He's Our...

Home Sweet Home.

So thankful to be back together as a family!

 

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Something Better Than President (To my Mom for Father's Day)

I guess in some ways it would've made more sense to write this post on Mother's Day. I could have, but I didn't. Because although you have been a mom to me these past 39 years, you've also stood where a dad should've stood all these years, too. When you're a single parent, you don't think about taking off the "Mom" hat to put on the "Dad" hat, do you? You just see what needs done and said and paid and corrected and kissed and tackled and you do it. All. Alone. Every. Day.

Last week, I glanced at our faces in the mirrored dining room when we laughed, not sure which was yours and which was mine. Our eyes, our hair color, our size, our smile. Have two mothers and daughters ever looked more alike?

It's no wonder I have a hard time telling us apart. A baby doesn't make itself and neither does a toddler, a preschooler, a student, a teenager, or a woman. So much of who I am, you have made me, and what I have, you have given me. I can't always sort out what's mine and what's yours on the inside either.

When my newborn hand first wrapped around your barely 19-year-old finger, you wrapped your love in determination and sealed it with a kiss on my tiny black-haired head. That kiss was full of expectations for how we would get through. Starting with the first time the babysitter would pry my little arms and legs from around you so you could go to work. You'd be brave, telling me and all my tears I could too and then run to your car crying on your way because you hated leaving me scared and sad. What hat were you wearing then? "Mom" or "Dad"? Or were you just knowing you had bills to pay and our mouths to feed and if you didn't work, who would?

You had expectations for me the summer before Kindergarten when we took a walk on Daytona Beach and you told me things would be different. I was becoming a big girl and would have to go to school and pull my chin out of my chest and make friends. And you knew I could do it. I believed I could too because you said so.

You had expectations for me when Amy, who had every toy she wanted, made fun of me because I didn't even have a dad. You didn't say all I'm sure you wanted to say about her, nor did you justify our situation. You helped me take pity on her because she had toys, all right, but she didn't have a relationship like ours.

You had expectations for me in 3rd grade when Carla said I looked like a chipmunk with my buck teeth hanging over my lip. You didn't rush to the orthodontist and throw some braces on me to boost my self-esteem or tell me buck was the new beautiful. You expected me not to take myself too seriously and suggested that I go with the theme and dress up as one of the chipmunks for Halloween. So out came the over-sized sweatshirt and paint for Alvin's signature "A". Trick or treat!

You had expectations for me in 5th grade (Stella's age) when I had to start setting my own alarm clock for school and getting myself out of bed, ready, and out the door on time. I couldn't miss the bus because you were already at work and couldn't leave to come get me if I did. I think I ran to the bus stop many mornings that year, climbing those bus steps panting and wind blown. I may have even chased it down a few times, running across Forest View Drive to the last stop in our neighborhood. (Punctuality was never my strength. Wonder where I got that from?!)

You had expectations for me in 7th grade when I didn't make the cheerleading squad in spite of being favored for a spot going into tryouts. The teachers picked the girls from "good families" and who knew what mayhem I might introduce considering the kind of family I came from. You gave me strict instructions that I was to be as glad for the girls who won as I would've been for myself. That I shouldn't dare talk badly about the judging or any of the other girls who beat me, regardless of what I thought of their "barely off the ground toe touches" and "horribly uncoordinated dancing."

You had expectations for me in the summers from 5th grade on. I was to be out of bed by 9 AM, check my to do list for the day, and get busy completing it before you got home that afternoon. I was also to read Five Little Peppers and How They Grew and list every word I didn't know the meaning of. Then I was to look up those words in the dictionary and write out their definitions. (Thankfully, you let this one expectation go after awhile!)

You had expectations for me in high school when one of my teachers, who by all other accounts was a nice person, had the audacity to say a woman could never be President of the United States because she would constantly be changing her mind about what color the drapes should be in the White House. (Even typing those words now still makes my blood boil a little too much.) I don't think I'd ever heard someone criticize and demean my gender like that because you had taught me, not in a man bashing way, nor in a we-need-men-as-much-as-a-fish-needs-a-bicycle way, women were as competent as men. Didn't everyone think that? I knew you couldn't care less what color the drapes were in the White House, but you were a woman who could capably lead our house and your office, with a multi-membered staff and several departments, because you were smart and decisive and strong. And you expected the same from me.

For 26 years under your roof, you told me what I should be and you lived it for me like a mom should and like a dad should've. My old high school teacher might be surprised that you raised me to be something better than President. God used all you invested in me and expected of me to help make me a Christian woman.

Happy Father's Day, Mom. For all the days you did what needed to be done, said what I needed to hear, worked your fingers to the bone, studied into the wee hours of the morning to earn your degrees, stayed up late to wash clothes and floors and dishes, and lived the expectations you held me to. You became part of who I am. And I couldn't be prouder to be so much you that I can't tell us apart.

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*Some names have been changed in this post to protect the guilty:)

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Stay on the Bike: A 13th Anniversary Admonition

I left her tough and tender hand for your untried one that Saturday morning.

You opened it up to me and I held on tight, in faith, to my husband-to-be, wondering what you would be.

Samuel Rutherford was right. This bride loved the beauty and simplicity of her white satin dress, but on that day, I was only eyeing all the handsomeness of your chiseled 22-year-old face. We looked like kids, but even kids can sometimes know what's up.

