Calling all Mothers

On this Mother's Day as I sat in church with my two precious children, surrounded by my amazing church family, a whisper of sorrow wound it's way around my heart. The blue eyed boy my heart loves wasn't with me.

Being a mother has been my greatest challenge and an amazing gift. The love that comes from caring for someone small and vulnerable has expanded my ability to love. I'm finding the capacity to care for someone that needs protecting doesn't stop with my own children. My mother's heart rises up in indignation when I hear of a child taken advantage of or neglected.

Perhaps that's what God intended, for mother's to extend that nurture and influence as a spiritual reality to others. The little boy who lies in a crib in Serbia isn't my responsibility. I didn't give birth to him. I didn't abandon him when his body succumbed to disease. But I've seen him, and perhaps a heart that can see and love is responsible to be a mother, even to a child that's not hers. 

Perhaps I've beat this drum a lot lately, a call of love for the broken and needy. But I think I've just gotten started and the beat will only grow louder. The world needs mothers (and father's too for that matter but today is Mother's Day so I'll stay on topic).

The world needs mothers to ease a hurting heart, to be an advocate in weakness, to notice when something's wrong and take the time to make it right. The world needs mothers to stretch out their hands in a soothing touch, smile in pride at faltering steps, forgive, cheer, clean, mend, and do it again tomorrow. 

So even from a distance I'll learn to be a mother to a world I didn't birth but am learning to see. Will you join me moms? Strap on your super cape and reach into your mother's tool box and embrace the world. The world is our responsibility not because we gave birth to it but because we've been given our motherhood by the One who taught us to love in the first place and he's inviting us to turn our superpowers of love on those who aren't our own.

This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us. 1 John 4:9-12

Becoming Washers of Feet

I'm writing less and more sporadically these days, and it seems more raw. I thought when I came back from Serbia last October I would be a more liberated, world wise writer. I was wrong. It seems that words have become like a jagged, ugly cry rather than a thing of beauty. But some things of beauty, at least outwardly, are hideous. A brand new baby in a smelly, manure filled stable for example. Or perfect Jesus, with the tender voice and piercing eyes, blood matted on a cross. Perhaps that's where worth comes in, the holy meeting the putrid in a visceral mess.

Lately, when I un-clench a protective hand from my blood red heart, I stare at a silver vein running through it. It creates a stark contrast, this sliver of hope tracing itself on flesh. A promise held in trust. It aches like a splinter and throbs like love, tethering it's owners together, stretched thin through time and space.

What story can be told? I've told it before, over and over. Hands I've held in my own, small and dry from lack of care. Chewed for comfort, missing a mother's touch. I remember the feel of them; some days I wish I didn't. And yet he smiles and coos and laughs, if you can call the sound he makes laughter. Who's womb bore him and then gave him up when illness clamped it's steely jaws around his mind? Why would I, a stranger, grieve and cry and pray and beg for his life more than his own flesh and blood? What could her story be.

Sometimes I remember his fragile frame and wonder if a soul and body can just disappear. How many months until his stick legs are bent and twisted, never to straighten again? Will his smile dry up and the mask of loss be his to wear forever? Will the dull, glassy, institutional eyes replace the sparkle? Will he be lost for good? At the moment I see life flicker behind his eyes and I pray it doesn't vanish.

I'll see him in July. I catch my breath and wonder what I'll find. Will he be in the little bed, arms pushed through the rails, waiting? Will he have changed? Will I be able to bear seeing him again?

Sometimes I wonder how the world can take the burgeoning weight of her orphans without ripping at the seams of her huge heart, when it feels my own cannot. How do you taste the brutal love of a Father grieving for his children and not stagger under the weight of it? I cannot, and so most days I cry.

I cry for his mother who knew a beautiful, sweet child and lost him to disease. I cry for the hopes she had for who he would be. I cry for his body, his time, his future, his days locked away from love. I cry for what could have been and what may not be. I cry for me to have seen him and have fallen in love and have to live without him. I cry for everyone who hasn't seen, and lives as if he and his brothers and sisters don't exist, and miss the agony of caring. I cry because I escaped a life of neglect that so many in the world have known. I cry because Jesus cries and he wants company in the grieving. I cry because one day I trust I won't have to any more.

He's just one orphan of so very many, why could it possibly matter that I love him? Ezekiel 16 contains a peculiar passage that hints at the answer. God says to his people Israel, "No one had the slightest interest in you; no one pitied you or cared for you. On the day you were born, you were unwanted, dumped in a field and left to die. “But I came by and saw you there, helplessly kicking about in your own blood. As you lay there, I said, ‘Live!’" Is that not the story of humanity, of me? Is that not the story of the cross?

What if God had passed  by on the day we became orphans in the Garden at the beginning of time? What if he decided Jesus was too great of a price for our own lives, could you blame him? But he didn't. He has pursued us as though we have always been his sons and daughters.

That's what I came away with this Easter season. I was reminded that a great God stooped to clean and care for an orphaned humanity. I was reminded that I'm not greater than my Master and just as he washed feet it's my privilege and responsibility to wash feet too. Wherever I may find them. In my home, in my church, on the side of the road, in Serbia.

I wish I could daily wash the feet of this little orphaned boy. But right now I can't. And so I daily choose to bear the burden of love and wash his feet in prayer from a distance. It's always more complicated when holy and profane meet. I don't know if I'll ever bring him home and be his mama. But I will climb in the yoke of suffering with Jesus. The cross has made a way, and burdens that never seemed as if they could be born, for the love of Jesus, can be. I will labor for this child. The heavy heart that comes, in the light of Jesus, becomes a joy.

When he had finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place. “Do you understand what I have done for you?” he asked them. “You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them. John 13:12-17

Who's burden are you carrying, who's feet has Jesus asked you to wash. The burden becomes joy when carried in love.

Snapshots of the Gospel

How do we display the gospel with our lives, matching words and actions, Jesus like? I love the way the Gospels paint pictures with mustard seeds and pearls, virgins with lamps and farmers.

