Moving forward in weakness

On the steps of the church

On the steps of the church…miraculous gathering of body and attention span (sort of)

It had been a frazzling day. (Come to think of it, every day is a frazzling one with six kids).
That Sunday we had ushered those six kids out the door early in the morning to attend worship at our “sending church”. We had scooted downtown to attend an event at the sight of the new after school program starting up, stopped by the house we are renovating, and were headed to the evening service of the church where Danny is interning for the year. As we rounded the corner, we spotted Mike, one of our future neighbors  walking down the street. I quick rolled down the window, had Danny pull over and called out to him, “Mike! Hop in, we’re headed to church!”

He hopped in, told us about how he had wanted to go to church that morning but had overslept, and it was perfect timing that we had seen him as he walked to the grocery store.

We sat in worship, and I struggled to stay focused at times, when my days are so full and flustered, it’s difficult to keep my brain from being so as well. My mind wanders…..
I feel so weak. I feel like I’m running on fumes. I feel like six kids fills up every waking every single moment of every single twenty-four hour time segment.

And we are suppose to be starting a church soon.

The last time we worked on starting a church, we were ten years younger. That was six kids and a whole lot less responsibility ago. We were full of energy, drive, eternal optimism, and naïveté. We ran programs, put together outreaches, offered hospitality and loved on a lot of people. We poured every waking (and sometimes,even non-waking) moment into ministering to those God had placed in our lives in Newark.

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Christmas outreach at the church plant in Newark. Daniel Josiah could still be toted around in a back pack carrier….six kids won’t fit on my back anymore…

 

Now we are suppose to be starting a church and we are older, more tired. Not tired of Kingdom work, but tired from getting up 3-4 times a night with whichever kids is sick, having bad dreams, or wets the bed. Six kids with a range of needs-sports schedules and nursing schedules, school projects and potty training endeavors, social commitments and diaper changes…its a full time job….for three people. I used to run from one massive outreach to another and now I run to one crisis mess after another. The time between each meal, I mean, kitchen explosion is a mere three hours…on a good day.  I have so little left to give after tending to half a dozen kids day in and day out. How are we going to have the energy to pour ourselves out like we did last time? How is Danny going to be able to lead us all in this endeavor when he’s currently half-crippled with a shoulder that is still 6-10 months away from full recovery? How are we going to battle the sin and disfunction in our new community, when the sin and disfunction already runs deep…in our own home, in my own heart?

the half dozen

the half dozen

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you can only imagine the discord X 6 when they don't feel like cooperating...

you can only imagine the discord multiplied by six when they don’t feel like cooperating…

We filed out of our rows to go up to receive communion. I partake in faith. A weak one.

I slumped back into my seat, head bent over, laying it all out to a Jesus who sometime feels far.

I feel a strong arm squeeze my shoulder and pat me on the back.

I look up to see Mike’s dark skin in contrast to the pale walls.

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Mike worshipping next to Danny, different skin colors, same needy heart

 

He.gets.it?

He.gets.it.

He gets that this is hard. He sat in that car and heard all the fires I put out concerning children’s needs in just the 15 minutes that we drove across town.

Mike has his own set of struggles and hardships. And I have mine. And did we not just eat of the same table? The one that represents the Bread of Heaven that has promised to satisfy hungry souls?

When we moved to Newark, I knew I “had” the bread and my job was to hand it out to everyone. Now, I’m just as starving for it as our soon-to-be new neighbors who know street life and struggle far better than I.

We are moving into this mission as common beggars toward the same God. How different from the “I’ve come to bring you the Savior ” mentality I had as we entered the ministry in Newark ten years ago. Now, I’ve got a “I’m desperately clinging to the Savior. You want to help each other along on the journey?” mentality.

I needed that squeeze on the shoulder from Mike every bit as much as he needed a ride to church. We’re in the same boat, him and me. And maybe our presence in each other’s lives will be the very thing that keeps us looking out on the water towards the One who walks on it, instead of looking at the waves that threaten to crush us under it.

