how trust is a game changer

Here’s what I think . . . 

It takes faith as small as a mustard seed, and that’s about all I’ve got anyway, so I figure I’m good. And that’s grace, so I’m choosing to receive it and live on. 

With that, I’m going to hold my tiny little seed and declare that on its own it’s crazy, wild, and scary, all at once -- this dream (these dreams, actually -- as in, plural) that follows me around and never leaves me alone.

It’s a nagging that I find myself talking out loud about to folks who probably think I'm half crazy. 

Who I share with doesn't make a bit of sense to me. I blurt to seemingly random people and sometimes feel so irresponsible in my sharing. I talk about the dreams with certainty and sometimes when I stop and think about it, I feel so silly. 

I have done this since long before I can even remember -- boldly declare . . . until it started to become more Real. An invitation delivered to my heart to deliberately pursue the crazy that seeps into the crevices of my heart suddenly made bold seem too scary. Too uncomfortable. Simply, too much.

I believe we are called to a life of Different and that He’s been preparing us for this in many ways. 

We have a child with an open heart and a willing spirit, and who sees so much further than skin and circumstances. The Boy-Man is a gift to the world (beginning with my heart) for the way he accepts and embraces and truly loves without limit, and believes the whole wide world is full of possibilities. In fact, where people aren’t loving and where limits are claimed with stakes cemented in the ground is exactly where Boy-Man is provoked, irritated, confused, and sad. He was created to be wide-eyed and wonder-filled. 

There is so much to learn from the pure and brave trust of a child. 

So, here’s the thing . . . if I really believe I will be a part of His radical, amazing, miraculous story of grace in a very serious and personal way, then I need to trust Him . . . God, not my own self understanding. 

I need to trust that He will match us with the child who needs us most, and who He will use to rescue us more than anyone. 

I need to trust that He has it all figured out and that He will enable me, and us, to parent a child who might not look like us, or whose hair texture I might have to learn about. 

I need to trust that He will leverage my influence to lead people, even in places unfamiliar and seemingly daunting. 

I need to trust that He will place me in exactly the position where I will learn and grow, and mostly shine in my strengths -- the talents He crafted in me. 

Who am I to say what skin color a child in our home will have? 

Who am I to say whether I want a girl or a boy? 

Who am I to say what is too risky?

Who am I to say whether I'm wrong?

Because, influence and acceptance is so much wider. Love is so much more potent. And this is a game changer for someone . . . some people. 

And, leadership is risky business. It's tender in its push/pull of humbleness and confidence -- constantly making one dependent upon Him . . . trusting our platform can make a difference for even just one. 

Willingness is where it begins. As scared as I am, willing I surely am. 

Now it's time to do. Live by faith. Go and do. 

So, whatever He wants. Whoever He wants. Whenever. Whatever. However. 

Here I am, Lord. I trust that there’s a story being lived out right now and I trust you will push us, pull us, guide us, provoke us . . . whatever you need to do to align our lives with the others who you want to love through us -- in our home, office, and community. Be glorified. 

Share your heart . . . add a comment below.

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tell | {Day 11}: Keeping it Real

A handful of storytellers are two hours off the coast of Florida this week, and I am Jolted. Awake.

On the edge of my seat, I am willing to Do. Some. Thing.,
     yet my reality and responsibility makes my small world seem even smaller.

I want to fly there right now, off the coast of Miami. But I don't.

Part of me says I'm ready. I'm willing. Though I know that truthfully, I'm not.

Real is 20,000 people live in Tent City.

I read this truth and see the images, and I'm ashamed though I know I shouldn't be.

Sitting underneath the cozy comfort of a blanket with my legs stretched out on my comfy couch, the sound of my clock tick-tocking, I notice my windows.

I can't stop looking up at those windows.

And some people don't have a couch. Or a blanket. Or windows.

Thousands of people are living in tents, people. Thousands.

And this is Real. Two hours off the coast of Florida.

And parents are giving their children away.

Is there a place for me in all of this? 

