Palm Sunday Christian

"As Jesus rode along, they spread their cloaks on the road...the whole mulititude of disciples began to rejoice and praise God with a loud voice for all the mighty works that they had seen, saying, 'Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!'" (Luke 19:36-38)


It is easy to praise him when things go well. I'm pretty good at that. But I'm finding out that I don't do so well during times of adversity, that somehow I feel entitled to certain things. I don't like my perfect little life disrupted by illness or inconvenience or anything that interrupts how I think things should go. "When I get what I want, do I get smug? When I don't, do I get angry? Entitlement ignores God's provision and smothers gratitude." (Bob Snyder, M.D. from "Lessons Learned on the Journey")


"How many times have I wondered how they could throw down their garments before him on Sunday and then throw their fists at him on Friday? But I'm the one in the front row...This is what happens when God doesn't meet expectations. When God doesn't conform to hopes, someone always goes looking for a hammer....I bang my frustration loud." (Ann Voskamp)


Hard times frustrate.

"His people must suffer; therefore, expect it Christian; if thou art a child of God believe it, look for it, and when it comes, say, 'Well suffering, I foresaw thee; thou art no stranger; I have looked for thee continually.' You cannot tell how much it will lighten your trials, if you await them with resignation. In fact, make it a wonder if you get through a day easily. If you remain a week without persecution, think it a remarkable thing; and if you should, perchance, live a month without heaving a sigh from your inmost heart, think it a miracle of miracles. But when the trouble comes, say, 'Ah! this is what I looked for; it is marked in the chart to heaven; the rock is put down; I will sail confidently by it; my Master has not deceived me.'" (Charles Spurgeon)


At a very low point when Liana was ill and doctors were no help and I was exhausted with worry, I read the following from Charles Spurgeon. He wrote about Jesus' prayer in the garden. How many of us will ever face what he did?


"Here are several instructive features in our Saviour's prayer in His hour of trial. It was lonely prayer. He withdrew even from His three favoured disciples. Believer, be much in solitary prayer, especially in times of trial… It was humble prayer. Luke says He knelt, but another evangelist says He fell on His face. Where, then, must be THY place, thou humble servant of the great Master? What dust and ashes should cover thy head! Humility gives us good foot-hold in prayer. There is no hope of prevalence with God unless we abase ourselves that He may exalt us in due time…It was filial prayer Abba, Father. You will find it a stronghold in the day of trial to plead your adoption. You have no rights as a subject, you have forfeited them by your treason; but nothing can forfeit a child's right to a father's protection. Be not afraid to say, 'My Father, hear my cry'... Observe that it was persevering prayer. He prayed three times. Cease not until you prevail. Continue in prayer, and watch in the same with thanksgiving… Lastly, it was the prayer of resignation. 'Nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt.' Yield, and God yields. Let it be as God wills, and God will determine for the best. Be thou content to leave thy prayer in his hands, who knows when to give, and how to give, and what to give, and what to withhold. So pleading, earnestly, importunately, yet with humility and resignation, thou shalt surely prevail.”

So I continue in prayer and watch with thanksgiving.


I think back on Psalm 100, the scripture that sustained Gracia Burnham's husband at the end as he reminded his wife to serve the Lord with gladness. But this Psalm also has some important truths. God is good. God loves us with a steadfast love. God is faithful to all generations. I will hold to that. I will be grateful for every day without suffering, but when it comes, I will not be surprised. As Charles Spurgeon says, "Christian, expect trouble." I will choose to continually praise and not pick up a hammer of frustration.

Winter of Cards

I saw a cardinal a couple of days ago admiring herself in the sideview mirror of my car. It's a sure sign of spring. The magnolias and crabapple are already in bloom. (In March?) The girls and I packed up sweaters and filled our drawers with t-shirts. But I don't have spring fever. I'm actually grieving over winter leaving us behind. I'm going to miss pots of soup simmering on the stovetop, hot tea after school with weak sunlight warming us at the kitchen table. Fred says no more fires this year. So sad. The winter sewing projects have been completed and evenings of lingering daylight will be spent instead on gardening.

