I never thought I'd see the day that I'd go nearly 2 months without blogging. I just knew I wouldn't be one of those bloggers who just doesn't update their blog and it drifts off into cyber space forever.
I have a lot to say. I have tons to post. Birthdays have been celebrated, kids are growing like summer weeds, I've started a small photography business and it's a nice, deliberate distraction from the every day.
But honestly, when I sit to write, none of that pours from me. I lay in bed at night and think about the abundance of blog worthy material and somehow, I never make it to the computer in time to document any of it. I've had moments of clarity where I thought I'd figured out really trusting the Lord. Then moments of such anger and frustration that I've vowed to share them because surely, someone else has felt the same.
In general, life is okay. Somedays, it's even good. I've had more days of energy and patience than days feeling like I'll puke at any moment and being done with my children by 8:15am. I get the joy of feeling sweet baby flutters deep within me that remind me daily that God's grace abounds even when mine is all dried up. We've moved into our new house and we are settled, even though boxes still line the halls and pile in corners of every room.
People keep saying, "Does it feel like home?" or, "Oh! It's just perfect. It feels so homey."
I'm glad they feel that way. I want our home to be warm and inviting, a place people feel comfortable.
I just wish I felt the same way.
For the last 3.5 years we've been in a rental house that we knew, from the day we moved in, would be temporary. We didn't know where we'd be going or how long we'd be staying. But we knew God led us to that season of our lives for a purpose, to prepare us and lead us to wherever He wanted us to be. We were ready. We were eager. While we waited on directions, and began stepping out in faith, we welcomed two more daughters to our family, still set on going somewhere.
And then, July 24th happened.
And now, I sit here unpacking boxes that have been sitting packed, in our attic, for nearly 4 years. Boxes that I never intended to unpack anytime soon. Photos that bring me joy and sorrow all in the same breath.
Chubby photos of my Lucas when he was just a roly-poly little baby and Ashlee with her huge eyes and kissable lips. Photos of Elizabeth with baby front teeth and chubby, little fingers. Prints of Aaron's huge, blue eyes and Olivia's round, bald head. I take them out, look at them, smile at the nostalgia.
Then I box them right back up.
I don't really know how to explain it. I want them out. I want to see them. I want our house to be our home. I want our kids to see photos of themselves as babies and toddlers and take pride in knowing that we have treasured them their entire life.
But I just can't. Not yet. I've asked a few people to come and help me hang photos and things on the walls. But plans fall through, or kids get in bed too late and I don't push the issue because I know that when the time comes, I'm probably going to fall apart. And how do you explain that to people?
"Well, you see, I'm sobbing because I thought our life plan was to be in Africa right about now. We weren't going to be unpacking photos of our babies, instead, we'd be taping a few treasured photos onto our fridge and calling it a day."
This isn't the life I had us pictured living. And it's hard to convey that to people when, from all outside appearances, it looks like we've moved on with our life. And while we have moved, I haven't necessarily moved on. Does that make sense?
Our pastor, his daughter and a team went to Uganda earlier this month. Honestly, I've not kept up with anything to do with missions because, well, I can't. But I was actually excited for them and for this young girl to set her feet on African soil for the second time in her young life.
But then, the Sunday after they returned, they showed a video summarizing their trip. Their 2 week experience in Uganda was nothing like what our day-to-day life would have been like in Kenya. NOTHING. And yet, Luke nor I could keep it together. We both just sat and sobbed silently in our seats. Both of us shedding tears faster than we could wipe them. I resisted the urge to flee the service, hide and weep openly. I didn't want to be that girl.
I'm not pretending to know the depth and breadth of the pain that a woman who is infertile, yet longs for children, endures. I have no doubt that is a pain unlike any other pain. Yet, when missions and Africa and blog links to awesome ministry blogs are sent to me, I recoil in pain. I recoil and fight the urge to run and hide. I fight the urge to look at them in disbelief and whisper through the pain, "This is more than I can take."
I miss a land, a people, a village, a house I never knew. We never visited Kenya. We never even knew the names of all of our team members. But the grief of losing what we never had must be some sort of a hint of what barren women long for, and grieve themselves.
I want Africa. And yet, it seems not oceans away, but galaxies. An impossibility to access. Something I will live the rest of my days longing for but never attain.
And yet, I know that now is not the time for us to go. I know that because of so many factors and reasons and the state of my own heart. So while things appear okay on the surface, while I go through the motions, try to love my children and my husband with everything I have left in me, I manage.
I manage to make it feel like normal life. I manage to not allow myself to dwell on the fact that I'm angry, I'm hurt and I'm not settled. I manage to make our children's rooms feel like home. I step back, regroup and move on with the next thing. Because most days, that's about all I can manage.
Showing posts with label paige. Show all posts
Showing posts with label paige. Show all posts
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
It's been 10 months since your funeral. 10 months and 6 days since we texted late into the night and made plans for you to come over for dinner the next day. So much has changed in the last 10 months and I've fought most of those changes on the battlefield of my heart.
We aren't in Africa. That's grief we still deal with every day, too. The Daraja choir came last week and I hid my face behind Ella's head when they showed the video of the children's village in Uganda, as tears slipped down my cheeks. I ache to be there. I know you'd understand that.
We are moving. Not anywhere far, just across the train tracks to the other side of main street. It's a bigger house with 5 bedrooms. It reminds me a lot of our old house. I can almost see us sitting in our new basement, your stinky shoes on the floor, a huge bag of peanut M&Ms between us while we discuss your Junior year of college. I miss those days more than anyone could know.
I'm pregnant. Baby #8 is due on December 28th. That's our 11th anniversary and your Mom's birthday. Which means, you'd have finally been home from school for the birth of one of our kids! You'd have loved that since you'd missed the last 2. I know you'd want to be at the hospital right away but then you'd turn red and feel awkward as you thought about what I'd just done with my body. Birth always half intrigued, half grossed you out. I'm sad that this will be our first baby to have never met you.
Lucas and Ashlee turn 7 tomorrow. Then, a week later, Aaron will be 5. Those are the last, first birthdays without you here. We are doing a double sleep over again. This year you won't be here to help me do pedicures with a house full of squealing, indecisive little girls. I'm waiting on Lucas to realize it's his first birthday without you. He still cries often because he misses you. I know that would break your heart.
I signed our older 3 up for Summer with the Arts last night. Bile rose in the back of my throat and dread immediately consumed me. They all want to go again this year. And I want them to go. But I'm already dreading the end of July so much, I can't imagine how hard that week will be for all of us. I don't know how they'll do without you bouncing into each room to check on them.
A few weeks ago I saw a dark headed girl with a backpack on going into the old college trailer at church. In truth, she probably didn't look a whole lot like you, except the brown hair and backpack. But it rattled me.