It’s a weak place to be…just barely catching one’s breath in between the rolling waves of raising six children.  But a perfect place for our Savior to walk through.

For the humbled place, the weak place, the struggling place is often the place where He likes to show up.  He did it when he showed up in the womb of an unwed Jewish teenager.  He did it when he showed up in a stable to sleep amongst the farm animals.  He did it when He walked and talked among the poor folk, the outcasts, the unclean and the unlawful.

So my only prayer, our only hope, is that He shows up in the weak place again. The weak, but available place of my heart, and our marriage, and this home, and that neighborhood that He’s called us to move into.

So we move. Move forward in weakness.

But there’s that promise about weakness.

A promise that HIS power is made perfect there.

So we go. with weakness, yes, but with availability, and expectation that somehow God’s spoken word will truly create an image of His power being perfected…not just despite the weakness….

but IN it.

 

But he said to me,

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses,

so that Christ’s power may rest on me.

2 Corinthians 12:9

Where are you sitting?

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“…sit at my right hand, until I make your enemies your footstool”  

Psalm 110:1

It was a short verse, at that 4 am rising, but the minute I read it, it hit me:

There is something about where we sit and what happens to our enemies.

right there on the same page, are promises about being right there at the King’s right hand.

“For he stands at the right hand of the needy one.” (Psalm 110:31)

The Lord is at your right hand.” (Psalm 110:5)

There is something about where we sit and what happens to our enemies. 

Anger. Depression.  The feeling of sinking with no way out. Irritability towards my kids. Lies of guilt and condemnation ruminating around in my head. Utter defeat.

This is where I have been sitting.

Blessed is the man who walks NOT in the counsel of the wicked…nor sits in the seat of scoffers. Psalm 1:1

And I had taken up a spot right there among them. Knowing cognitively the Bible verses, but scoffing at their power to break into my crazy hectic days of tending to one emergency after another, with not a chance to breath ,and an escalating list of things needing to be done that I was falling hopelessly behind on. (and the list wasn’t one of “write a blog post” but more like clean the kid’s school uniform so they have something to wear tomorrow, and shoot!-that-time-consuming-moms-need-to-help-leaf-project-is-due-in-two-days, and we’re eating rice again because I STILL haven’t braved another take-six-kids-into-the-grocery-store trip. )

And so I scoffed. and sunk deeper. deeper into despair that I would ever be able to keep up this running-on-fumes-pace. Deeper into a pit of atomic bomb reactions to the kids misbehavior.

If you fail to sit at the feet of King Jesus, you will inevitably end up sitting somewhere you don’t want to be. 

And those mornings that I clung on to every last minute of sleep, and those 6:15 risings with an explosion of urgency as kids needed uniforms, and lunches needed packing, and kids needed directing, not to mention the grumpy moods that come with the early risings or bickering over whose turn it is to make breakfast that needed peacemaking….

they left the spot of sitting at the feet of Jesus very empty. for many mornings.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t trying.  I’d get up and try to steal a few moments of quiet with the Lord, but our house isn’t that big. and inevitably,

they would find me.

diapers needed changing, disputes needed settling, “I can’t find the oatmeal!!” needed tending to,

with every moment stolen, or thought process fractured,

I would become more embittered.

“Don’t you know that this time is going to save you from having an angry mother all day!?!”

But how do you explain that to an infant, or a two-year old, or even a 4, 5, 7, and 8 year old who thinks your sole reason for living is to come at their every beck and call.

So I found myself sitting in the seat of scoffers. angry at my robbed time. angry at the every need. angry at God who gave me such a big load of responsibility that I don’t even have time to have a quiet time anymore.

but my King, who is for me, not against me, He beckons me still.

“sit at my right hand, until I make your enemies your footstool.”