We have become quite the experts at card games this winter. I'm not talking poker or gambling or even traditional games. It started on Arielle's birthday. She got Quiddler, Set, and Dutch Blitz. Then Liana got Five Crowns for her birthday and I recently needed a purchase of a few dollars to give me free shipping on an Amazon order, so I bought Wizard. Oh my! The fun we've had! Each of these games is unique with its own excitement and challenges. But if you've never played Dutch Blitz, go directly to Amazon and get it! It should be marketed as a brain stimulator to keep people sharp into old age. This game is fast and furious and requires you to pay attention and keep track of many things going on all at once. The girls are better players than I am, not surprisingly.

Our newest game Wizard has Fred hooked. Every day he gathers us to play, sometimes even interrupting school! This game moves at a little slower pace but requires some strategy and thought. Arielle caught on immediately and was beating us soundly every time. But we're slowly learning and giving her a challenge now.

The best part is the family time spent together. Maybe we moved to cards instead of board games because they are quicker to play on a busy night and easier to set up and put away. Our games bring out a lot of good-natured teasing and laughter, and since we are all very competitive, we have learned to be good winners and good losers. (How do you think it feels when your little girls win every time?) I hope our daughters will smile years from now as they recall our winter of cards.

I don't think I would want to live in a place with no seasons. Each one brings such joys. But each marks the fast passage of time with all of us growing older by the day. Maybe that's why I don't want winter to end. Life is good. I want to hold on to this time and keep my girls mine. Soon enough they will fly away. But a mom must let go.

First Day of Spring

The doctor said we probably have the flu. This time of year? Still, the warm temperatures and bright sunlight beckoned us to a little walk around the yard. We took pictures and looked for snakes, warmed out of brumation. The pussy willow tree is full of fuzzy buds, fluff drifting down on the newly tilled garden. Hyacinth bloom among the dead leaves of winter. We tried to find beauty in a still green-less world. Friends of ours live in a desert country fall away. They said what they miss most is the green. No trees, no grass, no plants growing anywhere. Imagine. We long for new life to begin.

Prayer

"What is the nature of petitionary prayer? It is in essence rebellion - rebellion against the world in its fallenness, the absolute and undying refusal to accept as normal what is pervasively abnormal...Petitionary prayer only flourishes where there is a two-fold belief: first, that God's name is hallowed too irregularly, His kingdom has come too little, and His will is done too infrequently; second, that God Himself can change this situation."- David Wells

Our family could use some prayer today. How about you?

Wonders in the Sky

Have you looked up lately? One night at church this week on the way to our cars, we all stood gazing at the heavens with mouths open, wondering what those bright lights were. The night sky was clear and the stars glittering, so unusual outside the big city. One light had such a glow I thought it must be a satellite. But then a professor happened to walk by. He knew the answer immediately. The big bright light was Venus and right beside it, a lesser light, but spectacular because it is so far way, was Jupiter! I've never knowingly looked on Jupiter before. Then he told us to turn around and right behind us was a soft red light. He said that was Mars.

So check it out! When we got home we found the planets again and I was more able to orient their positions. It seems Venus is in the southwest, somewhat low on the horizon around 9pm. Jupiter is right next to it. Turn about 180 degrees to your left and you will see Mars, higher in the sky. I don't think the alignment of these planets will occur again anytime soon, so go outside and be amazed!

Liana and I are reading Stowaway by Karen Hesse. It is about Captain Cook's voyage around the world in search of the mysterious southern continent in 1769. It's a fascinating story based on historical documents and journals of the crew members, including a young boy who really was a stowaway. Captain Cook first stopped in Tahiti to study the transit of Venus. This is when Venus passes between the earth and the sun, like an eclipse. It will appear as a black spot on the sun. How they predicted this way back in 1769 is incredible. We are in for a treat this year because the next transit of Venus is on June 5. And the next one after that? December 2117!

The beauty and wonder of the universe always makes me think of this passage in Psalm 8: "O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have set your glory above the heavens...when I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him?"

