Pull your husband close and dance barefoot in the kitchen.
Cradle your littles and kiss those chubby cheeks.
Hug your tweens and tell them they’ll always be your baby.
Grab that teenager and tickle those stinky feet.
Pray in the car.
Point to Jesus.
Serve when it’s hard.
Choose love when it hurts.
Be thankful.
Gather your family for meals every day.
Speak life every chance you get.
Choose worship over worry.
Live,
Read,
memorize,
and teach your children
The Word.
Give honor to the One who created your family.
Fall in love with Jesus by falling on your knees.
Courageously pour hope into your home.
Stand your ground, mammas.
have a mother’s courage.
đIt means so much that you’re taking this journey with me.â¤
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Knowing you may not hold someone you love for much longer leaves the days feeling fresh and fragile. I remember sitting next to my Poppa when he was passing away. I listened carefully for the next breath, knowing any moment the next breath wouldn’t come. I wanted to be with him, inhale deeply next to him, sing to him, pray with him, hold his hand while it was still warm.
I find myself watching our foster daughter with similar thoughts breaking ashore–just allow one more day with her; Father God, give me more than one more breath.
With our baby girl, I can only plan for her needs six months at a timeâŚbecause that’s how long it is between court dates and decisions. I turned down bigger sized clothing, walkers, and high chairs when she was first placed with us. Now, I’m turning down toddler beds and trikes. I don’t plan for her life past April, our next court date. I find myself thinking, “this may be the last time we (fill in the blank) with this sweet girl.”
I’m waking up. I want to be as diligent and intentional to soak in every life around me, not just my foster daughter’s. We’re not guaranteed one more breath with anyone. Many of us know this truth well. Life can change in a flutter.
This journey has taught me to stand in awe, awakening to each day as one more gift from God. The sunrises are stunning, snoring husbands are cute instead of irritating, stinky soccer socks cause me to pause and give thanks for healthy children, and every baby milestone feels magical. Seriously. Baby girl shoving puffs into her mouth (and all over the floor) makes everyone in this house party like it’s nineteen ninety-nine. It’s so stinkin’ cute.
We’re trying to dig into every day over here. And although we cannot plan out the future, God is teaching me three things we can do: Pray, Prepare & Play.
Pray for God’s purposes.
What if we don’t know God’s purpose or plan for our lives? Instead of trying to force the future into the box I’ve delegated for itâI can lay that all down and pray, “Lord, I ask that your perfect purposes for the future be accomplished in my life and the lives of my loved ones. Let nothing stand in your way.”
Prepare your heart.
God’s plan may not line up with my limited ideas of perfection. We can remember God’s good and always trustworthy. This helps us prepare our hearts to accept whatever the future holds. Since we’ve become a foster family, I often pray, “Lord, please prepare my heart (and the hearts of my children) for whatever lies ahead. Give us peace.”
Play with the people you love.
Grab the people you love and take pleasure in them. We may not have tomorrow, but we have today! I’m not sure why we don’t memorize this scripture in Sunday school, but maybe we should make it a thing (especially the part about bread and wine),
“Seize life! Eat bread with gusto, Drink wine with a robust heart. Oh yesâGod takes pleasure in your pleasure! Dress festively every morning. Donât skimp on colors and scarves. Relish life with the spouse you love Each and every day of your precarious life. Each day is Godâs gift. Itâs all you get in exchange For the hard work of staying alive. Make the most of each one! Whatever turns up, grab it and do it. And heartily! This is your last and only chance at it,,” (Ecclesiastes 9:7-10 MSG)
Dear Lord,
   I don’t know your purpose or plans for my children and loved ones, but I pray for it. I ask that you go ahead of them, paving the way for peace and provision. I pray you are parting seas they don’t see. I pray you are planting people of godly influence in their path before they get there. I pray for wisdom when they are pressed against the hard rock of life.