So we looked up, lifting our hopes and voices at the front of our church to the only One worthy of our praise.

"For Thyself, best gift divine,
To our race so freely given.
For that great, great love of Thine,
Peace on earth, and joy in heaven:
Christ our Lord, to Thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise."

We let the wind carry us where it would and it blew us right into the city named after it.

I clumsily followed you around Lake Michigan on my bike too, trying to remember how to ride (and they say you never forget). We laughed, joking about pedestrians passing me while I was the one on wheels. But we stayed on our bikes, basking in the electricity of young married love, fed by a city as energetic and ambitious as we were.

You sat through My Fair Lady gleaning helpful knowledge about Spain and rain and Hampshire and hurricanes.

We went to a steakhouse and I checked my fruit and veggies at the door for my meat and potatoes man.

For breakfast, before our food, we each ordered dark black coffee and sweet and tangy freshly squeezed o.j., eyes wide over how tasty everything was, and over . . . the bill! Who knew we should've made a meal out of those drinks to stay within budget?!

Figuring out life together was a lot like my relearning to ride that bike. Couples passed us who had been at it longer telling us those molehills I made mountains wouldn't seem so big once we'd really climbed a few. Those expectations I had and demands I made would show that you could never be for me what only God could. And all those adventures you shared that I was so quick to reason our way out of and shoot down on the spot would highlight the fact that you wanted me to be a friend to laugh and dream with, not a legal counselor or risk assessor.

We needed space to have some wrecks and work things out on our own along the way, but we also needed examples to show us how it's done. To show us what it looked like to stay on the bike and to love God and each other more than we wanted to be loved ourselves.

It's 13 years later, and I'll be the first to admit I still have a ways to go. But I think by the way you've learned to love me, you've actually made me better at loving. You slow up for me as I still timidly pedal at times and push me to go faster and pedal harder when you know that's what I need. And sometimes I have to tell you that fast isn't everything. Half the fun is in how we get there - the journey - not just in arriving. The road is full of bumps and sudden turns, so in some ways we're still working it out one ride at a time. But in other ways, by God's grace, we keep pace pretty well with those older pros.

Photo Credit: Robyn Moore

So, to you young couples still new at this sometimes (often?) difficult marriage ride, trying to steady that bike from tipping or even thinking it would be so much easier to abandon it at the curb, could we ask you to stay on the bike? We are giving you space to fall and try to work it out together. But we're also here if you need a hand to help you up, to dust off the gravel, and to get back on.

Decorating 101

We've been in our house just over a year now. After hotel living for about a month, we were so grateful to have walls between us again, never mind if they were unfinished and the floor was dusty concrete in places.

I've enjoyed making this house our orange and yellow haven these past months. We are thankful for the unnecessary, but helpful, blessings of more bathrooms and more space.

Just before we moved in, I discovered Myquillyn Smith's blog, Nesting Place. Her mantra, "It doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful," helped me find contentment with our budget and provided some focused commitment to shop the house with new eyes to reuse and rethink how I could be creative with the decór I had. It was fun!

But this past month, probably in part because of my expectation that our house should look a certain way after 12 months of residence, that motto hasn't been cutting it. I still see some bare walls and floors and not enough or too much of you name it.

All the wise shopping and saving and minimizing and digging deep in still unpacked boxes has left me discouraged and even frustrated with my imperfectly beautiful surroundings.

A few Sundays ago, a friend from church texted and asked how she could be praying for me. I told her about my admittedly silly struggle with contentment regarding my house. She wrote back saying she could definitely relate and added, "I know I've had times when my head is just swirling with to-buy lists- it's hard to shut off." Spot on.

I knew I could run to Home Goods and pick up another $10 knick-knack to cross one thing off that "must buy" list. But I've worn a path down that road and knew in about 2 hours (if that) the problem would still be there with a new "needed" item now added to the list so I could complete the vignette I started.

The problem is that although most of the time I can see beauty in my imperfect surroundings and be thankful for what I have, my heart doesn't just crave beauty. It craves perfect beauty.

My problem, then, isn't solved by a bigger budget to buy higher end and better quality things. Nor is it solved by getting a more inspired vision for what I can creatively reuse. My problem isn't with my physical eyes but my spiritual ones. The eyes of my heart long to gaze upon something -or someone- who lacks nothing. Who isn't just beautiful enough. But beautiful completely.

So I take his Word and see him as the perfect satisfier of all my heart wants - yes, even what it wants to fill the dry walls and laminate floors of this brick edifice. Like Moses, I see all his goodness pass before me, and the eyes of my heart are captivated by perfect beauty. "The Lord, the Lord, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness, maintaining love to thousands, and forgiving wickedness, rebellion and sin." (Exodus 34:6,7a)

My heart is at peace because I find all it has been craving met in him. "He satisfies the longing soul." (Psalm 107:9)

Although I still have my list of wants and make use of Myquillyn's helpful slogan and practical expertise, these past days, I have reminded myself that the decorating primer I've needed and the kind of beauty for which I'm longing, aren't fixes I can make with my hands or see with my eyes, but instead, are apprehended with my heart.

