Rainy Season

     Dark clouds loomed over our heads, have been looming overhead for days. It's rainy season, nothing new. The air is thick and humid, often oppressive until the water is released from the sky, leaving a gentle chill in its aftermath.

     But dark clouds do not deter, and we press forward to the people we love.

     We walk through the dirt, the garbage, the "other word" I really want to use because it is the best way to describe the ground beneath my feet. They join us. The find our hands and call out welcomes. They smile and walk beside us, joining a merry caravan of brown and white skin.

      If I look with human eyes, I see nothing but tragedy.

      I walk beside a coffin, the same coffin with the same body there last week, still unmoved because the family will not pay for the burial. The sisters chant in deep and pain filled voices for God to save her soul, not realizing her soul's fate has already been decided. She knew the truth, this we are certain. What she did with that truth, I don't know. But I hug the smiling face of her daughter, and we continue to walk.

     I see the baby girl with hydrocephalus, the one who still has not been to the doctor. The one who, unless there is a miracle, will die.

    I look at the little girl too afraid to get close, and I beckon her to come, but she won't. She is afraid.

    My heart reflects to my other country, the pain of a night with friends and family gone terribly wrong. A community shaken, a country rocked, and we think and ask God why.

    And I look around and see the disease, the neglect, the poverty, the pain, and ask God why. Where is He? How is this fair?

     Then I look inside, my own garbage coating my heart from the numerous falls and failures. And I look into His gentle eyes as He offers to cleanse, and I shake my head "No". Because the dirt is comfortable, and I have to admit my failures to be washed. I am too good for this grace. Send it to someone who will wear it well, because I can do nothing but soil it over and over.

     We make our way into a small home with a man stretched on a bed, death at the door, darkness within. And we pray. Life is spoken, grace offered and received. Family and friends watch as another candle in a dark world is lit and begins to burn.

      We leave the little home, adding more. Little hands are holding mine. Two little girls, not letting go.

       The clouds are darker and the rain is coming. We must hurry, but we must stop and watch.

       This man should have died a year ago, but he is healed.

       This woman should have died, but she is healed. She has a baby, a miracle child. life coming where death should have won.

       This baby, my sweet baby, healing. United with the family who loves her, she is a completely different child.

        And He is here. He reveals himself when I look through His eyes.

        We make our way back to the basketball court where the little ones have gathered. The rain begins to fall... little droplets, and they crowd under umbrellas.

         The rain falls harder, and my body is wet. Soaked, in a cold shower.

         And they sing...

         Their voices drowning the sound of wind and rain. They cry out, little hearts understanding truth and dancing to the beat. The water falls steadily, cleansing, washing away the dirt from our bodies.

         And we play in the rain.

         In this culture, it is believed that being out in the rain will make you seriously ill. They don't play in the rain.

         But they did. They splashed and ran and jumped and laughed.

         Freedom.
   
         Dry bones absorbing the moisture and coming to life. The beauty of sweet freedom, of joy.

         I think He watched in that moment, splashing and singing beside us, rejoicing in the healing He brings.

         And I, the girl who spent the first 22 years of life under blankets and hidden from the storms, open my arms wide, and I embrace the little girl who came running toward me... the little girl I had been looking for all day.

         There is a reason rain comes more than once, to continually cleanse. And grace comes hourly, by the moment as times, to constantly pour healing.

          So I open my hands and allow the cleansing to begin.

          And I rejoice... for the time of cleansing is coming, and these dry bones will walk.

          Rain is a season... a season to welcome life.

          And all things are made new.

         The rain stopped when we left, and I can't help but think there was a purpose to the timing. There is something coming for these people. I believe it.

         And after the rain will come the harvest.

     

And One Day They Will Be Queens

     It began with a hand, her little hand grabbing mine. They were walking in the opposite direction when they saw us, she and her little sister, another little friend and his brother.

     She saw and she grabbed my hand, and they joined our little band of merry women as we walked the paths they take every day. And she didn't let go... except when I let go to hug the grandmother I haven't seen in a long time, the baby with the swollen head full of water, the little girl I have been looking for and finally found.