I pray for forgiving friends who point them to your love. I pray for protection over their hearts and bodies. I pray faith rises fiercely in their soul when doubt pushes down. I pray for eyes to see your blessings when they feel cheated. I pray they run to you, instead of away, when their hearts are broken. I pray they love bravely because that’s why you made them. I pray your voice reaches them when mine cannot and whispers, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” I pray they know love because they know you. Amen
It means so much that you’re taking this journey with me.⤠I’d love to send you a FREE SEVEN-DAY DEVOTIONAL: CLICK HERE FOR DEVOTIONAL
I turned to Aaron last night and said, “If she goes home in April, I don’t think Iâll survive it, baby.”
Taking my hand, he said, “We’ll get through it.”
The depths of human emotion are astounding. As soon as you reach the bottom of the well, your soul strikes a geyser, emotions rush to the surface, shattering the limitations of how you thought you could ever feel, or give.
The number one comment I’ve received after becoming a foster mom is, “I could never do that. I could never love a child and then give them back. It would be too hard.”
I know some of you’ve said those very words to me. You know the first person to say this to me?
Me.
About a gazillion times before you opened your mouth, so don’t sweat it. I’m pretty sure my head will pop off like a Barbie doll when/if she isn’t with us anymore. SoâŚthere’s that.
I try not to think of that.
Oh, yes, sweet friends. You’re right, it’s hard.
Loving a child like they’re yours, but they arenât is like trying to settle untamed land. I’m unsure which attachments to let grow wild and where it’d be wise to put up some fences.
Is she supposed to call me, mommy? I’m not her mommy.
What do I say when someone says, âCongratulationsâ? She’s not adopted. In fact, she’s with us because of traumatic circumstances.
Knowing we’ll probably only have her for a season; the knowledge breaks and heals, gives and takes away. I don’t know how to feel, so I feel everything. It’s fascinating and difficult. Please, pray for me.
Some days lunge at me like a ginormous octopus. Emotional tentacles are yanking my gut, trying to reach a new understanding of what God’s love is really about. How can it spread in so many directions at the same time, with the same purpose? Is it even possible for me to love like him?
I promise I’m trying. I’m finding I don’t know how to successfully love my foster daughter, her birth mama, her birth daddy, her paternal grandma, the two social workers, three investigators, three lawyers, and the judge equally.
I’m failing.
Somewhere down the line, I’ve come to believe that if I love one too much, it will interfere with my love for the other. What if I love too hard, will the wells eventually dry up? I don’t want to find myself cracked and parched, unable to love brave again.
The word tells us, “For God loved the world, that he gave his only son,”(John 3:16)
In other words:
He loved, so he did a very hard thing;
He loved, so he gave what was most precious to him;
He loved, so he endured.
He loved, so he hung, his lips cracked, his mouth parched.
The veil was torn. His body was buried. But it wasn’t the bottom of the well.
When the world thought Jesus hit rock bottom, a bigger rock rolled away, and the fierce love of God rose up.
I’m learning we can’t put boundaries and borders upon God’s love. We’re the ones slapping labels on His callings: Too Hard. Not Worth It. I. Just. Can’t.
Of course, we can’t! Love wouldn’t be holy if we could accomplish it on our own. Only through Jesus, “For in him we live and move and have our being.” (Acts 17:28)
After our last failed adoption, I was convinced a piece of me would never feel again. I was wrong. The death in that experience gave birth to a new depth in me I didn’t know existed. Under the surface of that suffering was an understanding that God’s designed us for more. More perseverance, more strength, more wisdom, more hope, more fight, more courage, and abundant love.
He “is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us.” (Ephesians 3:20)
We’re made in the image of God. So our love story on earth should look a bit like his.
Because he loves, we’ll do hard things. And because he’s with us, we’ll get through it.
I heard the click of his light and waited for the invitation. Silence. Why wasnât my Eli calling for me?
Maybe heâs praying, or stretching, or reading with a book light? Was something wrong?!
Iâll tell you whatâs wrong – my boy is growing up. And Iâm not ready.