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I Love You When You Lose

Battle of the Books

Because this Museum of Memories isn't just for the wins. It's not about making me look like a rock star mom with above average you name it, so I can manage a certain public opinion of our family. It's about recording for each of you a history of our constant love for you, often in good times, but even in disappointing times. It's about assuring you we love you regardless of your performance. I just so happen to keep learning that lesson from the One who promises to love me with an everlasting love and continues his faithfulness to me. (Jeremiah 31:3) He recorded that message for me, in a museum of sorts, because He knew I'd need to keep remembering it too.

So rejoice in our love for you on this difficult day! And remember this is real life. Our love will help you learn from it and grow through it.

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Being a Christian Isn't Easy

Your 9-year-old hand penned those words and this mother's heart breathed a rare sigh of relief, since at least one of the things we've seemingly done right (still all of grace!) is not communicating to you that being a Christian is as easy as walking an aisle or merely saying a prayer. But at the same time, my 39-year-old heart, which has seen it's share of painful battering and still tender bruising, wonders what you can possibly know of how hard it really is.

So when your daddy asked you, "Do you promise to follow Jesus all the days of your life?", I had mixed feelings as you emphatically answered, "Yes!"

I've been 3 decades farther down the road of life than you, and as I grieved with a friend suffering loss recently, felt afresh the thorny ways, dreaded clouds, and bitter tastes which make up this life of following Jesus. What about all of those things you've yet to encounter? The few struggles you've had in your relatively easy life are nothing compared with what might, and most likely will, lie ahead for you in this cursed world.

How could we let you make such a promise?

Because God reminded me the strength of your promise made isn't in your ability to follow, but in his ability to lead. He is always putting us in a position which requires us to trust him, without all the specifics, but based on the fact of his character and actions. He often says, "This is who I am and this is what I do. Will you follow me?"

So as you answered with that enthusiastic "Yes!" God was really asking me again (as he has done so many times these past 9 years), "Do you trust me with her, Erica? Do you trust that I can lead her based on who I am and what I have promised to do?" And so, in my heart, I murmur a less eager but still resolute "Yes!" too.

I have to keep letting you go. Because you make a great daughter but a horrible idol. So I relinquish all my claims on you and submit them to his much higher and better claim on you. Yes, Stella, follow him! Follow him with all the passion your 9-year-old heart can muster. Don't look at the path, look at the Leader! Don't look at the building, look at the Builder. Don't look at the created, look at the Creator. Don't look at the story, look at the Author! He is a big God with a big plan for you.

Those thorny ways will lead to a joyful end, I remind myself. Those dreaded clouds are immense with mercy, and why wouldn't I want you to share with me in their breaking shower? And those bitter tastes are graciously washed down with the same free living water which has quenched your thirst eternally!

So welcome to his table, our daughter and sister. Jesus, thank you!

*Thanks to RJ and Emily Vergara for the powerful video of this special day in the life of our church.

The Joy of You

I watch you out the window as you run to our mailbox, eagerly anticipating the treasures in today's delivery. Any mom who spends her days at home can relate to this simple highlight of the day. And just like you don't want to miss the joy of the mail, I'm so thankful I haven't missed the joy of you, my boy.

Your sweaty curls bouncing, your eyes lighting up and smile spreading wide when you see your mama's there. You wave in excitement like it's the first time we've seen each other all day and run to the door to report, "It's boring mail today, Mama."

I remember that other day watching for you, just five years - more like blinks - ago. What would it be like having a boy? How would I parent you? What new things would I learn?

And then I held you and knew it would be OK. That I'd learn about you and how to one day at a time.

And by God's grace, I have.

Since then, I've learned that you are an early riser, even beating the sun up some mornings. You are immediately cheerful and busy from that first flip of your light switch. You throw open your drawers, get dressed and make your bed right away, ready to begin the play and conversation of the day.

I say conversation, because I've learned that you are a talker. Wow, can you pile up words! And I'm not always good at it, but I make myself stop and listen and look you in the eye, trying to make sense of how you're trying to make sense of life.

I've learned that you have a tender and empathetic heart. You have ears that hear both the faintest ambulance siren off in the distance and the one blaring right next to us, and always want to pray for those in distress. Even you know all is not as it should be in this broken world and have learned to call out to the only One who can fix it.

I've learned that you are a classic extrovert. You love meeting new people and your energy level rises exponentially in comparison to the number of people in the room. The sooner you can get to know them, the better. You call our neighbors by name and make small talk with them from across the street. Your friends at the YMCA can't wait for you to get there because everything's more fun with Schaeffer! One of the employees who could have today off is actually coming into work just because it's your birthday! You love people and people love you.

Along with that, I've learned that you do not lack confidence. Before your first ever soccer game you declared, "I'm gonna be good, Dad." And when you head into a new situation with new people present, you've been known to say, "They'll like me, Mom." I tease your dad that you have what I like to call "male reality distortion" (shown humorously in the Dove ad parody, "Men: You Aren't As Beautiful As You Think"). But whatever it is, prayerfully tempered with a good dose of reliance on God, I know it will serve you well in this hard world as you take risks and enter intimidating situations.

And because of all that I haven't missed, Son, there's so much that I'm going to miss about you when you head to kindergarten in just a few months.

But the Bible tells us you are another arrow for us to send off. So we'll start with that first brave five-year-old step into a new place, meeting that new person God has already prepared for you to learn from. She'll teach you things in a different way than I will, and it will be good for you to learn from her approach and to learn to respectfully submit to her authority. You'll meet new kids God has hand picked for you to grow with. Some will make you cry and some will make you laugh (and some will make you do both!), and you can count on the fact that I won't miss the opportunity to help you through it all with the only help I and your dad know, God's Word.

