October 9 marked our one month-aversary of our “gotcha day”, the day we “got” our son. September 9 was the day our little boy’s beloved Ayi (and I mean, he truly loved this woman) traveled with him from Beijing to our apartment in Tianjin. His entire world had consisted of two places: the small two-story group foster home nestled into winding narrow paths of similar two story structures and the little private Montessori school only a mile or two away. He shuffled between those two places each day, on schedule, his life merely a series of predictable comings and goings. And then one day this four-year-old was dropped in the middle of a white, American, English speaking family.

During that first month, on our occasional outings into our neighborhood, which is more like a small city of approximately 10,000 residents, the multi-colored high-rise and low-rise apartment buildings must have loomed over him like an ominous shadow. We would often take two or three steps away from our building and he would melt into the sidewalk and refuse to move. John Mark or I would scoop him up and hold his frightened face to our shoulders, shielding him from dozens of curious stares and comments from the locals. When we once braved a trip to the mall on the city bus, the woman next to us tested Rui on his Chinese speaking ability and quickly ascertained that he was not an English speaker. The older woman spoke eagerly to the younger woman beside her, and in my limited Chinese I heard, “They don’t speak Chinese, but he does!” as they both laughed loudly. Then she tried to get our new son to engage in a conversation in Chinese as I tried to deter her with the look on my face. She wasn’t deterred. I didn’t know what she expected him to say; if she expected him to belittle us with her, or answer complicated questions about his new family. I looked at her again and firmly said, “No.” I turned my back to her shielding Rui with my body and felt the eyes of the entire over crowded bus on me and my Chinese son. I had just challenged two cultural norms in this country: we had a mixed race family and I just confronted someone older to their face in public. The whole bus fell silent and we rode the rest of the way in awkwardness.

At other times, we have gotten into taxis and the driver would look at us, look at our son and begin to say thank you to us. One driver blew kisses to our son several times during the trip. Sometimes the family next to us in a restaurant stared so hard, our son would hide under the table. At school, nationals asked us all sorts of questions about where he was from and how things were in our family and tell us what great people we were, a statement I am still very uncomfortable with since I believe Rui has been such an amazing blessing to us. I felt like we lived our life in a storefront display case that first month.

During that first month, I desperately spoke as much Chinese as I could to comfort him. Our son struggled with feelings of panic, sadness, anger, and denial. He had nightmares and cried out for his Ayis. When his new Mama came instead, he wailed even louder.

And, one would think that living in China, around the culture, people, and language he was used to softened the transition, but oddly it posed challenges we did not anticipate. First, we thought having lots of Chinese speakers around would help him adjust. That idea was unwittingly hung on the assumption that mentally understanding the situation would  result in accepting the situation. Well, duh, that’s not how four-year-olds work and that’s not how the grief process works – for anyone! Instead, whenever we asked our Chinese friends to explain certain things in Chinese, our son tried to cling to them in a total melt down of emotion. We had to make the painful decision and kept our distance from having personal encounters with native Chinese speakers so he had a chance to bond with us without trying to flee. We didn’t want him to lose his original language or his connection to his first culture, but consistent, personal exposure to it while having to go home with us was a bit like removing an old band-aid from a particularly hairy part of your body very, very slowly.

Furthermore, every dynamic of how our family functioned changed in one day and therefore all the constructs our minds clung to in order to successfully guide us day to day failed. We have fought, cried, and buried ourselves in anything that will give our minds refuge from the constant turmoil of change. Movies and the iPad became constant requests in our house and it was a fight to get the kids (and the adults) to do anything else.

And then there were these tiny little pockets of joy tucked into the fabric of chaos in our home. The fun times were saving islands while we doggy paddle in this sea of change.

I wish I could have said I learned so much about what an awesome person I am. I wish I could have said that God prepared me for this and I joyfully arose to the occasion with grace, dignity, and love. But, I felt that he prepared us more to fall flat on our faces. I had seen a depth to my sin during that month that I had never seen before. At times, I fought myself to look at his sweet face with any feeling of compassion. Each day, I woke up tired from stress and had to force myself to go to God and beg for his grace to love this little boy with all my heart. I learned, but I didn’t learn to ‘be better’. I learned that I’m not better, but that He lived inside of me. I learned that this reality is enough to sustain me.

“Each time he said, ‘My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.’ So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me. That’s why I take pleasure in my weaknesses, and in the insults, hardships, persecutions, and troubles that I suffer for Christ. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

Enter month number two. November 9 marked our two-month-aversary. And what a difference a month made! Over the last two months our son went from throwing constant fits, clinging to strangers, and telling me that we are not his family to calling John Mark and I ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’, telling us he loves us, and understanding English. It was such an amazing miracle to watch! (As I sit here and write it down, if I had not seen it with my own eyes, I may not believe it.) Even everyone that saw us commented on how well our family seemed to be doing, and they were right. Instead of walking around on eggshells in our own home, Rui began following Jillian around like she hung the moon. They often play a game where he is the Daddy and she is the Mama and he works out all that is new to him in their little game. Just last night, we played “Rui Rui sandwich” where John Mark and I both hugged him with him in between us. At first he was like, “stop it”, but then he came back and said “me sandwich!” We went outside and rode scooters around the neighborhood instead of carrying Rui with his frightened head in my chest. He slept through the night in the same room with his brother and sister and if he did wake up, he cried out for Mama. I wasn’t so afraid anymore that he was going to try to run away with anyone that spoke fluid Chinese with him. We visited friends again and John Mark and I even had a date night. The more comfortable we were with our new family, the more comfortable strangers were with us. We went out to eat and to the mall and wherever else we wanted to go and ignored people that might talk about us or stare. When we are asked, I just politely said “Women shi yi ge jia ren!” (We are a family). And that is exactly what it felt like. It felt whole.

How did it happen? In what place did our Master quietly craft our changed hearts? It seemed the last time I peeked, parts were strewn all over a dirty floor in irreparable brokenness. But then He flung open the workshop door and there we were – a new family.

I don’t know why I’m surprised. Creating families is exactly what our Father does! And I’m not surprised as much as I am delighted.