I crept out of bed and peeked into his room. He looked longer, his jaw a bit wider, with those man-boy feet (now bigger than mine) sticking out from his Star Wars blanket,
âAre you okay!? You didnât call me to âKentuckyâ you inâŚâ
He opened his eyes, cracking a smile. Had he lost all his baby teeth?
âOh, my goodness! Youâre freaking out, I just thought it was too late to call you.â He laughed. Apparently, my mama-meltdown was hilarious.
But something squeezed at my heart, âNever. Itâs never too late. You can always call me!â
And just like that, I realized my longing to be understood was much like my Heavenly Fatherâs. How many times had he sung the same ancient truth over my life- Itâs never too late, you can always call on me.
âThe Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth. Then you will call, and the Lord will answer you; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am Iâ (Psalm 145:18 NIV).
Being a mother reminds me Iâm made in the image of God. And although the love I feel for my kiddos is a teeny glimpse of His love for usâŚthereâs nothing on earth more consuming and eternal, besides God himself. Itâs that big. At times when Iâm desperate for my son to hear my words, God confirms -He feels the same way about me. His Spirit pleads, “Why arenât you calling on me, daughter?”
Heâs listening at the door of my heart while I sit in the dark, cold and unsure. Always present, but desiring me to utter His name, to invite Him to turn on the light. But I make excuses- Iâve waited too long, my need is too great, or the most dangerousâŚmy need is too small.
What areas of your life do you hold back from Godâs loving comfort? In what space do you prefer Him not to come? Where have you cuddled under the lie, âMy longing is too insignificant for Him to careâ? Push these things aside; theyâre smothering your access to child-like faith. All we need to do is, âcry for help, and He will say: Here am I.â
P.S. I reserve the right to tuck my “babies” into bed as long as they live under my roof. I’m fairly certain it’s in the Constitution somewhere…or a Dr. Suess book. Either way.
Last week, I had a –how did my walls get this dirty?! – kind of day. Our adoption social worker was coming over to redo our home safety report (because they LOST the original. Yup.)
I can’t even. I found myself, knees pressed to the wood floors, scrubbing off fingerprints…or maybe they’re toe-prints? I don’t even know.
One smudge rallied so hard against my efforts- it was like a caveman painting fighting to not be erased from our home history.
So how did my walls get so dirty? Because people live here; little dirty people and big dirty people. This is our safe place; our “come as you are “place.
Let’s be real- Our safest walls are always the messiest.
When they walk through the doors of this house, I don’t demand they clean up right away. I don’t insist on showers the second they burst through the door from hours of bike-riding, or soccer-playing or middle-school surviving.
I let them rest a bit. Breathe a bit. Eat a snack. Grab a drink. I let them just…be. And although this is a picture of grace, it’s still not excusable for them to intentionally wipe a muddy cleat on my hypothetical white rug, or smudge a happy face on walls with their grubby fingers.
Our home parallels our relationships. The more intimate the relationship, the messier it can get. The safer we feel, the more careless we can become. There are days my hubby comes home and I soil his spirit with careless words, sarcastic comebacks, and hurtful eye rolls. All the junk that’s clung to my shoes and wedged under my skin from the day, I carry straight to my people.
It’s OKâŚbut it’s not OK. We have to take responsibility for checking the condition of our hearts when we enter our safe spaces. We canât treat our people like itâs their job to stand still and let us wipe our junk all over them.
When my kids come in stinky and tired, it’s true, I let them rest. But eventually, they’re getting in that shower y’all! It’s the same with our attitudes and spirits.
The home is where grace and discipleship should be profoundly weaved together. Healthy homes cannot have discipleship without grace, and grace is not effective without discipleship.
I try to hold my tongue when someone spills in my home. It’s simply human nature to mess up, but even more so, to sin. There’s no value gained by verbally ripping into my family, “Sin is not ended by multiplying words, but the prudent hold their tongues” (Proverbs 10:19).