We won't miss the chance to apply it to your hurts and joys, your relationships - good and bad, your choices - easy and difficult, your education - what we agree with and what we don't, and your sin - always warring within you, in school and out.

But for now, these last few months we still have everyday together, we'll keep waiting for the mail, meeting new people, and praying for hurting ones.

And as much as I love writing about what a joy you are, I think it's time to close this post. Because I hear you a few rooms away, already awake, I'm sure dressed in your superhero shirt of the day, ready to talk and play...and I don't want to miss it!

Happy 5th Birthday, to our Schaeffey-Boy!

Photos Credit to Robyn Moore

 

Birth Announcement - here

First Birthday Tribute - here

Second Birthday Tribute - here

Third Birthday Tribute - here

Fourth Birthday Tribute - here

 

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Sunshine's Blaze: A Birthday Prayer

I've borrowed breath for 39 years now. I've borrowed love, words, wisdom, rest, strength, and many other gifts. Actually, what do I have that I haven't received? And what have I shared that I wasn't given? You see, at best I'm a bankrupt borrower. And always, he's a lavish lender. So, I have a hunch the year ahead is going to be more of my needing and more of his giving. May his blaze ignite this borrowed ray of my life.

"O light that followest all my way,

I yield my flickering torch to thee;

My heart restores its borrowed ray,

That in thy sunshines blaze its day

May brighter, fairer be."

-G. Matheson

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Lunch Note

 

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The Road of the Cross: A Birthday Letter

Sweet Girls,

When I first met each of you, you were sandwiched in the middle of your school-aged years, your childhood behind, and the teen years beckoning you in, for better or worse. And for all the devouring they could have done, God's grace has kept you and brought you to this day. I'm thrilled to be part of celebrating, even across the miles, His strength that has kept you, love that has held you, and care that has sheltered you.

Rachel, we first met at a baptism dinner where our family sat with yours. We were all new to CBC and going through the awkward formalities of getting to know each other. You didn't seem too excited to be there but were nice enough to smile and tell us a little about yourself. The next year, you started attending a new school that God used to change everything for you. We watched you grow from a 13 year old with little joy, to an 18 year old overflowing with joy as you called to tell me your friend we'd been praying for from softball, had accepted Christ! Look at you now, seeking first his kingdom, prioritizing your life around his mission, and looking more and more like Jesus, whose joy it was to do his Father's will.

Morgan, there is the same age difference between me and you as between me and my mom. It's no wonder we feel a bit like mother and daughter. We have shared and had our share of suffering and sadness, haven't we? Like the van ride home where I cried telling you it was worth it for me not to have a dad if it helped you see that God is good in all he does and that he is the only one who can be trusted to never let you down. There were weeks on end I'd sit in your driveway picking you up and bringing you to our house for Bible studies or the occasional dinner or a meeting at the church office to talk before Weds evening church. I had babies clinging to my legs, but we did what we could to get together and seek for God. And to those who have sought him, he has never said no! Look at you now, wearing mercy's robe and that ring of grace, given to you as gifts from the only Father we've ever really needed.

And Laynie, our first interactions were over lunch on a Sunday afternoon in the Macy's restaurant. You were bravely facing the fear of leaving your Mama's tender teaching and starting your junior high years at a new school. Only God and your parents know how deep that trial was. But the love of God was deeper still, wasn't it? I remember sitting in your living room as you cuddled with your Mom and echoed her sentiments that "a relationship with God was worth it - worth whatever - because he was so good." I love that tender heart of yours. And how could I not also love how well you have loved my babies over the years, taking care of them for us as a ministry, on occasions too many to count? You are the example they looked to, that teenagers don't have to be rebellious and disrespectful. That the church is where the real action is. That it doesn't matter what age you are, you can still serve God faithfully and passionately. Look at you now, still facing your fears, but instead of fearing your circumstances, fearing the God with whom you know from experience that nothing is impossible and who always keeps his promises.

There is a reason this point of your life is called a crossroad. You are faced with decisions all around, many of which could alter the trajectory of your life forever. But my prayer is that you each would see your need for the cross more and more on this road. That all Jesus accomplished for you and in you there would become more real and precious to you with every step you take.

Happy 20th Birthday, to you, my sweet friends!

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A Basket of High Hopes Not Disappointed

There I stood knocking at Vivian's door holding a decorative basket filled with some red and tan dish towels and cloths to match her new house. She had lost everything months before to a housefire, she and her husband Andrew, escaping only with their few month old daughter, Madison, and the clothes on their backs.

They were getting settled and situated in their newly rebuilt home, and, in a sense, so was I. Matt and I had just gotten married and I moved to MI where he was in seminary. We were setting up house, as the saying goes, and I was indescribably lonely.

Matt and I were working opposite shifts and he was busy with seminary - inundated with learning Hebrew (I remember on car rides we'd listen to tapes of Hebrew diction - wonder why I was lonely?!), learning the logic of writing good papers, and more reading requirements in four months than I could fulfill in a lifetime. We were also serving closely with Andrew and Vivian on youth staff in our church.