Abigail is nearly walking and she's realized she's funny. You always enjoyed our kids so much at this age. I can picture you walking in, stepping on the squeaky part of the floor in our kitchen, offering to shake my hand (like I ever let you not hug me), scooping her up and making her giggle. She's such a fun baby.
Grace and I are getting really good at Olivia's hair. Like, I'm getting compliments from strangers, good. It makes me proud. By now, you and Olivia would have made up a dance about shaking her beans. And she'd sing it obnoxiously for days after you'd come over. It would annoy me. Now, I'd do just about anything for that.
We miss you so much. Some days, your absence hits us all over again, almost like it's fresh. Other days, we think about the funny things you've said or done and we laugh, then we all get quiet and wish like hell you were still here.
I love you. I miss you. I wish you were here.
We aren't in Africa. That's grief we still deal with every day, too. The Daraja choir came last week and I hid my face behind Ella's head when they showed the video of the children's village in Uganda, as tears slipped down my cheeks. I ache to be there. I know you'd understand that.
We are moving. Not anywhere far, just across the train tracks to the other side of main street. It's a bigger house with 5 bedrooms. It reminds me a lot of our old house. I can almost see us sitting in our new basement, your stinky shoes on the floor, a huge bag of peanut M&Ms between us while we discuss your Junior year of college. I miss those days more than anyone could know.
I'm pregnant. Baby #8 is due on December 28th. That's our 11th anniversary and your Mom's birthday. Which means, you'd have finally been home from school for the birth of one of our kids! You'd have loved that since you'd missed the last 2. I know you'd want to be at the hospital right away but then you'd turn red and feel awkward as you thought about what I'd just done with my body. Birth always half intrigued, half grossed you out. I'm sad that this will be our first baby to have never met you.
Lucas and Ashlee turn 7 tomorrow. Then, a week later, Aaron will be 5. Those are the last, first birthdays without you here. We are doing a double sleep over again. This year you won't be here to help me do pedicures with a house full of squealing, indecisive little girls. I'm waiting on Lucas to realize it's his first birthday without you. He still cries often because he misses you. I know that would break your heart.
I signed our older 3 up for Summer with the Arts last night. Bile rose in the back of my throat and dread immediately consumed me. They all want to go again this year. And I want them to go. But I'm already dreading the end of July so much, I can't imagine how hard that week will be for all of us. I don't know how they'll do without you bouncing into each room to check on them.
A few weeks ago I saw a dark headed girl with a backpack on going into the old college trailer at church. In truth, she probably didn't look a whole lot like you, except the brown hair and backpack. But it rattled me.
Abigail is nearly walking and she's realized she's funny. You always enjoyed our kids so much at this age. I can picture you walking in, stepping on the squeaky part of the floor in our kitchen, offering to shake my hand (like I ever let you not hug me), scooping her up and making her giggle. She's such a fun baby.
Grace and I are getting really good at Olivia's hair. Like, I'm getting compliments from strangers, good. It makes me proud. By now, you and Olivia would have made up a dance about shaking her beans. And she'd sing it obnoxiously for days after you'd come over. It would annoy me. Now, I'd do just about anything for that.
We miss you so much. Some days, your absence hits us all over again, almost like it's fresh. Other days, we think about the funny things you've said or done and we laugh, then we all get quiet and wish like hell you were still here.
I love you. I miss you. I wish you were here.
Monday, February 4, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
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.
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)
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
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.
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.
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.
Monday, November 19, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
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)
Friday, October 26, 2012
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.
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.
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.
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.
(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.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Take heart
I'm generally an outspoken girl. I know you all are shocked to hear that.
But lately, I just can't seem to form the words. Actually, that's not true. I can form words. But the words that mesh together in my head, then form into thoughts and beg to spill from my lips are not exactly words that many people want to hear.
I go to a Bible study on Thursdays. This is my fourth year and I'd recommend it to any and every one who loves to study the word of God or wants to learn how to study the word of God or just needs 2 hours a week with some of the most amazing women on the planet.
I also go to a Bible study on Monday night with some of my closest friends. Sometimes it's more of group therapy than Bible study. But they challenge me, convict me and encourage me like few people can.
I'm also working through a Bible study with 3 other close friends. We're reading through the book of Ruth. I've always loved the book of Ruth.
Ask me about my Monday night study. I avoid going because I simply don't want to hear about any more struggles with any of my friends. Selfish, I know.
Ask me about the Ruth study. I've been on week 3 for about 3 and a half weeks.
Ask me about the Thursday study. Am I reading through Ephesians like all the other women? Not exactly. We are entering week 3 and I've yet to crack my workbook open outside of class time.
I sit in my small group time and listen to well intentioned women give their best efforts at encouraging and convicting snippets of information, all while perfectly holding a warm cup of coffee and wearing brightly colored capri pants and a snappy little cardigans. I look around the room and wonder what the hidden tragedies are in their lives. What words, songs, smells or memories cause hot tears to spring to their eyes in a matter of seconds? Do they even have those stories?
We sit in a circle and they share their convictions of the weeks's lesson and I look at them and wonder how on earth they can just sit there and talk about the glory of God.
I know they mean well. I know that some women in my group have faced tragedy that I pray never befalls me. One of the women in my group is walking a road that sickens me and causes me to sob on demand.
These women, they have wisdom and insights and knowledge that at any other time in my life, I'd leap at, cling to and scribble in the margins of my workbook.
But right now I'm struggling to understand, comprehend and flat out accept the sovereignty of God.
We're planning a beach trip soon and we're also planning a trip to go see our "oh-my-word-our-families-are-so-similar-its-scary" friends sometime in the near future. Yes, we drive a 15 passenger van. No, we cannot fitall the crap we need to function our luggage into our van when we travel places that require more than one night's stay. Therefore, the last two times we've travelled, we've had to rent an enclosed trailer. So I did a little search on Craig's List and found one listed very cheap about an hour away from us. We offered the seller significantly less than the listing price and he accepted. For approximately the cost of two rentals, we bought a trailer.
Only God.
Yesterday we packed up the kids and drove the hour or so to pick it up. When we got there we began to make small talk with the seller. He and his family had moved from California to the east coast and he bought the trailer for the move.
"Why did you move here?"
"To attend seminary,"he answered.
Turns out, he is attending seminary at the same place Luke and I have been taking online courses for Africa Inland Mission's Bible training requirements. Noticing that the seller was from another country, we asked him if he had plans to go back to his home country.
"Yes, I came here to get my degree so I can go back home and plant churches there."
I stood there, dumbfounded.
Seriously, God? Church planting?
We shared our own calling with him, I made small talk with his very pregnant wife, Luke prayed with him and then we drove off, almost feeling like we were stealing this trailer because we bought is so cheap.
On the way home, I shared with Luke, my inability to understand God's sovereignty.
