, but she's also cutting two teeth so I figured that's what was wrong. I'd give her a bite, she'd spit it out and play with it. So, her clothes were a mess.

After dinner I stripped her down to her diaper and let her crawl around for a little while. After about 10 minutes Olivia pointed to Abigail's foot at almost the exact same time that I was looking down. I thought she'd cut it and it was bleeding.

I quickly scooped her up and took a closer look. It wasn't blood. Instead, a group of hair and lint had gotten wrapped around two of her toes and the circulation was being cut off. Her toes were so swollen, red and they'd developed blisters.

I quickly got some tweezers and got the hair off. But it was deep in her skin. Not to mention that once I noticed it and began messing with it she was screaming at the top of her lungs and the other 6 kids were gathered around, worried about their baby sister.

Apparently, "hair tourniquets" are not something that I'd ever heard of but they exist. Google them, but with caution my friends.

This is a pic of her foot about 10 minutes after I got the hair free. It's probably so blurry because I was shaking like a leaf.

My friend Lindy who used to be an ER nurse said that these weren't that uncommon and she'd seen a few in the ER. She checked it over just to be sure but said that we'd be fine just taking her to the Peds in the morning.

I took this picture about 45 minutes after I'd freed the hairs.

This morning we visited our peds and he said that he is going to treat it like a 2nd degree burn (because it's really blistered on bottom and still very swollen and red) and he gave her an antibiotic. Here's a pic I took at the doctor's office this morning.

The pediatrician said that he had read about them in residency and seen a lot of pictures but he'd never actually seen a case in person in his 11 years of pediatric medicine. He said that in residency they told him that if a baby was fussy and there wasn't a determinable cause to take off the baby's socks and check their feet.

Who'd have known?? In 8 years and 7 kids worth of parenting I've never even HEARD of this. So I wanted to post it for all you Mommas out there with little babes as well. Crazy!

I knew that our family was a constant opportunity for growth and education but I'll be happy to never experience this again.

------

Have YOU ever heard of this? What's the weirdest thing you've ever had happen to your kids?

Beaver Family November 2012 Update

As most of you know, in July we lost a close family friend, Paige. When we sent out our September newsletter, our hopes were to take a Short Term trip (3 - 12 months) with Africa Inland Mission to Southern Kenya. (If you missed our September Newsletter, you can read it by clicking here.)

After reviewing our situation and looking at the logistics and the assignments for a Short Term trip, AIM’s recommendation was not in our favor for us to proceed with a short term trip. One of the main reason we decided to go on the field with an experienced organization like AIM is because they have experience and wisdom in sending missionaries.

With that in mind, we have chosen to go on “Hold” with Africa Inland Mission and our plans. Basically, that means that the money we’ve raised thus far will be put aside for us until we are ready to resume support raising and head to the field as full time missionaries, like we had previously planned. We wish we knew now what that time frame would be, but we don’t.

Our children (as well as us grown ups) are still grieving the loss of Paige daily. Several times a week one or more of the children will come to us with a memory of Paige. While we welcome this grieving process, it is also very painful and often, these memories turn into tears, questions and sorrow.

Since soon after our wedding, we have been very convicted about being good stewards of the things God has entrusted to us, especially our finances. God showed us early in our marriage the importance of handling our finances in a way that is pleasing to Him and most effective for His kingdom. We feel that if we chose to press forward with our 4 year term right now we would not be making wise and effective choices with the monetary support raised to put us on the field.

That’s the long of it. The short of it is this:

Our family needs time to heal.

While this is certainly not the choice we wanted to make we know that it is necessary. We know that being good stewards of the hearts of our children is of the utmost importance right now. Second to that is being good stewards with the funding God would provide. We know that if we went onto the field now, we would spend a significant portion of our time healing, grieving and just trying to survive. Very little ministry would be done and we know that would not be using the resources of the Lord wisely.

Even still, this is a hard newsletter to write. We want to be people who honor their word, do what they say they will do and live up to our end of the deal. However, we acknowledged a long time ago that our primary ministry is our family. Right now, our attention and our ministry needs to be solely focused on healing.

Thank you for walking this journey with us. We pray that you have seen in us a desperate desire to obey the Lord faithfully, trust Him in all things and that He alone is worthy of any sacrifice we could make.