However, I don’t allow them to walk away without taking responsibility to clean up. When the mess is dripping off the table, soaking my rug, I’ll snatch another towel and jump on the floor with my kiddo to help. At times, the stain is so tricky, I’ll need to explain how I know white wine gets out most anything. Â Our kids are still kids. We need to guide them on how to clean up the messes they make.
This same model of discipleship can be used when our kiddos verbally smear their siblings. I’m struck by The Message’s version of Matthew 18, âBut what comes out of the mouth gets its start in the heart. Itâs from the heart that we vomit up evil arguments…”
As parents, don’t we get it?! I know I struggle to remember this! It’s not the words we should be scurrying to mop up- itâs the âvomitâ collecting in our hearts. We offer astounding love when we help our kids notice thereâs a well from which they draw their words. Harsh words and attitudes don’t pollute the heart; they ooze from a polluted heart.
We all have days that leave our souls caked with mud-like frustration. It’s expected weâll need a safe space to wash up. But showing someone our dirty hands is different than shoving it on them.
Itâs my instinctual reaction to yell, donât you dare say that! or apologize right now! But Iâm praying for patience and wisdom. Maybe the question I should really pull my kiddos aside and ask is, why do you think you just said that? And instead of demanding a flippant apology, challenge them to think, why do you think Iâm asking you to apologize?
If we donât teach our kids, (and ourselves!) how to âheart checkâ in the midst of bubbling emotions, weâll be spewing all over our beloved home asking, how did our walls get so dirty?!
God’s word beautifully reminds us that our words have the power to give life. Check out these Bible verses for inspiration: God’s Word Marked by Love
I have baby onesies with no pudgy legs to fill them. I have space where I hung dresses for a job I didnât get.
Having empty space in our lives, doesnât mean weâre called to endure emptiness. Once a woman wept outside an empty tomb and was met by the hope of the world.
Remember Mary, the shamed woman whose heart was seen by Jesus? In Him, she was most likely cherished for the first time. Then she witnessed the desire of her heart mocked, beaten, and nailed to a cross.
Maryâs new identity was mercilessly pinned to a piece of wood. Her hope was in Jesus. And now it hung lifeless for the whole world to see.
Our desires may be holy and epic! For me, wanting to adopt is that one desire I feel Iâve been watching die a gruesome death. Itâs out of my hands. All I can do is stand aside and feel the fool for believing. Have you ever felt this way; that God entrusted you with a longing but it seems itâs a no-go?
Iâm guessing Mary may have felt this way. She proclaimed the hope of the world had come, and the next day they rolled a stone sealing His grave.
Still, she knelt outside the tomb, where her unmet expectations lay buried and dead.
Dying to self is a true death. And itâs OK to treat it that way. As long as we donât forget: We worship a God of resurrection!
Mary went to Jesusâ tomb, terrified and confused to find it hollow. She pleaded with the angels, asking where theyâd taken him. (John 20:11-18). Itâs not that she wanted Jesus to be dead, but itâs what she expected.
Sometimes, we’re so busy focusing on the hollowness of a situation…we miss the hallelujah!
Weâre so much like Mary. If weâve watched a desire of our heart be abused and buried, we visit the grave expecting it to stay that way forever.
We forget what hope looks like. When this happens, we can miss it staring us in the face.
Hope looks like Jesus.
Hope is Jesus.
Mary didnât even recognize Him when he appeared to her outside the tomb. She mistakes him for the gardener! (John 20:15) She was seized by the fact things didnât remain irredeemable. The world was whispering, “Whatâs the point? What you hoped for is still dead.”
But the world lies. Thereâs always a resurrection!  Whateverâs  lifeless, looks different after revival.
Jesus looked different. He was glorified. (Philippians 2:20-21) I think itâs why Mary didnât recognize Him right away.
Itâs the same with the desires of our hearts. Itâs not that they arenât lovely, but God has something planned to take our breath away! Something we havenât considered. Something impossible.
