God-Sized Dream: What They Don't Tell You About Hosting

They told us this would be exhausting.

They said that blending a family with a child from half a world away who doesn't speak the same language and doesn't have a family to call keeps forever would be challenging and rewarding

and that our hearts would be full.

They cautioned us to set boundaries, guidelines and stick to the many, many rules put in place to protect the children and the families.

The shared statistics, helped us understand what happens to these children, many of whom have found themselves in situations that bad dreams are made of and helped us see what the love of a family does to turn around a life -- what being chosen and Chosen does for a hurting heart.

They said to keep it simple, show love and limit sweets.

They promised our sentences would become broken fragments of two different languages and that laughter would become our universal language.

They warned time would swoosh by too fast, that our hearts would be forever changed, that we'd suffer the kind of whiplash that only occurs when you've been swept off your feet by God's amazing goodness on display.

And all of that has been true.

They even told us we couldn't possibly fit everything we wanted to send back with her into a suitcase and adhere to the 50-pound weight limit … and they were right about that, too; there was no way our family would fit in it even if we tried.

I helped her pack yesterday, the afternoon before she was set to return home to Eastern Europe. I've never wanted to crawl inside a suitcase the way I did then, 50-pound weight limit be darned.

As she placed item after item into her suitcase, I thought about how much stuff accumulates in one month … and I thought about how it doesn't even compare to the amount of love; I found myself grateful that love doesn't pack into a suitcase, or we'd surely have blown through that limit like you wouldn't believe and like I could never explain.

No one told us that.

But how could they? How could anyone have put that kind of love to words? How could anyone have said we'd feel like a piece of our heart had stepped out from our chests and boarded a plane to Europe, still tethered to us?

People kept telling us how we were blessing her with this gift of a month in our home … and I know there's truth in that as I recall some of the last words, hugs we shared this morning before she stepped through security.

But that's not the whole of it, and I'd be sorely amiss to end there.

That beautiful girl came bundled with many gifts -- she added to the love, laughter, fun and spirit of our Christmas and New Year Celebrations and our home. She lavished attention on the boys and brought us all lots of smiles and giggles. She was a patient language teacher for me, and she reminded us to slow down and savor life.

Those are all really big, wonderful gifts.

But the real gift? The real gift was simply knowing and loving her, a beautiful blessing from our extraordinarily good God.

There's a lot no one told us about hosting. And there's a lot I never would have understood.

No one told us that we'd be left feeling like the gift we'd given

would feel like it was given 10-fold back to us.

Whatever is good and perfect comes down to us from God our Father, who created all the lights in the heavens. He never changes or casts a shifting shadow. James 1:17

Celebrating Christmas: The Secret of Gift Giving

Some days I think the wrong things are overflowing inside these four walls we call home:

boxes of Legos

and recycling bins

and mailboxes filled with ads, some bills and lots of catalogues

and baskets of laundry

and large plastic boxes filled with the tokens we've accumulated along the years.

The oldest, he complains about not having a cookie alongside his ice cream.

The little one, his temper flares when turn off the TV after an entire morning of Curious George.

The parents, we scoff whenever the Internet has slowed to a crawl or when there is mud tracked from small boots across the hallway floors.

And my own heart, it groans at the thought of yet another sinkfull of dishes, high and towering after a hearty, filling meal.

Light dawns on the reality of the lay of our slice of Earth -- that which we thought of as blessings has actually become overgrown.

We are chest-deep in a a mess of thick weed-vines wrapped around our hearts, binding us up in the tangles of overabundance.

There is pressure and suffocation and with every mounting item, the vines, they tighten and pull and smother out the gratitude that comes when our blessings seem few.

We don't want to be the Christmas grinches, but both John and I have been thinking about abandoning the tradition of gift giving.



I've longed to take a torch to the weeds and attempt a controlled burn; and the thought of carrying in new seed to the overflowing garden makes me gasp a bit for air.

We weigh the idea heavily -- to radically abandon giving each other gifts and instead give generously to those actually in need -- and we cannot come to a peace.

While we're ready to untangle from the mess of vines, we know that others are not -- namely two little boys.

As we pray and think and converse over the weeks spanning before Advent begins, I'm reminded that clearing the visible weed doesn't rid the garden of weed seed.

We can remove presents from Christmas and reduce the amount of vines, but what good is that if we grow seeds of bitterness in the hearts of our sons? What good have we accomplished if we've stopped others from giving to our family out of love?

After all, there is joy in giving because when we give we emulate the best Gift Giver of all -- He who sent us a King of King in the flesh of a swaddled baby boy meant to plow the soils of our hearts and burn the bad seeds only to replace them with the fruit of the Spirit.

And there lies the secret of giving. 

If we want to best emulate the Best Giver, we must give not just good gifts, but irreplaceable gifts.

And maybe those gifts don't come wrapped in big, shiny packages and fit comfortably under the tree.

Maybe those gifts can't be stuffed into stockings or bought at the store.

Maybe those gifts never go on sale.

Maybe those gifts are tiny seeds of time spent together, memories made, lessons learned in living out loud, life experienced together.

Maybe those are the seeds of gifts that begin to grow in the heart and choke out the weeds, untangling the heart without, too, setting it on red-hot fire.

Five-Minute Friday: Expectations

Sun beats onto my bare shoulders.

And I live. 

I watch my boys run through the sprinkler, drops of water beading on their dark hair, in the same tones of my own, before each one spills onto their faces. 

They are everything bright and alive and beautiful.

And they remind me to live in the now. 

Not in the five minutes from now.