If you would like to discuss the contents of this newsletter with us further, we welcome that. You can contact us at beaverbunch (at) gmail (dot )com or by simply replying to this newsletter.

May the Lord bless you richly as you have richly blessed us,

Luke and Jessica Beaver

Elizabeth, Lucas, Ashlee, Aaron, Olivia, Ella and Abigail

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

a time to be born, and a time to die;

a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;

a time to kill, and a time to heal;

a time to break down, and a time to build up;

a time to weep, and a time to laugh;

a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

(Ecclesiastes 3:1-4 ESV)

Beauty in death

Leaves flutter to the ground, their flecks of amber and gold whirring around on the wind, carelessly landing on the tops of sidewalks, cars and piles of other leaves. Our children dance and play beneath them, taking special joy when a hard breeze comes through our yard and they cascade down as if being painted across the landscape with the swooping of The Artist's hand.

(source)

Golds, yellows, greens, reds, browns. When poised among the same branches, the beauty nearly takes my breath away. As we drive down the road I find my eyes looking to the landscape, the beauty of what is around me takes my mind off of the radio, the children behind me, my current life.

Fall has been my favorite time of year for as long as I can remember.

(source)

The crunch of the leaves below the soles of my shoes, the need for bulky sweaters and the changing of warmer temperatures to cooler ones, no doubt this time of year brings me joy that no other season can.

Yet the irony of the beauty of the season this year is almost crushing. Because, the truth is heartbreakingly simple.

(source)

There can be beauty in death.

Fall proves this yearly. As leaves wither and die, taking on new colors, shapes and textures they paint a beautiful portrait that can only be seen on the landscape of death.

As much as it pains me to admit that. As much as my current life season doesn't want to admit that truth. There can be beauty in death.

When death is hidden within the promises of Christ a breathtaking picture is revealed. Make no mistake, death apart from Christ is anything but beautiful.

Some dear friends reminded me of this truth last night as we talked with them on the phone across hundreds of miles. And, in the early days following Paige's death, I thought about it often and it would make me smile.

She's there. Seeing Him face to face. Worshipping wholly. Really living. Not this trite, vapor of a life that we have here. Real life. Lived right before the King.

There's beauty in that aspect of her death.

It's selfish to wish she was still here so that I could text her at night or skype with her during the week or ask her to sit and edit photos with me.

It's selfish to wish she could be here for birthdays, drives through the parkway in the mountains and to watch our kids while we go on a date.

It's selfish because I know that she doesn't desire to be here anymore.

I think about Mary and how she must have felt to watch her son hang on a cross. To watch his lifeless body be taken down and put inside a tomb. The grief must have been unbearable. Did she know she'd see Him alive again in a few short days? When she saw Him, did she embrace him as if it had been months since their last encounter?

Did she see the beauty in His death? Or was that only revealed to her once His death was abolished?

How her heart must have grieved while He laid in the tomb.

I know Paige is full of life, joyful and beautiful in the presence of her Savior. But I'd give anything to embrace her just one more time. To see her car ease into our driveway and watch her bounce up the walk. To sit with her over hot coffee or see her dance with our kids. For Ashlee to have the special time that was promised but never delivered.

The leaves spin down, dancing on the wind as our littlest girls squeal and dance along side them. Their delight is unmatched. The beauty of the season slowing falling all around them.

Beauty. Death.

Those two seem like an odd marriage. But in the shadow of the cross they make perfect sense. The beauty in Christ's death is redemption. Only by death is the richness of salvation possible.

I miss her so much. And yet I cling to the promise that one day, I will see the beauty in her death as well.

My treasured friend

Almost exactly four years ago a super skinny college girl walked through our front door and into our life. I was uncertain about leaving my babies with a stranger and, though she's never said it, I think she was a little uncertain about me too.

I asked a lot of questions, gave a lot of instructions and had high expectations.

At first, I cautiously left our young children with her in small spurts; to run quickly to the grocery store for a gallon of milk or to pick up a prescription.

But over the course of a few months, I could see that I had every reason to trust her with my most treasured possessions. My babies. She met, no exceeded, my expectations.

Back then, we were just barely more than acquaintances. While I cared about her, we both kept our distance emotionally. There were hard questions I wanted to ask her about her walk with the Lord but I was afraid of offending her, or worse, scaring her off and being left with out help. She was good and I couldn't afford to lose her.

