It was 3 am when we finally locked eyes. She touched my face... really more like hit it the way babies do, and rolled over and went back to sleep.
"Come and hear all you who fear God; let me tell you what He has done for me..." (Psalm 66:16)
I remember being at church camp the summer after I graduated, and during small group time, a dear friend shared about a song she had sung the day before in the talent show. That song spoke to her even as she was singing it, because it was like God was showing her who she would be in the future. For some reason, I've never forgotten that.
Maybe because now, as I read through Psalm 66, clinging to it like a lifeline, I feel like the future me is speaking to the present me. I want to share how God has answered all my prayers and relieved my burdens. I want to tell you the people I love are whole and restored.
But right now, I am angry. God, I am so angry. I am angry because my new little brother is fighting for his life against a disease I don't understand.
I am angry because his doctors treat him like a squatter child, and they treat me like a stupid idiot. "Ma'am, street children usually come from dysfunctional families and have a history of substance abuse". Really? Well, no-duh Sherlock. It took every ounce of grace I had to keep from ripping her Tiffany &Co. necklace off her throat.
I am angry because they scared him when they had to take him aside for "counseling". And really, what in the world does school attendance have to do with the fact that he is possibly going to die?
I am angry because the little girl sleeping in my bed is broken, so very broken. Because someone decided she was not worth protecting and would serve a better purpose used. Her eyes are like those of the women I encountered in the RLDs. Dead, barricaded, trying to survive by shear force of will.
She has been through hell.
And my heart breaks for her... because no one spoke for her. Her siblings were too afraid to be her voice. In the rush of politics and that ridiculous sin called pride, she has been forgotten.
There are other little ones here, other broken hearts, other stories, but these two are the heaviest on my heart. They are the two I must give more attention. I must be a big sister to my little brother, reminding him that he will not walk through this alone. He can trust me. And ultimately, He can trust Jesus. And then I step into role of protector, temporary mamma, for my new baby girl who is now (finally) sleeping in the crib beside my bed.
Elisabeth Elliot once said that she never wrote about emotions, but only about what she knew.
This is what I know:
1. Jesus wept, and Jesus was angry because of sin... because things were not as they were intended to be. I am allowed to be angry at the sin. I am allowed to be broken and weep because of it.
2. I know that weeping lasts for the night, but joy comes in the morning.
3. I know that He is mighty to save. He will quiet me with his love and rejoice over me with singing.
4. I know that my struggle is not against flesh and blood, and there is an Enemy who would love to see us destroyed.
5. I know that by His stripes, we are healed.
6. I know that even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil because He is with me.
7. I know that He is victorious and will not be robbed of His glory.
8. I know He has a plan in this. There is a purpose, even if I can't see it.
9. I know that His grace is sufficient.
10. I know that He is my portion and my cup.
11. I know that He is El-Roi... the God who sees me.
12. I know that He is strong, and He is loving.
13. I know that I will be able to declare His goodness, His faithfulness, testify to His healing, and sing of His grace. I will one day shaw with You what He does for my little ones.
14. I also know that my kids are pretty darn cute.
When I am afraid. When I am unsure. When I need faith. When I need grace. I declare His character and His truth. I replace lies with certainty.
Believing in a big God.
"Come and hear all you who fear God; let me tell you what He has done for me..." (Psalm 66:16)
I remember being at church camp the summer after I graduated, and during small group time, a dear friend shared about a song she had sung the day before in the talent show. That song spoke to her even as she was singing it, because it was like God was showing her who she would be in the future. For some reason, I've never forgotten that.
Maybe because now, as I read through Psalm 66, clinging to it like a lifeline, I feel like the future me is speaking to the present me. I want to share how God has answered all my prayers and relieved my burdens. I want to tell you the people I love are whole and restored.
But right now, I am angry. God, I am so angry. I am angry because my new little brother is fighting for his life against a disease I don't understand.
I am angry because his doctors treat him like a squatter child, and they treat me like a stupid idiot. "Ma'am, street children usually come from dysfunctional families and have a history of substance abuse". Really? Well, no-duh Sherlock. It took every ounce of grace I had to keep from ripping her Tiffany &Co. necklace off her throat.
I am angry because they scared him when they had to take him aside for "counseling". And really, what in the world does school attendance have to do with the fact that he is possibly going to die?
I am angry because the little girl sleeping in my bed is broken, so very broken. Because someone decided she was not worth protecting and would serve a better purpose used. Her eyes are like those of the women I encountered in the RLDs. Dead, barricaded, trying to survive by shear force of will.
She has been through hell.
And my heart breaks for her... because no one spoke for her. Her siblings were too afraid to be her voice. In the rush of politics and that ridiculous sin called pride, she has been forgotten.
There are other little ones here, other broken hearts, other stories, but these two are the heaviest on my heart. They are the two I must give more attention. I must be a big sister to my little brother, reminding him that he will not walk through this alone. He can trust me. And ultimately, He can trust Jesus. And then I step into role of protector, temporary mamma, for my new baby girl who is now (finally) sleeping in the crib beside my bed.
Elisabeth Elliot once said that she never wrote about emotions, but only about what she knew.
This is what I know:
1. Jesus wept, and Jesus was angry because of sin... because things were not as they were intended to be. I am allowed to be angry at the sin. I am allowed to be broken and weep because of it.
2. I know that weeping lasts for the night, but joy comes in the morning.
3. I know that He is mighty to save. He will quiet me with his love and rejoice over me with singing.
4. I know that my struggle is not against flesh and blood, and there is an Enemy who would love to see us destroyed.
5. I know that by His stripes, we are healed.
6. I know that even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil because He is with me.
7. I know that He is victorious and will not be robbed of His glory.
8. I know He has a plan in this. There is a purpose, even if I can't see it.
9. I know that His grace is sufficient.
10. I know that He is my portion and my cup.
11. I know that He is El-Roi... the God who sees me.
12. I know that He is strong, and He is loving.
13. I know that I will be able to declare His goodness, His faithfulness, testify to His healing, and sing of His grace. I will one day shaw with You what He does for my little ones.
14. I also know that my kids are pretty darn cute.
When I am afraid. When I am unsure. When I need faith. When I need grace. I declare His character and His truth. I replace lies with certainty.
Believing in a big God.
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