Meeting an Author

Have you read this book? I read it a couple of years ago and highly recommend it. American missionaries Martin and Gracia Burnham were kidnapped in the Philippines by the Abu Sayyaf, a Muslim terrorist group, and held hostage for a year in the jungle. They faced starvation, exhaustion, frequent gun battles, and beheadings. In the end, Gracia's husband Martin was shot and killed during a rescue attempt of the Philippine government.

How do people live as Christians in a situation like that? Gracia is very honest about her shortcomings, but also about how her faith sustained her. Her husband was a constant encouragement to her and the other hostages. He even looked for opportunities to minister to his captors to be an example of Jesus to them. He would remind his wife that Jesus said to love their enemies, and that would include these brutal men. Martin did just that. The last conversation Martin had with Gracia before his death was to quote Psalm 100. "Serve the Lord with gladness," he said. Even in their difficult circumstances.

I was much inspired by this book when I read it, so I was delighted to hear that Gracia Burnham would be speaking at my friend's church. Gracia is an unassuming woman with a great sense of humor--and great faith. She talked about her experiences in the jungle, but more about the aftermath, about forgiving enemies and extending grace to them. Many of the terrorists have since died in gun battles, but some are imprisoned in the Philippines today. Gracia has corresponded with a few of them and some have even read her book. She has forgiven them for the torture she endured and the loss of her husband. It is an amazing story.

I bought a new copy of the book and then realized Gracia was standing among the crowd at the book table. I had the opportunity to meet her. She immediately reached out to hug the girls and me and chatted with us like we were old friends. That's the kind of person she is. Knowing her story, you wouldn't expect someone so, well... ordinary. But she is an ordinary woman called to extraordinary circumstances. And because of that she has become a woman of incredible faith accomplishing great things.

Even though most of us will not be forced at gunpoint to run through a jungle, we may face other serious life trials. Will I serve the Lord with gladness no matter what? What about right now? How do I handle everyday struggles? If I have trouble with the small stuff, what happens when the big stuff comes along? But it is not my strength that matters as long as I trust in God. "Be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might." (Ephesians 6:10)

I just had this thought. Maybe it is precisely the trial that makes us strong, the suffering that strengthens our faith. "He knows the way that I take. When he had tried me, I shall come out as gold." (Job 23:10)

Special Day

On March 4, 2001, I climbed the Great Wall of China and heard the cries of anguish of generations of Chinese who suffered throughout history. Truly, I did. It was a sacred moment that urged me to fall to my knees. The next day, on March 5th, a child whose ancestors lived and died in this vast country was handed over to me grow up in an ordinary family in America.

Our Liana is an all-American girl. She is as much a part of our big family as anyone born into it. Adored by her big brothers, cherished by her parents, challenged by her big sister Arielle--she belongs to us. She is the fun aunt to our little ones. Baby Joseph will soon find that out.

I remember my first glimpse of her in a large government building in Guangzhou, a room filled with wailing babies and new parents attempting to soothe them. We searched the face of every baby who arrived that morning, looking for our baby to match the picture we had. Finally, there she was, wary, eyes narrowed with suspicion and resistance over this new situation. (I still see that look today.) She was quite comfortable in the arms of her caregiver, and she cried continually for hours in protest over being passed to strangers--her mother and her grandma. Her voice was high and sweet (still is) but her fiery temperament was evident from the start.

Today we celebrate the gift of Liana and the privilege of the years we've had to raise her from childhood to the young woman she will soon be. Happy Adoption Day!

February 29th

February was supposed to end on Tuesday, but we were given an extra day. What will we do with it? March is a spring month and February a winter one. So, as I see it, we have one extra day of winter. How will we make the most of it?

As I pondered that question, the day became a wonderful celebration when our family was blessed with an incredible gift! A new baby! A Leap Year baby! Anthony and Kim's son was born this day. His name is Joseph Michael and he is a big, healthy baby. What a crazy mixed-up day it was for everyone. Fred left work in the morning, picked up Arielle, and went to the hospital to encourage and support Anthony, his son. Liana and I could not go due to our illnesses. Everyone waited many long hours. (Aren't birthing and dying usually long and painful? I think of so many hospital vigils with family surrounding a loved one.) Fred would call from time to time to update us and in the background it sounded like a party was going on. I'm sure Kim was not part of this festive mood. Having been in the labor room many times, as a participant and also as a nurse, I know what it's like for the mother. Early on, she made it clear she wanted everyone OUT.