God was speaking our language.

We can be tiny vignettes of real life gospel, painted and lived out before our neighbors. The dearest hope I have for my life is to become a miniature of truth coming to life, painting the picture of redemption by adopting. But not adopting just any child. There's a specific child on my mind and a particular community watching.

I imagine journeying back to Dom Veternik and walking up to blonde boys crib and saying "I'll take that one. He's my son." It gives me chills to think about.

Isn't that what Jesus did? He showed up to this huge orphanage called life and said, "that one, I want that one." And he paid a price, gave an inheritance, invited us home, became our family. Everyone's invited but not everyone has understood. What he did is still being talked about, it's still a source of wonder so many years later.

Very few children are adopted from Dom Veternik. When I spoke with one of the workers we struggled to communicate about the reality of adoption. She didn't understand why someone would adopt one of the children. They just live there.

I want to lift that bright eyed child who can't speak, or walk, or feed himself, out of his crib and carry him home. I want Lubitza and Anna and Yanna and Marina and Srjdan and Dragana and Zoran and whoever else is watching to rub their heads and wonder.

When I visited in October and held hands and sang and spoke softly to the treasures in beds Lubitza watched surprised. "Are there others like you?" she asked. I want to tell her that there is One so much better than me who cares and there's a band of us that imitate him.

I don't think I'll ever get over that boy. My heart is wounded, in a good way. I will never look at my worth in Jesus the same again. Even though carrying the burden of loving him, locked in my heart an ocean away, physically hurts I'm not sorry for it.

Look at that smile, he loves his physical therapist

At night when Chris plays with our son and daughter making them squeal and run I imagine little boy sitting in a wheel chair, or on the couch beside me, throwing back his head and laughing in delight. I see his eyes crinkled shut in happy. I whisper a prayer that he will be rescued, that he will be loved, that the Spirit of God speaks kindness to his heart in the dark.

I don't think I would be the perfect mama, I know I would get tired and discouraged. I know I would have to give up a lot to care for him and the future would be uncertain. I know it would cost a lot to bring him home. But I think it should, I believe it reflects his worth. And even though I wouldn't be the perfect mama, I would be his.

How are you living out the gospel? Are you bending a submitted knee in a time of illness repeating our big Brother's words "not my will but yours Father." Are you pursuing truth like a pearl even when your coworkers pursue dishonest gain? Are you sowing God's word into your little ones hearts like a farmer scattering seed? The gospel is meant to lift off of the pages of the bible and be replayed over and over again in the hearts of God's people, coming alive in us just as it came alive in the hearts of Peter, Mary, Lazarus, John, Lydia and hundreds of others.

Bed ridden due to meningitis at age five 

Adoption isn't the only snapshot to portray the gospel, but the Bible highlights it as very dear to God's heart, a reflection of what he's done for us, a powerful catalyst of his love in an often bleak world. You may not feel led to adopt but I have no doubt that God has a role for you to play in the display of his good news of grace. What is he calling you to? How are you living out the gospel?

A Love Letter to My Husband

Our expressions say it all!

When I think about the vulnerability of this life and the human heart, I'm amazed by the longevity of 'us'. You have loved me with tenacity. Like oil and vinegar our personalities made pretty patterns but didn't mix in those early days. Could there be more opposite people? But life has a way of shaking things up. A tangy blend has emerged and I find we're better than before, together, you and me forming we.

Amazingly, I've learned you are right about silence. It is a good thing, not a foe to be conquered or an unknown to be feared. Rather a gift to be savored and even shared, at least for a moment. You've been right about a good many things, and I find after almost two decades of knowing you that I'm not so jagged and rough. The volatile, quick tempered, reactionary I was has simmered in your love, and has grown into, I hope, a gentle boldness infused with purpose. I still have my moments, of course, and you see every one of them, but I hope the fire of my personality warms more than it burns.

You've changed too, though I won't go into detail in such a public place. I'm impressed more by your qualities that haven't changed, but deepened and strengthened. Faithfulness that is willing to go the extra mile. A willingness to honor me, unthreatened, to pursue Jesus in ways unique to myself. Loyalty that doesn't make you a pushover, rather gracious and trustworthy. I'm amazed that your leadership style has become more mellow and tenacious, but I believe more effective. Your patience is amazing, trusting God to complete the good work he's started in others, giving the benefit of the doubt.

I treasure the moments of laughter and companionship, shared work and even the arguments that have shaped our life together. You are one of the ways I know God gives good gifts. Thank you for being my first love, my true love.

Yours always,
Beck

Leaving Behind I'm not, Embracing I Am!

It's easy for me to get stuck and recite in my head what I'm not. How about you? Statements like I'm not pretty enough, not organized enough, not thin enough, not successful enough, not patient enough, not good enough taunt me. But today I'm reminded to focus on what I am. Because God has revealed himself to us as I AM and shared his very nature with us, as his people, we too can say "I am"! (Exodus 33)

Maybe, like me, you have gotten stuck on the I'm not's. Instead I invite you, leave that broken record behind, and join me in declaring I am!

God's love has enabled us to say, I am chosen.
His mercy has empowered us to say, I am forgiven.
His Word has taught us to say, I am wise.
His presence has emboldened us to say, I am known.
His power has invited us to shed the robe of victim, and claim I am a conqueror.
His robe of righteousness gives us the right to say, I am beautiful.
His design has taught us to say, I am precious.
His promise has given us reason to say, I am hopeful.
His gifts have taught us to say, I am thankful.
His light has penetrated our hearts to say, I am alive.
His strength gives us confidence to declare, I am safe.
His Spirit allows us to say, I am equipped.
His invitation to serve with him allows us to say, I am valued.
His Son's blood has allowed us to say, I am worthy!

So today let's stand on his faithfulness and declare I am! No doubt you can add to the list of I am's based on God's word and your experience. Go ahead, in the comments below add a few to the list! And if you found this list encouraging why not send it to a friend!