This. Is. Faith. Standing outside a graveyard and believing resurrection will come.
Weâre completing our Foster Certification. Something mind you, we said weâd NEVER do. God, through the past five years of loss and frustration, has been tirelessly crafting our powdered dreams into something completely different than what we expected to see. The idea of becoming Foster Parents was our equivalent of Mary mistaking Jesus for the gardener. We initially flipped out, âWhere have you taken our dead dream?!!â I just wanted to remain face down, ugly crying like Mary.
Sometimes, itâs easier to sit in disappointment then to step into the unknown. This is a big unknown for us! But I know the sweet face of hope. I refuse to mistake Him.
Weâre approaching a desolate space and expecting the impossible to happen.
Weâre expecting God to resurrect all that was lost.
Weâre expecting desires to look different.
Standing right in front of us, could be the glorified, holy, resurrected will for our lives.
Once, I swung open the front door of my mini-van, jumped inside, heard a growl, peeked over my shoulder and found myself face to face with two black dogs.
Seriously, who the heck put their stinkinâ dogs in my mini-van?!
Um. Yeah. Not my mini-van.
Itâs a bit terrifying how long it took to realize my mistake.
No one in the van was happy…and somebody definitely peed a little.
Hereâs the deal: Donât climb into someone elseâs mini-van uninvited. It doesnât matter how much it looks like yours. Same goes for our lives. Someone may appear to have a similar life, outlook, circumstance, parenting triumph or woe – but until youâve entered in, youâve no clue whatâs really going on inside.
Never assume. Itâs a waste of time. And donât barge in. Itâs too risky.
Wait to be invited.
This can be so tricky. Especially if the door of their life appears wide open. Â Dusty goldfish are pouring out, the leaking juice box under the backpack has puddled next to a runaway credit card. You just want to offering a suggestion…right?! Stop. There could be some snarling teeth in there. Someoneâs going to get hurt.
I canât tell you how many friendships in my life have been strained because weâve felt judged by one another. Â It makes all of us shut down and pull away. Ask yourself two questions:
Have I established mutual trust with this person?
If you havenât known this person long, and you get all up in their business, it can feel like judgement. It may not be your heart! But remember, they donât trust you yet. Itâs not fair to expect them to know your intentions. Be wise and hold your tongue. But love them like crazy. Be a constant in their life.
Has this person indicated they want your opinion?
I have friends who I know donât want my opinion- even though they love and trust me. Bummer is, Iâm still prone to give it. Weâve got to know our audience yâall. Â Itâs hard for this Italian/Irish girl to shut it down! Iâm learning at the speed of molasses â I need to discipline myself in this area.
Does your friend let her kids watch rated R movies at the age of nineâŚguess what?!
Thatâs not your mini-van!
Or maybe a friend doesnât believe in vaccinations, or home-school, or private school, or public school, or any school!!
Yeah. Thatâs not your mini-van either. Get out girl!
Itâs hard to be a mom these days. Everyone and every book out there hisses, âYouâre doing it wrongâ or, âYou can do it better.â Our generation has trouble trusting God can equip us properly.
We turn to the next, âHow to…â book, before we turn to Godâs book.
We ask Siri before we ask the Spirit.
I believe the enemy’s in this; undermining our God-given instincts to parent our children well. He uses social media, articles and most aggressively- he baits us to tear each other down. We don’t need to be another blasting horn of judgement towards our sisters! Godâs heart is for us to, âEncourage one another and build each other up.â(1 Thessalonians 5:11)
Donât know how to do this? I think it starts with less worrying about getting into someone elseâs life, and inviting them authentically into your own. Living out grace is a powerful witness and gift; loving people regardless of their parenting choices. If a friend does ask your opinion, it’s a safe place to practice honesty. Any fiery pups in her mini-van should know you well enough not to snap.
Sometimes Mammaâs need help. But all the time, they need grace.