So now we are nearing the end of the third month and I can honestly say that our hearts are being knit together as one. We have been so excited about the blessing of adoption, we petitioned to adopt another child. We received the preapproval before Thanksgiving for a little three-year-old girl and we anticipate we will be officially matched any day now…we hope!

“Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us. You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly…” Romans 5:3-6

I made the 24 hour journey to America last week to say goodbye to my Grandma when I heard her health was rapidly declining. She passed away only two days after I returned to China. This is my memory of her.

Betty Jean Overs McJunkins was my Grandma Betty. I remember her as a soul with joy in the face of a painful life. She had five children, only two of which have survived her, Debbie Overs and Kay Hawks, who came to cry at her bedside and love on her in her last days. Three of her children that she loved immensely preceded her to the other side, my daddy Mark, my Aunt Sherry, and my Aunt Wendy. Her grandson Brandon also preceded her to the other side less than two years ago. Just these facts, which after writing them here seem like flat facts, carry in them heavy burden.

But I remember her as a woman that carried other’s burdens. A woman that loved her grand babies and great grand babies and use to scoop us up into her arms and smother us with kisses. A precious giver that loved to buy presents for us and that danced around chirping with joy as she handed out wrapped packages at Christmas. A lady that would break out into familiar little ditties as she pressed me against her chest and squeezed me…I love you, a bushel and a peck, a bushel and a peck, and a hug around the around neck… In my mind I can hear her deep, calm voice that vibrated in my ears and in my heart as she rocked me with a bear hug. I remember a Grandma that smoked too much and drank too many Pepsis and had too much stuff in her house. I also remember her kind face and big doe eyes looking up over the rim of her huge glasses to tell me how much Jesus loves me. She gave me my first children’s bible, took me to my first vacation bible school, and taught me this familiar tune…Jesus loves me, this I know, for the bible tells me so. Little ones to him belong. They are weak but he is strong…a song that has become the single defining truth in my life. I remember my Grandmother’s laugh could be picked out of a crowd of voices. Her laugh was the sound of melted butter on warm biscuits. Her laugh was strong, but gentle, deep and raspy, filled with genuine enjoyment of the people around her.

Grandma Betty made the best breakfast ever. When I was little me and my cousin Alicia would spend the night at her house on Cedar Bend. We would get up super early when it was still dark outside and the only noise in the house was the steady beat of the grandfather clock. If staying up late was adult time, getting up early was kid time. We thought we were being quiet stepping barefoot past the Indian statues that proudly guarded the front door, but looking back we were probably giggling loudly at nothing in particular. We would move through the library into the kitchen barefoot on her thick brown carpet, the smell of cigarettes and my grandmother’s perfume lingering in the air. Her pantry was a weird, floor to ceiling built-in cabinet with shelves that spun on a lazy Susan. I’ve never seen another pantry like that one, now that I think about it. It was oddly satisfying to spin the shelves and listen to the smooth clicking sound as I searched for the cornflakes, or better yet, for the Lucky Charms. We knew that it was just a snack, though, to hold us over until the big beautiful brunch we would enjoy later. Soon enough, Grandma would come in there in her nightgown, hair all mussed up, cigarette hanging out of her mouth, and fix herself a Pepsi over ice in one of those thick heavy drinking glasses she had. Soon after that, the kitchen would be alive with the sounds of bacon, eggs, biscuits, and gravy. If my Daddy was up, they would both be in the kitchen, cooking up a storm, telling each other how to do things the right way and, of course, laughing. They were breakfast food people.

My Grandma Betty loved musicals, reading, and shopping. She told me many times about the bookstore she used to have in Austin. She would consume novels about as voraciously as she consumed Pepsi, and taught me to take care of books, not to step on them or break their binding. We used to watch The King and I and sing the songs with the movie. We used to make special trips to McDonald’s for the 39 cent ice cream cones. She was a modest woman that wanted people to like her and think she was beautiful, which wasn’t difficult, because she was.

When I was older, I didn’t spend as much time as I should have with her since one of the downfalls of youth is the blind belief that there is always time. I so wanted to be there the day my Grandma Betty stepped from time into eternity, but I couldn’t be there. I did make a special trip from China to Oklahoma to say goodbye last week, and I will never regret it. When I wrote down these memories, I was sitting by my Grandma knowing that she probably did not have much more time here on earth. I reflected then that I was sitting in the very room where heaven and earth would soon meet when Jesus sent his angels to harvest his faithful one. I have experienced many events in life where I would say I clearly felt the presence of God. My marriage, the birth of my babies, and sharing the love of the gospel of Jesus with another flawed human are some that come to mind. But the best, most holy moment I have ever clearly felt the presence of God was when I was in the room with my dying Daddy. When Jesus came to take his soul I could feel power in the room. I believe it was the power of his soul finally resting, completely surrendered to his Maker, and the power of God accepting his beloved in the folds of grace. Even though I was not privileged to be there when my precious Grandmother passed, I know it was that way for her.

We miss you, Grandma Betty. We also feel overwhelmed with the pain of death. We feel overwhelmed with the pain of life! It’s easy to feel the heavy burden of mortality. What’s hard is to see and believe are the words of Jesus.

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

Let’s rest in Him now. Let’s ask Him to forgive us for running from his love and trying to find relief from this life in whatever way we do (because we all do!) He knows we are just trying to find that thing, but He also knows we will never find it apart from Him. So, let’s give up, ok? Right now, if we can hear His call, let’s change our mind about what we think we know about God and ask him to reveal Himself to us. Even if we have almost no faith at all, the simple faith of asking him to give us faith is sufficient. Amen.

Jesus loves me, this I know
For the bible tells me so.
Little ones, to him belong
They are weak, but he is strong.

Yes, Jesus loves me.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
The bible tells me so.

“A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families…” Psalm 68:5-6

One piece of exciting news here in China is that the one child policy has been lifted. Now couples are allowed to have two children without having to pay the expensive fee. Some of the national staff at school are very excited. Others are already starting to dream about having another child, something that was financially out of reach for them before. It got me thinking about my own family. When my husband and I were engaged, we thought maybe we wouldn’t have children. For some reason we just weren’t thrilled about the idea. And, if you think about it, it really is totally illogical to have a baby. I mean do we really need to ‘go forth and be fruitful and multiply’ anymore? I think the world’s population is doing all right. How about having a big old financial burden land in the middle of your paycheck? No thanks. Can I get some extra stress on the side of life? Um, no!

