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

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

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

But I'm going to be honest.

I feels a lot like we just gave up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New support goals for 2013.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sing aloud, O daughter of Zion;

shout, O Israel!

Rejoice and exult with all your heart,

O daughter of Jerusalem!

The LORD has taken away the judgments against you;

he has cleared away your enemies.

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

you shall never again fear evil.

On that day it shall be said to Jerusalem:

“Fear not, O Zion;

let not your hands grow weak.

The LORD your God is in your midst,

a mighty one who will save;

he will rejoice over you with gladness;

he will quiet you by his love;

he will exult over you with loud singing.

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

so that you will no longer suffer reproach.

Behold, at that time I will deal

with all your oppressors.

And I will save the lame

and gather the outcast,

and I will change their shame into praise

and renown in all the earth.

At that time I will bring you in,

at the time when I gather you together;

for I will make you renowned and praised

among all the peoples of the earth,

when I restore your fortunes

before your eyes,” says the LORD.

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

Joy amid sorrow

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

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

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

But the rest of me....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me too, baby. Me too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His understanding is beyond measure

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He heals the brokenhearted

and binds up their wounds.

He determines the number of the stars;

he gives to all of them their names.

Great is our Lord, and abundant in power;

his understanding is beyond measure.

Psalm 147:3-5

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

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

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

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

More of Him

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

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

I won't do it.

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

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

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

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

More of Him.

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

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

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

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

it's gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tears spilled over her eyelids and ran down her cheeks.

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

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

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

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

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

He's waiting.

I'm hesitant.

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

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

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

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

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

Uncharted hairy territory

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

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

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

But last night? I borderline lost it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

------

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

Beaver Family November 2012 Update

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our family needs time to heal.

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

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

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

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

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

Luke and Jessica Beaver

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

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

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

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

a time to kill, and a time to heal;

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

a time to weep, and a time to laugh;

a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

(Ecclesiastes 3:1-4 ESV)

Beauty in death

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

(source)

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

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

(source)

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

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

(source)

There can be beauty in death.

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

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

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

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

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

There's beauty in that aspect of her death.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beauty. Death.

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

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

My treasured friend

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two years ago, she and Nick got engaged.

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

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

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

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


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

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


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


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


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

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


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


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


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


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

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

I treasure her more than she could know.

Olivia is FOUR!

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

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

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

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

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

Oh how I love this girl...


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



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


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


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


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


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


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

Gosh, have I mentioned I LOVE this girl?


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


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

Winner, winner.

The winner of the contest on this post is Jennie Shellenburger!

Congrats Jennie! Contact me at beaverbunch (at) gmail dot com so I can mail you your Storybook Bible!

Technically, Mikaila was first but she said she already had a JSB so Jennie is the first runner up. Like Miss America except with less tears and make up and there's no swim suit round.

Winner, winner chicken dinner. Jennie, if I don't hear from you by Friday, I'll go on the the next person. Cool beans?

A mothering milestone contest!

In 2002 it was 50% of our household.

In 2004 it jumped to 67%.

In 2006 it rose again to 80%.

In mid-2008 it climbed to a staggering 83% of our household.

By the end of 2008, when I thought it couldn't possibly get any higher, it rose to an all time high of 86%.

In 2010 it fell just a bit to 75%.

In mid-2012 it was 56%.

Today, a milestone in our home, has lowered it to the lowest ever at 33%!!! Yipppeee!

In 10 years it's not been even in the neighborhood of the 30s until today, which brought me a glimmer of hope, people.

If you can guess what these percentages are referencing, I'll mail you a paper copy (or buy you the Kindle or Nook copy if you live outside the continental US) of the Jesus Storybook Bible, our family's favorite story time Bible.

To enter, simply leave a comment with your best guess. The most precise guess wins! You can only enter once per user id. If your user id doesn't take me to an email or way to contact you, please leave that in the comments section also in case you win!

* I have not been compensated by the Jesus Storybook Bible or Zonderkids for this post, I simply love this Bible.