Therefore, since we have been made right in God’s sight by faith, we have peace with God because of what Jesus Christ our Lord has done for us. Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God’s glory. Romans 3:1-2

Can There Be Too Much Mercy?

I have a new obsession. It's the mercy of God. I need it, want it, love it, don't understand it, trip over it. 

The more I stare at the beauty of mercy the more I feel it scrub away the scabs of judgement, stinging my conscious, exposing the new skin of a stripped down pharisee.

Some days I still stumble over the old pattern, tasting the crunch of critical words on my tongue. But it isn't long until I look for the stream of mercy to wash the bad taste from my lips.

It's like an addiction. How far will mercy go? I've dabbled in faith before, believing from my recliner, tucked in the early morning with my stack of devotionals. I've heard of mercy that consumes but doesn't burn up, a mercy that leads out nations. 

I want to see it.

Not from the comfort of my recliner, but from the discomfort of the red light district and divorce court. From the squeeze of the psychiatric ward, and in the challenge of another language. Perhaps, most miraculously of all, I want to see it in the extravagant embrace of a fellowship of Christians who don't skimp on handing it out, because they know they're really handing out life.

My heart quakes at moments when I realize what I've asked. To see God on the move, stretching out a banner of mercy over the nations. My legs could never keep up on such a journey. So I pray I will trust him to carry me. Because I'm determined to see what he's about. I understand the fear of God in a new way now. God is scary in his fierce mercy, there is no one he won't touch, or ask me to touch.

I ask myself, can mercy be too extravagant, can there be too much mercy? The fearful, of which I was one, say yes. I recognize the slip from breathless faith to robust religion. It comes from not looking in the mirror enough. The mirror of God's standard, and recognizing how woefully we measure up, and then the quick intake of breath as we realize that mercy never runs out and it's still here to kiss us hello in the morning. It can bring me to tears in a heartbeat.

And in that heartbeat I realize that lavishing mercy on another woeful beggar can never make me unholy, quite the opposite. Did Jesus lose holiness when a prostitute lavished his feet with her kiss, quite scandalously, in public? No, his glory shone all the more. Mercy, breathing in, pouring out.

Mercy never loses the hard edge of holiness. It makes it attainable.

Jesus was never made less holy by embracing the tax collector, conversing with well women, rubbing shoulders with the possessed, leprous, loud mouthed, riotous, dirty, immoral, or heathen. And he wasn't made holy because he obeyed every law, and observed every holy decree. He was, he is, holy because he is himself. And in the touching of others he wasn't soiled, they were made clean.

Can there be too much mercy? Never! Now is the time for mercy and we should never fear handing it out like water, living water. Because we're made holy by Jesus' presence in us and his presence always brings mercy!

Who are you most afraid of giving mercy to? Who have you received mercy from, did it make a difference? 

Looking for Jesus like a Four Year Old

I've missed posting here lately! I've got so many exciting things going, like this, this, this, and this with a group of ladies, that days have been passing in a whirlwind! I love to imagine calmer times when I can write at a more leisurely pace, but I think for now that's a dream I've spun from the air. So I'll grab these snippets of moments to pour out what fills my heart.

Yesterday my four year old, Maggie, spent much of the day wrapped around my leg, or sitting in my lap, and yet it was not enough. "I want to be with you Mommy," was her constant declaration. I'm embarrassed to confess my annoyance with her. If you're a parent, I imagine you've had those days when you feel you're being loved by an octopus and cannot escape the constantly grabbing arms.

As I prayed for her little heart and wondered what makes people so needy for love and connection, the dots began to connect. If only I pursued God with such fervor. Following him around, "I want to be with you God," face turned up expectantly, arms reached out. He's not a harried, limited mama like me. He has all the time in the world. When we ask, he gives. I think the thing he most likes being asked for, and giving, is himself.

Let's be like the psalmist who cries out, "A single day in your courts is better than a thousand anywhere else!" (Ps 84:10) I want to be with you, God!

Looking for peace, joy, contentment, rest, etc. is like chasing fog with a butterfly net. Those experiences and attributes will allude us. Yet a magic eye of truth pops into view when we search for Jesus, and all these things are added in, a natural by product of the main thing. His presence. The cry, "I want to be with you, God," unlocks more than we can imagine. 

Today let's imitate a four year old, hungry for time with her parent. Let's follow God around, face upturned, crying, "I want to be with you!"

Where I Long To Be

I dreamed this Christmas Eve of a place I love. A place I long to be. It wasn't the North Carolina hills where my parents and family are tucked warm into a cabin, snug together. Though my heart is there. Or here in the warm, velvety south with children and in-laws, though it is a delight to be together.

I dreamed of a room in another world that holds a golden haired treasure. Over an ocean, miles away, lie men and women, boys and girls, waiting. For some it's a good life, the best they will know. For others it's just not enough.

If I could grant wishes anywhere in the world it would be for the ones I love in Dom Veternik. Serbia haunts me and I often find myself shoving down the memory of my visit, locking it in a safe place, but it always finds a way to resurface.

If I could materialize a dream I would share a warm meal with my new friends, the staff who tirelessly care for the residents, and exchange small trinkets of friendship. I would ask them what they thought of the incarnation of God, the Son putting on flesh to be with us.

I would hug, and laugh with the residents who walk the grounds. Eventually I would make my way to the upstairs room of golden haired boy (it grieves me that I don't recall his name) where he lays with Boris, Petra, and a little girl whose name I've also forgotten. Maybe I would take a book and read to them. Most likely I would do what they seem to like best, hold their hands, and sing.

But I can't be in Serbia this Christmas. So I pray and trust that Jesus is. I pray that Jesus visits this humble place, filled with the fragile of this world. I think places like Dom Veternik are where he loves to be, with the meek and mild, the small and childlike.

I'm thankful for the incarnation of all that's holy, Jesus putting on skin to be forever linked with humanity, humbly taking our cross and bearing a load too huge for our shoulders. I'm thankful not only for what Immanuel means for me but for the weak I can do so very little for. The Child's coming gives meaning and hope to their quiet lives of longing. Seen, loved, and known by a humble King, they are not forgotten.