"How is it that in less than 24 hours from the time I decided to look for a trailer, we are driving home with one that we got for so cheap? I'm having a hard time reconciling this with God. I mean, we didn't pray for a trailer it's just a blessing that God provided. Yet, I've prayed and prayed and begged God for some serious desires of my heart and yet, I don't hear or see anything in regards to them. I'm angry."
And that's where I'm at folks.
How can a God who is in the details of our lives seem so distant? So far? So.... uncaring about my heart and the lives of those around me?
And, I don't mean this as harshly as it's going to sound, but please save your trite, customary responses. I don't need to hear "God has a plan" or "Time will heal" or even "Judge your circumstances by your God not your God by your circumstances."
Because if I'm being honest, life seems unfair right now.
I'm watching a friend grieve the loss of the daughter she's carrying in her womb. She knows her death is inevitable and there's nothing she can do to stop it.
Another friend is going through emotions I cannot fathom as her due date approaches for a son she delivered too many weeks too soon. Instead of growing uncomfortably large, anticipating sleepless nights and round-the-clock feedings, she's navigating the pain of knowing her due date will come and go and no baby will arrive as scheduled.
Another friend is struggling with health issues. Words like cancer and brain adenoma are being thrown around. And while not currently life threatening, it's scary because, dear God, she has 3 boys to raise.
Our plans for Africa seem to be ever changing and my heart is grasping at something to hold firm because I need something to be certain, sure and unwavering.
Not to mention, you know, my friend died and today marks two months.
Two months.
And in two month's time I still can't wrap my mind around why God would chose to take a perfectly healthy 20 year old girl who loved Him deeply, with zeal and with a reckless abandon. And everyone around her knew it.
So I sit. In Bible studies I sit. In church I sit. I listen to others tell me about how glorious and marvelous and faithful God is and I just sit. I take it all in but my voice never dares speak.
I try to pray and instead melt into tears and wonder if the desires in my heart are really what God wants to even give me because, damnit, it sure doesn't feel that way.
Yet even in this, I know.
He is faithful.
He is good.
He is trustworthy.
He is righteous.
He is Lord.
As the earth seems to tremble around me and I question sovereignty and meaning and why life seems to suck for nearly every person I know, I take heart.
I take heart.
Clinging to the promises that He who says who He is, is true. He is my true north.
But lately, I just can't seem to form the words. Actually, that's not true. I can form words. But the words that mesh together in my head, then form into thoughts and beg to spill from my lips are not exactly words that many people want to hear.
I go to a Bible study on Thursdays. This is my fourth year and I'd recommend it to any and every one who loves to study the word of God or wants to learn how to study the word of God or just needs 2 hours a week with some of the most amazing women on the planet.
I also go to a Bible study on Monday night with some of my closest friends. Sometimes it's more of group therapy than Bible study. But they challenge me, convict me and encourage me like few people can.
I'm also working through a Bible study with 3 other close friends. We're reading through the book of Ruth. I've always loved the book of Ruth.
Ask me about my Monday night study. I avoid going because I simply don't want to hear about any more struggles with any of my friends. Selfish, I know.
Ask me about the Ruth study. I've been on week 3 for about 3 and a half weeks.
Ask me about the Thursday study. Am I reading through Ephesians like all the other women? Not exactly. We are entering week 3 and I've yet to crack my workbook open outside of class time.
I sit in my small group time and listen to well intentioned women give their best efforts at encouraging and convicting snippets of information, all while perfectly holding a warm cup of coffee and wearing brightly colored capri pants and a snappy little cardigans. I look around the room and wonder what the hidden tragedies are in their lives. What words, songs, smells or memories cause hot tears to spring to their eyes in a matter of seconds? Do they even have those stories?
We sit in a circle and they share their convictions of the weeks's lesson and I look at them and wonder how on earth they can just sit there and talk about the glory of God.
I know they mean well. I know that some women in my group have faced tragedy that I pray never befalls me. One of the women in my group is walking a road that sickens me and causes me to sob on demand.
These women, they have wisdom and insights and knowledge that at any other time in my life, I'd leap at, cling to and scribble in the margins of my workbook.
But right now I'm struggling to understand, comprehend and flat out accept the sovereignty of God.
We're planning a beach trip soon and we're also planning a trip to go see our "oh-my-word-our-families-are-so-similar-its-scary" friends sometime in the near future. Yes, we drive a 15 passenger van. No, we cannot fit
Only God.
Yesterday we packed up the kids and drove the hour or so to pick it up. When we got there we began to make small talk with the seller. He and his family had moved from California to the east coast and he bought the trailer for the move.
"Why did you move here?"
"To attend seminary,"he answered.
Turns out, he is attending seminary at the same place Luke and I have been taking online courses for Africa Inland Mission's Bible training requirements. Noticing that the seller was from another country, we asked him if he had plans to go back to his home country.
"Yes, I came here to get my degree so I can go back home and plant churches there."
I stood there, dumbfounded.
Seriously, God? Church planting?
We shared our own calling with him, I made small talk with his very pregnant wife, Luke prayed with him and then we drove off, almost feeling like we were stealing this trailer because we bought is so cheap.
On the way home, I shared with Luke, my inability to understand God's sovereignty.
"How is it that in less than 24 hours from the time I decided to look for a trailer, we are driving home with one that we got for so cheap? I'm having a hard time reconciling this with God. I mean, we didn't pray for a trailer it's just a blessing that God provided. Yet, I've prayed and prayed and begged God for some serious desires of my heart and yet, I don't hear or see anything in regards to them. I'm angry."
And that's where I'm at folks.
How can a God who is in the details of our lives seem so distant? So far? So.... uncaring about my heart and the lives of those around me?
And, I don't mean this as harshly as it's going to sound, but please save your trite, customary responses. I don't need to hear "God has a plan" or "Time will heal" or even "Judge your circumstances by your God not your God by your circumstances."
Because if I'm being honest, life seems unfair right now.
I'm watching a friend grieve the loss of the daughter she's carrying in her womb. She knows her death is inevitable and there's nothing she can do to stop it.
Another friend is going through emotions I cannot fathom as her due date approaches for a son she delivered too many weeks too soon. Instead of growing uncomfortably large, anticipating sleepless nights and round-the-clock feedings, she's navigating the pain of knowing her due date will come and go and no baby will arrive as scheduled.
Another friend is struggling with health issues. Words like cancer and brain adenoma are being thrown around. And while not currently life threatening, it's scary because, dear God, she has 3 boys to raise.
Our plans for Africa seem to be ever changing and my heart is grasping at something to hold firm because I need something to be certain, sure and unwavering.
Not to mention, you know, my friend died and today marks two months.
Two months.
And in two month's time I still can't wrap my mind around why God would chose to take a perfectly healthy 20 year old girl who loved Him deeply, with zeal and with a reckless abandon. And everyone around her knew it.