Finally little Joseph arrived and was welcomed by his joyful, celebrating family. Arielle told me someone took a great picture of Grandpa and his first grandson. (I will post it when I get it.)

Week of Illness

It's been a long, long week. Liana and I haven't felt well, but were we sick enough to go to the doctor? I wish I didn't have to make all the health care decisons. After 10 days of a raging sore throat, I finally gave in.

It was an interesting doctor's visit. I always bring a book to read while I wait. The doctor walked in and I started to put my book in my bag. "What are you reading? I'm nosy," she said.


She is German and I was reading Bonhoeffer. She was curious and picked up the book and wanted to know what it was. I told her it was about a German pastor in World War II who was executed for his involvement in a plot to kill Hitler. It explores the question of whether Christians are ever justified to murder someone. I value my doctor's ideas on this topic. Her sister died in the 9/11 attacks. How did she feel when Osama bin Laden was killed? We had an interesting discussion before she even looked down my throat.


Liana was next. She had a cough all week, which she tends to get with every cold. No fever, but she felt lousy and the cough increased until she was coughing almost non-stop. I felt so bad for her because she couldn't get a moment's rest. She kept looking to me for relief. Nothing I tried worked. Every bark of her cough was an indictment against me. Why couldn't I relieve her suffering? This is the very worst part of parenting. With new babies in our family, I think of how the parents will be in anguish as they worry about the many illnesses that come along. Even though my baby is 12, the worry never ends. Just as she looks to me for healing, I look to God and cry out to him. "By his stripes, we are healed." (Isaiah 53) Medicine, doctors, they are just the means he uses to heal. Lord, have mercy on my daughter hacking without relief. Her cries to me are the same as my cries to him.


So Liana saw the doctor on Saturday. Bronchitis. Now we wait for her antibiotic to work. Still she coughs. I give her codeine at night and then worry about the sedation. How much is too much? Liana asks, "Will you check me in the night?" She wants assurance that I am looking out for her, making sure she is okay. Of course, I will. I ask God to look out for her too. I can't be awake all night. But he is. "Where can I go from your Spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? ...Even the darkness is not dark to you. The night is as bright as the day." (Psalm 139) I need to trust more.

Our faith comes as we remember God's words and his faithfulness to us. Jesus says, "Do not be anxious for anything." He uses the word "anxious" six times in one brief passage in Matthew 6! He knows we are a worrying people, especially when it comes to our children. I remember that "the one who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say to the Lord, 'My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.'" (Psalm 91)

My number two son and his wife travel to India this week. Will I be anxious? Of course, I am the mother and it is in my nature. We worry about bigger things as our kids grow up. But I will choose to trust God, who has always been faithful to my son.

A Vision and a Prophecy

Maybe a year ago I was in church focusing on the service and in my mind I suddenly had a picture of my son in front of the congregation playing his drums. This was not some mystical vision, but it came to my mind out of nowhere. At the time, Damien was playing drums in a rock band performing in bars.


Just in the last couple of months Damien was asked to play in a new band--in his new church. Amazing! He plays four services on Sundays. We had been trying to arrange a day we could go and see him. Finally it all worked out.


I really wanted to see my son on his drums serving the Lord with his incredible talent. But I had reservations about his church. It sounded like a very young church--young minister, young congregants. I knew it was very casual, very hip, reverberating with loud music and maybe dancing in the aisles? So unlike my church. I really didn't know what to expect. But I figured I could move out of my comfort zone one Sunday and support my son.


We were stopped as we first turned into the parking lot. Two guys waved at us and I rolled down my window. They wanted to know if this was our first visit to the church. The snapped bracelets on us so we could claim the gifts awaiting us inside. Then they directed us to a parking spot. As we entered the building others welcomed us with smiles and handshakes. These friendly folks were totally sincere and genuine; there was no pretense and no agenda. We were offered coffee and a young man told me to come to him personally if I needed anything or had any questions. Maybe my church could learn a thing or two about hospitality. Then a young woman offered me ear plugs. (Uh-oh.)