This is my prayer for the 600 residents of Dom Veternik mental institution on Christmas:

O Zion, messenger of good news,

shout from the mountaintops!

Shout it louder, O Jerusalem.

Shout, and do not be afraid.

Tell the towns of Judah,

“Your God is coming!”

Yes, the Sovereign Lord is coming in power.

He will rule with a powerful arm.

See, he brings his reward with him as he comes.

He will feed his flock like a shepherd.

He will carry the lambs in his arms,

holding them close to his heart.

He will gently lead the mother sheep with their young.

Isaiah 40:9-11

In his kingdom, as he leads with power, Jesus is not unaware of his needy ones. I trust he will reward and gently carry those whose lot in life has been a heavy burden. Today I'm trusting the Shepherd who caries lambs close to his heart. What a God we worship! In our bounty and celebration let's not forget those living in great need. 

A Broken Christmas

Not Okay

I'm not okay. I hate wrestling with the pain of life at Christmas time. It's supposed to be a season of beauty and wonder, right? I dreamed about Serbia last night. It left a gnawing ache in my heart.

So many things in my life I can't heal, I can't help. I can't heal my own wounds of painful and disappointing years in ministry. I can't heal my Mom's cancer. I have so little strength to help the disabled of Serbia, whom I've come to love.

Instead of boisterous and strong this Christmas I feel sad, weak, vulnerable. I keep shoving those feelings down, I'd rather pretend I'm okay. But I'm not.

If you've read my blog you'll know that I asked God to show me his presence this Christmas season. I suppose I had expected something mysterious and beautiful. Instead, I feel broken. I didn't expect him to take me to a place of vulnerability, dependence, need; but he has.

Instead of fighting it, I'm working on embracing this hard place. It's my gift to Jesus this Christmas, acceptance and trust. I choose to let him into the broken places.

Not Okay Is Why He Came

In my weakness I'm reminded that Jesus did the same for us. He embraced vulnerability, dependence, and ultimately brokenness for our good. What kind of a God would step into our messiness? I'm thankful for his presence in a whole new way this Christmas season. 

I wonder how often I've overlooked other people's pain at the holidays. It's inconvenient and messy to step into broken lives. 

But Jesus has set the example and I'm trusting him to lead the way. Painful days are exactly why God wrapped himself in flesh and came to be with us! If you're hurting join me in inviting God into your painful days. If you are in a strong place look for those around you who are hurting this Christmas to show compassion and love to.

The Word became flesh and blood,

and moved into the neighborhood.

We saw the glory with our own eyes,

the one-of-a-kind glory,

like Father, like Son,

Generous inside and out,

true from start to finish.

John 1:14

I'm resting on the generosity of the God-Man who moved into our messy world, who showed up to save, I hope you are too!

Blue Eyed Boy

His blonde hair had been stroked by a mother, once. That was before the virus had come and stripped his body of it's memory. After the meningitis had had it's way with his brain it then stripped him of what was left; relationship, hope, a future.

The burden of his care had reduced him to the status of orphan. I wonder if his mother cried when he was taken to the institution. Did she go with him and watch as he was placed into the white metal crib that is now the extent of his world? I hope she didn't.

His innocent blue eyes still hold hope, lighting up whenever anyone gets close enough to notice. Little hands reach out through bars, grasping, looking for what's been lost.

He had five healthy years before the sentence fell. His body is still flexible, able to sit with supportive hands, able to reach. Unlike some of the others on his floor. 

They could tell stories, if they could speak. Once they could move and smile, but slowly, over time, they've turned to wood. Like real boys gone unloved turning back into the block of wood they came from. But this isn't a fairy tale, no good fairy coming to break the spell, just day after day of the same bars.

Of course there is one nurse, Lubitza, meaning violet, maybe she is a bit of a fairy, singing and kissing as she tends to needs. But the hands are so few and the needs so great it's not enough to stem the tide, not enough to make up for what was lost.

Blue eyed boy with the golden smile. I'll hope with you for a while and pray this isn't the end of your story. The saddest thing is, I can't remember his name. It bothers me that I can't.  Just one of hundreds of little lives, all who deserve hearing. I think the least we can do is lean in close and listen.

My husband would say I'm obsessed. I have to confess, he's right. I also have to confess, I don't care. I would rather be obsessed with redemption than anything else I can think of. What else is adoption, seeking out the lonely, praying for restoration, than redemption at a human level?

I'm messy at it, and I'm okay with that too.

How much more, then, will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself unblemished to God, cleanse our consciences from acts that lead to death, so that we may serve the living God! For this reason Christ is the mediator of a new covenant, that those who are called may receive the promised eternal inheritance. Hebrews 9:14-15a

Will you join in praying with me for this little one? That God will set him in a family and restore his hope. If you want to know how you can be a part of helping the residents of Dom Veternik please feel free to contact me.

{Update: I returned this summer to the mental institution, Dom Veternik, where blue eyed boy lives. I learned his name is Cedo. He is not available for adoption because his parents still have custody of him. They are unable to care for him due to financial limitations and poor social infrastructure for people with disability.}

Waiting on Mercy

I feel a little frustrated, an ache of longing has settled into my heart, the weariness of life has slipped around my shoulders like an unwelcome friend. I miss the children of Dom Veternik and the people who care for them. I miss the Christians I met so briefly but love already. And I feel a little helpless.

Sweet friend

What does one woman, who already has her hands full raising her own children, writing a book, loving a husband, serving at church, loving my neighbor, growing a garden, what does one woman do? How could she possibly matter?

Last week at church we studied the story of Rahab as a part of our series called Vintage Faith. Her story is compelling, highlighting God's plan of mercy and his faithfulness to his own character. Whenever he judges people for sin he always provides a refuge of Mercy. 