So I sit. In Bible studies I sit. In church I sit. I listen to others tell me about how glorious and marvelous and faithful God is and I just sit. I take it all in but my voice never dares speak.
I try to pray and instead melt into tears and wonder if the desires in my heart are really what God wants to even give me because, damnit, it sure doesn't feel that way.
Yet even in this, I know.
He is faithful.
He is good.
He is trustworthy.
He is righteous.
He is Lord.
As the earth seems to tremble around me and I question sovereignty and meaning and why life seems to suck for nearly every person I know, I take heart.
I take heart.
Clinging to the promises that He who says who He is, is true. He is my true north.
I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”
(John 16:33 ESV)
Friday, September 14, 2012
September 2012 Newsletter
Several years ago, when we set out on this journey of missions to Africa, we told God that we would go wherever He called us. We meant it. If God called us to go to unreached people, we’d go. If He called us to stay right where we are, we’d stay. If He asked us to go for multiple terms, we’d go. If He asked us to go one term, we’d do that too.
Our desire is to experience Jesus like never before. We’d been on the mountain top with God and our desire is to be in His presence as much as possible, experiencing intimacies with Him.
It’s been a hard summer for our family. As most of you know, in July, our family lost a very special person. Paige is a young girl we’d been discipling for over 5 years. Over the years, she became a part of our family. She went on vacations with us, helped us shuffle kids to and from events, spent countless hours around our kitchen table and playing games with our family. Her unexpected and sudden death has rocked our family.
In light of our challenging summer, we put all of our speaking and support raising engagements on hold. We began just trying to survive day to day without our precious friend.
As we made our way through our days, we began to wonder if maybe we shouldn’t ask God for confirmation on our calling to Kenya. As we prayed, we felt God moving us to consider some other options.
To make a long story short, we have decided to take a SHORT TERM trip with Africa Inland Mission.
A short term trip with AIM lasts anywhere from 3 months to 12 months. The support goals will be significantly less and, our prayer is that our family will still get to travel to Southern Kenya where our hearts are still burdened for the unreached Duruma and Digo people. Our hope is to return there full time after our short term service period has ended.
Currently, the short term department at AIM is researching our assignment options.
Will you pray with us that:
* God will make clear the assignment He desires for our family.
* We will hear His voice and see where He is moving.
* Our prayer and financial support will continue to increase. Even going short term, we still will have support needs that need to be completed.
* Our family will continue to heal the loss of our beloved Paige.
Thank you for joining us on this journey. You are so faithful.
Blessings,
Luke, Jessica, Elizabeth, Lucas, Ashlee, Aaron, Olivia, Ella and Abigail Beaver
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| Ashlee and Paige, family trip to Paige's college - April 2012 |
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| Aaron and Paige, family vacation - May 2011 |
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| Olivia and Paige, family vacation - May 2011 |
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| Jessica and Paige - 2008 |
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| Paige and the kids - family trip to Paige's college - August 2010 |
A short term trip with AIM lasts anywhere from 3 months to 12 months. The support goals will be significantly less and, our prayer is that our family will still get to travel to Southern Kenya where our hearts are still burdened for the unreached Duruma and Digo people. Our hope is to return there full time after our short term service period has ended.
 |
| Paige and Lucas have special time - July 2012 |
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| Luke, Mary and Paige - our first discipleship weekend - 2009 |
* God will make clear the assignment He desires for our family.
* We will hear His voice and see where He is moving.
* Our prayer and financial support will continue to increase. Even going short term, we still will have support needs that need to be completed.
* Our family will continue to heal the loss of our beloved Paige.
 |
| Elizabeth and Paige, family vacation - July 2012 |
Thank you for joining us on this journey. You are so faithful.
Blessings,
Luke, Jessica, Elizabeth, Lucas, Ashlee, Aaron, Olivia, Ella and Abigail Beaver
Monday, August 27, 2012
Just okay
"How are you?"
The words roll off their tongues as we casually pass in the hallways at church.
I think they stare at me a little longer than they used to. Maybe it's just my imagination. We've always gotten stares.
"I'm okay," I answer.
At least at this very second.
Why do we ask people that in passing? When we ask, do we really even care what their answer is? Or are we just trying to be polite?
I think it's just a miserable effort at polite. Because if we really wanted the answer to "How are you?" we'd stop, pull up a chair, lean in real close, look them in the eye and say, "How are you? All of you? Really?"
I'm guilty of it too, though. I've passed people in the hall at church or in the store or even asked my friends, "How are you?" and yet, I either already know the answer or truly, I don't want to know.
Luke said he's done asking people how they are unless he really has time to stop and listen.
I agree.
Sundays are hard. Maybe it's because I half expect her to come bouncing into the worship service with her shoes missing from her feet and her skirt swishing around her and a hat positioned squarely on her head. It's like somewhere, in my mind, this has all been a dream, a funeral I've planned in my head and it's not reality.
You know the ones. The funerals you plan when you can't get ahold of your husband or child or best friend and you're certain that they're dead somewhere so you just begin planning their funeral in your head?
Maybe that's just me.
But that's not the case this time, is it? No, there really was a funeral. She really is dead. (As Aaron likes to remind me. Daily. And every day I force myself to acknowledge him politely instead of sending him back to bed until he's 15.)
Elizabeth is writing a story about her.
Ashlee talks about her and laughs at her silliness.
Lucas randomly bursts into tears.
Aaron reminds me often that "Paige is dead."
Olivia sees silent tears streaming down my cheeks and asks me if Paige is "still at Jesus."
Luke is hurting, trying to find refuge in the things that don't seem to spark yet another memory of her. And folks, let me tell you, it's hard for our family to find things that don't involve memories of her. Nearly every song, nearly every place we've been to, someone's laugh in the distance, it all can lead back to a memory of her.
And most of the time, those memories come out of the no where, like a surprise to me. It takes my breath away and I want to drop to my knees and cry out with wailing sobs just like I did a month and 2 days ago on the floor of my kitchen. But usually, I'm in a crowd or sitting in church or just reading aloud to my children. So instead of wailing I pause, breathe, fight the burn of tears in my throat and eyes and try to move on.
And I hate every second of it. I hate that students are moving back to college and she's not. I hate that Grace is still here instead of in Kenya. I hate that something hilarious happens and I know how hard she'd laugh and so I reach for the phone only to remember that she'll never get my text.
I'm mad her BFF Mary has to walk the rest of her college years alone, without her.
I'm broken for her mother who has to figure out what life looks like with one of your children buried, in a box, in the ground.
It hit me the other day that, statistically, Luke and I will have to bury a child. My paternal grandmother had 4 children. She's buried 2 of them. My maternal grandmother had 4 children. She's buried 2 as well.