Let me tell you, all of those thoughts went out the window a mere seven months after we said our vows! (And it wasn’t because we ‘accidentally’ got pregnant.) Soon after we got married, my husband and I began to change our mind about the whole thing. At the time, we didn’t realize that the emotion of love had taken over our logic. We sure as heck weren’t prepared for all the hard stuff either! It was the most difficult thing I had done up to that point in my life. I won’t bore you with the details, as I’m sure you have heard or experienced how hard it is with that first baby.

But then, three years later, we went and had another one! Now this decision really was completely illogical. We knew that the first baby brought with it emotional, financial, and physical stress and we knew that adding a second one to the mix with an extremely active little boy would be terribly hard. But, somehow the idea of bringing a helpless, sweet, innocent, noisy, sleepless, demanding infant into an already stressful situation seemed like a great idea.

And now, even with years of imperfect parenting under our belts and two little crazies that we adore, we have decided to take on the near impossible task of adopting an amazing little boy into our family.

Are we insane???

If we are insane, it would all be OK if this process were like in the movies when the orphan and the family fall for each other in some tear jerking romantic moment and then, jump scene, we’re all spending Christmas under the same roof while snow falls quietly outside.

Yeah, it’s not like that.

It’s more like months of complicated paperwork and juggling appointment schedules with our already busy work and school and home lives. It’s waking up on some days with this little guy’s face stuck in my mind, knowing that I need to do so many things to bring him home, but also knowing that there are so many things that are out of my control. It’s hearing about how difficult this transition will be for everyone over and over again, but knowing that we will not be fully prepared for the difficulty no matter how much we know about it. It’s knowing that he will have pain that we can do nothing about no matter how much we love him.

Sometimes I am daunted by the task of try to give my adopted son what he needs as far as his emotional healing is concerned. Moving forward in this process for me has been an act of faith that God can and will provide what this precious little guy needs. I believe, however, that it is not so much a privilege that he gets to be a part of our family as it is an incredibly awesome privilege that we get to be a part of his life and his story. It’s going to take time and patience for him to trust us and for him to process through the trauma he has already endured. In fact, it will probably take the rest of his life. That is what we are signing up for. We are agreeing to accept a broken person and to take all of his brokenness into our family. We are agreeing to break alongside him when he breaks and watch God turn his brokenness into beauty. We want to be a part of his redemptive story, and that necessarily means stepping into his brokenness and confronting the broken pieces of our own hearts. We are ready and not ready at the same time.

The word for family in Chinese is jiaren. Literally it means ‘home people’. Chinese grammar dictates that when speaking about the concepts of going and coming, you always speak about returning back home. So, family, you could say, are the people to whom you always return: your jiaren, your home people. I’m realizing that is the nature of family; they are the people to whom you always return. They are your starting place, or your beginning identity. They are the people that supply those crucial first experiences that will color all the other experiences you have. They are the ones that provide a safe (or not safe) environment to go out into the world and then to retreat again. Even those who do not grow up with a family, as we are learning in our adoption classes, constantly return to their lack of original family in their minds. That lack of origin affects their ability to form meaningful relationships with other people. It’s called having an attachment disorder and it messes with their very identity.

The bible says God sets the lonely in families, but sometimes I wish it said something else, particularly because family can be kind of screwed up. Sometimes, I wish God had said he sets the lonely in ‘community’. Perhaps God could have said he sets the lonely in a ‘company’ or an ‘organization’. Maybe a ‘small group’ or a ‘bible study’ or a ‘parachurch ministry’ would have been better. All of those concepts by themselves are much easier than a family. But that’s not what we are. We are each others jiaren.

God wants to set the lonely in families. In fact, he spilled his own blood to adopt us into one big family. We are not the ‘first-born son’ conceived in lovesick romance. We’re not even the ‘second born daughter’ conceived with a head full of prior knowledge, but a heart full of hope.

We’re the adopted children.

We are ALL the children that have had the tough start, the ones with attachment disorders. We will test and push the limits of the love of the people around us because we don’t know whom to trust. We have been beaten up by the world in all its forms, whether we come from the most obvious darkness or the hidden darkness of trying to be perfect. We are one huge group of highly messy individuals. We are broken people who require others to enter into our brokenness and watch God turn the brokenness into beauty. If we are extremely privileged, we get to enter into the brokenness of another.

But will I enter into another person’s brokenness? Am I willing to invest time and patience so that someone can learn to trust me? Will I willingly step into darkness while confronting the dark crevices of my own heart? Do I want to be a part of another person’s redemptive story?

If not, then what are we doing here? Are we just running another business, organization, or ministry? Does the world really need just another community or church building with no hope of finding the family we need and God wants for us?

I know it is more difficult to be a family. It requires so much more of us emotionally and it requires us to forgive if we need to and to be vulnerable in a way that maybe we never have before. I know that it is, in many ways totally illogical, messy, and stressful. But I believe that it is worth it.

Who is right in front of me right now that God is calling me to enter into their brokenness with them while God does his work?

“For those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God. The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.” The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children. Now if we are children, then we are heirs – heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory.” Romans 8:14-17

When my faith doesn’t run smoothly, I never try to repair it, but I send it back to Jesus, the manufacturer, the author and perfecter of my faith. And when He repairs it, it works so precisely.

I Stand at the Door and Knock by Corrie Ten Boom

While I was in Florida for two weeks this summer, I experienced a rest that I don’t get a lot in China. I confess that I did not want to return and it’s a good thing my husband and son were still there and I had to go back! It was so nice to have the conveniences that I’m used to in the States and the familiarity of family. Also, I had the honor of attending my sister’s church. Just walking into that church feels like a hug. The teaching is so pertinent and the spirit so present. ‘Doing’ church comes so naturally in the States and it was so comfortable to ‘do’ church alongside other believers. I loved it!

But, at the same time in that same awesome church, the Lord got a hold of my heart. Sometimes at the end of the service, they practice a spiritual discipline. That Sunday, the spiritual discipline was surrender. As soon as the pastor said we were all going to be silent and allow God to show us where in our life we were not completely surrendered to him, my tears started flowing. I knew that my heart was not in the surrendered posture that God wants it to be all the time. I knew it was time for the Lord to perform some spiritual surgery on me and it wasn’t going to feel good.