The service began with music--contemporary music to be sure, but godly music. The lyrics were clear on the screen in front. I did not need ear plugs. No one danced in the aisles. I kept my son in view, up front before the congregation. I saw the joy on his face. When the band played Chris Tomlin's song "Our God" tears filled my eyes. I thought back to a church I attended with my three little boys years ago (no Jon yet), when I was going through hard times. Folding chairs were crammed into an auditorium full of people. I knew no one, but the praise music washed over me, giving me renewed hope. After the service a woman approached me. She had not been sitting near me so I didn't know where she came from. She gestured to Damien and said God had given her words to share with me. She said, "Don't worry about all that's happened. He's going to be just fine. God has great plans for him."


I didn't quite understand. Damien was a tiny boy. But like Jesus' mother Mary, I kept these words and pondered them in my heart. This day, so many years later, I remember those words. Prophecy unfolding. God brought Damien to this place, in this time in his life. Damien says to me, "It's only the beginning." To remind me of this morning, I include the music Damien played. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zlA5IDnpGhc


After the songs we saw a very touching baby dedication ceremony with young families up front, parents praying for their children. Then came a great message through, yes, a very young pastor. We headed out. The church was filling rapidly with a new crowd coming in for the next service. Damien went to get ready to play again.


We left joyful, energized, and thankful. And I didn't feel weird or out of place here. In fact, I felt quite at home. After all, it was in this kind of church, with this kind of young people, where I met Jesus forty years ago--when I was young.

Letter to a Father

Some of you may be wondering what happened in the saga of the lost-now-found father. I decided that I'd done my part by contributing pictures to be sent along with the boys' information. But I never received any word from my father directly. I heard there were some bitter feelings between my mother and him and those attitudes somehow filtered down to include me. So be it, I thought. I was a little child and did nothing to cause any problem between my parents.


Yesterday in church the opening scripture was: "God through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation...therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us. We impore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God." II Corinthians 5:18-20.


Reconciliation--us to God, us to others, me to my father. God is always about reconciliation. These words stuck with me all day. I knew I had to contact my father. I am not good with phone calls (and he has a problem with his voice), so I decided a letter was better.


What do you say to a stranger of a father? I acknowledged to him that all this might be an unwanted intrusion in his life. I said that what is in the past is over; there is no blaming. I told him I'm glad I found him but that I had no expectations of anything more. I wrote about my wonderful children and husband. I told him about my great God.


What do you say to a father after 54 years of silence? Just the important stuff. I am now at peace about all this.

One Last Bear

My baby turned twelve. How quickly the years have passed! Finding a gift for her was more challenging this time. She's not a greedy child and had few things on her wish list. She doesn't long for dolls or Polly Pockets or Littlest Pet Shop toys anymore. What do you give a girl who is on the outskirts of childhood getting ready to fly away? And what would we do on her special day? It's her choice. She decides on going to the mall. Really? She doesn't even like shopping. Maybe it is to please her sister.

We have a carefree time with no urgent schedule to keep. We walk and roam. The girls brought old gift cards with them, never used. (We don't get to the mall much.) They visit Claire's and spend a long time looking at all the trinkets, finally finding earring for themselves and gifts for Lana and Mattie who will be coming for the family party the next day.

Liana has a long forgotten Build-A-Bear Workshop gift card in her purse. It's been many years since she and her friends, such little girls, had a birthday party here. Liana decides to make another bear. She wants Arielle to make one too and even offers to pay for her sister's. (Arielle says no.) Liana chooses a white fluffy bear and goes along with the clerk's instructions to kiss the heart that will go inside the bear and then she jumps up and down to make a wish. Her smile, her joy--just like before. The magic still lives. She names her bear Arabella.

At home we have Liana's special dinner--Chinese Longevity Soup and chocolate chip ice cream. We play her new game of Five Crowns that lasts way past bedtime. I kiss my twelve-year-old daughter good-night, her new bear sitting beside her pillow dressed in princess clothes. Liana hasn't flown away yet, and I'm very happy about that.

The Year We Skipped Winter

The girls and I were challenged to find three God-gifts today--morning, afternoon, and evening. Here are mine.