     But she waited, patiently, for me to return. And she grabbed my hand again and didn't let go.

     The hand soon turned into an arm around my waist, and then two. And the little arms became a hug, and she opened them to welcome others.

     But she didn't leave my side, and to be honest, I didn't want to leave hers.

     From hand to hug to shared giggle to hearts that mutually speak please don't let me go.

     And I saw her... another little girl. A familiar face I have a picture of from two years ago. I don't know if she remembers me, but I have carried that face in my heart. I met the little sisters she leads by the hand. An unsure and uncomfortable hug goodbye. I have missed her, and now there is a name to attach to the face.

     Still this other one. One little girl I have known for years. She will call my name and say "Hello", but she won't come near. Her smiles hold a world of secrets and I wonder what her life is like when all is silent and we are gone.

      The dreams I have for the little girls in this area, really, they are because of her.

       And there are still more... big sisters with the weight of the world on their shoulders, the hugs I won't dare let go before they do. And we smile and whisper blessings and prayers because they have value.

        Their world says they have nothing, but He sees them and they are valuable and precious and cherished.

         Sweet little princesses, your King delights in you. How do I help you know?

Trust, Love, and Letting Go

I don't get to keep her.

At some point, the little girl who has captured my heart will be taken away... either to return home to parents or home to Jesus, depending on how well her body can fight this disease.

How do you love someone, knowing she will eventually leave?

One day at a time. One moment at a time.

If I hold back and build walls, then I am not doing what He has called.

He has called to love, to delight, to bless.

And really, those bright eyes and quick smile make it very easy to love.

We went to the beach the other day. I wanted her to feel the sand, to feel the water, to feel something.

I think I had this mental image of her holding my hand and walking on the beach, feeling the sand between her toes. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, dolphins were jumping out of the water...

But really, I should have known better because my little princess does not like dirt.

Instead, she held me the entire time, perfectly content to experience the waves from the safety of my arms.

We sat on the shore, feeling the cool breeze as it flowed over the ocean. The cloudy sky provided a calm, and we watched the other kids splash in the water.

She never smiled or laughed. She simply gazed at the ocean as if trying to process everything around her.

And as I held her, she drew nearer to me, her heart learning to trust mine... to trust that I am not letting her go, I am meeting her needs, I am safe, I am not going to toss her in the ocean and run away.

Once again, He draws a parallel and opens my eyes.

Trust me.

Because I feel like my baby girl. I am staring at a crashing ocean, very unsure, surrounded by the unfamiliar. And He has dreams for me of dancing and playing in the water.

But really, I am not ready. I just want to be held. And I hold tight and don't let go.

Gently, ever so gently, he whispers that it's ok, and He continues to whisper His dreams, His love.

Eventually, I will be able to let go of His neck and hold His hand. My trust is growing. And even though  I am staring at an ocean of uncertainty, He holds and He doesn't let go, and He never pushes, unless He knows it's time.

So I have to trust that He knows what He is doing with the baby in my arms. He will not rip her away from me. He will not toss me into a raging ocean.

He will prepare. He will be gentle.

I treat every minute with her as a gift. I pray over her, speak blessing, and I remind her she is loved.

I want to plan and my heart wants to assess the situation, but if I do that, then I will miss out on the joy of this little girl in this moment.

It will be painful. Giving away your heart is never easy, and there is a reason why I sing praise is a sacrifice.

But it is worth it. I look into her eyes, and I know she is worth it.

And I breathe deep, relaxing in His arms and I know, He is worth it. 

Soon

I stood around a kitchen counter tonight with some of my dearest friends, and I thought of you.

One father absent.

Two fathers dead.

One father emotionally absent, too absorbed in his own problems to understand.

And I though of you.

Maybe it's true that absence makes the heart grow fonder. But what I am finding is that the longer I am away, the more I am grateful, the more I realize just how much I owe you.

Because you didn't have to stay.

But you did.