Isn’t it kind of crazy how our hearts our get so sick sometimes and we desperately need a kind of open-heart surgery, but how gently our Great Physician invites us to have that surgery? Imagine if a medical doctor said, “You know the organ in your body that keeps everything else alive? It’s not working right and, in fact, you need surgery immediately. But, it’s elective surgery, so if you decide not to have it, then you can just walk around until your heart stops beating and you die. It’s up to you.”

It seems that G0d in his wisdom waits until I feel bad enough to lie down willingly on his operating table. And, on that Sunday, that’s what I did.

The first thing he poked at was my insistence on comfort in daily life from a myriad of outside sources. I’m sure it was his design to comfort me through my sister’s hospitality and the hospitality of her church family. There’s nothing wrong with any of that. But the Lord made it clear that I am not going to live there or depend on that comfort. I am going to live in the comfort he provides through his HS when I submit to him through prayer and through the comfort that comes in the fellowship of suffering. Instead of ‘doing’ church like I want to, I am going to BE the church. And in order for that to happen, I need to surrender my desire for worldly comfort to him.

The second thing he cut away was the unforgiveness in my heart. Y’all, I have baggage. I have endured real abusive behavior in the church in my past like so many other people have. And now G0d has put me in a place where I work almost exclusively with other Chr1stians! I must constantly decide to wear the lens of bitterness or the lens of G0d’s truth. Sometimes, I see unloving behavior that has the potential to become abusive, and I want to run away. I made a decision that Sunday to actively let go of the wrongs in my past and to refuse to let those experiences color my current situation. That doesn’t mean I have to allow it if others abuse me. But, I also cannot allow unforgiveness to force extreme reactions into minor situations that just need grace. I must trust the L0rd and not my own evaluation of another person’s heart or motivations. I must fight the urge to allow past hurt to control how I respond to my present circumstance and instead allow love to control everything I do. In order to do that I must let go of bitterness and surrender to him.

The third thing he pressed on was my unwillingness to serve. I had arrived on the China scene expecting to be served (OUCH!). I came into the expat life with a (teeny) chip on my shoulder. In all fairness, it is very difficult to get here! I had to say goodbye and uproot my family. Once we finally got here, I found the expats around me hard at work and fairly established when I just wanted to talk and process through the last six months. Wasn’t anyone willing to immediately, forcibly become my best friend and confidant? I had to come to grips that relationships, even here, take time and patience. I can’t expect the people around me to serve me, but I can be willing to serve them and hopefully through that love, I will build relationships and find mutual fellowship. Unfortunately, this is something I’m constantly struggling with and I must surrender to him and allow him to minister to me before I can serve others.

Over those two weeks in Florida, I had some major conversations with God and let him perform the needed open-heart surgery. When I returned, I felt recovered and willing to implement some disciplines into my life. Then, I soon realized that the more I try to be disciplined, the more I fail. Yet another thing to surrender! It’s quite a cruel paradox that the more I try, the more I fail, but that when I give up, he comes in and does the healing my heart so desperately needs. I want G0d to lay me on the operating table, perform the surgery once, and let me go on my way! Nope, he is asking me to come back again and again to have more surgery, which means more pain, more recovery, and more scars. But, his fingerprints will be all over my heart and others will wonder at his healing ability.

I’m not perfect at this stuff, but here’s what the L0rd has been sowing into my heart lately. The first thing I’ve noticed is that G0d is changing my prayer life. He has me praying whenever and wherever he reminds me, which is more often when I am surrendered. My husband and I pray together. I pray out loud in the morning with my kids in the room. I make my kids pray with me (yeah, they don’t like it, but I’m not too concerned). It’s mostly been out of desperation, but it’s such a sweet place to be!

The second thing that’s been different is G0d has more control and I’m not trying to figure things out as much. Usually, God stops me in mid thought and reminds me that my wheels are spinning out solutions, worries, or fears and I just say something like ‘God you are in control’.

A third thing God has been doing is giving me a desire to listen to other people’s problems and pray for them instead of just droning on and on about my problems to anyone within earshot. Of course it still happens sometimes, but I’m beginning to genuinely care about the people around me, by the grace of God.

So, my point in all of this is not to say, ‘look at me and what I’m doing’. Because, truly, if it were up to me, I would make myself comfortable all the time, other people would serve me and my emotional needs constantly, and I would hold them captive with a heart full of bitterness. My point is that God can do so much inside a person and through a person whose heart is surrendered to him. And I’m here to say his hands are healing hands.

So, can I encourage you right now to ask him in what way you need to surrender to him? If you feel like you can’t, here are some edifying words from one of my heroes:

You don’t have to surrender on your own steam, or by your own willpower. God wants to work in us with regard to both willpower and completion…And once again, it means placing your weak hand in Jesus’ strong hand, who wants to go with us and who wants to lead us. He is with us in our circumstances, our family, our worries, our work, our problems, even our suffering…And so you pray, ‘God, help me to be willing to be made willing.’

I Stand at the Door and Knock by Corrie Ten Boom

“You can get so confused
that you’ll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place…”

Oh, the Places You’ll Go! by Dr. Seuss

I love this book. Someone gave me my first copy of this book when I was headed off to college and it made me cry. It still makes me cry sometimes when I read it to my children because I’m just that kind of sap. I really feel it paints such an accurately simple picture of life. Except for the passage above. Every time I read this passage to my children, I always say, “Now the waiting place is not always a useless thing. Sometimes it’s a good thing to wait on G0d. G0d has things to teach you in the waiting place.” And I truly believe that.

Until I actually have to go through the waiting place myself.

When we first applied to come overseas with our current school, we had certain things in mind, and entering a perpetual waiting place was not one of those things. First there was the waiting during the application process. It’s no secret that the wheels turn very slowly during that process and uncertainty can hang on for months. For some people, the application process ends with a hire decision and they move to China. For us, the process has been very different. To make the long story short, the application process lasted about ten months for us.