Amazing architecture of a Catholic church in Novi Sad

When Rahab acknowledged God's supreme rule and submitted to him God didn't remove her from danger, he protected her in it. As the walls fell she was hidden in a refuge of God's mercy. When he destroyed the earth with a flood he didn't remove Noah, he mercifully protected him in it, in a refuge. Jonah deserved judgement but God protected him, essentially in a watery grave, a merciful refuge. The children of Israel hid in their homes under lamb's blood, a refuge of mercy. Ultimately Jesus' tomb was a refuge of mercy, protecting us all if we will come, offering us mercy. God reminded me that's what he wants for the Serbian people, to choose mercy, to come into his refuge, out of judgement and into life. 

This week at church we're studying Gideon. I've been feeling like Gideon, as I said, a little helpless, kind of small. But then God reminds me he has called his servants mighty men (and women) of valor. If it's God's plan of mercy for the nations I've been drawn into then it rests on him to accomplish it. I get to participate. But it takes faith, maybe a little failure, sometimes looking foolish, waiting, and trust. I'm not always good at those things, but when glory peaks out and God's mercy breaks in I'm finding it's worth it.

So even though I'm a little overwhelmed by the task, little faces burned into my memory compel me to action. Even if it's the small act of remembering and praying, telling their story, or collecting even just a few resources I'll remember that it's God's mercy I'm under and he uses small people to accomplish his plan! I'm waiting on Mercy and trusting for it to be enough.

Sculpture in the courtyard of Dom Veternik

Those who live in the shelter of the Most High

    will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

² 

This I declare about the Lord:

He alone is my refuge, my place of safety;

    he is my God, and I trust him. Psalm 91:1-2

All For Friendship

I went to Serbia to make friends. It may seem an odd goal to have, flying across the world, to engage in friendship. But I hope that's what I did.

Bob Goff says, "Some people will always be skeptical of extravagant love. Give them something to talk about." (If you haven't read his book Love Does, you really should) I could have gone to Serbia to start programs, to preach, to document a situation, but I believe friendship is more powerful than programs any day. 

View from the Seminary we stayed at in Novi Sad.

When I landed in Belgrade on October 18th with my friend Nichole I was prepared with months of prayer, the support of some amazing family and friends, and many weeks of email exchanges with the staff of the mental institution. I had also been in contact in the previous week or two with a few Christians in Novi Sad, and Nichole and I had even found a Theological Seminary to stay at. 

A typical street outside of the city center

While that seemed like plenty of preparation when I got on the plane, it was a completely different story when we got off! I can't say that the Belgrade airport has spent sufficient money on making a first impression to those arriving in their country for the first time. I wonder if they get a lot of international travelers, it was hard to find someone who spoke English, and we felt not like Americans but two headed aliens. In short, as we stood waiting on the sidewalk for the bus to take us the hour and a half to Novi Sad, after some challenging communication about currency exchange, and with Nichole's phone battery drained, the inevitable wave of 'what are we doing here' washed over me.

Is an email exchange with someone in another country, someone I've never actually spoken to, someone who knows we're coming to find out information about their institution that has a not so nice reputation, is that really enough grounds to have bought two very expensive tickets just so we can show up? For a moment I wanted to cry but God reminded me it wasn't just Dom Veternik I was coming to see, it was his glory. For the last few months my prayers for the disabled, warehoused in a mental institution, had changed to prayers for the entire people of Serbia, that they would know God's glory expressed to them in mercy. There was no turning back now.

When we stepped onto the curb outside of the Novi Sad Theological Seminary friendship began. Relief washed over us and gratitude rose up from our hearts. Ladislav Repic, a member of the Seminary staff, met us warmly, and our time at the Seminary was graced with comfort, great conversation, and the bond of Christ. Later in the week we met up with Gordana, I've mentioned her in a previous post, we had been connected on facebook through a mutual friend. We knew God was involved in orchestrating the beautiful connections we had with Novi Sad's Christian community. Everything I've ever written about sisters here on this blog was evident in our meeting with Gordana, and others. I love when Jesus in me resonates with Jesus in another heart, and that certainly happened as we opened our hearts and relished God's grace with Gordana.

A group of young adults with mobility issues

On Friday the moment had come for us to see with our own eyes the truth about Dom Veternik. We were a little nervous because we had heard that the director was concerned about our visit. The MDRI, a human rights group, had released a report the weekend before that was less than favorable in it's description of several institutions, including Dom Veternik, and that had put him on edge. When we arrived we were welcomed warmly and were able to address their concerns and state our true reason for coming; that we wanted to see with our own eyes their needs, and to be friends. Of course that sounds strange when you say it out loud. The inevitable questions, "who sent you, what are your qualifications, who do you represent," are bound to be asked. I'm getting better at answering those questions they've been asked so many times!

Children on the floor for immobile and mentally disabled , they are all over 10 years old

Over the next several days I think, I hope, they came to see our motivation. The staff took us everywhere, not holding back the most troubling sights, answering any question, expressing their needs and hopes. I knew I would come to care for and love the kids, I was surprised by how much I came to care for the staff. We were making friends. Serbia is less than 1% evangelical, most people identify with the Orthodox church, so I knew that expressing our purpose in coming (to express the love of Jesus, the ultimate friend) might sound weird. I'm getting used to sounding weird though. Most cultures can understand the language of friendship I think, compassion, empathy, love. The staff just wanted to be understood. It had hurt them that they have been painted in reports and media coverage as unfeeling and unkind to the residents. It was obvious to us that the men and women who work with the 600 hundred residents of Dom Veternik care a great deal about their well being. It was also obvious that their care is not enough. 

 Painting a poster of peace with a group of disabled children

We saw workers put in straining situations, limited by resources, working hard in some cases just to keep people safe and alive. Three women for almost 50 profoundly disabled immobile children and adults is not enough. Or how about three women for 75 profoundly mentally disabled children, children who can walk, some can talk, get into trouble, hurt themselves and each other, who need hugs and stimulation and therapy. Three women. I can't imagine three women for 75 healthy children, forget about 75 very needy children. The shortage of staff isn't Dom Veternik's fault, the government sets the ratio of workers to patients, and it's not the governments fault, they are struggling to rebuild their country after difficult times and in a challenging economy. It's the nature of life, there are always poor, helpless, and weak people, there are always people trying to help without enough resources. It's a waste of time to look for who's at fault. Better to pitch in and help.