#248 Springtime in February with a brilliant blue sky

#249 Walking a little dog named Belle with a warm wind in my face

#250 Apricot roses floating in my grandmother's blue glass bowl

"I would maintain that thanks is the highest form of thought, and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder." G.K. Chesterton

Sharing the Good Stuff

I gave Fred a Fernando Ortega CD for his birthday that has a beautiful piano version of this song. For some reason it was in my head this morning so I tried to find it on youtube. Instead I found Michael Card's music, which is also lovely. My friend Joan told me she brought this CD with her to the hospital when she went for chemo.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Ui3KvfsMZw

Father to the Fatherless

It's my son's birthday today. As I often do with each of my children, I reflect on the moment we met, when I first saw the face of the much-longed-for child.

This boy was born into strange circumstances. He would never see the face of his runaway father. This child was mine alone. I carried him alone, bore him alone, and raised him alone for many years. But he was not a burden, rather a delight, curious and sweet, a high achiever, a boy of many interests. Now he is a man with a tender heart and many degrees, still curious. He is changing the world for the better with his expertise. My boy is not only my son but my friend. We can talk of many deep things. He brought a wife into our family, adding to my joy. And maybe later children?


Me, a fatherless child. My son suffered the same fate through no fault of his. Are we the people we are because of that fact? How might we have been different? I can see God our Father's hand on my life from the beginning, a frail and broken child made strong. And on my son's life too. This Father has been ever-present, ever-faithful.


My son read Psalm 103 on my wedding day when I married Fred so many years ago:

"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy, who satisfies you with good so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's.

As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame. He remembers that we are dust. As for man, his days are like grass. He flourishes like a flower of the field, for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more.

But the steadfast love of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him, and his righteousness to children's children, to those who keep his covenant and remember to do his commandments."

Fathers

The excitement has died down and I've had time to think all this through about my father. I am grateful for all the information, some of it quite interesting, but little came directly from him. He really has given me nothing and has made no effort to contact any of us. People keep saying this has a greater purpose. God has a purpose, I know, but I'm not sure what that is yet.

However, we have learned some interesting stories and fascinating coincidences! My parents met in California (my mother born and raised there). They got married and moved to Nevada. I was born in Nevada, and my father still lives in the same city. As a child, without him, we lived in Arizona a long time and then came to St. Louis. Later I lived in Oklahoma and many other places along the way. I didn't come to Pennsylvania until 1983, and I did not feel at home here for a long time. I always felt like a nomad, never being able to settle anywhere. I still remember the day I claimed Pennsylvania for my own. I was in an airplane that was landing and I looked down at the familiar river and the highways and the airport and thought--this is home. I don't want to ever move away.

Through the research, I found out my father was born and lived in a neighboring suburb of this very same city where I live now. In fact, his home was just a few miles from the church where our family attends. His father and grandfather and great-grandfather all lived in this area. I've been surrounded by my ancestors all these years and didn't know it! They are buried here and had successful businesses here. I probably have cousins nearby.

Another strange connection: My great-grandfather applied for a passport in 1916. He was planning to go to CHINA! Amazing! His business manufactured surgical instruments and I guess he was traveling to sell these products overseas. He planned to sail on a ship called the Empress of Russia, leaving from Vancouver. Many years later, I would be making my own trip to China.

So those are the facts. What about the heart issues? I never had a father growing up. My step-father never cared about me and I never even knew what a good father was supposed to be. When I became a Christian and heard God was my father, I thought He must be a hard disciplinarian to be feared, ready to pronounce judgment and condemn. When I married Fred I saw what a good father looks like--a provider, protector, comforter, encourager, source of wisdom. One to whom little girls can run to when they are frightened or sad. One who listens, one who has compassion for the small and weak. One who guides and leads. I didn't know. I began to see God in a new light and found that He is all those things. God is my Father. And not just to me. He promises to be "Father to the fatherless." (Psalm 68:5) "I will be a father to you, and you shall be sons and daughters to me." (II Corinthians 6:18) And, "If children, then heirs, heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ." (Romans 8:17)

When I was fatherless, God adopted me into His family. I've learned that He is a good father. He provides, protects, comforts, encourages, and guides me in wisdom. My inheritance lies in heaven with Him. My need for this earthly father is over.