When we finally moved, while my husband began his job as Videographer and my children began their jobs as pre-kindergartener and second grader, I was supposed to get the family ‘settled in’. I had no idea what that was supposed to look like. More uncertainty for me. Even though I’ve volunteered at the school and have kept busier than I thought I would, I’ve held on to this idea that I would teach this coming fall. I have been waiting for it and praying about it. I have been discussing teaching a foundations class in our Early Childhood Center with the ECC principal. We both thought I would be perfect for that position and I have even been preparing myself for my upcoming assignment by observing another teacher that also teaches a foundations class.

The fabulous Early Childhood Center Foundations Class hard at play

Then, last week, I was cordially invited into another waiting place. The ECC principal informed me that as of last week, they did not have the numbers registered to offer me the class for the fall. It was a disappointment for both of us. She assured me that they could get those students during the summer. Or, the elementary could have a position for me. But, we would just have to wait and see.

And about this time, I could just about lose my mind.

I’ve had about a week now to dive back into my internal world of uncertainty, a world in which I have not been comfortable. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not blaming anyone. I really believe that the consistency of events in my life are too uncanny to contribute to mere human influence. No, G0d has me here in another waiting place. And I don’t think it’s the ‘most useless place’. I have discovered that there are some very useful places within the waiting place maybe Seuss overlooked:

                                                                                                             Jayden pretending to be a fierce warrior butterfly

1) The FAKE place

This is the place where I pretend that I fully accept my circumstances by telling myself, It’s alright, it’s just another opportunity to trust the Lord. I can just let go and let G0d. No big deal. When I’m in this place, spouting platitudes devoid of any real deep meaning to me, I’m usually trying to get to the ACCEPTANCE place by circumventing the more unpleasant places. Unfortunately, in G0d’s school, I don’t get to squirm out of the tough stuff by pretending that I’m in a place that I’m not. The only benefit to this place is that it exposes me as a fake once I just can’t pretend anymore.

                                                                                                                 Huge statue on Ancient Culture Street in downtown Tianjin

2) The ANSWERS place

This place goes hand in hand with the FAKE place. This is where I get all old testament on the L0rd. I pray that G0d’s will be done and then throw the lot to find out what his will is. I lay out the options (as I see them) and ask G0d to move the Ouija board piece in my heart toward an outcome. I pray that He would reveal his will, but really I just don’t want to have to wait. Most of the time, when I’m in this place, He doesn’t say much. He knows the other places within the waiting place are more beneficial to me than simply hearing a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’. Occasionally, I like to tell myself that I’ve received an answer in this place, but it usually isn’t the get out of jail card for which I’m hoping. The benefit of this place is, well, at least I’m praying, and getting no ANSWERS usually propels me into the more useful, although more painful, places.

                                                                                                              Caged leopard at the Tianjin Zoo

3) The DECISIONS place

I begin to think about my options and try to make hypothetical decisions for differing scenarios. If __________ happens, then I will ___________. The infuriating part of this stage is that in the waiting place, I don’t know if _____________ is going to happen, so there aren’t any decisions to be made! It’s like my mind is a dog chasing her mental tail. The benefit to this place is I’m starting to scratch the surface of my crazy need to control everything, which is the beginning of the revelation that I put more importance on circumstance than I do on faith in my Creator.

                                                                                                  The over abundance of food at our table at a wedding I attended in Beijing

4) The CRAZY place

This is the place where I begin to imagine, since I can’t make a decision about the limited options in front of me, that the whole world is now open to me. I can do anything, and so I try to mentally land on anything to avoid being in the waiting place. Maybe I could volunteer or tutor people in English. Or should I leaving teaching altogether? Maybe I need more education. Should I get my master’s degree? Or should I stay home? What if I stay home and take up guitar or piano or write a novel. Or should I just focus on volunteering at the school? This place is a bit like digging a pit, jumping in, and then trying to mentally bury myself. The benefit of this place is that I can now see that the thing for which I was originally waiting isn’t going to make me happy anymore than the myriad of alternative things will.

                                                                                                                Jillian riding the bus on a hot summer day

5) The DARK place

Once I’ve properly covered myself in confusion, it’s a little dark on the inside. My mind begins to drive me crazy with thoughts that I don’t want to think. I’m angry at God. I’m angry with people. I know I should wait patiently, but I don’t. I tell myself to stop it. But I can’t. I can’t control my thoughts anymore than I can control circumstances. So, I find myself waging war against myself, which leads to stress, which leads to exhaustion, which leads to depression. This actually may be the most useful place of all because in it I discover my true need for Him deep, deep down. Often, in this place, G0d gently reminds me that he still loves me. Here is where He can again tell me that I am treasured beyond what I do and do not do.

                                                                                                  The beautiful bridge in Hill Park (Trash Mountain) near our apartment

5) The PRAYING place

Usually after all the other places, I find myself in the PRAYING place. I land here not because I am ‘oh so holy’, but because I truly don’t have anywhere else to turn. I stop praying for ANSWERS and start praying with no end in mind, just me speaking my heart to my Friend, bringing Him my burdens. This place is useful for obvious reasons.

                                                                                                                 Free falling Buddha statue at the hotel in Hainan

6) The ACCEPTANCE place

This is where I get to rest in His arms and realize that He isn’t through with me yet. It’s where I see the value of the waiting and the value of all the turmoil that waiting pulls to the surface. This is NOT always the most beneficial place because it feels so good to be here, but it doesn’t always last forever! I often find myself back down in the DARK place or the CRAZY place and I tell myself the lie that if I were spiritual, then I would be in the ACCEPTANCE place. And guess where that lands me? Right back in the FAKE place.

And, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, all of a sudden, the waiting place is over and we do find the ‘bright places where boom bands are playing’; but hopefully not before G0d is finished doing his thing on the inside.

So, despite Dr. Seuss’ glorious wisdom in other matters, I think I’ve settled that this waiting place really is useful…at least that’s the way I feel about it now.

Ask me again when I’m back in the dark place 🙂

This is my daughter Jillian. She is my hero this week because she has taught me a lesson in trust, faith, and perseverance. (She is unsuccessfully trying to show you her tooth.)