HE is able to make these enemies, these despairing thoughts, these anger outbursts, these times of tears to become my footstool. Not totally disappeared. Present, but under control, Nearby, but under my feet…. instead of overwhelming my head.

But the key is in the sitting. Sitting there with Jesus, at those three hundred red lights per day that I sit at, trucking children back and forth to school (did I mention that some of my kids get out at noon, and one gets out at 3:00? Thats a lot of driving back and forth…) and doctors appointments, and extra curricular activities.  The key is in the sitting, rising early enough to be there at his feet before the children are at mine. The key is sitting at his right hand with my thought life, until 

until he makes my enemies my footstool.

And as I sit at my King’s feet, my enemies will sit at mine. 

 

Where does discipline come from?

But this kind never comes out except by prayer and fasting. (Matthew 17:21)

It kept ruminating around in my head.  I personally had decided to fast multiple times over the course of the past two months, but as soon as crisis hit, or the exhaustion set in, it was just too easy to reach for that food, grab that cup of coffee, down that handful of chocolate chips.

But this time, I did it.

It wasn’t because I am a disciplined person.

It isn’t because I am a holy person.

It was because I was a desperate person.

At the root of all Christian disciplines: prayer, fasting, early rising, Bible memory, giving, is an element of desperation. 

We are desperate to meet God. Desperate to see Him work. Desperate to be delivered.

Desperation drives discipline.

And I needed help. I needed miraculous intervention to the prism of thought life that held me as prisoner. So I abstained, because deliverance was more important to me than dinner. My discipline was driven by desperation.

It was the third day of the liquid fast, each day crying out for God to rescue me. I met with my pastor’s wife where I cried, and unloaded, and vented about how wild my kids are, how much I have failed to train them, how I can’t keep up with everything, how I have a sick boy  who needs a lot of attention right now, how my husband is about to have surgery and what am I going to do without his help?!?

We prayed. And God started moving.

A friend last minute volunteered to drive the kids home for me. When I got home, BOTH little boys fell asleep at the same time (which hasn’t happened in a good year or two). And as I desperately tried to catch up with the school emails and all the commitments I needed to plug into the calendar, the phone rang.  It was the Christian postpartum counselor I had spoken with a month prior. The one that I had left a little glib message with two weeks ago, “I don’t think I’m struggling with postpartum depression after all. Thanks anyways!” (just to sink further in during the subsequent days).  She asked how I was doing and if I wanted to set up an appointment to see her.  There were financial obstacles and time obstacles, but I would get back to her.  Twenty minutes later (still while the boys were sleeping so I could actually have a conversation without all hell breaking loose while I was talking!) one of the counseling pastors called to see how they could help financially so that I could go see someone. “Just pay your percent, and have the rest billed to the church. ” and that was that. So another phone call was made to set up an appointment with the counselor. I managed to get out of jury duty and rearrange another meeting in order to set up the appointment. In an hour flat it was all worked out.

And hope began to shine forth. Hope that I was on a path toward health again. Emotional. mental. spiritual. health.

We’re not at the end of the journey yet, but at least we’re moving in the right direction, and not sitting {LINK THIS } in a place of despair.

I have no doubt that “this kind” will come out through prayer and fasting. And God often waits a little while to move things into place so that He can bring the healing.

And it wasn’t my holiness that drove me to fasting and prayer.

No, desperation for God drives us to discipline for the sake of getting Him.

My man, standing by me as I feel with postpartum issues, and the juggling of six children...

My man, standing by me as I deal  with postpartum issues, and the juggling of six children…

 

 

Mouths of Babes….Malachi

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They were all piled on the bed.

Sprawled out during our nightly family devotions.

We are reading through the Bible as a family, and we’re camped out in the book of Numbers right now.

I know, I know, not exactly an attention-grabber book of the Bible for little ones.

But you would be surprise, how much our family has gotten out of reading the book.

Even little, hardly-talking-yet Malachi.

Daddy’s voice was gone, so Mommy was reading that night from Numbers 13….