Once upon a time, at Trader Joes, I allowed my three angels to push their own mini-carts. SoâŚthey decided to play bumper carts down the aisle of wine bottles. Smack in the middle of the horrific scene, another mom sauntered by, her two children peacefully pushing one cart and said,
âYou know, itâs really not the best idea to let each of your children have a cart.â
I donât remember what I said. But I did not say,
âWow, thatâs such wonderful advice. Youâve helped me feel like a non-idiot. You clearly care about me and the six shattered Merlots Iâm about to pay for.â
Yeah. I did not say that.
Moments later, a heroic Trader Joeâs worker, rushed to my side as I confiscated the horrid mini-carts. I was attempting to balance all three on top of my big one. She gently offered the kiddos a sucker while I completed my mission.
I look back on this day and ask myself-Â Which character in this embarrassing story do I want to be? Our words and actions, even well intended, are pathways.
Here are key questions Iâm learning to consider:
Is what I say or do, leading someone down a hallway to Godâs love? Or, is it a route to my own self-validation?
Will this help them feel better, or me feel better?
Which corridor am I nudging people towards when I come to their aid?
I donât think the mamma at Trader Joeâs had a heart to help me. Â She wanted to make it clear, she knew more about this parenting thing than me. Iâm super guilty of behaving this way, too. We all struggle with insecurities when we seek validation outside of God’s love.
Once I shamed a mamma for packing her daughter marshmallows as a âhealthy snack.â Not my finest moment. But advising her how not to feed her children, validated the way I chose to feed mine. It was vain. Godâs word makes it clear, âDo nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves.â (Philippians 2:3)
Holding my tongue is just as hard as the Bible says. Godâs shown me, sometimes I donât really want to help, I want to be heard. If being heard by others becomes more important than loving them, weâve missed the mark big time. This is true in our friendships, marriages and everyday encounters.
Jesus didnât say, the greatest commandment is, âLove the Lord your God with your heartâŚAnd the second is to give judgmental advice to all the tired moms on your street.â
Nope. He said, ââLove the Lord your GodâŚÂ  And the second is like it: âLove your neighbor as yourself.â(Matthew 22:37-39)
How did you feel loved when you were in this bleary-eyed stage? Consider those thingsâŚand then do them for others. Next time you see a crazy mamma balancing mini-carts in Trader Joeâs, help her get the third one up with a smile.  She doesnât need your advice, she needs your grace.
I have papers filed, stuffed, and strategically tucked awayâŚmuch like the grief attached to them.
I have official binders of completed Home Studies, one for Ghana, one for Domestic. Another folder filled with the remnants of our Ethiopia dossier. Love letters addressed, “ToOur baby from Africa, From Big Sister Ciana,” randomly skydive out of shelves when I tug at a book. Itâs routine for me to tenderly tuck them back in the crevice they escaped. Itâs routine for me to cry as I do it.
God pressed my heart yesterday,
Why are you keeping all these papers?
Papers have no power.
I struggle releasing the hope that the International Adoption Program in Ghana will re-open. What if it did?! Even if I made gazillion copies of these documentsâŚtheyâre all expired.
Yet, thereâs no expiration date on hope.
When God calls the Israelites to enter the Promise land, He tells them…
âYou have stayed long enough at this mountain.â (Deuteronomy 1:6)
It was time to move forward to the new place God had prepared; A land of hope. If youâre familiar with the story, they had major trouble trusting in Godâs promise. Theyâd rather be literal SLAVES in Egypt then to trust Godâs call to move forward.
We all do this. We make ourselves slaves to the past. Weâre terrified God doesnât have a better way. So we remain on timed-out mountain-tops and needlessly wander the wilderness.
His word reminds us, âAs for God, his way is perfectâ (Psalm 18:30)
Donât hoard what couldâve been. Â It devours valuable soul space.
Stop asking, Lord, what-if…
Start asking, Lord, what- now?
If we donât, we may miss the new thing God has for us.