If there was one word that would sum up our experience in China so far it would be “hard”. I suppose “exhausting” would be a fair assessment of living here as well. Some people ask me why it’s so hard  and I wish I could break it down into a nice hundred word or less paragraph, but I just can’t. It’s a whole bunch of stuff. Some of it is attached to our internal emotional and mental realities; some of it attached to externals. Some of the difficulty has been merely with our perception of events; some of it has been the events themselves. I have tried to process all of the tough parts of our adventure with people here in China and with people back in the States. Neither effort has produced a ton of comfort, humanly speaking. This is not necessarily a bad thing. I can only conclude that this trial is just something between me, my family, and God. That’s right, no one else is privy to all the tiny nuances of this trial and I’m beginning to accept this as something to be celebrated. My family and I and God are going to be so super tight after all of this because no one else is invited to understand on a soul level.

So, we needed a small break from the constant trial in our lives. We went on vacation over Spring Break to an amazing island off the southern coast of China. The resort we stayed at was spectacular and relatively inexpensive by American standards. It was fabulous and God knew we would need the rest to face the week ahead.

When we returned from our trip, the trial started back up immediately.

During the break, my youngest, Jillian, started complaining that her front tooth hurt and by the time we got home, the pain got a lot worse. Saturday night after we returned, she began wailing about her tooth during dinner and it was apparent that we had to take her to the dentist. I had heard stories about painful dental experiences here, so I asked our community where I could take Jillian. Most everyone referred me to an international dentist that had worked with many children and spoke English very well. I gathered all the information I needed to make an appointment and called him on Monday.

We arrived at our appointment and instead of the super friendly, awesome-with-kids dentist that Jillian was used to in the States, we met Dr. No Smile. Jillian climbed into the chair and he began to poke and tap Jillian’s infected tooth and gums in different spots as she squirmed and squealed in the chair. Every time he would poke her tender mouth he would ask “This hurt?…This hurt?” And she would let out a little moan in reply. He decided the tooth needed to be x-rayed.  After the x-ray, he bluntly stated in front of Jillian, “She has an infection. I’m going to drill a hole in the tooth. This will let out the infection. Then you have to come back Wednesday for the root canal.” “OK,” I said, my eyes getting wider as he began to set up a tiny drill. Regrouping so that Jillian didn’t see how nervous I was, I grabbed Jillian’s leg and told her, “Baby, the dentist is going to fix your tooth so it doesn’t hurt anymore, it’s going to be alright.” Jillian gave me a little pensive nod and looked up at the ceiling.

The next few minutes were painful, mainly for Jillian, but also for me. At first, he told me that the nerve in the tooth was dead and she wouldn’t be able to feel the drill. That was not true. She felt the drill and let us know about it loudly. After a few squirmy screams, pushing down as much anger as I could, I quietly suggested he give her something for the pain. The dentist reluctantly went into a drawer and pulled out the needle to administer something, which I assume was Novocaine. I let out a big sigh, grateful that he was going to numb the area before continuing, but he then tried to give her the shot without numbing the surface of her gum first.

If you’ve ever had dental work done in the states, this is not how they handle a root canal, especially with a child. First, the dentist gives you laughing gas to relax you as you listen to quiet muzak and gaze up at the puppies or kittens or whatever calming scene they have taped to the ceiling. Then he or she puts a topical cream on top of the gum so the needle isn’t so painful. Then the dentist injects enough Novocaine into your gum on every side so that you do not feel the instrument drilling into your tooth.

Laughing gas doesn’t exist in dental offices in China, “bedside manner” is not a thing here, and they really only give pain meds if you ask for them, or in Jillian’s case, scream for them.

Every time the dentist tried to poke that needle into her gum, she screamed and totally freaked out the dentist and the assistant. They couldn’t administer the Novocaine, even with me trying to hold her head still. So, he continued with the drilling, this time with only a topical numbing agent on her gum. Jillian looked at me horrified as big tears ran down the sides of her face into her ears. I cried and prayed out loud that Jesus would please help my baby. The dentist had nothing to say in the way of anything encouraging, so I just held onto her leg and told her it was going to be alright. Somehow, she got through the first part of her root canal that morning.

Afterward, the dentist shooed me out the door telling me that Jillian would have to return in two days after the swelling went down from the infection in her gums. There were no care instructions, no tips about how to brush or how to manage her pain after we left. I asked him what I should give her for the pain, and he said “nothing”. (I later found out from some more expat friends that Chinese doctors don’t approve of giving children pain medication because they believe it isn’t good for them.)

At this point in my week, I was absolutely longing to return to the states, to “make sure” my children were taken care of and that the people that were supposed to care for them were caring people. After all the enduring and persevering of living here, this event was pushing me over the edge. I felt done.

But, the absolutely mind blowing part of all of this is that my little girl went home after all that completely OK. There was no resentment toward me or the dentist. She was not traumatized in the least. In fact she even played with her dolls when we got home and never mentioned the pain. I sat her down several times over the next two days to explain that we had to go back to the dentist and that it was probably going to hurt. I also told her that if the dentist was going to give her a shot, then she had to stay very still until it was over, even if it hurt, so that it wouldn’t hurt so much when he worked on her tooth. I assured her that after her tooth was fixed, it wouldn’t hurt her anymore when she ate. Each time I talked with her, she just hugged me and replied in her tiny little voice “OK”.

On the day we went back to get her root canal, she said she was going to “do really good”. She wouldn’t look at the dentist, but instead got right into the chair and laid back. She opened her mouth and took the shot like a boss, even though I could tell it hurt and she let out a little moan while it was happening. Then the dentist performed the root canal as I watched, my face all twisted as he shoved various instruments and things into the hole in her tooth. I was definitely experiencing this right alongside her. At one point while the dentist let her sit up and rinse and spit, she looked at me and asked me, “Am I doing good?” I encouraged her and said, “Your doing amazing, baby!”

After we got home, as I was doing the dishes, I thanked God that my Jillian did so well. Then the obvious metaphor of the whole thing washed over me in a refreshing wave of truth. It occurred to me that the reason why she did so well was because she had faith. She believed me when I said the procedure was necessary. And the reason why she had faith is because she trusted me. And the reason why she trusted me was because she knows I love her. She fixed her eyes on me and she was able to persevere through the pain.