By sheer statistics, chances are that Luke and I will outlive one or more of our kids. That throws me not only into a state of fear but into deeper mourning, if that's even possible.
And yet somehow, amid all this emotion and confusion and pain and sadness, life must go on.
I must (and want to) still school our children and try to clean our house and keep up with the laundry and watch too many episodes of 24 late at night with my husband.
(Near) six month olds still have diapers that I need (and want) to change.
Two year olds must still be disciplined and tickled until blonde curls cover her pudgy cheeks.
Six year old girls still need late nights at the store with their Mommas, just to act silly and spend $3.00 trying to get a stupid stuffed animal from the rip-off game that is the claw machine.
Four year olds still need to have a play-by-play of our day as soon as his tiny feet hit the floor.
Eight year olds still need to sleep with Mom and Dad some nights just because she's a cuddle bug and I know her heart will be full the next day.
Six year old boys still need hugs and kisses from their Momma and a reminder that one day we'll be able to talk about her without crying.
Three year olds still need to dance during breakfast and sometimes, with their Momma.
Life goes on even though I wish, so desperately, it would take an extended pause and allow me to just sit in this moment, miss her, and my children not grow up by one more day.
But reality is that, for most of the world, their days have not been measured in days/memories/life before July 24th and a new life after July 24th.
I feel like I need to justify to people that our family is still pretty rocked by the death of a 20 year old girl. But the truth is, she wasn't just any 20 year old girl.
She is our Paigey.
The one that taught us that God is always big enough, there's always time to sing the Beaver song just one more time, Peanut M&Ms are best when shared with people you love the most, spontaneous dancing is always allowed, it's okay if you look like an idiot - the memories later will be worth it, God will never fail you - even if you feel like a failure yourself, being yourself is more important that being who others want you to be, discipling someone is painful, tedious, a lot of work but always fun and being discipled is crucial.
And so much more that I could never put into meager words.
We're still broken. We still miss her. I still fight back tears every, single day and especially on Sunday as I walk through the halls of the place where I first saw her face.
It's doubtful I'll be able to enter the youth area for a very long time. Standing in the worship center is more than my heart can bear.
So when you ask "How are you?" and I answer, "I'm okay." Know that at that very moment, I'm just okay.
Not better.
Not worse.
Probably forcing a smile and wishing I'd taken the route outside instead of through the church. Or wishing I was at Kmart.
I prefer Kmart over church because at Kmart, no one knows about her.
And typically, Sundays are the hardest days of the week.
So before someone asks me one more time how I am, let me cut them off at the pass and answer them.
I'm okay.
No more. No less. Just okay.
The words roll off their tongues as we casually pass in the hallways at church.
I think they stare at me a little longer than they used to. Maybe it's just my imagination. We've always gotten stares.
"I'm okay," I answer.
At least at this very second.
Why do we ask people that in passing? When we ask, do we really even care what their answer is? Or are we just trying to be polite?
I think it's just a miserable effort at polite. Because if we really wanted the answer to "How are you?" we'd stop, pull up a chair, lean in real close, look them in the eye and say, "How are you? All of you? Really?"
I'm guilty of it too, though. I've passed people in the hall at church or in the store or even asked my friends, "How are you?" and yet, I either already know the answer or truly, I don't want to know.
Luke said he's done asking people how they are unless he really has time to stop and listen.
I agree.
Sundays are hard. Maybe it's because I half expect her to come bouncing into the worship service with her shoes missing from her feet and her skirt swishing around her and a hat positioned squarely on her head. It's like somewhere, in my mind, this has all been a dream, a funeral I've planned in my head and it's not reality.
You know the ones. The funerals you plan when you can't get ahold of your husband or child or best friend and you're certain that they're dead somewhere so you just begin planning their funeral in your head?
Maybe that's just me.
But that's not the case this time, is it? No, there really was a funeral. She really is dead. (As Aaron likes to remind me. Daily. And every day I force myself to acknowledge him politely instead of sending him back to bed until he's 15.)
Elizabeth is writing a story about her.
Ashlee talks about her and laughs at her silliness.
Lucas randomly bursts into tears.
Aaron reminds me often that "Paige is dead."
Olivia sees silent tears streaming down my cheeks and asks me if Paige is "still at Jesus."
Luke is hurting, trying to find refuge in the things that don't seem to spark yet another memory of her. And folks, let me tell you, it's hard for our family to find things that don't involve memories of her. Nearly every song, nearly every place we've been to, someone's laugh in the distance, it all can lead back to a memory of her.
And most of the time, those memories come out of the no where, like a surprise to me. It takes my breath away and I want to drop to my knees and cry out with wailing sobs just like I did a month and 2 days ago on the floor of my kitchen. But usually, I'm in a crowd or sitting in church or just reading aloud to my children. So instead of wailing I pause, breathe, fight the burn of tears in my throat and eyes and try to move on.
And I hate every second of it. I hate that students are moving back to college and she's not. I hate that Grace is still here instead of in Kenya. I hate that something hilarious happens and I know how hard she'd laugh and so I reach for the phone only to remember that she'll never get my text.
I'm mad her BFF Mary has to walk the rest of her college years alone, without her.
I'm broken for her mother who has to figure out what life looks like with one of your children buried, in a box, in the ground.
It hit me the other day that, statistically, Luke and I will have to bury a child. My paternal grandmother had 4 children. She's buried 2 of them. My maternal grandmother had 4 children. She's buried 2 as well.
By sheer statistics, chances are that Luke and I will outlive one or more of our kids. That throws me not only into a state of fear but into deeper mourning, if that's even possible.
And yet somehow, amid all this emotion and confusion and pain and sadness, life must go on.
I must (and want to) still school our children and try to clean our house and keep up with the laundry and watch too many episodes of 24 late at night with my husband.
(Near) six month olds still have diapers that I need (and want) to change.
Two year olds must still be disciplined and tickled until blonde curls cover her pudgy cheeks.
Six year old girls still need late nights at the store with their Mommas, just to act silly and spend $3.00 trying to get a stupid stuffed animal from the rip-off game that is the claw machine.
Four year olds still need to have a play-by-play of our day as soon as his tiny feet hit the floor.
Eight year olds still need to sleep with Mom and Dad some nights just because she's a cuddle bug and I know her heart will be full the next day.
Six year old boys still need hugs and kisses from their Momma and a reminder that one day we'll be able to talk about her without crying.
Three year olds still need to dance during breakfast and sometimes, with their Momma.
Life goes on even though I wish, so desperately, it would take an extended pause and allow me to just sit in this moment, miss her, and my children not grow up by one more day.
But reality is that, for most of the world, their days have not been measured in days/memories/life before July 24th and a new life after July 24th.
I feel like I need to justify to people that our family is still pretty rocked by the death of a 20 year old girl. But the truth is, she wasn't just any 20 year old girl.
She is our Paigey.