Not in the ringing of a telephone. 

Not in the to-come test results from yesterday's MRI. 

Not in gathered up expectations, diagnosis before they are delivered.

But in the truth spread out before me:

these are my good gifts from the very Good Giver 

to enjoy 

as I live right now. 

Share the Love:A few pretty Mother's Day Gifts

Gift giving has always been kind of my thing.

Though it's not one of my primary love languages by which I receive love; it's definitely a way I communicate love to the people I hold dear.

And though I'm sure most moms would declare the best Mother's Day presents they've ever been given as the gift of motherhood, I'm also sure we each have some lovely women in all of our lives who receive love through gift giving.

With gift giving as a vehicle of showing love, though, it's not just about the gift itself; rather, love is best received when the giver has put some thought into what's beneath the wrapping paper and bow.

With Mother's Day quickly approaching, The Bradford Exchange asked me to highlight a few of my favorite Mother's Day gifts for grandma and mom. If gift giving isn't your thing, but you know the simple act of giving a gift would communicate your heart, here are a few suggestions.

The Footprints in the Sand necklace is my top pick gift for grandma because of the expressed sentiment and the simple beauty of the message and the actual design; also, as a mom, I love having a lovely reminder of my little ones near resting on my chest.

I also thought the Holy Trinity Cross Ring would be a beautiful gift for a mother or grandmother whose faith has been a pillar of strenght through out the years; I love the message giving this gift sends -- you are loved and important to not only us but also our Creator.

As expressed, The Bradford Exchange asked me to highlight a few of my favorite Mother's Day gifts for grandma and mom. I have been compensated for my time; however, all opinions expressed are my own. 

Everyday Life: Good Gifts

I needed this weekend in ways I likely don't fully understand.

But there is refreshment found in Monday morning instead of the normal pull-myself-out-of-bed-and-pray-to-be-glad-in-the-dayness I've been feeling while cleansing during the first four weeks of the Body Ecology Diet {see sidebar for more details}. 

Thursday brought about a refreshing rebuilding cycle of more energy, less cleansing symptoms and a general feeling of balance and goodness. 

The blessings of life seemed to be richer to eyes that were burning to see beauty clearer, in fuller, more rounded and vibrant shapes. 

I've been counting gifts this year, yes. I've been thankful for every single one even on days where I've simply written gratitude for hot showers. 

But sometimes when the body is tired and the mind also is aching to think about something more than a tired body during the majority of the day, the grayed version of what's been taken in by fatigued eyes doesn't satisfy the thirst of a hungry-for-life soul.

Sometimes the mind, the heart just long to feel the electricity of everyday life in all of its glory. 

There was fullness tasted in places I've wanted to jump into but have been too tired to even dip in feet. 

A later-than-normal date night with John. {141}

A full-day of romping through our suburban streets with my boys and sister. {142}



Warmer-than-normal-weather enjoyed and sun soaked into skin. {143}

A family day of rest and church and the word and worship at full volume topped with a movie and even space to write. {144}

Recharged and good. {145}

I've been given the gift of simply understanding: 

the simplest of days where we are able to fully engage and enjoy is actually the profoundly lovely. {146}

And 

that while I'm immersed in the whirlwind blur of gray and living through fatigue and cleansing and healing, I am a soul ever-growing and heart-skin ever-stretching to make room for more of Him. {147}

Editor's Note November 2012: If you are looking for information on restoring your digestive system, please know that The Body Ecology Diet helped me, but it didn't completely restore my health. My body actually stalled out on the the diet, and I needed to go off it to heal other parts of my body. You can read about my last steps in healing by clicking here. 

Everyday Life: Letters

Four years ago, in what seems like a totally different lifetime as it was pre-kids, I asked the seniors in my British Literature course to pen their future selves a letter.

With the encouragement to write about who they were in that moment and who they hoped to be four years later, they poured out their stories onto pages and pages of paper.

Even my studens who were not writers.

Though a few groaned, most were excited to write it all out.

"You don't know where you're going if you don't know where you've been," I'd said. "Because where we've been shapes us into the people who are walking into tomorrow."

I promised, gave my word that I would never ever read their letters.

I shared I would keep their letters for four years, and then I vowed to mail the letters so they would arrive four years from the exact day -- May 17th -- they penned them.

I've carried their words, never read, never opened, from house to house, room to room, transporting them from box to box during the past four years, keeping them safe and dry and in memory so that I wouldn't forget.

As I pulled their envelopes from the box, readied them to be shipped off at the post office, I thought about each of my past students.




And I thought about how much they've probably grown, wondering if Sam as a senoir in college reduces his college professors and classmates into fits of laughters by answering questions about British novels in his mock British accent.

Or if Rachel still falls heart first into novels and finds the most amazing theme emerging from the text, pulling them out applying them to life.

Or if Jesse still attacks each and every project, no matter his like or dislike of the material, with zeal and passion.

Or if Megan is still super organized, using color coded pens to group thoughts and ideas and places and people.

More, I wonder, though, if they've become people who are contributing their hearts and their passions and their talents -- these ever-so-seeminly-small gifts I recall -- to a needy world. If they've grown into their skins, embraced who they've been created to be and are giving of themselves.

As I seal each envelope, I pray each one has.

And I pray

that these words

in these letters

from the past

to the future

that is the now

bring clarity to the who they are in that very moment -- and that the who they are brings understanding to where they are going in their next few steps into a world where we desperately need their gifts.

I wonder -- what would you write to your future, four-years-from-now self? I've been pondering my own letter ... what I would say is important about who I am now.