And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart. Hebrews 12:1-3

Some things don’t come easy. Let me repeat this for my own benefit. Some things don’t come easy. Everyone knows that gaining anything worth something is going to require some kind of sacrifice at some point. Some experiences are difficult for long periods of time and they make you want to run back to comfort. If I’m alive to be a blessing to God and others then sometimes that means God is going to lead me through hard things that require perseverance.

But, I have been asking God, “Is it all worth it?”

Lurking underneath that question is the real question, “What am I getting out of all this?” (Ooh. That’s ugly.)

Maybe it would benefit me to ask, “What is God getting out of all of this?”

And I believe the answer is that He is getting us.

The joy set before him was the restored relationship he would have with us. But, he also knew that on our way to heaven, we would continue to experience pain. Still, he promised to never leave us and even come live inside of us through the HS. I can only imagine that because he lives inside of us that he experiences all of that pain we feel. So, why would God do that? Because God thinks being close, just being near to us, is worth all of the pain. He is that passionately in love with us.

We are the joy set before him. Finally, I can ask myself the question that will enable me to persevere,

“Is he the joy set before me?”

Today, I want to remember that Christ sacrificed for me. Because of that I can trust him. Christ received the joy set before him after he endured the cross, he received me, and he received you. Because of that I can have faith when He tells me that there is joy on the other side of my trials. As I walk with Him and He walks with me I know that he experiences my pain, and he encourages me, gives me moments of rest, and reminds me of his love. Because of that I can persevere.

And God did answer my question of “Is it all worth it?” with this song. It is all worth it because He is worthy.

Today is an absolutely gorgeous day. The ice has melted, the sun is shining, I can see blue sky and the air quality is pretty good! It feels as if the earth is agreeing that the pain of winter may last through the night, but the joy of spring comes in the morning, thank you J3sus! I come to you with reports of some successful language learning and settling into a comfortable routine after the long Chinese New Year break. Not that I’m complaining! Here in China at the Tianjin International School, we get all the Western breaks like Christmas and Spring Break, plus the Chinese breaks like Chun Jie. Over the break, my family and I traveled to Beijing with my mother.

We saw…

The Forbidden CityJayden kept saying that the Forbidden City was where Mao lived thousands of years ago. I can see why he would be confused 😉

Tienanmen SquareJillian twirling a ribbon we bought the kids on the square. It was a beautiful day.

The Great Wall

That’s me pondering the wall.

The Changdian Temple Fair

It was incredibly busy, but so much fun.

I have been pondering perspectives. Moving to China has certainly challenged the way I look at just about everything. In the States, John Mark and I had an average family with two parents and two kids. We had an average income, and owned an average size house. Here, we have one kid too many and strangely have no grandparents living with us to help us raise our children. Our income in the States would be considered above average here, and that huge stand alone building that we call a “single family home” would be divided into several apartments here. Those things are perhaps superficial perspectives on life, but they influence the way we react to the people around us. Sometimes it’s even fun to talk with Chinese people and compare these surface life perspectives. We find it fascinating to discover that some of the stereotypes we have aren’t true while others are indeed true!

Then there are the perspectives we have about “them”, the faceless group. These are the people that live “over there” and for which we can casually make accusations and direct our disdain for certain world events. While I have been in China, these perspectives have definitely been challenged. The closer I’ve gotten to people, the more in focus “they” have become and I begin to see details I hadn’t considered before. For example, I recently had the pleasure of meeting some people from Pakistan. All of a sudden “those people” are individuals standing in front of me. Individuals with personalities, goals, and perspectives of their own. They have names, families, tell jokes, and generally like the comfort of a smile, a handshake, and the acceptance of a stranger. These people did not see the world through a violent lens or agree with the terrorist acts originating in their country. In fact, they had been hurt just as much, if not more, by the bombings in their own city, and by the things they have see with their own eyes. Funny how generalizations and opinions aren’t as important when you meet a person and spend time getting to know them and growing to love them.

No, our general perspectives cannot always be trusted. But occasionally we can’t even trust the perspective on our own experiences. My family and I visited a restaurant the other day. We were shown to a table by the host, sat down and began to look over the menu. We chose our meal and waited for the staff to notice us and come take our order, because that’s what they are supposed to do, right? After about fifteen minutes of waiting and watching the staff help other tables, we left. We concluded that the waiter didn’t want to deal with us because we are foreigners. Now, on behalf of my defense, it is common in China for certain taxi drivers to pass us up or for people to act like they don’t understand what we need just because they don’t want to mess with the foreigners. We’ve learned that when hailing a taxi, sometimes you have to open the door and jump in before they have a chance to see that you’re foreign and drive off. But, I digress. We left the restaurant in sort of a huff, feeling sorry for ourselves because we were too American and no one likes us (single tear falling slowly down my right cheek, *sniff!*)

Then, later I spoke to someone about how they treated us, and we were informed that that particular restaurant has a button at the table that you push when you want to order. Oops. We didn’t push the button, and therefore, the wait staff didn’t know we were ready to order. Perhaps we should give that restaurant another chance.

Maybe it shouldn’t, but realizing that my perspective isn’t always totally accurate has caused some of my deepest doubts to surface. Realizing that I’m not always the most reliable source of information when I have been trusting in and relying on my own understanding for years is kind of a kick in the teeth. I mean, what else have I been wrong about? Maybe my perspective on G0d isn’t even accurate. The most evil thing about that thought, as true as it may be, is that instead of just accepting that I’m the untrustworthy one, I often think of G0d as the untrustworthy one. I so often do not have a good grasp on what in the world he is doing, as if G0d’s existence and work in my life or in the world has anything to do with my knowledge about it all. Someone used to tell me, “Don’t let go of what you know in favor of what you don’t know.” But what happens if you feel like you don’t know a darn thing anymore? Will G0d still be faithful even when my faith is totally wrecked?

“As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” Isaiah 55:9

A distant friend of mine wrote an extremely honest and vulnerable blog post that opened with this verse. Her post was about how her cancer, which she thought was gone and which she had battled for years in the past, was now all over her body and was causing fluid to build up in her lungs. She has a husband and three daughters. As I read her blog I imagined her telling her daughters the news. I wept. In that moment all of the doubts that had been swimming around in my heart came right up to the surface. I felt angry for her. I was angry at G0d. That terribly painful, sickening, twisting one word question dinged in my brain over and over like a phone I couldn’t answer…“Why. Why. Why.”