I remembered Vivian from college. How could you miss that creamy Puerto Rican skin and shiny jet black hair across the dining common? She was beautiful and stood out in a crowd. Our paths didn't cross too closely in college, except for the Spanish class we shared. I was struggling to pass it and bitterly wondering how she, someone who grew up listening to Spanish all her life, ended up in the same class with me?! Life was not fair - she had good skin AND clearly was placed lower than she should've been in Spanish.

But thanks to progressive sanctifcation, I got over it, and when I moved to Michigan, would pray that I could be friends with her. I just knew we would click. Andrew and Matt had struck up quite the friendship Matt's first, and only, bachelor year of seminary.

So there I stood at her doorstep extending that basket filled with gifts, but mostly high hopes for the start of a friendship. She invited me in. The rest really is a blur because before I knew it we were over there all the time. We didn't have kids yet, so we'd show up unannounced at their house at 9 PM with coffee for Andrew and hot chocolate for Vivian. The four of us clinked glasses of sparkling grape juice together on my 27th birthday across their coffee table. We even stayed so late one night we ended up sleeping in their guest room.

We cuddled newborn Sydnee (the first baby who won my heart), gave Cole his bottle, and I babysat little Madison, reading to her and incorporating all her toddlerisms into our vocabulary, like any good Titi would. ("foredead," "edults," etc.)

We helped them move to a different house a few months later, packing up their burgandy mini-van and driving loads of dresser drawers across town to their new home on Shenandoah. That house too would become our home away from home.

It didn't take me long to notice, though, that Vivian was a friend I couldn't outgive. Just when I'd think I'd shown her how much I loved and appreciated her, she and Andrew would pull into our driveway unloading end tables and a coffee table to go with the new dining room table they took us to pick out at the furniture store a few days earlier. Matt and I would shake our heads in disbelief at their generosity and kindness to us.

I'd sit in the "classroom of her living room" for hours, developing my philosphy of parenting by observing her intentionality with her kids. I knew the verses about parenting in the Bible, but to see it lived out in such a careful and diligent way has influenced my parenting more than any book I've read on the topic. Being a first generation Christian, I had much to learn about raising a family, and God placed Vivian in my life to help set the trajectory of what being a Christian parent looked like. I still thank God for his timing in allowing me to have her invaluable example and education.

Time doesn't allow for me to explain how she was the first person I told when I found out I was expecting Stella so she could help me pull off a surprise reveal for Matt. Nor how she threw me the biggest blow-out baby shower I've ever seen, celebrating the upcoming arrival of little Stelly, as we affectionately called her. Nor how she humbly immersed my 9-month-pregnant swollen, chubby feet down in a bucket of warm soapy water and gave me my pre-birth pedicure. Nor how she sat me down and told me the real deal about labor and delivery and post partum recovery. Nor how she came into my hospital room why I was in labor and chased a nurse down the hall telling her how hard I was laboring and that I desparately needed an epidural. Nor how she came to my side when I was so sick with mastitis and then c difficile colitis, buying me refrigerated probiotics (the good kind her father-in-law recommended for me) and taking little Stelly to love as her own for a few hours so I could rest.

I remember the night they moved to Florida in 2006, following God's call on their lives to revitalize Keystone Bible Church, a struggling church about ready to close its doors, with only about 7 members at the time. I couldn't keep my composure as we said goodbye. In just four years Vivian had become the sister I never had. She was the one I looked to for wisdom as I embraced the new responsibility of parenting. She was the one who embodied what love and service in the church looked like to me. After we got home that night I numbly laid my head on Matt as he kindly stroked my hair. I had no idea what my life would look like without Vivian in it. I already missed her immensely.

God is so gracious though, and allowed us to maintain a close friendship even across the miles, these almost 9 years since, mostly because of her unrelenting love. She has taught me more than any other person what being a true friend looks like...not just feeling warm feelings toward them, and thinking how much you love them, but actually telling them how much you love and appreciate them, and are bearing their burdens too. I cannot count the number of calls I got from her, feeling my pain alongside as we packed up our house in MI to move to FL, an echo of her own experience almost 8 years ealier. She assured me over and over of her prayers through the transition.

Last weekend I got a link from her to this post with a few simple words, "You're one of the friends I'd want flown in to be with me." I cried as I read Kara's post, and wrote back to Vivian, "Thankful to God we get to see each other in a few days (she and her girls were coming for a volleyball tournament in the area) still celebrating life together." And that's what I wanted the weekend to be. I wanted to treat her to a fun, rejuvenating time, eating, laughing, and getting pedicures, all the background and avenue to what was most important to us - glorying in our Redeemer.

She got here early Friday evening, pulling in our driveway like she would on Keppen, laying on the horn to let me know my Puerto Rican friend had arrived! We got out of the house as quickly as we could, and loaded up our plates as we unloaded our hearts in a way only those who love you most can bear. We stayed up later than we had in quite awhile, and looked forward to doing it again on Saturday.

I couldn't believe it, when I woke up so sick on Saturday I could barely make it out of bed, except for the necessity of vomiting. It seemed I had come down with a stomach bug. I was so disappointed. But once again, Vivian came to my bedside, talking to me, making me laugh, rehearsing what a day in her life is like, all the while running my house just like she lived down the street again. Unloading dishes, tidying up rooms, fixing dinner, and then sweetly brushing my hair for me as I laid on the couch, sick and covered in a blanket.