Anna, me, Jana, Nichole, and Marina at Dom Veternik

And that's what I want to do. Because now Zoran and Srdjan, Anna, Marina, Jana, Lubitza, and Dragana are our friends. They work in different roles in the institution, administrating, teaching and caring. Nikola, Borin, Petra, Luca and many others are also our friends, they live in different spaces, with different needs, inside of Dom Veternik. Love doesn't judge, love helps, love finds the good, love sees God's mercy extended to all of his creation and joins in. God is obviously not finished with Serbia and neither am I. These friendships are just the beginning. Now it's time to pray harder, love deeper, and work more! Who's with me?

Srdjan and Nichole shopping for Dom Veternik

I'm working on the next steps and I'm excited about what God is going to do. Nichole and I have lots of ideas! The first thing I need to do is begin a non-profit organization. And to do that I need a name. I want you to help me! What do you think would be a good name for an organization partnering with the disabled of Serbia to help give them hope, dignity and a better life? Give it your best shot and leave your suggestions in the comment section below. If I choose one of your suggestions I'll send you a Starbucks gift card!

An Overdue Lullaby

(Just so you know from the outset I'm posting pictures here that may be emotional or difficult to see)

I've had a pent up lullaby in my heart for weeks, maybe months, building and growing. A song of love to be sung, looking for people who need singing to. It tumbled out today, soft and low. I knelt down beside metal cribs and held stiff hands and sang quietly, "Jesus paid it all, all to him I owe, sin had left a crimson stain he washed it white as snow." I'm not sure why that song, it just bubbled up. Every one of the little ones I sang to  smiled and turned to me at the sound of the song.

As I sang I reached through the bars to touch them. Some flinched to be touched. Many smiled and made whatever sound they were able. Some grabbed hold and didn't want to let go. That was the hardest, prying their fingers off of mine.

There are 12 rooms, four to a room, beds filled with precious souls locked in a broken shell. We saw what looked like emaciated twelve year-olds who were actually almost as old as us. The workers do everything they can but it's not enough. Three workers for almost 50 immobile patients, I don't know how they cope.

All but a few drink from bottles a liquid diet that keeps them just alive. But these patients don't know how to chew and there isn't time to teach them, the risk of anything thicker is too high.

So legs that were made for walking are sticks so fragile they can easily be broken when they are moved. 

I can't be angry though. There was too much love on that floor. The story of twisted bodies, self injuring behavior, malnutrition, it's not the only story. A picture can paint a harsh reality but eyes that see bear witness to the other side. Nurse Lubitza blew kisses, sang songs, held hands, and loved on her residents. She is no ordinary woman and these little ones are blessed to have her as their caregiver. The staff knows the patients self injure because they need attention, are board and lonely. They know the patients need more, so much more than they can give and it frustrates them.

There are three working wheelchairs for 50 residents. Taking them to the bathroom to be bathed, or taking them outside in the fresh air occasionally is terribly limited because of the lack of equipment, not to mention the lack of hands. It isn't for an absence of care but rather a shortage of resources. And so they do what they can. They wipe drool and change diapers and smile and hope one day for something better.

Lubitza watched me sing and hold hands and bend low. She asked, "do you have places like this in America?" I told her I had never seen anything like this. She asked, "are there more like you, who would come and help us?" I told her I knew there were some who cared. Then she said, "You would be good at this, it takes a special person to do this job, you have a kind heart." Thank you Jesus! Best compliment I've ever received!

As I left she thanked me. "Will you come back," she asked. I hope so, oh, I hope so! Until then I will continue to pray, "But you, God, see the trouble of the afflicted;  you consider their grief and take it in hand. The victims commit themselves to you;  you are the helper of the fatherless." The job is beyond what one or even a handful of people can accomplish, but with God, now that's a different story!

{If you would like to be involved in helping the children of Serbia feel free to send me an email or facebook message. I'm working on a non-profit organization to respond to the need I found in the Dom Veternik mental institution. You can continue to follow that journey by subscribing to this blog or liking my facebook page.}

Where I am Home

Time moves differently in Serbia. I don't know if it's the pace of this culture or that I'm so outside of my own routine. I loose track of time and days feel longer. I feel like I've been away from home for a week already. Never has an experience been so sweet and so hard (except maybe childbirth and that's all together different).

I've been praying for Serbia for months, and you all have listened so patiently to me as I have! I was surprised that I didn't cry the first night we were in Serbia and exhausted from hours of travel and a lack of sleep. I didn't cry when I saw a little boy the size of a ten year old, who actually isn't much younger than my 32 year old sister, bent with cerebral palsy lying in a crib. No, I cried at church, two days after we had been here. I cried at the beauty of seeing the people I've been praying for, my brothers and sisters in Jesus. I cried when I heard "Blessed Be Your Name" sung in Serbian and I joined my voice in English to worship our Father.

Few experiences in my life have been as poignant and victorious as standing in the midst of a people I'm coming to love and proclaiming our faith in the living God who made us all. Nichole and I have been so blessed by friendship here in Serbia.

On Saturday we met up with Gordana. Infectious, funny, passionate, Gordana who graciously took us under her wing and offered us the bond of sisterhood. We had a wonderful time of sharing our hearts, our lives, and our dreams. I love the body of Christ, wherever I find it I AM HOME! The first few days here were intimidating but when we walked into church the strain slipped off our shoulders and our hearts were lifted.

Tomorrow we go back to the institution. Honestly I can't describe the mixture of emotions. Dread, humble gratitude, longing, fear, excitement, I don't know. The task is overwhelming, over 600 bodies, big and little, all at different stages of health and need, all requiring attention. We actually haven't seen the worst of the worst yet and I can't imagine any worse.