** If I texted you the big news this morning, you're automatically disqualified. Sorry!

Entries accepted until 12:01am Saturday, October 6th, EST. Happy guessing!

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 fit all 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.

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)

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.

Ashlee and Paige, family trip to Paige's college - April 2012

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.

Aaron and Paige, family vacation - May 2011

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.

Olivia and Paige, family vacation - May 2011

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.

Jessica and Paige - 2008

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.

Paige and the kids - family trip to Paige's college - August 2010

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.

Paige and Lucas have special time - July 2012

Currently, the short term department at AIM is researching our assignment options.

Luke, Mary and Paige - our first discipleship weekend - 2009

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.

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

My Elizabeth is 8!

Over a month ago it happened. My first baby turned eight.

Eight.

My mouth hardly is able to form that number without a lump in my throat. How am I even old enough to have an eight year old?


God certainly knew what He was doing when He gave us Elizabeth as our first born. Oh how my heart swells with love and pride when I think about her precious heart, her giving spirit and her desire to continually help.


She's the BEST biggest sister. Even if I could have dreamed up a first born, big sister for our army of children, I doubt my best and wildest imagination could have ever designed Elizabeth. Nearly always patient, eager to help a younger sibling, loving, gentle, kind and caring - she is exactly what our younger children need in an oldest sibling. Never too big to act silly enough to elicit a giggle or laugh from one of the younger ones or too proud to allow them to smother her with kisses. Often, she's way more patient than I am and she teaches me continually about grace and mercy.


How could I ever make it through my days without this girl? She showers me with hugs, help and love. And I am just so, so thankful for the young woman she's growing to be, the young lady God desires her to grow into and the friend I will one day have in her.


She's sassy. She has a style and a way all her own. Eight is a fun age but a hard age too. She's just grown enough to do almost everything on her own while she still needs regular guidance, direction and input. It's a fine line to walk, allowing her to stumble when natural consequences would be the best teacher and gently guiding her when she needs direction before an impending failure.


She's an amazing forgiver, which is good because her mother makes regular, epic mistakes and has to ask for forgiveness often. Not too long ago we were all outside playing with some neighborhood kids. She and Lucas got into a spat and she over reacted physically toward Lucas. In my own sinfulness and over reaction I reached out and swatted her firmly, right on the bottom in front of her friends. It broke her heart. She ran into the house, tearfully, to escape certain humiliation.

I followed her quickly, realizing that I did no better than she had just done with her brother. Asking her for forgiveness she threw her scrawny arms around my neck, climbed into my lap and told me I was a great Mom and we'd always forgive each other.

Oh baby girl, how I pray we always do.


She humbles me, showing me often what real forgiveness, genuine laughter and unconditionally love looks like.

Man, I just love this girl.


I know harder days are ahead. Days where I'll be last person she wants to talk to, her relationships with her friends will take precedence and I'll miss her sassy eight year old self crawling up in my lap and begging me to cuddle.

So for now, I breathe her in. I take in every part of who she is: artist, friend maker, compassionate stranger, understanding big sister, Abigail's personal assistant, my sweetest, biggest baby girl.

And I thank God for the gift of her every single day. What a treasure He's given us in our oldest child!


Happy (Belated) Birthday Elizabeth! I love you so very much!

Click these to see Elizabeth when she turned seven, six, five and four.

Das Not Funny! Friday: Poop and weapons. What else do you expect?

I figured it's time for some laughs around this joint. I know I could use some. What better than a Das Not Funny! Friday to give me a good chuckle?

A few days ago I was in desperate need of a hair cut. I decided to take Ashlee over to my grandmas and let Elizabeth go with me. On the way over to my grandmas Elizabeth, Ashlee and I started talking about babies.

Y'all have to understand, Ashlee is a baby lover. She spends the majority of her day kissing, hugging, screeching in the loudest voice possible talking to Abigail and trying with all her might to make her laugh. So I figured it would only be natural for Ashlee to want several babies of her own.

"Ashlee, how many babies do you think you want to have when you grow up?" I asked, glancing in the rear view mirror.