As I would apologize she'd say, "Erica, Are you kidding?! This is such a treat for me! I just love knowing you're only a few feet away and that we can still talk." How reimiscient of old times it was. The sweet Vivian I still can't outgive and that still leaves me wondering how I can make it without her.

 

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I Love What I've Got

We've been on the FL waiting list for adoption now for about 4 months (waiting a total of 16 months including our time in MI) and we haven't received placement yet. We put this simple video together, basically using photos from our profile book expectant parents view. No one else on the Florida waiting family list has a video, so we are asking that God might use something as simple as this to draw the right expectant parent's attention to our family. Our expectation is in Him!

 

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2015: Walking Forward with a Limp

Lunches packed, backpacks zipped, and the girls buckled in. Matt pulls the van out of the garage this morning as "Speak Life" blares through the speakers. He's doing his own cheorgraphy to make Ruby laugh. We're all forced smiles and silly dancing to hide our sadness that the time has come for our family to go our separate ways once again. Nineteen and a half days of science experiements, easy baking in the new oven, ninja swords slashing, library bags stuffed full of the allotted 25 books checked out per card, more sweets and late mornings and nights than we see any other time of the year. It. was. wonderful.

Days with this girl whose precociousness was cute at age 7 but is something else at age 9. ;)

She and I are BFFs we say, and we are, but she likes her new Justice clothes too and is excited to wear them back to school. She's reading Heaven for Kids and I pulled it off her bed today and couldn't help but thank God for the way she's marking it up and I murmer a quick prayer that it will sink down deep too.

Endless hours with this one.

She's a lot of bark and some bite. But she curls up on my lap at 6 1/2 still like she did when she was 3 and watches "Night at the Museum." She has some tears last night about going back to school and I take her in my arms and we run to Jesus together. I wish it wouldn't have taken me almost 10 years into parenting to learn to talk about him, yes, but to him more. Every time she fears, we call to him. Where does your help come from, Ruby? Your help comes from the Lord. Hear it. Believe it. Live like it, precious girl.

And then the one I get to be with all the time for awhile longer.

He melts this mama to mush with that smile and tender heart. We pass a boy in the grocery store with his arm in a sling and Schaeffer wants to stop and pray for him. So we do. He hears an ambulance and says, "Mama, shouldn't we pray about them?" So we do. Son, where else would we go, but to him? Surely his ear is not too dull to hear and his arm not too short to save.

Today, I'm tempted to curse time that takes my babies from me and pushes us too quickly back into our routine. But although time takes, today it also gives. So, I gather my heavy heart and move forward to do the next thing.

I move forward though, with a limp. Some are charging into 2015 full steam ahead. I wish I could, but charging isn't for me. John Piper said, "Any progress forward we make in this life is with a limp."

And, oh, how I feel it! It's humbling, this limp is. It reminds me of the times these past months that I've wrestled with God, like Jacob. "Not your will, but mine be done," I've said. And he gently reminds me, like my wise grandpa did, that you can't whip God. So instead I whisper, "Yes, Lord," and trust and struggle up, not quite the same.

It reminds me of the same sins I'm wrestling with in this wandering heart of mine, some for weeks, months, and years past. The battle is tiring, not because I'm always fighting as hard as I should, but because the fight just never lets up.

And, it reminds me how much I need others to help me on to God.

This man.

Yes, him. He limps too, he'll tell you. Especially when he looks at his "To Do" list every day, and even more on Sunday mornings when the Word weighs so heavy on him it just might crush him and he thinks what in the world is man, entrusted to handle truths so great? Yes, this man, whose chest I can't touch because the beating there only reminds me of his mortality, and it's too much to bear. Yes, this man, that I'm called to help. Some helper I am with my debilitating limp. But he understands and gives me a knowing glance as we link our arms of flesh that certainly will fail us and lean hard on the One who never will.

And these ones.

How quickly they've won a place in our hearts! There have been some trials and tears and many laughs and new experiences already that have bonded us together. The shepherd, I know him, he's a loving pastor, a faithful doer, and an intentional and careful dreamer, and we are following and growing. They know about our limp and they love us still. They've even bravely shared that they too, walk with one. So we promise together to hold each other up and help each other home.

Walking forward into 2015, then, I ask - we ask - God to do things in our lives and our church that can only be explained by the fact that he's a great God who loves and uses weak, feeble, and even limping sinners for his glory.

"Yes, Lord, walking in the way of your laws, we wait for you; your name and renown are the desire of our hearts!" (Isaiah 26:8)

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*I wrote this yesterday, but am just getting it posted today.

**Thanks to RJ and Emily Vergara for some of the (better) photos in this entry.

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When It Doesn't Feel Like Christmas

The candles flicker in their mason jar holders. Fake candles they are, because heaven knows I'd burn the house down with real fire.

Christmas looks different this year. It feels different. It even smells different.

Our old dollar store decorations look tired and beg a well earned rest from their decade plus of duty. The kids and I scour the parking lot for some pine cones during Stella's viola lesson. Pines and palms flourish in Florida. Who knew?

No gloves on our fingers or necks wrapped in scarves. Jackets and heat are optional with these moderate temperatures. Not that we mind, but my mind is having a hard time remembering Christmas is just a few weeks away.

Traditions don't have the same traditional feel and maybe that's why the stories seem so fresh and new.