"God reigns over the nations;  God is seated on his holy throne. The nobles of the nations assemble, as the people of the God of Abraham, for the kings of the earth belong to God;   he is greatly exalted." Psalm 47

God is the God of Serbia, he reigns and rules over all the people of the earth. Over the wealthy and the poor, the strong and the weak. What a relief that I am not responsible for even one of them. When I step foot in the institution I will remember it is God who is king and it is my role to serve. 

Dear friends let me ask you once again to pray. On Friday we walked through most of the institution. We saw, we heard, we touched, but tomorrow we will sit down and hold and play and hug. It will be even more difficult for me and I need prayer for a right and holy perspective and for so much grace. Thank you once again for your love and support! 

How Could I Have Known

I find myself breathless, surrounded by laundry, suitcases, and to do lists. If I knew then what I know now I wonder if I would have risked praying a reckless prayer of abandon. It was easy to pray at the time, from my comfortable bedroom, surrounded by love and hope. "God, show me your heart, teach me what you love, show me what makes you grieve."

How could I have known how seriously he would take that request. I should have known, nothing delights the Father's heart like intimacy, a child drawing near to know and be known. He leaned in and whispered, "redemption." Painting in broad brush strokes he showed vividly my own adoption, once a black-hearted enemy, now a beloved child. 

Why would I think the privilege of knowing infinite love wouldn't come without risk or response? If I had known then that I would be boarding an airplane to fly for hours to a country I don't know, would I have asked the question? Maybe had I known the amazing panorama having Holy Spirit eyes would open up, I would have asked earlier. 

Seeing the suffering of others is overwhelming. I'm counting on a couple of things to keep me from drowning in the pain of other people's loss. I'm not responsible for their pain, I can't take responsibility for their situation or their rescue. It's God that takes responsibility for the orphan and outcast, but he has issued an invitation to his people to participate in the rescue of the lost and broken. That's where you and I fit, in the crook of his heart, the bend of mercy and suffering. He provides the power,the motivation, the mercy. I join in. 

I'm also counting on his love. I don't doubt it, can't be separated from it, that cosmic heartbeat beating for his little ones. I'm counting on his real, bloody love extended to me and extended to the man huddled alone locked in filth and disconnected from reality. I'm counting on the love that upholds me, to heal the child living so deprived of human contact that they are actually afraid of people and of being touched. I believe it's real, a love strong enough to right every wrong. It's the only way I can willingly get on an airplane and fly directly into the darkness.

I'm also seeing Ephesians 2 lift itself off the page into real life. People, living stones, joined together by the same Spirit of love and power. Connecting to form the real life hands and feet, the very body, of Jesus. How could I ever go alone? But I'm not, the Holy Spirit in you connects to the Holy Spirit in me and together we lift a gift of love up to heaven on behalf of our precious Jesus. Every prayer prayed, every gift given, every encouraging word spoken, every hope spilled out links our hearts together and bears fruit. I'm witnessing it and I can't wait to tell you all about the impact it will have on the very least of humanity!

I will try to update here and on facebook as I travel. I'm not sure if I'll be allowed to post pictures of children or not, but I will warn you in the heading if the images are painful and I won't post them directly to facebook. Thank you friends for going with me!

{I'm linking with my friend Ellen for her Writing Prompt on Monday's. Today's prompt, If I Knew Then What I Knew Now. Ellen has been an integral part of my journey to Serbia.}

Expressing Faith

The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love. Galatians 5:6b

What a beautiful thought. Impossibly hard if we focus on ourselves. Amazingly liberating when we realize it's the life Jesus has invited us in to and equipped us for.

Faith being expressed through love has been on my mind for the last few days. It's what I pray for and am counting on for this coming week. My heart catches as I anticipate what feels like a free fall into grace, exciting and scary, but I have faith it's what God made me for.

My friend Nichole and I leave in three days for Serbia! How is it possible that the dream has become a reality?

On this coming Wednesday evening at 6pm Nichole and I will board a plane headed for Frankfurt, Germany. A couple of hours later we will fly to Belgrade, Serbia. From there we will bus to Novi Sad. If all goes well we will arrive in Novi Sad around dinnertime on Thursday!

Friday morning the real journey begins. We will meet with the staff of Dom Veternik, a mental institution housing both adults and children, and touring the facility. For the six days we're in Serbia we will be spending as much time as possible building friendships, learning about the institution, and interacting with the residents.

On Saturday we will also be connecting with Christians in Novi Sad that God has brought us in contact with, including joining them for church! I'm excited about making friends wherever we can.

As we prepare to go won't you join in praying with us? Here are some tangible things we could use prayer for:

• Our families as we're apart, for their peace and our safety. Calm as we fly for hours (I dislike flying!).
• Good relationships to be built with the staff of the institution and Christians in Novi Sad.
• Our heart's to be in tune with Jesus heart. For us to walk in confident humility, grace, joy, and compassion. For us to have tough stomachs and peace. 
• For Nichole and myself to experience a unity of spirit and purpose.
• For open hearts to hear God's direction during this visit, as well as to determine the next steps he would have us take.

We couldn't and wouldn't want to go alone. We take your encouragement and prayers with us, lifting us up and reminding us of the grace God has called us to! Thank you friends for helping us to express faith through love!

Holding My Child For The First Time

Newborn Maggie

I'm linking up with Ellen for her writing prompt; Holding My Child For The First Time. How many of you parents remember holding your child for the first time? I have no doubt most of you moms have a flood of memories, emotions, and images immediately. That first moment, when a child and motherhood are birthed entwined, is a pivotal one. I remember details of that moment from eight and then four years ago that defy explanation; sounds, smells, colors, sensations, numbers, emotions, conversations. Some of you remember those details from decades ago, it's amazing.

I remember the pouring out being more like falling in love than giving up. Relief and wonder flooded my heart as I held my son for the first time, rising as if from the depths of my soul. I remember thinking in amazement, "is this really how God feels about me?" There was humor as we noticed that he looked like a miniature version of his father! And so much thankfulness. The birth of our little pink girl was different. The labor was different, the hospital was different, adding a girl to our family brought a new dimension of delight. Yet so many of the emotions were the same; wonder, joy, gratitude.