The one that taught us that God is always big enough, there's always time to sing the Beaver song just one more time, Peanut M&Ms are best when shared with people you love the most, spontaneous dancing is always allowed, it's okay if you look like an idiot - the memories later will be worth it, God will never fail you - even if you feel like a failure yourself, being yourself is more important that being who others want you to be, discipling someone is painful, tedious, a lot of work but always fun and being discipled is crucial.
And so much more that I could never put into meager words.
We're still broken. We still miss her. I still fight back tears every, single day and especially on Sunday as I walk through the halls of the place where I first saw her face.
It's doubtful I'll be able to enter the youth area for a very long time. Standing in the worship center is more than my heart can bear.
So when you ask "How are you?" and I answer, "I'm okay." Know that at that very moment, I'm just okay.
Not better.
Not worse.
Probably forcing a smile and wishing I'd taken the route outside instead of through the church. Or wishing I was at Kmart.
I prefer Kmart over church because at Kmart, no one knows about her.
And typically, Sundays are the hardest days of the week.
So before someone asks me one more time how I am, let me cut them off at the pass and answer them.
I'm okay.
No more. No less. Just okay.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Desires of my heart
I'm in that place where it feels like God has turned His back on you. That place where the mercy, love and faithfulness of God that scripture speaks of so often feel like they are an ocean away from me.
Paige's death has a lot to do with that but there are other things going on in my life that are leaving me asking God many questions about where His mercy, love and faithfulness have gone. That old phrase "When it rains, it pours!" seems to be pretty accurate lately.
I was hoping for us to do so much this summer, considering it was suppose to be our last summer in the United States for four years. I wanted to go to the zoo a lot, spend days playing at the new playgrounds in our town, take trips to see friends and family and mostly, just spend it with our family and friends nearby, savoring our relationships with them and storing up all the memories we could.
Instead, it's been a summer plagued with grief, chaos and uncertainty.
Friends have tragically lost babies while other friends are struggling with God's goodness in the face of uncertainty with their own unborn children.
Friends are watching foster children they've loved on, prayed fervently for, and wished to adopt, return to birth parents. The unfairness of it stings as they pack up toys and clothing and say goodbye for what will likely be the last time.
Our outgoing support needs went up. Again. Yes, it's for a valid reason like language school. But support raising seems like such a steep mountain to climb.
Our house was riddled with fleas for over a week. So much so that we had to move into my grandmother's small condo immediately following our trip to Arkansas. We'd been out of town for 11 days and came home to a home we couldn't even step foot in. What kind of things am I suppose to learn from that?
I feel like I'm a pretty flexible person. I feel like I roll with the punches easily.
But I'm tired of punches.
I've pleaded with God over trivial maters and He's responded with a resounding "NO" and I stand and watch, with anger welling up inside of me.
Yesterday, it all washed over me like an unexpected wave, knocking me off of my feet. The tears flowed freely and the hurt came consistently.
There have been times in my life that I've been on the mountain top with God. I've been so near to Him that I could nearly feel His powerful breath warming my shoulders, embracing me with His glory.
Clearly, where I am now, is the valley scripture speaks of.
What does one do in the valley? How does one look at the mountain's steep slopes towering around her and realize that the only way out is to climb? Where does that energy come from?
Where does the desire to even climb come from?
I've been pondering these verses over the last two and a half weeks, especially the last few days.
I'm going to be real honest here.
I'm not seeing any of the desires of my heart being met.
And I was a freakin' delightful mess for the Lord, trying my best to do some obedient good for His name's sake. I was trusting him fully, MOVING MY FAMILY TO AFRICA and believing that He would act on my behalf.
Until about two weeks ago. So someone tell me how this verse makes any sense in light of everything going on in my life over the last month?
Yet somewhere amid what appears to be towering disappointments, handed out by God himself, I'm reminded of this:
We met Paige when she was 15 years old. Seven months later, she turned 16. The youngest of four children, she had watched each of her older siblings turn 16 and eventually gain the most prized possession a 16 year old can have: a car all their own.
However, due to circumstances beyond anyone's control, cars flat out dying, sisters and brothers whose jobs and schooling required them to have family pooled resources, Paige's 16th, 17th and 18th years came and went without her having her very own vehicle.
She spent two years at college without a car too. While she never complained (too much) about it, I knew that it was a deep desire of her heart to have her very own car.
At the beginning of July Paige went with our family on a road trip across Tennessee and into part of Mississippi and Arkansas. Our goal was to see friends and family - some of who we anticipated it being our last time before we head to Kenya in January.
But God had other plans.
The last night before we headed back, we stayed with some amazing friends that we've been blessed to know for over 15 years. They're incredibly generous with us each time we visit (moving a herd of Beavers into your home for 2 - 3 days at a time gets you the generous award any day) and always go out of their way to make sure we are comfortable and well fed.
Their generosity doesn't end with us though. Micah and Luke, who have been best friends since middle school, went out one morning. As they came back in, Luke saw Mandy's car from high school sitting there and knowing that it was an extra one he casually asked Micah, "What are you going to do with that car?"
Micah, in turn said, "Well, we've been praying about giving it away to someone." Off handedly, and truly joking, Luke said, "Paige doesn't have a car."
It was decided that night that Micah and Mandy would give Paige their old car.
She was just a tad excited.
The next morning the title was signed over and Paige was the happiest girl on the planet.
I snapped photos of her as she climbed into her own car for the very first time. After all, every girl needs pictures of herself in her very first car, right?
I made her drive that car the entire 700+ miles home. She offered a few times to let me drive and I declined, knowing that this is what her heart had desired for so long.
So as I ponder my own heart and how very few of my desires seem to be being met right now, I remember this one thing my sweet friend Emily said to me,
"God knew she wouldn't need that car but in His generosity, He gave it to her anyway. How incredible is that?"
The Lord gave her this tiny, inconsequential, completely trivial, totally fleshly desire of her heart.
18 days later she died.
As tears spill out of my eyes and run down my cheeks, I hope I can cling to this truth: God provides us with the desires of our hearts each and every time that those desires glorify Him.
Paige's death has a lot to do with that but there are other things going on in my life that are leaving me asking God many questions about where His mercy, love and faithfulness have gone. That old phrase "When it rains, it pours!" seems to be pretty accurate lately.
I was hoping for us to do so much this summer, considering it was suppose to be our last summer in the United States for four years. I wanted to go to the zoo a lot, spend days playing at the new playgrounds in our town, take trips to see friends and family and mostly, just spend it with our family and friends nearby, savoring our relationships with them and storing up all the memories we could.
Instead, it's been a summer plagued with grief, chaos and uncertainty.
Friends have tragically lost babies while other friends are struggling with God's goodness in the face of uncertainty with their own unborn children.