"OH, NO! NO! NO!" she said, waving her arms in front of her, "I'm not having any babies. I'll adopt some though!"

"What?" I said shocked, "You don't want to have any babies from your belly? Why not?"

"Because," she said, as a look of terror crept across her face, "I don't want to be pooping any babies out of my butt! No.thank.you!"

------

We live in a town with limited restaurant options which means we frequent the same places often. The older 3 really don't need my help in the bathroom anymore, and when we're in a place that's smaller and if I can see the bathroom doors, I'll let them go on their own.

But, I'm always telling the kids that if a stranger approaches them in the bathroom they are to be nice and polite but if they start asking them too many questions they are to simply say, "My Mom is expecting me back at the table" and then politely excuse themselves and come straight to me.

One afternoon I took the biggest 2 girls out for a lunch date. Elizabeth went to use the bathroom and, of course, a few minutes later Ashlee had to go. Elizabeth emerges from the bathroom giggling, loudly, following quickly by Ashlee doing the same thing.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"Mom," Ashlee said through spurts of giggles, "Wizabets and I were in the bathroom washing our hands and I said 'Hi' to her..."

"and I said," Elizabeth interrupted, stifling her own laughter, "My Mom is expecting me back at the table."

-------

One of the ways we discipline Aaron is to take away any toy resembling a weapon. Just threatening a day without weapons makes his little 4 year old self straighten right up.

However, once those toys are taken away, I'm faced with a barrage of questions about when the next day will be when he can have weapons.

"Mom," he said, looking at me with his big blue eyes, "tomorrow, can I have weapons again?"

"Yes, buddy" I answered, "tomorrow you will be able to have them back."

"Good! Then I'm gonna cut your leg off. And you'll have to hop like dis" (insert a 4 year old hopping on one foot) "and you'll never catch me again and take away my weapons!"

Well, that's one way to avoid punishment. Or not.

-----

Yesterday morning he had his prized weapons taken away, yet again. As he played in his room he sang the following song:

"I'm Aaron. Da supa-he-whoa boy! I can fly through da air and kill all da emenies. But I can't use da weapons because my Mom took dem all away!"

Good to know his consequences are sinking in a little.

-------

At the beginning of July we were temporarily living at my grandmother's condo while our house was being treated for an outbreak of fleas. It's pretty glamorous to say your house is flea infested, by the way.

Anyway, one night Luke and I had tucked all our little babes into bed. We'd stuck Ashlee in the bed in the master bedroom because she was having a harder time settling down.

The door to the bedroom creeped open and her little head squeezed through.

"Dad? Mom? I need to show you something."

Luke replied, less than thrilled with, "What."

"You have to come in here," she said, almost whispering.

"Is it a green light on the ceiling?" Luke asked.

I whipped my head around, looking at him nearly in shock.

Ashlee, equally shocked said, "Yes."

"That's a light on the smoke detector. Go to sleep."

"Oh," Ashlee said.

The door clicked shut and we both started giggling.

A few minutes later the door reopens and she stammers, "That's not funny!"

The door slammed behind her. Yeah, actually, it was.

------

Olivia has beads in her hair. Something she's wanted for so very long but I've not been able to make happen.

Now, she enthusiastically runs up to me and says, "Momma! Wanna hear my beans?" as she frantically shakes her hair from side to side.

And all this time I thought it was a marble.

-------

Ella regressed a bit when Abigail was born and decided that poop was best made in her diaper, not in the potty.

The last two days, however, she's gone in the potty! Yay!

Yesterday I asked her if she had pooped a lot in the potty. "Was it a big poop?"I asked, wondering if she had really finished or just relieved the pressure until nap time and a diaper was secure on her bottom.

"Yep," she responded, her blonde curls bouncing around her as she flipped her head up and down, "a big poop. Daddy poops."

"Daddy poops?" I asked.

"Yep. Daddy do big poop. I big poop like Daddy!" She was real proud of herself.

I, on the other hand, while proud of the poop in the potty could have gone with out this information.

Y'all have a great weekend!