I will see where this all ends up. But I don't have any real desire to talk with my father. He could have called me, after all. I think I would be disappointed in him because he wouldn't hold a candle to the father I see loving my two daughters every day.

To those searching for a father's love, the promise is for us all. "See what kind of love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are." (I John 3:1)

Thought for the New Year

Arielle has been reading poetry for her literature class. Here are the closing lines of one of them:

"Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?"

(Mary Oliver from "The Summer Day")

What is it we plan to do this year? Will it fade into oblivion, stacked onto the previous years we can't remember? How do we slow this mad rushing torrent of time? I want this to be a year of significance, a year to pay attention and take notice and love well my family and friends. What about you?

When was the last time you read Our Town by Thornton Wilder? I think it is wasted on high schoolers, when, really, it has much more meaning for us older folks.

An Unexpected Gift

What not to do at Christmas:


1. Plan too many projects that must be completed before the big day.
2. Plan too many activities that keep you running from event to event.
3. Plan a big holiday dinner with over-tired, over-stimulated children as guests.
4. Find your father who has been missing for 54 years.

This was an exceptionally difficult Christmas. There were some beautiful, meaningful moments--driving around looking at lights with Fred and the girls, the concert at church, our candlelit devotions in the morning, seeing the girls' joy with their gifts and receiving lovely handmade gifts from each of them. But overall, the holidays were stressful this year. And then, a most unexpected gift landed in my lap--the gift of a father. And I'm still asking if this is really a gift or something else.


My parents split when I was a little girl. I never heard from my father again. Was it his choice to never pursue me? Or my mom's choice to prohibit him from finding me? Who knows. And does it matter? I've been curious about him off and on through the years but I assumed I'd never know anything about him.


Right before Christmas I heard from my sons that their dad was researching his own family tree. For whatever reason, he left his tree and decided to go in a different direction and research mine. I think he wanted to give this information as a gift to the boys. He asked one of them what my original maiden name was. (I was adopted by my step-father.) Now here is the eerie part: Years and years ago my mother gave me a silver rattle and silver cup that belonged to my birth father when he was a baby. I still have the cup but the rattle has been long forgotten and lost. At the same time that the boys gave their dad my name and he did a little research, he discovered this rattle on his daughter's dresser. Where did she get it, he asked. She told him she found it at the bottom of his toolbox. He examined it and saw my father's initials and birthdate. He made the connection to recently discovered information he'd found. He asked my oldest son if he wanted him to contact his grandfather. Yes. So he called the home of my father, far away on the other side of the country. The rattle gave him an opening.


Two days before Christmas one of my boys tells me this story. I am shocked, and buried memories and emotions surface. At this point, the boys' dad has only talked to my father's wife, but they decide on a good time to have a phone conversation with my father--Christmas Eve. So he calls my father and supposedly has a long, interesting conversation. (All info is coming to me second hand from my sons.) My father says he never knew where I was all those years. He is interested in finding out about his daughter and grandsons. He is old. There may not be much time.


So I am planning Christmas with all this turmoil swirling inside. I can't concentrate on anything. I can't sleep. Where is God in all this? (For He is in everything.) The boys and I collect some pictures and information to mail to my father, their grandfather. I find an old picture of a young man holding a blonde giggling child on his lap. His arms are tight around her in an embrace and he is kissing her cheek. Father and daughter.


Christmas is over and there is time to contemplate all these things. I have no illusions of a grand reunion. I would just like a little information to fill in the blanks. Maybe some medical history. Maybe my father really doesn't care after all these years or maybe he wonders if I'm after something. Maybe this is the end of it. And that's okay.


When the girls and I were looking through the box of old pictures, I found several of my grandmother, the woman who adopted my mother when she was a tiny girl. No, she is not my biological grandmother. But she is the one I loved and the grandmother who loved me. I tell my girls that blood doesn't matter. This is my "real" grandmother and nothing will change that. Arielle says, "She's pretty." Liana says, "She looks so kind, just like my own grandma." They are right. She was the best grandma a little girl could have.

