Emissaries of Love

Today Scott and I are getting the opportunity to show the love of Christ in a very tangible way.

Life is full of pain. Misery. Darkness. People walk about with huge scars and gaping wounds.

And we're taught to say, "How are you?" in such a flippant and casual way. There's no way to answer but "fine," "good," "I'm hanging in there." We smile. We nod. We go on with our lives.

And I stand, looking at this world, a part of this world, and I have the answer. I know the hope. I have obtained the love. I have found the sunshine. I have unfading joy.

And I'm going to keep interacting with people as though they are "fine"?

You don't want "fine." You want abounding joy, unparalleled happiness, deepening passion, unconditional love.

And I have that.

May I share it today...

God's love has been poured into our hearts. God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. For those who love God all things work together for good, and there is not anything else in all creation, that will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Because of this we pray that the world may know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that all  may be filled with all the fullness of God.*

*(Summary of Romans "love" and Ephesians "love.")

Hopeful Friday #6

So many hoops to jump through... Hello, adoption!

Waiting, Nesting, and Glass Bottles

Well, dear reader, it's time for an adoption update.


Here's where we are in the adoption process... Everything we need to do is done. Everything that we can do is done. Our profile is written, our bio-clip is on the adoption website, and we are settling in for a nice, long wait for our baby.

The online bio. I did not write it, although it sounds like I did. I was surprised to hear I liked camping...

I tell myself that it's going to be a long time, but that doesn't keep me from jumping every time the phone rings, and for the life of me, I can't stop leaking tears when I walk by the baby section at Target. I don't wear water-proof mascara, so seeing baby clothes is very inconvenient.

We were told in our 8-hour "counseling" seminar, that it was probably not wise to outfit an entire nursery and start collecting massive amounts of baby clothes. Couples who have almost adopted, and the birth mom decides to keep her child, have described the emotions as "grieving a death." Having a fully equipped, yet empty nursery, could only be salt added to that wound. Plus, God may still decide that Scott and I are not supposed to be parents.

So, for now, I have only bought the bare essentials: three onesies, some receiving blankets (with elephants on them, of course!), a crib, a car seat, and some glass bottles. (I bought glass bottles because they were cheapest, and I figured all my hippie friends would be proud of my seeming attempt to protect my child from plastic-bottle-induced cancer.) I also bought a Dr. Brown's bottle. I want my baby to be reflux-free, and as a speech therapist, in an office full of speech therapists, I've heard every infant feeding horror story known to man, and I'm prepared for massive episodes of baby reflux. I also attempted gender-neutral, but you can see my natural affinity for blue (over pink) coming out... I'm afraid even a Baby Girl Allison will be dressed in decidedly unfrilly, unpinky creations, as her mother has an intense aversion to pink lace...

"Cedric the Unnecessary" waiting for Baby Allison.

The bare essentials. The onesies say "loved." How perfect is that!?!

So, the essentials being purchased and arranged, I am now in the process of looking for "safe" nesting activities. This involves starting and stopping multiple projects (for example, an oil painting that is worked on in bursts and fits, and is probably giving my husband bursts and fits, as his dining room table is frequently converted into an art studio).

I've purged all the cabinets in my kitchen. Please note this beautiful spice cabinet. My spice cabinet has never looked like this. I'm a "free spirit" everywhere (which is just another way of saying I leave things all over the place), and this is especially evident in the kitchen where chaos is king. I like to cook without recipes, and I throw spices around like I'm juggling. As a result, my cabinets usually reflect this haphazard philosophy. But I'm turning over a new leaf. I have a sneaking suspicion that I haven't gotten a baby yet because my spice cabinet wasn't clean. Moms always have clean cabinets. At least mine does...

I also color coded "my" book shelf. Scott and I have a total of four bookshelves in our house. Scott has two from his bachelor days which are filled with commentaries and dry books on eschatology and the role of _fill in the blank_ in the church. I have one that is staggered, and eclectic, and made by my dad, which I inherited when my brother left. There is also a seven foot, oak beauty is supposedly "ours," but Scott dogmatically arranges the books by author, alphabetically, and he steadfastly refuses to let me organize it as I want: by color. So, I decided that I would organize "my" book shelf in this new fashion. The results are not as striking as they would be on the big bookshelf (which I will conquer one of these days!), but I was delighted with the results of this nesting project.

So, I drift from oil painting to cleaning projects, to taking up new hobbies. I finally ordered photo prints for my picture frames, and I've decided to tackle the linen closet next.

I want to experience the anticipation, the urges to clean, the nesting, the baby showers, the excited questions from people, but I can't. This story is a little different. And I am okay with that. I can't talk about my pregnancy, and no one really wants to hear about the throes of paperwork drama I experienced. I flit between excited expectation, and a convincing certainty that we will never get a baby. I get impulses to clip coupons for formula, and then remind myself our child may already be 2 years old. The lack of certainty could be frustrating, but it serves rather as a reminder that all of life is uncertain. Even if I were carrying a baby, the uncertainty would still be there. Even if I were already parenting there would be uncertainty.

And I refuse to wallow in uncertainty. I have a God who delights in spreading His fame. I cannot but help to believe that our story is but a small, glorious snippet in the grand story He is writing across eternity. I wonder what our story will look like, while I also delight that our story is not the end.

So,  I tie my hair back, pull out my Clorox, and scrub another surface, blissfully content that God will work it all out.

If nothing else, my house will be clean.