 But the people who live there are powerful, and the cities are fortified and very large. We even saw descendants of Anak there. The Amalekites live in the Negev; the Hittites, Jebusites and Amoriteslive in the hill country; and the Canaanites live near the sea and along the Jordan.”

And while I read it, all of a sudden half-asleep Malachi pops up and starts pointing to himself,

“Me!? Me!? Me!?”

It didn’t register in my mind, so I was about to scold him about needing to be quiet during family devotions, but Danny caught it…

“He heard Amalakite. And he thinks you said his name.”

Well, prove me wrong again.

All those nights that I spend half of family devotions breaking up feet fights between children sprawled on a bed, they might just be listening,

And through all the times I keep telling them to be quiet and listen,  they might just be listening.

And even if I’ve just yelled at them, I still gather them to hear God’s Word despite the fact that the one reading it is unworthy to share it with them, they might just be listening.

And those Words, and my prayers might just be laying dormant for a time, but Malachi’s little reaction gives me hope, that life will come from the seeds planted.

So, I’ll keep breaking up feet fights, and keep reigning in attention spans, and keep quieting talkative preschoolers, and keep bringing those kids to the Source of Strength that we all need desperately….

banking, all the while,  on the promise…

so is My word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty,

but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.  

Isaiah 55:11

From the Mouths of Babes….extra ones

My sixth child...greatly influenced by the rest of my kids...shopping cart out, nerd rifle in one hand, purse in the other...

My sixth child…greatly influenced by the rest of my kids…shopping cart out, nerf rifle in one hand, purse in the other…

This child is the Presence of Christ in my life.

Not because she is a huge ministering Spirit or represents great power available, but because of what Jesus said in Matthew 25:40

“And the King will answer them, ‘

Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers,

you did it to me.” 

And to be honest, there have been many an afternoon in the past several months in which we arrived home from school pick up, all hungry, grouchy, bouncing off the walls or each other, and dying for a nap (usually it was ONLY me wanting the nap) and this precious little girl, like clockwork, would ring our doorbell within five minutes of us pulling into the driveway.

And the complaining, selfish spirit in me would sometimes moan…”Lord, don’t I already have enough kids to deal with?! This is one more mouth to feed, one more person calling my name, one more person who needs some of me, when I already feel like I have none of me to give (little baby Judah is selfishly claiming it for his development and growth) !”

But one afternoon, as she showed up, with her bright eyes and eager heart to hang out with me, (and sometimes my kids) the Lord whispered that verse, which He had spoken two thousand years ago, “as you did it to one of the least of these my children, you did it to me, ” and I knew I was suppose to view her presence in our home, in all the chaos of free play time and kid-herding during chore time, and attention-span reigning during reading time  and mouth feeding during meal time as HIS presence. And I have the opportunity to minister to Him by ministering to her. 

So, this little girl, who when I first met her hardly spoke English, is literally like a sixth child in our home now (first day of summer vacation, and our car wasn’t gone she was faithfully ringing the doorbell at 8:45 am).  And instead of being a burden, it is an opportunity, a blessing, and a privilege to be able to love my Lord, by loving her. Just as the call to love my own children faithfully each day is a constant falling upon the grace, power and Presence of Jesus available to me, I fall on that same power for loving her, another child to care for, shepherd, and pour into. And todays manna is never sufficient for tomorrow. But as surely as the sun rises, the manna will be available to be gathered .

So, in terms of her contribution to Mouths of Babes…In her broken English (but MUCH better than when I met her almost a year ago) she can say some funny, “mouths of babes” things just like my own little ones. And because she knows the rhythms of our home life, the other day she saw me putting on my running shoes, and says:

“You exercising now?!” (she likes to try to exercise with me…or at least watch me clumsily jumping around and sweating)

“Yup, I’m gonna try to do it real quick before I have to cook dinner.”

“You’re kitchen gonna break.”