Friends are watching foster children they've loved on, prayed fervently for, and wished to adopt, return to birth parents. The unfairness of it stings as they pack up toys and clothing and say goodbye for what will likely be the last time.
Our outgoing support needs went up. Again. Yes, it's for a valid reason like language school. But support raising seems like such a steep mountain to climb.
Our house was riddled with fleas for over a week. So much so that we had to move into my grandmother's small condo immediately following our trip to Arkansas. We'd been out of town for 11 days and came home to a home we couldn't even step foot in. What kind of things am I suppose to learn from that?
I feel like I'm a pretty flexible person. I feel like I roll with the punches easily.
But I'm tired of punches.
I've pleaded with God over trivial maters and He's responded with a resounding "NO" and I stand and watch, with anger welling up inside of me.
Yesterday, it all washed over me like an unexpected wave, knocking me off of my feet. The tears flowed freely and the hurt came consistently.
There have been times in my life that I've been on the mountain top with God. I've been so near to Him that I could nearly feel His powerful breath warming my shoulders, embracing me with His glory.
Clearly, where I am now, is the valley scripture speaks of.
What does one do in the valley? How does one look at the mountain's steep slopes towering around her and realize that the only way out is to climb? Where does that energy come from?
Where does the desire to even climb come from?
I've been pondering these verses over the last two and a half weeks, especially the last few days.
Trust in the LORD, and do good;
dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness.
Delight yourself in the LORD,
and he will give you the desires of your heart.
Commit your way to the LORD;
trust in him, and he will act.
(Psalm 37:3-5 ESV)
I'm going to be real honest here.
I'm not seeing any of the desires of my heart being met.
And I was a freakin' delightful mess for the Lord, trying my best to do some obedient good for His name's sake. I was trusting him fully, MOVING MY FAMILY TO AFRICA and believing that He would act on my behalf.
Until about two weeks ago. So someone tell me how this verse makes any sense in light of everything going on in my life over the last month?
Yet somewhere amid what appears to be towering disappointments, handed out by God himself, I'm reminded of this:
We met Paige when she was 15 years old. Seven months later, she turned 16. The youngest of four children, she had watched each of her older siblings turn 16 and eventually gain the most prized possession a 16 year old can have: a car all their own.
However, due to circumstances beyond anyone's control, cars flat out dying, sisters and brothers whose jobs and schooling required them to have family pooled resources, Paige's 16th, 17th and 18th years came and went without her having her very own vehicle.
She spent two years at college without a car too. While she never complained (too much) about it, I knew that it was a deep desire of her heart to have her very own car.
At the beginning of July Paige went with our family on a road trip across Tennessee and into part of Mississippi and Arkansas. Our goal was to see friends and family - some of who we anticipated it being our last time before we head to Kenya in January.
But God had other plans.
The last night before we headed back, we stayed with some amazing friends that we've been blessed to know for over 15 years. They're incredibly generous with us each time we visit (moving a herd of Beavers into your home for 2 - 3 days at a time gets you the generous award any day) and always go out of their way to make sure we are comfortable and well fed.
Their generosity doesn't end with us though. Micah and Luke, who have been best friends since middle school, went out one morning. As they came back in, Luke saw Mandy's car from high school sitting there and knowing that it was an extra one he casually asked Micah, "What are you going to do with that car?"
Micah, in turn said, "Well, we've been praying about giving it away to someone." Off handedly, and truly joking, Luke said, "Paige doesn't have a car."
It was decided that night that Micah and Mandy would give Paige their old car.
She was just a tad excited.
The next morning the title was signed over and Paige was the happiest girl on the planet.
I snapped photos of her as she climbed into her own car for the very first time. After all, every girl needs pictures of herself in her very first car, right?
I made her drive that car the entire 700+ miles home. She offered a few times to let me drive and I declined, knowing that this is what her heart had desired for so long.
So as I ponder my own heart and how very few of my desires seem to be being met right now, I remember this one thing my sweet friend Emily said to me,
"God knew she wouldn't need that car but in His generosity, He gave it to her anyway. How incredible is that?"
The Lord gave her this tiny, inconsequential, completely trivial, totally fleshly desire of her heart.
18 days later she died.
As tears spill out of my eyes and run down my cheeks, I hope I can cling to this truth: God provides us with the desires of our hearts each and every time that those desires glorify Him.
Friday, August 3, 2012
I miss my friend
I notice Ella has her underwear on sideways as she trots away from me, her blond curls bouncing as she takes "Wee-ya" (Olivia) a sippy of milk, her own sippy clutched tightly in her other hand. One side of her hiney is totally exposed and her plump booty cheek is so pinchable.
And then it hits me, she'll never remember Paige. Ever. She's too young.
The waves of grief wash over me again.
Paige loved our children so much. I don't know why. I can't explain it to other people, but she loved our kids BIG.
I hate using past tense verbs to describe her.
I hate that at least once a day I feel the urge to call her and see how she's doing and then I remember, she's the reason none of us are okay.
Does that even make sense? I feel the need to call her to see how she's dealing with all of this and then it occurs to me that she's not dealing with all of this.
It's crazy how much I miss her already. Under normal circumstances, I'd go a week without physically seeing her. I guess knowing I'll never see her face again, while on this earth, makes it hurt more quickly.
She was suppose to come visit us next summer in Africa and be our intern. She was suppose to take Ashlee out for special-time. She was suppose to be here today to celebrate Elizabeth's 8th birthday with us.
Instead, she's gone.
And what are we suppose to do now? My heart is so broken.
I want to call off going to Africa and to cling to a "normal life." I want to buy a house, establish our family in a good neighborhood and disciple our children, weaving Paige's memory through our days so we never forget.
I want to push forward toward Africa with fervency because I know obedience to God's calling was so important to Paige and we can honor her in that way. Besides, God hasn't changed His calling our lives.
I want to disciple another youth, watch them grow in the Lord and blossom into the person God created them to be.
I want to be sure we never get that close to another youth again because the hurt of this loss is too much to bear again.
My heart flips in my chest and tears sting my eyes.
Will our children remember her? Will I forget her?
I want her to be sitting on our couch, sharing a bag of peanut M&Ms with me as we talk about her upcoming semester at school, the funny things our kids said this week and theology that neither of us fully understand.
But that would be selfish. It would be selfish for God to answer that prayer because it would take her away from the feet of her Savior, out of the courts of the Most High, away from worshipping the One she devoted herself to daily.
I'm angry.
I'm sad.
I'm broken.
I'm worried.
She was in my day to day. I'd think of her and send her a quick text telling her so because I knew how much words of affirmation meant to her.
We'd planned to visit her at school this semester so that the kids could see all the snow.
If my flesh can ever stop grieving her loss, I know my heart would rejoice in the joy that I know she's experiencing. But my flesh is hurting.