Oh, they're old all right. Old but alive, ancient but relevant, the same but not stale, familiar but uncommon. And this same Word I've heard become flesh before, opens my eyes and heart of flesh again to see the glory of God in his humble, newborn human face. Whoever said he didn't cry must never have been around a baby. Babies cry. And this One did too. But not selfishly or angrily. Even his cries were perfect. Just like every word he spoke. How I need this Word of God incarnate! I can barely read my advent devotional this year because I don't want to hear what other people say about him. I want to hear what he says. And how I need all that he speaks - every single word of it - making my simple mind wise, my weary soul revived, and my wandering heart to stay and rejoice.

He meets us always where we are, not where we used to be, or where we should be. He doesn't need a change of address card to keep track of his own. He always holds us in the palm of his hand and none have ever been lost. And where we are, he speaks words we need to hear. Words that change us, maybe not our circumstances, but us. Because he knows our need. He knows because he's omniscient, yes. But, thankfully, he knows too because he's incarnate. To our weakness he's no stranger. He feels it because he lived it.

So, Word of God, speak! Would you pour down like rain...or snow...or sunshine? Wherever we are, whatever we need, because you know.

 

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Our Promise

Thanks to those of you who have followed our adoption journey as I've shared it here this past month. For our friends in Florida who haven't been with us from the beginning of the process, I hope reading about it has helped you to feel more a part of things by knowing how we got to this point. And for those who have been with us all along, our dear Michigan and Ohio friends and family, I hope you felt our continued thankfulness for all your support. We are immensely grateful!

 

I've tried to cover as much of the process - the good and challenging - from our perspective in a way that is helpful to those considering adoption for their family. It would be great if these posts answered some questions and soothed some apprehensions. It would be even better if that percentage of people who actually adopt increased significantly from just 2% for the sake of expectant parents, babies, and children in foster care not waiting reunification, all to the glory of God.

But regardless of what this series has done for others, I am thankful to rehearse and solidify in my mind the steady leading of God in our lives these past few years. I have benefited from tracing his hand and trust that I am more prepared to give an answer to others of our hope in God as they ask about our adoption.

To end the series today, I wanted to share another page from our profile book (the book expectant parents will view as they consider selecting us to parent their child). It wasn't a requirement for our Michigan book, so this page is hot off the press for our Florida book. It's called "Our Promise To You..." and is the last page the expectant parents will see as they close our book.

Our Promise To You...

We promise to tell your child the happiest news ever of Jesus' great love, wisdom, care, and power.

We promise to show that love, wisdom, care, and power to your child through our lives every day, with His help.

We promise to offer you relief from wondering if your child will be loved and cared for every single day of his/her life through every stage of his/her growth and development.

We promise to love your baby through his/her middle of the night cries to the joy of his/her first smile.

We promise to love your toddler through the tantrums of the trying terrible twos and kiss away all the boo-boos and skinned knees as he/she learns to ride his/her bike.

We promise to love your school-aged child and tuck him/her in every night, helping him/her with homework, quizzing him/her on multiplication facts, being involved in his/her school, and helping him/her develop his/her God-given talents.

We promise to love your teenager through his/her mood swings and adjustments into adulthood, crying with him/her through his/her first break-up, disappointing friendship, and frustrated bench-sitting, and cheering for him/her over baskets scored, reports completed, and recitals performed.

We promise to equip him/her with all he/she needs to succeed in college, his/her career, and as he/she starts his/her own family.

We promise to incorporate your cultural and ethnic background into our family life and tell your story of love and sacrifice, and how God linked our stories together in His perfect plan for his/her good and happiness.

We promise to give every ounce of our energy to nurturing and showering this precious child with all the love we have - FOREVER.

 

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The Money Thing

Adoption can be expensive. It costs about $25,000 for domestic infant adoption. After our first information gathering meeting at Bethany, we were overwhelmed with the cost and discouraged knowing we certainly didn't have that kind of money.

33% of Americans consider adoption. 79% of those are concerned about the costs, the biggest deterrent. Less than 2% adopt. (Source: Abba Fund)

The cost almost deterred us. Matt came to realize if we waited until we had all the money and even tried to plan where it would come from, we would never start the process. He decided since we were in a stable place financially, we needed to start down the path and see how God provided. So that's what we did.

A few days after getting approval of our formal application, I contacted my talented hair stylist and good friend, Melissa, about doing a fundraiser through the salon where she worked. She eagerly agreed and along with friends who made delicious refreshments to sell and other generous vendors who donated portions of their proceeds, they helped us raise almost $2,000. The big fundraising ball was rolling!

Then another friend from church approached us about holding a fundraiser and selling health and beauty products from her company and donating the proceeds to our adoption fund.

And God kept providing through donations in all amounts. We received financial gifts from our fundraising website, some from sweet kids who raised money from their lemonade stand, a large amount from my mom and step-dad's church, a few thousand from a concert my step-dad held, and another several thousand from our dinner at CBC. People contributed goods to raffle and a family from church who owns our favorite Mexican restaurant in Metro Detroit had a day in November when they gave us a portion of their proceeds from sales. We sold tshirts with our "Together We're Loud" logo and had various people sacrificially give a few hundred or thousand dollars here and there. Then we were so encouraged to learn in February of this year that we were awarded $6,000 through Steven Curtis Chapman's Show Hope Grant.