I burst out laughing…I knew exactly what she was talking about.

I exercise to little youtube workout videos in the kitchen, and it often requires a lot of jumping and hopping around. which can be rather boisterous, loud, (and yes, I admit it…floor-shaking) when you’ve got a massive bump on your belly, and, ahem, maybe a few too many extra pregnancy pounds, to carry along with you.

“Oh, you mean because I jump around and it makes a lot of noise”

“Yeeaahhh….Your kitchen gonna breeeaaak.”

And that was my “you’re fat and pregnant” compliment of the day. Which, fortunately came from the mouths of a babe, an extra one…

so I wasn’t too offended.

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When you declare who should be King…

I wake up wanting to be God. or at least king over my little world.

I wake up wanting my schedule to go according to my plan. I wake up wanting my children to behave perfectly and fall in line with that plan.  I wake up wanting no interruptions, no change of events, no extra people to feed or neighborhood kids filling my home and my ears with, “Miss Kimberly!!” (in addition to the already five children, screaming “Moooommmy!”. I wake up wanting to execute everything I had on the agenda in perfect timing, with no pesky pregnancy fatigue slowing me down.  I wake up declaring, “I want to rule!” “I want jurisdiction over my kingdom!”

And just wait for the wrath of this “rulership” if you make unexpected messes, or dare to eat peanut butter in the living room, against the “law of the land” (for of course, with the eating of the peanut butter comes a massive carpet clean up), or if you didn’t do your chores on time, thus slowing me down, or if your temper tantrum comes at the exact time that we were suppose to be loading in the car to head to school,….

This “lord” can throw some pretty intense temper tantrums herself. So,

“Fall in line! Bow to my rule!”

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There were some other people, too, that I read about recently, who also wanted to declare who would be king.  They didn’t want to have to wait and sit before the True Lord to get directives from Him.  They wanted to pick and choose and set up their own jurisdiction, just as I want to set up my own jurisdiction over my home and life and schedule.

“Then all the elders of Israel gathered together and came to Samuel and Ramah and said to him, “Behold, you are old….Now appoint for us a king to judge us like all the nations.”  I Samuel 8:4

And when Samuel inquired of the Lord about it, God’s response to their demand cuts to the heart of the matter…and the heart of this mamma who wants to be king over her world.

…for they have not rejected you, but they have rejected me from being king over them. ”  I Samuel 8:7 

they have rejected me from being king over them.

And with every irritated response I give to each interruption, I am declaring who is really king around here.  And every loud outburst at kids not doing what they are suppose to is showing who is really running this show.  And every lack of interest in my husband’s “world”, because I’m too consumed with trying to rule my own, I reveal that

I have rejected Lord Jehovah from being King over me.

I have nicely moved into the role.

But when humans try to play God, it comes with a price.

God warned the people, that if they chose a human king there would be consequences. Their sons and daughters would be forced into slave labor to serve that king.  The best of their resources would be swallowed up by that king. And worst of all,

“When that day comes, you will cry out for relief from the king you have chosen, but the Lord will not answer you in that day.” I Samuel 8:18

For when we trust in false kings, we forfeit deliverance from the True One.

How much have I, for the sake of my own desire to rule, yielded up my children, yielded up the best of my moments with them, simply because I had wanted a physical king (me!!) ruling over this home, schedule, and life. I can’t be king, I cannot control, I cannot grasp so tightly every action, mess, and behavior….but nonetheless, I continue trying, and failing, which leads to lashing out in anger from this out-of-control attempt at usurping the Throne.

I lose my children in the process. I lose the best of these little years. For it brings utter ruination…crushing of little spirits, forfeiting of sweet moments, a loss of witness amongst my own kids, a spirit of anger and frustration in our home.

But praise God, there is a Savior, who holds this power-hungry mother in His grip of grace.  There is a Savior who cried out for relief, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?!?!” in my place, dealing with the consequences of  my rejection of the true King.