Or am I just a witness to a commercial?

We say it's our own country we would want to help *if* we were to adopt. But I just want my writer-friend to bring back a child or two, or more, for me to save and cuddle up with under the safety of my blanket and behind these glass windows.

Real is more than these walls and beyond what I see outside my windows.

It's courage to Go. and Tell.

Yes, He is indeed Real there.

: : : 

Help One Now brought a team to Haiti and I've been moved.

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a choice

I could go against my groom and not take my birth control pill each day.

I could just see what happens.

I could change everything with one choice.

Still, though, He is more powerful.

I could not get pregnant.

I could conceive a child with special needs.

I could always regret disobeying.

Most days I wonder if we will have another child of our own. I think about how much easier it would be to have another one of our own.

And then I think of how much easier it is just to have our one.

We're used to this. And it's getting fun. We can do things. And go places. Our marriage is settling into parenthood and our intimacy is strengthening, seven years in.

The control part nags at me. How one tiny pill I take every day is expected to control the size of our family. I know it isn't as powerful as we think, though. And often I pray for its weakness and His strength to overpower it.

Yet, it just feels right that our family is the size it is right now. I trust in the purpose of our choice.

: : : 

Adoption has always been on my heart and many times on my lips.

I've spoken about it out loud when I really have no clear indication that it is for us. Still, I find myself drawn to people's stories of adoption.

I wonder if the sacrifice is for us, and yet I stand in awe over how preposterous the idea seems.

Because, it really does seem so crazy. Highly unlikely.

Yet, it doesn't. And it isn't.

So I wonder. And I ache.

I have thought about how maybe I should keep all this to myself--not speak about it until I know for sure.

But, this journey of life needs to be shared. I believe that's my call.

People comment to me about being authentic.

Truth is, I know no other way. This is Me. Truly.

I pour out my heart here in a place where it doesn't matter if anyone notices. It's my worship to write. And my worship to share.

At the beginning of this year, the word *Wonder* rose to my heart. I pulled it down off the shelf and marveled at its beauty. I thought of my hopes and dreams and about what tugs at my heart.

A choice presents itself yet again--
     Worship or not.
          Trust or not.
               Honor or not.

I will choose to Wonder.
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a secret to share

The mere thought of it makes my eyes well up and my heart feel like it will literally explode into a gazillion shards of glittery mess.

I could hunker down and fold over in two with real sobbing. 

And it's for a crazy thought. 

One you might not imagine would bring me to such emotions.

Because it doesn't make a lick of sense. At least not right now. 

And yet, it seems so right, though it seems right now as though it's as impossible as me running a marathon tomorrow would be. 

Though, when I ponder the analogy I just presented, it brings me to Hope. 

Because, there is actually a possibility I could run a marathon tomorrow. 

I'd be slow in the second half. I'd hurt for weeks on end, I'm certain. 

But, there is a possibility I could do it. 

Perhaps it's that *possibility* that keeps me believing in this Hope.

For my whole life I've wanted two children. 

And for practically forever I've said out loud that I want to adopt. 

I have one of my own. And he's perfect as all children seem to mommies. He was hard-won. It took two losses to get him. 

I find myself wondering how I could ever ask for more. 

Yet, when I think of adoption there's this swelling that rises up inside of me and with every ounce of who I am, I want to run into it. I want to drop my to-do list and my calendar to splash around in the high tides of this Hope. 

I'd clear our well scheduled life out right now to make room for this child who I have no clue is real or imagined.

I've written about this before. I've shared my heart and the tugs I feel.

What I haven't shared before is this *secret*

     --how I find myself praying for someone I don't know. 

How I feel a sense that someone else's story is being lived out right now. And, the days I live are necessary--for them. Not *him* or *her* but "them". Because, I believe there's a multitude of stories connected to one life and time is necessary for this multitude.

It seems too huge to think of it all in this way. 

Thinking outside of my own life and grasping at a bigger story brings me to tears, and keeps me waiting for my turn at this Hope.

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