I pondered Isaiah 55:9 since it wasn’t the first time G0d had brought my attention to this verse in the last several weeks. Are G0d’s ways and thoughts simply better than ours because he is holy, separate, and right? I suppose that’s true, but awfully cold in the approach. Are G0d’s ways and thoughts simply beyond our comprehension, so, just accept it? I guess that’s also true, but doesn’t leave much room for an honest and open exchange with a loving Creator.

Maybe this verse has to do with perspectives. As a speaker said at our women’s retreat last weekend “G0d is, He was, and He will be.” She spoke about how even before she knew him and acknowledged him, even in her most painful moments of life when she felt most alone, she could look back and now see that “G0d was” there and that “G0d was” working. This perspective on her past enabled her to look at her present circumstances and see that “G0d is”, and this in turn gave her a better perspective that “G0d will be”.

But, when I went to read the entire passage of Isaiah 55, I saw that the entire chapter is not just about the L0rd’s perspective, but also his purposes. Understanding that his purpose is to save and redeem and that it is his purpose to invite all who are thirsty and hungry to come to him for refreshment helps me to see that his perspective, no matter what the situation, is a perspective of love. He wants to freely pardon any wrongdoing because his thoughts and ways are higher than ours. They are a perspective of perfect love, the highest, most keen perspective that exists.

I pray that my perspectives about the people around me, the people across an ocean, the people on the news, the people who hurt me, the people who hurt others, the people in my past, and the people in my present will be transformed by his perfect perspective of love.

My husband took this video of the people at the Changdian Temple Fair in Beijing during the Chun Jie holiday. I love how slowing the movement down causes me to see each and every face, which causes me to see the crowd as individual people. I imagine that is the way J3sus looked out over the crowds he taught and loved them.

When I was in high school I took an art class where we had to design and construct pieces of pop art sculpture using papier mache. The first step when constructing a huge piece of papier mache pop art is making a form that bears the very basic shape of what the finished product will look like. The original form has a definite shape and is relatively simple and straightforward to construct, although it’s not incredibly handsome. But then, the artist applies layer upon layer upon layer of goopy newspaper one small strip at a time, allowing each layer time to harden in between. The process is some what tedious and for a certain amount of time the definite shape and purpose of the original form is obscured. In the end, the finished sculpture only vaguely resembles the original form. The finished product, however, is complete, whole, recognizable, and enjoyable.

A friend here in China recently told me that she feels like layers of understanding are added to her everyday. She felt that she wouldn’t be able to handle it if all of the information was given to her at once. Sometimes she adds to other people’s layers of understanding and sometimes people add to her layers of understanding. I know exactly what she means. Each time I go to complete a simple task or encounter a routine necessity, I add a little more to my knowledge of how things work here and I become a little more empowered to live here. Each time a group of us get together, we discuss things like where to buy cheese, where to get our hair cut, which restaurants have amazing food, and which shop owners are tolerant of foreigners. We all add to each others layers.

I found out that it’s difficult for me stay still while others put me through this papier mache process. I like the current, definite shape of my American form. And most American forms don’t like to be acted upon. I shape my own destiny, form my own opinions, and am master of my own growth. Unfortunately that just doesn’t work here. I just don’t have the ability to add to my own layers and it is a slow, tedious process. Right now I look like a large, goopy mess.

While others are adding to my outside, I feel that God is striping away layers from my inside. I’ve already spoken to how the pride bucket gets tipped everyday. I feeling pretty empty of self reliance most of the time. I’ve embarrassed myself so much by saying the wrong things in Chinese and acting the wrong ways. I pretty much expect it to happen everyday now. It’s so easy to get discouraged. I want to “get better” at living here, but for the wrong reasons. I want people to think I’m successful and win them over with my knowledge. But this morning I read this:

“Now I want you to know, brothers, that what has happened to me has really served to advance the gospel. As a result, it has become clear throughout the whole palace and to everyone else that I am in chains for Christ. Because of my chains, most of the brothers in the Lord have been encouraged to speak the word of God more courageously and fearlessly.” Philippians 1:12-14

Paul was convinced that what was subtracted from him was added to the kingdom. I can pridefully overcome every obstacle and give no glory to God at all. Or, I can allow my “failures” to point to his grace and power in my life and take none of the credit. The purpose is that I get out of the way and He shines through. Not that I’m quitting my Chinese lessons or hiding in my apartment, but that I’m free of the need to perform and accomplish before men. I can take whatever comes my way one thing at a time. I can know that what happens to me is being filtered through his love and his purpose. In other words, even falling on my face and getting back up again is meant for His glory.

The other morning I had another one of those “what am I doing here” crises. This time it was so intense that I just sat in the chair and cried. Sorry if that’s discouraging to any of you out there, but I can say with confidence that it is a gift of insight to actually realize how poor I am before my Creator. It is a gift to see how awesomely gracious He really is to meet me in that poverty of spirit. And, He did meet me there in my poverty and revealed to me a small glimpse of His love. Did I see the reason for things or what He is working out? No, but it stopped mattering to me that morning in that moment. Everything he does is from love, of love, in love, and through love. Just seeing that simple reality changed my perception of doing anything. The speaker at fellowship said one Sunday that worship is “anything we do with the motivation to love God”. How wonderfully and perfectly simple. When love is in it, and it’s true love coming down as a gift from the Father, His heart goes out into the world and people are changed. The actual act does not matter because it was just the vehicle through which He gave his love. That is why it is so imperative to remain in His love as Jesus instructed. I want that to be my solitary aim no matter where in the world He places me; no matter if I am doing dishes and laundry for my family, or if I am making mistakes in public, or if I am helping the least of these to know Him better.

One day, when He is finished making me into the masterpiece He intends, I will feel the weight of the original form removed from the beautiful sculpture and feel that the actual weight of the piece was incredibly light all along. It will be me, but with his finger prints irrevocably indented into each and every strip of hardened paper. And I will understand. Until then, His love is enough and will forever continue to be enough for us all.

“And this is my payer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ – to the glory and praise of God.” Philippians 1:9-11