Wonder

The moonlight washes across the face of my beautiful daughter when I come to kiss her good-night. She says she loves to fall asleep looking up at the moon full in the sky. She can see it through her blinds. "Put your head right here on my pillow, Mom, and you can see it." I remember her first sentence at fifteen months. We stood on our front porch wondering at the moon that night. She said, "Look! Moon, big, high, sky!" And I wondered at this baby so taken with the heavens.

The same moon, the same house, the same child. But time has changed the people here. I grow old; Arielle grows up. I feel so blessed--so incredibly blessed--that I had the opportunity to nurture this girl through her childhood. I was chosen to be her mother! Of all the mothers of the world... What a privilege! Arielle will continue to grow apart and away from me. It's the plan. But she will always be my precious daughter and I will always be her mother and the moon will rise full through all the seasons of our lives.

Of course, I have another equally treasured daughter who might read this and say, "What about me?" Liana, I will tell your story at another time.

A Christmas Weekend

Despite my failures, God continues to bless. What a beautiful weekend! Saturday we busied ourselves with housework and projects. I've learned to thank God for TIME to clean. I don't like doing it, but I like a clean house. Fred was given a restaurant gift card for his birthday, so he treated us all to Olive Garden! We don't often go out to eat, so it is a special occasion. Olive Garden has gluten-free pasta and all that salad! It was very cold outside, but cozy inside this bustling restaurant on a Christmasy Saturday night. Afterwards we drove through winding streets on the way home to see the houses all lit up while listening to Christmas music on the radio. We passed through the old neighborhood where the boys grew up, bringing ghosts of memories as I remembered people who lived here long ago. My next-door neighbor who lost her son in Afghanistan a couple of years ago has her house adorned in twinkling lights. We were glad to see that. Hope lives on.

At home the girls and I played a rousing game of Quiddler in front of the fire. Driving around looking at the lovely (and cheesy) decorations people set up, listening to the meaningful (and silly) Christmas songs, playing games on a cold winter night: these are our traditions. Are we missing the true meaning of Christmas, as some might say? I don't think so. Our traditions remind us of God's goodness in past years as we do all over again the things we've enjoyed before. They give us hope that we will continue them next year and beyond. And when we are gone, our children will carry on these traditions.

Our family was asked to light the Advent candle in front of the church on Sunday. Oh, the turmoil for the girls in deciding on an outfit, and how would they do their hair? I reminded them that all their friends will be in their Sunday school classes and would not see them. Still, it was exciting and a little scary for them to stand before the throngs of people watching. These same two girls a few years ago sang a duet in front of hundreds on Christmas Eve. What happened to them, that innocence lost? This morning we were up front about one minute total, so it really wasn't too traumatic. With the girls dressed up and lighted trees surrounding us, we had the perfect opportunity for a Christmas photo. So here it is. Long gone are the days of my babies posing at the Sears portrait studio. (So sad...)

One of our best family traditions is to attend the concert at our church each year. This is definitely not a "holiday concert" but a Christmas concert. Through music and the word the message is clear: God's son was born to die in order to save the world. Crazy, huh? So, in spite of our fun traditions, we remember what Christmas is really about. Carl Trueman writing on church services this time of the year:

"It is foolishness and a stumbling block. Foolishness, because the very idea of the sovereign creator and ruler of the universe being born of a teenage virgin in a stable in a tiny nation of no account at the far end of the Mediterranean is utterly ridiculous. Indeed, one might say that it looks very much like proof that God cannot exist -- at least, that is, God built according to our specifications and requirements. An offence because I do not need salvation, especially salvation brought by a pre-modern peasant's child in some backward place nobody would otherwise ever have heard of." As we proclaim the message of Christmas, we should not attempt to "make Christianity look sophisticated or moral as the world understand these things. Least of all is it stand-up comedy designed to entertain those who might otherwise seek their fun elsewhere. Its agenda, especially at Christmas, is not to be determined by unbelief or what the hipsters in the Village will tolerate or what the brain's trust at MIT think is plausible."

I stand on what I know to be true. "For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes." (Romans 1:16)