You didn't have to love.

But you did.

You didn't have to come to every dance recital, quiz bowl competition, family game night, breakfast time, church service, random performance...

But you did.

You didn't have to say yes when He called me to the other side of the world.

But you did.

And I can never say thank you enough.

I believe that God is a good Dad... because you are a good dad.

I believe that God is someone I can trust... because you have never broken my trust.

I believe that I have value... because you showed me my value.

I believe that to be a leader, I must be a servant... because you lead by serving.

I believe that every human being has worth and dignity... because you demonstrate that for me every day.

I have high standards... because you have laid a foundation and shown me a love worth waiting for.

I speak blessing over my little ones... because you have spoken blessing over me.

You love me. I have never doubted that once in my life.

I have never been afraid of you.

I respect you more and more with each day.

And soon, very soon Daddy, I will get to show you the places my feet walk every day. I will show you my home. I will introduce you to my little ones, my favorite places in the world.

And it's all because of you. Because You have demonstrated a complete trust in Jesus that has given me the freedom to follow Him with all of my heart.

And soon, very soon, you will be getting the biggest hug I can possibly give.

I love you sir. My hero, my heart. And I can't wait to hear your laugh...

Soon!

Every Breath is a Second Chance

Breathe.... just keep breathing.

I pray, I whisper to the baby girl who has captured my heart in the past 6 days.

The baby I had to leave behind while I go to school.

And I go through the motions and try to stay alert, but I keep whispering "Breathe, please".

Because her little body has been overtaken by parasites, and we don't know if she is strong enough to get them out.

Her little heart beats, and she keeps breathing, but it is hard. So hard.

But she continues to smile and laugh and talk in her little baby babble.

She communicates with me, pointing to what she wants, holding out her arms when she wants to be held.

I didn't mean to fall in love.

No really, I didn't.

But what could I do? How do I resist those little curls, big brown eyes, and those sweet little fingers.

I want her to hold on. Wait, don't go. Not yet.

Wait, my sister is coming. She wants to meet you. Just a few more weeks.

Wait, you have to grow up. Make it to another birthday, and then another.

Wait, I want to hold you. I want to play. I want to hear you speak again. I want to see that smile.

Please, Jesus.

I lay hands and I speak life and blessing.

I do "Happy Thoughts" as I have done over my other babies.

And I pray, and I wait, and I trust that He is bigger.

He is stronger.

He wouldn't give me anything that He will not hold me through.

Breathe, baby girl. Just keep breathing. Please. 

She Dreams With Me

I was in seventh grade. Still the new girl at the new school. Still very uncertain, and still very unsure. While so much was a struggle for my awkward self... braces, hairstyling, and these terrible green overalls I loved for some reason... there was one thing I knew for certain:

I wanted to be a cheerleader...just like my older cousins I grew up admiring and wanting to follow in their footsteps. Just like the cousins my own age, the ones who were beautiful and all the boys loved.

And I worked hard, and I practiced, and I did everything right... everything I could.

I still remember when the list was posted. I was sitting in my seventh grade English class, and butterflies had been cycling their way through my system. The list would be posted at lunch, and I would know.

But I actually didn't have to wait until lunch. My friend in class... someone signaled to her from the door that she made it. And she began to jump up and down, squealing in excitement. I don't remember if I found out then, or if I found out when I walked to the lunchroom. I just remember seeing the list posted on the door, scanning the names, looking for mine.

It wasn't there.

The year before, I had tried out and made alternate.

This year... nothing.

And my twelve year old heart was broken.

I tried, but I couldn't make it through lunch. The butterflies in my stomach transformed themselves into a wave of nausea.

So I ran, as fast as I could to the office, to call the one person I knew could help me... my Mom.

There may have been a rule against calling parents, but the secretary had mercy on me, and she let me call her.

And thankfully, she answered.

"Mom," I whispered into the phone, trying to choke back tears... "I didn't make it".

I'll never forget what she said next.

"Do you want me to come get you?"