Hopeful Friday #5

My inner-writer, fairy tale whimsy absolutely loves this.

God is writing a beautiful story... with unfathomable love.

Human beings have fallen in love with the echo of God's excellency in creation and lost the ability to hear the incomparable original shout of  

love.

(John Piper, "The Pleasures of God")

So, we were prepping for our Sunday School lesson.

Scott and I are Sunday school veterans (I think we have a combined number of 25+ years serving with kids), but this summer has stretched us beyond our comfort zones. It has tested the bounds of our teaching abilities. It has demanded that we scale unseen, unknown heights, and press through Sunday school struggles hitherto unknown to us.

We're teaching preschoolers.

It sounds easy enough. Especially if you love kids. (And we do.) Especially if you have a world of teaching experience. (We like to think we do.) And especially if you have a very clear, cut philosophy of children's ministry (and that's a soapbox we practically live on).

However, preschoolers challenge all of the above.

I don't know what to do with them... They need to go to the bathroom all the time. It's impossible to have a snack time without someone drowning all of their goldfish in their cup of water. And your story must be 7 minutes long (max) with pictures, actions, and silly voices.

I teach 4 and 5 year olds.

Scott teaches 3 year olds.

(I know. I lucked out.)

So, this past week, we were discussing the upcoming story: Rahab hiding the two spies.

I'm chatting about how we're going to role play the story, how our craft should be a verse on a braided red rope (just like the sign that Rahab lowered down to save her family), and how we would talk about how God protected both Rahab and the spies.

I turn to Scott, "Honey, what are you going to do with your three year olds?"

He pauses for a moment and then says, "I think I'll explain the terms 'brothel' and 'prostitute.' I think they need to know that it was a clever move for the spies to go to Rahab's, because the city would have been used to seeing strange men go into her house."*

Moral of the story: review your child's Sunday school lesson with them. You never know what they might be learning...



*NOTE: The 3 year old class did not learn about brothels, prostitutes, and strange men. They were just informed of the story's basics. My husband is a good teacher. Promise.

A Safe Gospel

We're in the middle of a backlash.

Young teenagers. Twenty-somethings. Career thirties. We are experiencing a pendulum swing of terrifying proportions and ramifications.

50 years ago, American Christianity looked different. We were a culture of church. We attended church. We pray at church. Our parties were at church. We tell others to go to church. We invite people to church. And every Sunday, we pulled on our pantyhose or dress pants, and polished our patent leathers. And we went to church. We sat in the pews and we heard the story of the gospel. Then we got up and shouted to the world, "Believe the gospel! Believe the gospel! Believe the gospel!"

We didn't go to the world. That would have been messy. God forbid our patent leathers get scuffed and we encounter someone who (gasp!) had committed adultery, was homeless, had an addiction, struggled with homosexuality. We didn't do that. Church was clean. Tidy. Presentable people only. So, while we acknowledged that the world was full of sin, and we recognized that the Gospel was the answer, we didn't take it anywhere. We stayed at church.*

We stayed clean.

In our bubbles.

Shouting at the world.

And my generation has seen this.

Looking at what can easily be perceived as "angry" Christianity--a Gospel filled with words (without actions), we are horrified at this callous approach to the world. We want to provide feet to the Gospel. We want to impact our world with the love of Christ.

And so, we've seen a rise in "social justice." Young people give up careers to dig wells in Africa. There are missions trips of orphanages. Sponsoring nights at homeless shelters. Raising awareness of diseases. Working with addictions and those struggling to survive.

But no words.

We reach out. We embrace a world. We give love. And then we sit back and hope that the love, on its own two feet, propels them to the Gospel. We dig wells, but we don't talk of living water. We counsel addicts, but don't discuss the One who satisfies all cravings. We minister to orphans, but neglect to mention the Great Abba-Father.

We, as a church, battle between the two ditches of Ephesians 4:15, "Speaking the truth in love." We speak truth. We love. But how often do they go hand in hand?

Our Gospel continues in narrow safety. If we shout truth from our pews--we will never get dirty. We will never get hurt. If we provide new wells--we are lauded for our philanthropy, without fear of judgment for our beliefs.

My generation is full of benevolent benefactors. Well-diggers. We will provide vaccinations, but we won't speak out about homosexuality. We cuddle orphans in Africa, but we don't fight for the unborn in America. We will crusade, but only for socially-approved messages. 

We speak of love, but practice its opposite when we neglect to share the great love that Christ has lavished. We are lashing out against the sterile Christianity of the previous years. Good. But is our philanthropy any less sterile? There is nothing dangerous about advocating for a truth that the world also holds to be true.

Dangerous Christianity is passionately pursuing the truth and the love. The world will not understand your truth, and your love may not look conventional.

We should get dirty. Dirty in the fields digging that well, and dirty in the battle for souls.

This is not a sterile belief. We do not hold a safe Gospel.

We have been given a dangerous, dirty, surprising commission.

What are you doing with it?

*I am aware that there are, and have been, and, God willing, will continue to be, men and women who have stood against the cultural mold of Christianity and have lived dangerously, adventurously, and bravely for the sake of the Gospel. When one writes of a cultural swing, one is always in danger of ignoring the powerful, Gospel-centered lives of those who live boldly regardless of their generation. This post is not for them. It is for the rest of us.

Hopeful Friday #4

My heart is full of prayers for the biological mommy of our future baby.

Sacrificial love is amazing, and only present because of our Savior's love.

So much grace.