We read books and blog posts about debt-free adoption before we got started which were very helpful. We also learned a little along the fundraising way ourselves. (Just to be transparent, we are hoping to have a debt-free adoption, but have incurred approximately $2,000 more in fees from our transfer, so we will see how it all works out in the end.)

1) It is hard work. I likened it to adding on a part-time job. So many details to plan, things to organize, and thank yous you don't want to miss. Like most work, there is profit in the end, but it really is just plain old work.

2) We couldn't have done it without a huge support network. We had many dear friends from the church of which we were a part during Matt's seminary years who came to several events. We had amazing support and generosity from our beloved church, CBC. They let us hold several events at the ministry center which cut down on our needing to incur costs in renting a facility. And there were other friends and family near and far who gave monetarily, but also let us borrow tables and chairs, gave discounts on tshirt printing, and offered free design services. We were humbled to see so many people join together to help us raise money.

3) Although many people were supporting us personally, we were given a platform to help promote adoption and orphan care. We learned so much in the process and I hope we were able to spur others on in living out pure religion from James 1:27, to take care of the fatherless.

4) To get money, you have to have money. Most grants are looking for substantial efforts on your part indicating you have done all you can to raise as much money as you can before asking them for money. They also want to see that you do an adaquate job managing your personal finances, show financial need, but don't already carry debt. It seems to be a tricky balance. Also, it does help to have good friends who volunteer at the Show Hope table at Steven Curtis Chapman's concerts to put in a good work for you so that Mary Beth herself might look at your application. (Thanks, Troy and Mal!)

5) In much the way physical child birth strips you of your dignity, all the bearing of personal information in the adoption process forces you to be an open book. The level of financial detail some grant applications go into is crazy, let alone all the essays you have to write about why you want to adopt, how you've prepared, your spiritual journey, your theological persuasions, etc. I like writing and it was tedious and a bit intrusive even for me! (Although I do understand why it needs to be that way.)

6) The place of need has been a good place to be. As nerve-racking as it is to know that $25,000 bill is coming due, God has given us much grace as we stepped out following him not knowing how we would make all the ends meet. It has been a chance for us to see his kindness, goodness, and generosity to us through others. Our kids have seen him directly provide our adoption needs, so much so that Stella said, "I want to be more generous to others like others have been to us." Sometimes I tend to think that giving of our resources is the best way to teach our kids generosity, but God has shown us that humbly receiving generosity is also a way he chooses to magnify his faithful character.

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Some Fun Stuff - Possible Names, Baby Clothes, and a Rocker

This series has been heavy at times, so I thought as I wind it down, I'd mix it up a bit and throw in a little fun!

Since moving to Florida, I will admit I have become an avid Walmart shopper. We have one literally 2 minutes from our house (and Target is about 20 minutes away now), so it is the store nearest us. But it's also super affordable. Since they started their Savings Catcher program in August, I have gotten back over $30.00 in the past few months alone. Also, I have found some really cute clothes for me and the kids there and some fun home decor. (These pillows: cute for winter and cuter for anytime.)

A few days ago, I stumbled upon this site that chronicles great Walmart finds. Imagine my excitement. :)

I couldn't help but be drawn to these adorable baby clothes they linked to.

Stinkin' cute or what?! They look like they're straight off the rack at H&M!

This fall it hit me that I wasn't shopping in the baby/toddler section anymore and I have been going through serious withdraw from not shoving some chubby baby thighs into jeggings or snapping a necktie appliqued onesie on a little bod. (This baby needs to come quickly!)

Next, how about this mid-mod rocker?! Especially in the always in style, IMHO, happy orange color. :) I've never had a rocker in a nursery and don't even know if I'd use it, but I like looking at it!

Last, and on another note, we've had much time to consider names for our new little babe. We wanted to pick a name that would be appropriate to his/her ethnic heritage and to our family heritage. We have settled on a boy and girl option. (I will caveat that we are open to working with the birth family to incorporate a name of their choosing into the child's name as well, so these are subject to change.)

For a boy, we have picked Carter Matthew. We like that he will be named after his dad (Matthew) and we also like how Carter matches with Schaeffer's name. But we also appreciate the man behind the Carter name, Pastor Tony Carter. We have some very good friends who attend East Point Church in East Point, GA, where he is the lead pastor. You may know him from his work with The Front Porch or his writing in Tabletalk. He and his wife, Adriane, extended such kindness to me and Matt a few years back when we were in GA for a funeral, allowing us to come over to their house on a Friday night and grill them with questions on church planting and how there might be any hope for us white people to have a multiethnic ministry. They showed us around their house, introduced us to their 5 kids, and sat in their living room with us like they had nothing better to do than entertain two strangers who wanted to keep following Jesus and glean wisdom from their experience and biblical knowledge. I'm currently reading Pastor Carter's book, Bloodwork. What a godly namesake!

For a girl, we have chosen the name Aaliyah Sunshine. We like Aaliyah because it is feminine and fits well with Stella's and Ruby's names. And Matt has insisted (although I'm not opposed to it at all) we use my middle name, Sunshine, for her. He loves it and I love knowing she would bear my name, signifying the bright days ahead for her, by the grace of God.

But for now, we wait and pray, trusting our God who already knows the child he has us for, and who will give him/her to us at the right time. He has never been late before, and we are confident he'll be right on time again.

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