The one where I don't ask you for anything.
Friends...
(See what I did there?)*
Here is a picture of some pictures. I walk past this every morning, and it still feels surreal in the most incredibly blissful way.
Then I look around at the work to be done. Commitments, deadlines, and to-do lists take over, shoving my joy into the back seat and peeling out to start the day in hectic busy-ness.
(See what I did there?)*
Here is a picture of some pictures. I walk past this every morning, and it still feels surreal in the most incredibly blissful way.
Then I look around at the work to be done. Commitments, deadlines, and to-do lists take over, shoving my joy into the back seat and peeling out to start the day in hectic busy-ness.
Friends, I'm tired. I'm stressed.
We stayed up late to watch the fireworks then woke up early to get the oil changed, apply for passports - you know, life stuff. It's been a while since I slept well. I have a few things on my mind. I bet you do too. It's the nature of the world, to have a cluttered brain.
The other day my friend asked, "What do you do all day?" This question was prompted by the fact that I am a teacher and, therefore, in theory I have summers off. It was an innocent question; I took no offense. And I could have listed the two errands it took me three hours to run because I had to drag my children around with me. They consider it a great injustice when their Minecraft time is cut short by silly inconveniences . . . like me having to buy food. I could have also explained the content of the professional development sessions I am leading this summer. Or described how many hours go into one 8x10 piece of art.
But what I really wanted to answer was, "I stress out."
Honesty breakdown in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .
I hate asking for help.
I hate asking for money.
I hate accepting payment for my art because I don't feel like a "real" artist.
I hate waiting.
We are walking the path of adoption because God has called us to it. This is what obedience looks like for us. It's different for everyone; this way is ours. And let me tell you - voluntarily adding two more children to our family from another continent was an easy YES for me. Selling art, t-shirts, pottery, my gratitude in order to get them home? That is a struggle. I didn't blink when I read our son's extensive medical file and diagnoses. I happily embraced learning a whole other language just to have ways to tell my children I love them or to brush their teeth. But my blood pressure triples when I send out a FB status with our fundraising link attached.
I'm going to show you a picture. It isn't pretty. It's gross, and I'm sorry. Scroll past it if you are squeamish. Here we go.
That is my middle finger. (No, I'm not giving you the finger! I would never!) It looked like this for most of June and is starting to split open again.
That is what stress looks like for me. I have a skin condition that flares up when I am stressed out. My foot looks like this times a thousand.
I set up at my first-ever art selling event in June. In fact, I did that three times. That was a hard thing for me. I can be aggressively friendly with strangers all day and care not a whit. But I was asking people to give me money. Even though I offered them goods in exchange for their money, it was very stressful. And, to be honest, I didn't rake in the bucks.
Besides hugging my children and being a complete family, the thing I look forward to the most upon bringing our kids home is the end of fundraising.
I say all that as the most awkward and terribly-constructed THANK YOU ever pieced together.
THANK YOU for giving your money, your time, your kind words, your help (Pam Weaver is my hero), your friendships - all of it.
I'm not having a pity party. I'm trying - and probably failing - to communicate how precious every single donation is to us; how seriously we take your support; how beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace, who bring good tidings, who proclaim salvation, who say to Zion, "Your God reigns!" (Isaiah 52:7)
I'm trying to tell you that every single donation - from a hug, a card in the mail, five dollars, one hundred dollars to prayers, clothing, auction items - every single one is a treasure. We rejoice over all of them. We rejoice over each of you.
I am currently failing at the following: resting in Christ and His promises; patience with my children; finishing projects; going to bed on time; laundry.
But I promise you, our community, our family, that we are using your donations to their best ends. And that we take your sacrifices seriously. I promise to offer everything up to God, to His glory, experiencing blessings by His good pleasure. I promise to submit to Chad's many (and much-needed spreadsheets). I do not take your gifts lightly.
Thank you.
Okay, I said I wasn't going to ask for anything. But in case you want to offer some prayers on our behalf this week, below are some specific requests in bulleted format. Because, by golly, if I can't control Chad's 21-year-old car almost exploding, I can at least organize a list. #efficiencyismyidol #imworkingonit
With all my heart, overflowing with thanks,
Christa
- We have a mountain of paperwork to climb in the next few weeks. We need clarity and organization.
- We applied for passports for Chad and the kids. We can't really finalize the next step of our adoption without his passport.
- While both kids are excited about their new siblings, Eirinn has shared some concerns with us. She has worries about sharing her room and her life with someone who, at this point, is just a stranger in a picture. We need wisdom in parenting her tender heart.
- Our t-shirt sale is, quite honestly, not going very well. We have a few days left before it ends.
*Every Friends episode title starts with the words, "The one-"
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