â See, I am doing a new thing!   Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.â (Isaiah 43:19)Â
Snapshots of the past 5 years have indeed, looked like a spiritual trudge through wasteland. I want to perceive new things Godâs springing up in my life. Physical things can clutter the halls of our spiritual house. Iâm making room. But it’s not easy.
I couldnât bring myself to throw all the papers away. Iâm constantly handing my heart over for God to complete his work in me. However, I did consolidate them and move them into a garage space. Now they canât ambush my peace. Iâll only revisit them if God calls me to.
God’s faithfully held me as I’ve mourned on this mountain for a season. But Iâve been here long enough. Itâs time to follow Him to new territory.
Honestly, there’s still sorrow in the descent.
Honestly, I have no clear vision of where He’s leading.
I know it’s a land of hope.
I know in order for him to make a ânew wayââŚHe’s asked me to move all the papers off the path.
I know you and Dad saw a piece of our early childhood bruised and lonely. The owners neglected it like a stray cat. Its ribs poking out, its rosy complexion, pale and lifeless. Your nostalgic âdrive byâ led you to the ugliest house on the block. The cushy grass you trampled to scoop us after a fall, is crunchy and brown. The sidewalk where Dad chased close behind as I learned to ride my bike, is cracked and uneven. Not a trace of tender attention youâd poured into it was reflected in the rear-view mirror.
Donât be sad.
That house wasnât built to last. The space where your grandchildren gather to giggle and bake, wonât last either. The olive tree in the front that every neighborhood kid triumphantly climbed, has already passed away. The gaping hole where it once reached to the sky, reminds me, life is a breath.
Houses of wood and stone and brick crumble. The branches of epic climbing trees rot away.
I want you and Dad to know one thing…
Youâve built a house for me more gorgeous than any Zillow listing;Â
A house built on Christ, the solid rock.
When you prayed over dinner, over sickness or at the foot of my bed as I drifted offâŚ
 A strong foundation was poured-
Prayer wasnât only for hard times.
Prayer was for all times.
Prayer was for everything in my life.
When you brought us to spend long afternoons piecing together puzzles with widows like âGrandma Myrtleâ, I didnât understandâŚ
 A thoughtful frame was being pieced together-
Love is patient & kind.
Everyone is worthy.
 I was worthy.
When youâd order bags of extra hamburgers at Burger King to hand out to the homeless man after church, I was unsure of the filthy, life-worn hands grabbing at the foodâŚ
Strong walls were being raised in my life-
God sees everyone.
God loves everyone.
God sees and loves me.
When I woke up exhausted the morning of my baptism burdened with bad dreams, you helped me get dressed. You rolled down my ruffled sock whispering, âThereâs an enemy. He doesnât want you to get baptized. You cannot let him winââŚ
The roof of my spiritual house was secured-
I would experience fierce battles in my life.
My God was stronger and fiercer.
God made me strong and fierce.
Now that Iâm a Mommy, I want my precious kiddos to dwell in a solid spiritual house like the one you created for me. I thought of this as I baptized my children, your grandchildren, in the very pool youâve generously opened up to friends and neighbors for the past 32 years. I felt God beaming with pride as Aaron and I dipped their precious heads back into the water.
The Great Commission starts in the home. I learned this from you. Iâm aware God will equip us to build a spiritual house with a unique rhythm and calling.
But itâs not a new house.
Weâre expanding the construction youâve started. Just as you added a fresh wing to what your parents crafted for you.
âEveryone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock.  And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rockâ. Matthew 7:24-25
Mom and Dad, the rain fell, the floods came, winds blew and beat on the houseâŚbut it did not fall. It never will.
One day, we’ll dwell in the house of the Lord together, forever. The grass will never turn a dusty brown and paint will never peel. There will be more than one olive tree for your grandchildren, and their great grandchildren to climb. I imagine we’d have tears of joy…if tears were allowed. But they’re not. So don’t cry Mom.
He didnât ask me to tuck him in last night.