We functioned in harmony almost immediately. She loved on our kids and I could tell she genuinely cared about them from the start. Weeks rolled into months and months into years. And somewhere along the way that super skinny college girl became one of my dearest friends.

Two years ago, she and Nick got engaged.

Sixteen months ago, they got married. She was a stunning bride.

Over the last three years, Luke and I have had the privilege of calling Nick and Amanda our friends. Our dear friends. Somehow, in a delicate balance, Amanda has continued to work for us and, if anything, our relationship has been strengthened by her being here nearly every day.

And this is where the story gets sad. Well, at least in some respects.

In about a month, my dear, beautiful (and still ridiculously skinny) friend will deliver her first child. A daughter. Yesterday, I had the extraordinary joy of taking her maternity photos.


As I stood behind the camera, knowing what my camera had captured of Nick and Amanda over the last two years and what was yet to come, I continually choked back tears.

While I'm thrilled for them to experience the joys, trials and overwhelming love of parenthood, I'm going to miss this girl so much.


Instead of taking care of other people's kids, she gets the joy of caring for her own child and being a stay-at-home Mommy herself.


And while I'd never want her to forsake her calling to be a wife and mother exclusively, I'm just not sure how I'm going to function throughout the week with out her smile, friendship, love and warmth walking through my door consistently every week.


I know I'll still see her all the time. I know that our kids will get to love on baby Harper regularly. Because, the truth is, Nick, Amanda and baby Harper, they're not just our friends anymore.

Over the last two years, they've become our family. Treasured family.


Amanda and I have moved from once-awkward roles to nearly like sisters. She calls me out on the things I need to be called out on and gives me access to her heart and front row seats to her life. I'm just so blessed by her.


So while my heart is sad at the changes that are to come, I know that the joy ahead is worth this momentary sorrow.


My beautiful, loving, thoughtful friend is becoming a mother. The mother she's been preparing to be her whole life. The mother that God foreknew she would be before the world was set in motion.


And I have no doubt that she will be wonderful at motherhood. Not only because of the years of practice she's had with other people's children but because of who she is.

I praise the Lord for the blessing of her and that super skinny college girl that walked into my home four years ago.

I treasure her more than she could know.

Olivia is FOUR!

Tomorrow will be four years that our lives became forever changed. I remember scooping up a 4 month old Aaron and heading to the laundry room to change his diaper. My phone rang and I looked at the caller ID to see that is was our social worker's number.

"Hello?" I answered, assuming it was just a call about Aaron's case or to set up a meeting or something of the sort.

"Hey Jessica, I'm calling to see if you'd like another placement."

My heart flipped. I laid Aaron down and began unsnapping his pajamas as she outlined for me the details of a little girl who was a mere 4 days old.

Little did we know then that that tiny baby would grow into our beautiful, spunky, lively, loving, silly girl, Olivia.

Oh how I love this girl...


She so spunky, silly and fun. She adds so much pizzaz, life and JOY into our family. She marches to her own beat (and it's a good one too, because sister can break it down) and I love how much she loves life.



Her and her "twin" Ella are nearly inseparable. (Unless they're both in time out for their mischievous antics!) Those two make each other laugh like no one else can and act almost more like twins than Lucas and Ashlee do. How I hope that they remain as close as they are now their entire life.


She loves to be the center of attention, yet ironically, rarely lets me take a photo of her where she's not, ahem, posed.


At four years old we've discovered that Olivia has a gluten sensitivity and boy, she's a totally new girl when she's completely gluten free! She LOVES princesses, dresses and anything that's girly. Especially, her "beans."


I've just recently gotten confident enough to do box braids and twists and put beads ("beans") in her hair. She loves them and I'm confident they make her 100% sassier than normal.


She loves to dance and sing and can memorize a song after only hearing it once or twice. She's got a fabulous ear for music and I hope we can harvest that in her at an early age.


She's never met a stranger, being quick to introduce herself to new people and ask, with her mouth cocked to the side, "What's you name?"

Gosh, have I mentioned I LOVE this girl?


Her laugh is infectious. He's got agility like I've never seen before. She's a treasure that I pray we harvest well for the kingdom of God. I am so blessed that of all the mothers ever created, God chose me to be hers.


Happy 4th Birthday to my sweet, wonderful, vibrant, beautiful and joyous girl! Momma loves you so very much.