And now, since He was the one not answered (on the cross)

I am the one who receives a “Yes!” and deliverance from my own oppressive ruie.

If I will just fall before that cross,

and repent of trying to be king,

and yield myself to the True King.

 

 

(and the best place to start yielding, is by sitting at His feet right from the start…)

From the Mouths of Babes…Little Evangelist with Ulterior Motives

I was soaring in my short lived spurt of energy in this long, draining pregnancy.

So I wanted to make the most of it and finally go visit my Muslim friend from Bangladesh who hadn’t seen my face since January (because I’ve been barely eeking out an existence). We baked her, and her disabled son, a loaf of bread and I was planning on delivering it that evening.

I tried to recruit visiting partners.

Me: “Benjamin, do you want to go with me to Amari’s house to give her the bread you helped me make?”

Benjamin “Who Amari ?”

Trinity: “Remember, Benjamin, you got to watch TV while Mommy talked to her last time?” (in her best prodding, convincing voice)

Benjamin: “I not know who Amari is….”

Me: “Remember, Benjamin?  She gave you a donut last time we went there?”

Benjamin: “OH, YESSS!!! I want to go to Amari  house!!”

Me: “Well, Benjamin, she might not have donuts this time…”

Benjamin: “Dang it*.”       “I not want to go to Amari house”

 

*After I finished laughing, I asked him where he learned to say “dang it” and he tells me,

“YOU. You say it when sumfin not workin”

There we go, my little, exposing mirror…. Oops.

 

Lent (A Little Late): The best thing to give up for Lent

Lent.

A time to prepare our hearts for the sacrifice of the One who was sent to save people from the judgement they deserve.

A sacrifice necessary to gain us favor in the eyes of our Holy Maker.

And in honor of His sacrifice, we choose to sacrifice for 40 days leading to Easter.  All that we might know Christ–yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death. (Phil. 3:10)

And every time I open that age old book, hungry for some soul-sustaining Truth, I see it.

Sacrifice.

Funny, how you’ll drag tired body out of bed in order to read about animals being butchered. But in my Bible reading plan, I just finished reading through Leviticus and Numbers, and sacrifice after sacrifice after sacrifice is made.  Insane numbers of animals sacrificed, on a daily or regular basis. (to be honest…it seems like such a waste, I mean they could have eaten all those animals in their desert wanderings…but thats a whole different blog post)

And then I read that God doesn’t even care about all those animals He so specifically told Moses to sacrifice.

I will not accept a bull from your house
or goats from your folds.
For every beast of the forest is mine,
the cattle on a thousand hills.
I know all the birds of the hills,
and all that moves in the field is mine.

If I were hungry, I would not tell you,

for the world and its fullness are mine.
Do I eat the flesh of bulls
or drink the blood of goats?

Psalm 50: 9-13

Well, great. Now I’m wondering why God won’t make up His mind. He commands them. Then He says He doesn’t want them.  But I read on. And sacrifice pops out from the pages once again.

Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving,
and perform your vows to the Most High,
and call upon me in the day of trouble;
I will deliver you, and you shall glorify me.

Psalm 50:14-15

And the very next morning, not so early (it was a painfully fatigued day), but during a few stolen moments while small children built forts with couch cushions, and very successfully unorganized the entire playroom, it pops again.

You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it;

you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.

My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit;

a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise.

Psalm 51:16-17

And the pondering and praying I had been doing on what to give up or do for lent, (meat?…no this pregnant body is desperate for it these days, even-earlier morning prayer sessions? no this pregnant mamma needs more sleep, not less. Coffee? I’m sorry but my children would bear the brunt of that each day) it all came clear as to the sacrifice I was to make for these forty days leading to His magnificent one.

A sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving.

A sacrifice of a broken and contrite heart.