Hurting for my own loss, for the loss of my children, for the loss of her family - her sisters, her brother, her dad, her mother. I'm hurting for the loss of her BFF. I wonder how I'd survive the loss of my own daughter, sister or BFF.
I yearn for a day when happiness prevails but I'm dreading the day I wake up and she's not the first thing on my mind.
I don't expect people to understand how a 30-something mother of 7 children grieves the loss of a 20 year old college student so much. To the world our relationship had to look crazy. But our hearts were knit together inexplicably.
She was more than a mentee, she was my friend. She challenged me, encouraged me and continued to point me to the Father. She was family while no official title could describe how she was related to us.
I miss my friend.
And then it hits me, she'll never remember Paige. Ever. She's too young.
The waves of grief wash over me again.
Paige loved our children so much. I don't know why. I can't explain it to other people, but she loved our kids BIG.
I hate using past tense verbs to describe her.
I hate that at least once a day I feel the urge to call her and see how she's doing and then I remember, she's the reason none of us are okay.
Does that even make sense? I feel the need to call her to see how she's dealing with all of this and then it occurs to me that she's not dealing with all of this.
It's crazy how much I miss her already. Under normal circumstances, I'd go a week without physically seeing her. I guess knowing I'll never see her face again, while on this earth, makes it hurt more quickly.
She was suppose to come visit us next summer in Africa and be our intern. She was suppose to take Ashlee out for special-time. She was suppose to be here today to celebrate Elizabeth's 8th birthday with us.
Instead, she's gone.
And what are we suppose to do now? My heart is so broken.
I want to call off going to Africa and to cling to a "normal life." I want to buy a house, establish our family in a good neighborhood and disciple our children, weaving Paige's memory through our days so we never forget.
I want to push forward toward Africa with fervency because I know obedience to God's calling was so important to Paige and we can honor her in that way. Besides, God hasn't changed His calling our lives.
I want to disciple another youth, watch them grow in the Lord and blossom into the person God created them to be.
I want to be sure we never get that close to another youth again because the hurt of this loss is too much to bear again.
My heart flips in my chest and tears sting my eyes.
Will our children remember her? Will I forget her?
I want her to be sitting on our couch, sharing a bag of peanut M&Ms with me as we talk about her upcoming semester at school, the funny things our kids said this week and theology that neither of us fully understand.
But that would be selfish. It would be selfish for God to answer that prayer because it would take her away from the feet of her Savior, out of the courts of the Most High, away from worshipping the One she devoted herself to daily.
I'm angry.
I'm sad.
I'm broken.
I'm worried.
She was in my day to day. I'd think of her and send her a quick text telling her so because I knew how much words of affirmation meant to her.
We'd planned to visit her at school this semester so that the kids could see all the snow.
If my flesh can ever stop grieving her loss, I know my heart would rejoice in the joy that I know she's experiencing. But my flesh is hurting.
Hurting for my own loss, for the loss of my children, for the loss of her family - her sisters, her brother, her dad, her mother. I'm hurting for the loss of her BFF. I wonder how I'd survive the loss of my own daughter, sister or BFF.
I yearn for a day when happiness prevails but I'm dreading the day I wake up and she's not the first thing on my mind.
I don't expect people to understand how a 30-something mother of 7 children grieves the loss of a 20 year old college student so much. To the world our relationship had to look crazy. But our hearts were knit together inexplicably.
She was more than a mentee, she was my friend. She challenged me, encouraged me and continued to point me to the Father. She was family while no official title could describe how she was related to us.
I miss my friend.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Repost: Saturday's Special
This was originally posted on September 2, 2010.
As I looked back through my blog at posts about Paige, this one brought quick and lasting tears. Our family is going to miss her so very much.
Original post:
On Saturday we made a fun family trip up to see someone very special. Paige is one of the students that graduated this year from our Student Ministry. She holds a very special place in the heart of everyone in our family.
Back before Luke and I ever even made the plunge into Student Ministry, Paige played the role of Dora the Explorer at Elizabeth's 3rd birthday party. Little did we know then that Paige would grow in our hearts the same as our own family. Truth is, we love all of our students equally. But our relationship with Paige is different than most of the others. Paige has consistently gone out of her way to come and visit us, make it our kids' birthday parties and just spend time with us when she could have been hanging out with other people. So naturally, we've developed a relationship with her outside of the church walls. Our kids have developed their own relationships with her. We are exponentially blessed by her on a continual basis.
The thing is, Paige allowed us to disciple her. And, it doesn't matter how eager you are to influence the life of another person if they don't choose to allow you to do so. She's invested as much in us as we've invested in her. She's proven to be an investment that we will never regret making. So it's for those reasons that Paige is special to our family and always will be.
Our girls look up to her and I couldn't be more pleased with the role model that they've chosen. And even though she's moved off to college a whole 2 hours away from us, I have a hunch will still see her on a pretty regular basis. Not only were our older 3 enamored with the fact that Paige lives at a real, live college but we had an amazing time "hiking" around at a local state park.
Lots of walking at our own pace....
As I looked back through my blog at posts about Paige, this one brought quick and lasting tears. Our family is going to miss her so very much.
Original post:
On Saturday we made a fun family trip up to see someone very special. Paige is one of the students that graduated this year from our Student Ministry. She holds a very special place in the heart of everyone in our family.
Back before Luke and I ever even made the plunge into Student Ministry, Paige played the role of Dora the Explorer at Elizabeth's 3rd birthday party. Little did we know then that Paige would grow in our hearts the same as our own family. Truth is, we love all of our students equally. But our relationship with Paige is different than most of the others. Paige has consistently gone out of her way to come and visit us, make it our kids' birthday parties and just spend time with us when she could have been hanging out with other people. So naturally, we've developed a relationship with her outside of the church walls. Our kids have developed their own relationships with her. We are exponentially blessed by her on a continual basis.
The thing is, Paige allowed us to disciple her. And, it doesn't matter how eager you are to influence the life of another person if they don't choose to allow you to do so. She's invested as much in us as we've invested in her. She's proven to be an investment that we will never regret making. So it's for those reasons that Paige is special to our family and always will be.
Our girls look up to her and I couldn't be more pleased with the role model that they've chosen. And even though she's moved off to college a whole 2 hours away from us, I have a hunch will still see her on a pretty regular basis. Not only were our older 3 enamored with the fact that Paige lives at a real, live college but we had an amazing time "hiking" around at a local state park.
We did lots of running...
Lots of walking at our own pace....
Lots of shoulder riding...
Lots of chubby cheek grinning....
More than our fair share of jumping off rock walls...
We took cat naps in the stroller....
We posed everytime the camera was looking in our direction...
We allowed Luke to use the camera (which is really something special)....
We made silly faces...
And we made lots of lots of memories.
Thanks Paigey for letting us crash your Saturday. We had so much fun and we love you more than you'll ever, ever know!
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