Shifted and Shepherded

My favorite book of the Bible is John. I cherish the hope and affirmation with which John presents our relationship with Christ. When I am struggling or sad or hopeless, I might read a Psalm or two. But when I despair or when I am beyond feeling anything, defeated, numb, or exhausted, not knowing what else to read or where else to look, I read John. My dad and I have often talked about how comforting this gospel is. My husband’s grandmother, a sassy saint who has already passed into glory, had a practice of recommending John to non-believers as well as to Christians struggling with doubt. She would say, “You want to know the truth? Then read John.” John 1:1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was fully God. 2 The Word was with God in the beginning. 3 All things were created by him, and apart from him not one thing was created that has been created. 4 In him was life, and the life was the light of mankind. 5 And the light shines on in the darkness, but...

How many of y'all sang along to Oceans  by Hillsong United a few years ago? I remember my friend Jennifer posting an article called, "We need to stop singing Oceans." It was about how most of us don't really want to be called to 'where our trust is without borders.' Therefore, we should not sing a song where we ask the Holy Spirit to lead us beyond our comfort and control. Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders Let me walk upon the waters Wherever You would call me Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander And my faith will be made stronger In the presence of my Savior Well, some of y'all did not get the memo.  'Cause you sang along. And He answered.  We find ourselves in a place and amidst circumstances we have never experienced before, not knowing or being able to control what comes next. (Except we can and should STAY HOME to keep it from spreading.) I’m not about to pretend like I understand this virus or how pande...

Have you ever played mental games with yourself? Of course. I think we all do. Some of my most common mental chess matches include the following: - take one step past that crack in the road while running BEFORE the next line of the song starts - time it so you get only green lights between the interstate exit and a certain street - try to pet the cat's belly one more time without getting scratched - leave the kids unsupervised for one more minute (so you can start the dryer!) and see who gets injured. In college, I always HAD to touch the ceiling of my car if I drove under a yellow light, otherwise the universe would punish me somehow. I had to poke my friends shoulder and say, "Pop-a-diddle!" if a car with only one headlight drove past. Chad and I used to play this game in the car where we had to arrive at our destination by a certain time or our lateness would cause some catastrophe. This was before Google Maps. (Pardon me. I just threw up in my mouth a litt...

How to Help Come sit with me; I’ve saved a seat. There’s room for you inside my grief. In here the air is thick and full, A dream deferred, pressed to the hull; A seed that sprouts long choking fingers, Unless a friend sometimes will linger. I realize that the hull is cracked. Don’t try to mend or glue it back. It needs the gashes and the gaps To let in light and gulp in gasps Of air, which pushes out despair. The light shows how to look, and where. It’s changing through the glass half-dark, From seed to stem, from gash to scar. Just sit with me in what’s been sewn; Feel how the blades are being honed. My love is here, eyes wasted thin, Waking each day to try again. Each time I sigh, it’s him who says, “Intentámos, otra vez.” My daughter’s here, violently torn; Groaning, bitter, prone to mourn. Don’t speak to her with sweet-sick pity. She’s fortified, bloodchild of my city. My son is here, in my same seat. He waits...

I want to start with a disclaimer. The following is not aimed at anyone in particular. If you are reading this, it is likely you are a personal friend of our family and have kindly taken time to read about what’s going on. Maybe you played a part in bringing our children home. Maybe I see you on a regular basis and you love me and my family. Maybe we are simply acquaintances, but you are invested in this adoption in some way or another. If so, you may see yourself reflected in some of the descriptions below.  It's not you. This is the most 'it's not you, it's me' post there will ever be. I do not mean any of the following as a condemnation, criticism, or even correction. If anything, it is an explanation of the pause, or the fluttering eyelids, or the nervous laughter you might receive when you ask how things are. I have a second disclaimer. What I write below should not be taken as a request for you to stop asking. When you ask how we are, how the children ar...