As I prepare to travel to Serbia I wonder what it will feel like to hold someone else's child in my arms for the first time. A child that isn't used to being held by a mommy. What did their mommies feel when they held their child for the first time? Were they afraid? Where they sad and filled with longing? Did they feel love? I wonder if some of the children's mommies got to hold their babies at all before they went to live in a long row of cribs with other broken babies.

I think often of the children I will see in Dom Veternik's rooms. But I also wonder about the parents who said goodbye, parents whose hearts still bear the scars. Many of the mother's must have been surprised by their child's disability or illness. The moments leading up to that revelation surely were similar to my own. Picking out baby clothes and a name, the pain of labor and relief of delivery, the joy of becoming a mother. Do they still remember each smell and sound, each sensation and emotion, strange details and every conversation?

I doubt they have forgotten the nightmare of learning that their child was not perfect, the pain of being told it would be better with other's of it's kind and not at home with her. I imagine each will remember that moment until the end of her life, but I pray it won't haunt her. As much as I pray that their disabled children are set free from their captivity of pain and healed by love, I pray that each mother's heart is set free from it's own captivity of remorse and healed by forgiveness.

Won't you pray with me for the healing of the disabled children of Dom Veternik as well as for the healing of their parents hearts?

Grief Revisited

I'm revisiting this post from February. Today I hugged my dear neighbor goodbye as she crammed a few trash bags of belongings into a car and headed to a new place a couple of hours away. I'm grieving. No more amazing conversations in the backyard as our children play, introducing her to my friend Jesus. No more Mikey spending hours in my home being loved and hugged, memorizing scripture and playing guys. No more best friend for Maggie. Sin stinks. I'm glad she has walked away from abuse, but I'm sad it's so far from my front door.

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." Matthew 5:4

  
Sometimes black clouds roll in and the sky opens up in a nasty gash and pours out grief. That's where I find myself today. After weeks of witnessing the worst of humanity's suffering, even if through blurry images, my heart has no where else to go but grief. Prayers have turned to tears.

Sin is a big deal and it's effect stretches through all of creation and life. If it wasn't a big deal, the payment for sin wouldn't be death.

Grief can be personal, the private wrestle with failed health, the daily longing for a lost loved one, the ache for a rebellious teenager, grief touches our hearts in a thousand ways though out a life time.  

It's also appropriate to grieve the scar of sin across creation, the suffering of a people group, the sin of a respected leader. Mourning is an invitation to join in an expression of our Father's heart. Aware that we will grieve, inviting us to mourn; he has provided.

Psalm 84:6 "When they walk through the Valley of Weeping, it will become a place of refreshing springs." How? "A single day in your courts is better than a thousand anywhere else!" (vs. 10) Our comfort and refreshing is his presence.

Just like anything, mourning can become worship, it's a holy work, not to be despised or shunned. Grief isn't a land that should be lived in, but rather a season, important to the rhythm of life.

If you find yourself in a season of mourning, invite God to be present, he has promised comfort. If you are walking in a season of joy, celebrate God's good gift, every season comes from him. 

Seeing Costs

How much can a heart endure? After a front row seat to suffering I wonder. I'm listening to Brandon Heath's Give Me Your Eyes as I write this. Months ago, as I prayed for the eyes of Jesus to be transplanted into my heart, this song shaped me. Blurry stains began to stand out in sharp contrast; evil and blood transposed over blue skies and carelessness.

If I'd known then what I know now, that seeing costs, would I have asked for heavenly vision? Like a fever I caught, that got under my skin, God vision was more than I bargained for. My Mikey-boy and his Mama and sister, calling for grace. Could I let them in my life? Can I let them out?

Today, at my table, Mikey, an impish grin and jelly stains, worked so hard on his letters. What was a commitment for the year, to invite him in and teach him every week, is over. Finished. The serrated blade of loss cuts at my heart and I feel the love spill.

Tonight his Mama ran to my house afraid and hurting, a wild fury of tears and pain, a burst of terror through the front door. And it was done. Crying, praying, trembling, laughing, and crying again, we sat together. A promise, I won't loose you, and then she was gone.

I hope she's gone forever, a new life, a new chance, and still I'm sorry. No more standing in the in-between of our yards and faith, discovering Jesus. No more Mikey standing at the front door grinning, "Hey Mi(ss) Be(ck)!" No more Hello Kitty tattooed girls giggling and getting into trouble. And I wish I hadn't been too busy earlier this week, when I was cooking dinner, to draw with chalk in the driveway. I wish I'd said I love you one more time.

I trust I will see her again but it won't be the same and I'm sad, so very sad. Yet I'm hopeful. For months I've been watching a baby struggle to be born. Tonight she called out to Jesus for help. I believe he's faithful and will give her new life, spiritually and physically. I know the Father doesn't start good works merely to abandon them.

Now comes the pain of sorting through the future, of starting over. The pain of upheaval and uprooting. The pain of wounds healing, of letting go. Fresh tears come as I remember something Max told me tonight.
"Mikey asked me today if I was his brother."
"What did you say?
"I said no. But I think of you as a brother. That's why I call you bud."

I think of you as a brother. Eyes that see with a new vision. Dare I pray that my children see with the Father's heart? It will cost them. It cost him.

Seeing costs when we engage. I don't know what her boyfriend will do. He's scary. As I lift my eyes from typing this post the Names of God emblazoned over my door frames call out the reminder of our Great God. And I pray Jehovah Sabaoth fight for us, Jehovah Nissi spread your banner of victory over my dear friend, Jehovah Mekoddishkem clothe her in your righteousness, Jehovah Shammah be present with the brokenhearted, Jehovah Jireh provide all she needs, Jehovah Shalom rule over these dear ones in peace, Jehovah Rohi seek out your lambs and shepherd, El Shaddai won't you satisfy.