She was working that day, teaching. But she knew I was in pain, and she dropped everything to come and rescue me.

She picked me up from school and took me to my favorite restaurant where we had lunch and talked.

I'll also never forget what else she told me... That sometimes God has different plans for us that we can't see, but in His perfect will, He allows His beautiful plan to unfold in its own time.

The next year, when I tried out for cheerleading in high school and made it, she was the first person I found, rejoicing with me that a dream had finally come true.

                                 __________________________________________
I love that story because to me, it describes my mom perfectly.

In a moment of heartache, she was there to rescue, to hold me, to listen to me, to love me. She had work to do and could have just told me to hold on until school was over. But she didn't. She was there.

And that is my mom... she is present. She encourages me. She protects me.

One of the things I love most about her is that she doesn't dream for me. She dreams with me.

Pageants, cheerleading, dance recitals, quiz bowl, college, mission trips, moving to the other side of the world... even if my dreams meant a sacrifice for her, whether it be time, money, or a loss of presence.

She dreams with me, and when those dreams come true, she rejoices with me... sometimes louder than me.

She is my best friend, my heart. Talking to her always makes me feel better, and as cliche as it sounds, the older I get, the more I need her. She is the most beautiful woman I know, with a beauty that doesn't come from a bottle but instead comes from a heart that willingly pours into others.

In less than two months (Lord willing), I will have the chance to show her my dreams come true, introduce her to my babies, walk with her to my favorite places in the world. And we will dream together.

She has never asked for anything in return for her sacrifice. She has never made demands.

Instead, she loves. And I love her more every day. 

If Anything but Death Should Separate...

 I want to be her. 

     At 8:05 pm last night, Vicente went to be with Jesus. it was a struggle... a week long struggle as his body prepared to breath its last.... months of fighting kidney disease. Over. The pain is gone. The ache is over. He is free now and more alive than he has ever been. 

     We prayed for healing and for miracles. But I am learning that sometimes the miracle looks different than my human eyes can understand. Today... the miracle was that my Kuya had a good 2 months with his family, lived longer than expected, and died surrounded by those who love him. What was God teaching us out of this? At this moment, I really don't know. 

     I don't feel anything, except sorrow for her. Dolly, his wife of 20 years, the mother of his 5 children. If I ever have the blessing of being a wife to someone, I want to be like her. From the day he arrived at our doorstep, she was right by his side, and she never left. In this past week, she rarely left her position by his bed. Even when she was obviously exhausted. Even when he became more and more difficult. She never complained. She just served. 

     To have and to hold, for better or for worse, sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live. 

     She is my example of vows lived and breathed with conviction, with love, with mercy, with grace, with tenderness. Vows taken seriously. She could have just given him to us to take care of, walked away, and left him to begin a new life. But she didn't. She stayed through every difficult moment, every struggle, every fight. 

     Last night, as he was laying in bed, struggling to breathe, I watched as she sat beside him, took his hand in her own, and held it close to her cheek. She watched him, memorizing every part of his face. Holding on as long as she could. Her eyes were swollen, but tears didn't fall. They would fall later. Right now, in that moment, she only had a heart and mind for him, and she leaned down to kiss his forehead. I hope that picture never leaves my mind or my heart. 

     Even this morning as we waited for the funeral home to collect his body, she would walk by and touch his hair, his face. She is a beautiful example of grace. You know those people who just have that kind of presence... you just want to be near them because their spirit quiets your own? In their presence, you can relax... that is my Dolly. Her gentleness serves. It invites others to rest. I just want to sit beside her and be close to her.

     And as he died, he wanted her. Even in death, he only had eyes for her. She loved him until death, and, I can safely assume, will love him until she follows him home. 

     She has five children... Dave, Divine Grace, Diza, Dexter, and Dizon. She has to figure out life without him by her side. She has to figure out how to be two parents now. She is not alone... her heart belongs to the God who made her. But pray for her, remember her. 

     And may I love like that... with everything I have, asking nothing in return simply because I promised to. She chose love, and she honored her commitment until the end.