And how could the two go hand in hand?  Well, for me to praise the Lord and give thanks in the midst of physical suffering? Well, thats a sacrifice of brokenness. Broken of my own desires and agendas. A sacrifice of me being on the throne and dictating to God how I want my world to be run. A sacrifice of my will, to declare “whatever You give is good, and I will thank You for it”.   And a sacrifice of praise is one contrition and repentance, for I simply cannot do it.

But I know the One who can.

And as I share in some suffering, and choose thanksgiving in it, I choose CHRIST. I choose Him IN me to accomplish it. And I choose the resurrection that comes when Christ is alive in a dead tomb of a struggling mamma.

And the sacrifice of self,

leads to the Resurrection I long to experience.

So, the best thing to give up for Lent

is myself,

for this is where I meet Jesus in that dark garden and know Him in me intimately as I, too, cry,

 “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.” (Luke 22:42 ESV)

And choosing to praise Him no matter what, is a constant declaration,

not my will, but yours be done.”

More Lenten helps

And to help with the sacrifice of thanksgiving, I downloaded this app on my phone to help me record all those things worthy of giving thanks to God for.

With the kids in the afternoon (when I can gather some of the neighborhood kids as well) we are doing this Lenten devotional.  There are only 17 entries which is perfect for late starts and moms who can’t get their act together on some  most days (namely, ME).  We always take time to observe and recount what we see in the painting (most DEFINITELY a homeschool activity as they learn to observe famous historical art, as well as get their hearts probed by the Word)

Last year’s Lenten endeavors.

Fifteen Years Ago Today….

Her story is here.

Her impression continues to be here.

Her famous recipe is here.

For a mother whose mothering continues to inspire and spur on this weary one.

How to be a Lifesaver.

Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves; ensure justice for those being crushed.

 Yes, speak up for the poor and helpless, and see that they get justice.

Proverbs 31:8-9

~~~~~~~~~~

Already emotional, I sat in the doctor’s office getting blood pressure, weight, and heartbeat checked.  She ran through the traditional questions, and came upon the ones concerning the (upcoming in 6 long weeks) 20 week appointment.  “Now, do you want the optional screening for birth defects then?”

I told her “No thank you, we’ve never gotten that one done for any of our pregnancies. ”

“Oh, right.” She said.  “Because you wouldn’t abort the baby anyways.”

It was so matter of fact. Like I was an exception to the rule. And it stung.

At my first appointment, my doctor (who I actually really like) and I had a talk about how many children we have and why we have so many  and how we value life,  and we take literally what the Bible says about them being a blessing.  But she also practices “medicine” in a culture where abortions are SO run of the mill, SO easily performed, and SO naturally resorted to, especially if there is something “wrong” with the baby. These decisions about life and death are made for baby who has the miraculous imprint of the image of God upon him or her, but is not yet developed enough to cry out in their own defense.

I cried the whole way home.

And as I suffer through this tremendously hard pregnancy,  I long to not only give this child a chance, but to give others a chance as well.

So, might I suggest, that you, that I, might do something to stand for justice? To be a life saver?

I know, I have been silent long enough.

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Rescue those being led away to death;

hold back those staggering toward slaughter.

 If you say, “But we knew nothing about this,”

does not he who weighs the heart perceive it?

Does not he who guards your life know it?

Will he not repay everyone according to what they have done?

 Proverbs 24:11-12

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You must not worship the Lord your God in their way, because in worshiping their gods, they do all kinds of detestable things the Lord hates. They even burn their sons and daughters in the fire as sacrifices to their gods.

Deuteronomy 12:31

A good friend of ours helped with the filming of this video recently, and passed it along to us.

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Just some ways to move towards speaking up for those who cannot speak for themselves:

1. Watch AND SHARE the above video

2. Pray regularly for the end of this child slaughter, and for the mothers who are fearfully considering what pregnancy means for them.

3. Check out this website.

4. Find out the inner workings of the abortion industry.

5. Give financially to help those trying to affect legislation concerning abortion.

6. Consider becoming an adoptive family.  Giving another option to at least one mother in need.

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