The Bravery in Being You

I just finished reading the book "Let's All Be Brave--Living Life with Everything You Have" by Annie F Downs.  I'm guessing I purchased this book knowing I am not brave, and hoping to find a way to become brave.  Really, that sums up most of my book purchases--the titles draw me in by offering me something I want.  :)

Who doesn't want to be brave?  Courage can be envied when we see others doing things we are too fearful to do.  But the thing is, I bet those people are fearful too; they just choose to be brave and take a risk.  I have always joked that my youngest brother hogged all the risk-taking genes in my family.  I received NONE at birth.  And none has yet to show up at the age of 38.  If there is risk involved, I turn and walk the other way.

As a Mama, I too, have birthed a risk-phobic child.  Its better to not try than to try and fail.  Her philosophy seems ridiculous to me, yet I operate in much of the same way.  When I push her to keep trying or to even just start trying, I really need to be giving myself the same pep talk and venture out of my comfort zone too.  But our comfort zones are safe.  And girls that aren't brave like to feel safe (or at least convince ourselves we are safe by not taking a risk).

Annie's book had two quotes that really hit home for me.  On page 135:  "be brave enough to love the people around you, even if it looks like sacrifice and feels like loss."  Having just survived a foster care nightmare (my blog--"Get Out of the Boat"), I loved 2 children, sacrificed greatly, and am still grieving the loss of them in my home.  But I do not feel brave.  I felt called, but never brave.  Some days, many days, it was a fight just to survive until bedtime.  I'd collapse in bed with tears, and wake up to do it all over again the next day, by the grace of God.  Brave never crossed my mind.  Crazy, maybe.  But never brave.  I was simply loving these children as my own, because Jesus asked me to.

I never really weighed foster care as a risk, because in my mind, God asked me to do this for these two children.  Period.  Which is probably why I said "Yes" and didn't turn and walk the other way.  Or maybe, God put scales over my eyes so that I could not see all of the risk up front, because He knew this chicken would RUN!  I certainly would not have been brave enough to say "Yes" if I had seen all the chapters ahead and the end of this foster care story.

But bravery was found in love.  Love for the Lord who called me to foster care, and love for the two precious children entrusted to me for a season.  Throughout the journey I may have thought that bravery looked like fighting daily battles for each of these children. But looking back, I see that bravery was loving them in hard places and then letting them go.  The risk was not knowing how long they would stay in my home.  Being brave was loving them anyway.  Bravery is now continuing my story without them.

The second quote was on page 175:  "You want to change the world?  Be brave.  Be you.  Don't try to be someone else or do someone else's brave thing."  This quote really struck a chord with me.  Over the last few years I have watched close friends embrace their passions and rally people around those passions to make enormous impacts.  Sometimes I joined in, but when their passion didn't become soul-deep for me like it was for them, I was left feeling inadequate and dare I say, feeling somewhat judged.  I was desperately trying to be someone else and do their brave thing.  And to a large extent, they were expecting their passion to become my passion.  We all do it; a fire sparks inside of us and we can't imagine that spark NOT being in other people too.  But if we all had the same spark, passion wouldn't create change; it would just become the new norm.

I don't need to try and be someone that I was not created to be or try to accomplish someone else's bravery.  I can change the world by being brave in my own passion.  The passion the Lord has placed in my heart to spark my feet into action for His glory.  Any attempt on my part to follow another's passion, will lead me down a path not created for me.  Bravery is embracing my own passion; without requiring any followers.  And courage comes in doing my own brave thing for God, and with God.  God designed me and God designed my passion.  So the bravery I need will come in just being me.  The risk is not being true to what God is calling me.  I want to be brave and follow the passion He has for my life.

"Get out of the boat"

"Get out of the boat."  Those were the words the Lord spoke to us out of no where last year.

"Get out of the boat.  Take his hand in one hand and take her hand in the other.  Do not let go, and keep your eyes on Me, not on the choppy water."

We had no idea what God was up to, but with His peace in our hearts, we said "Yes, Lord" and stepped out of the boat of familiarity and predictability; knees knocking, hearts pounding.

Little did we know how much they needed us.  How much they needed this Mama.  How much they needed Willie.  How much they needed our children.  But God did.  He called our family, our friends, our church, and an army of Weavers to love on them and shower them with God's Love.

Life outside of the boat was rough.  Wave after wave hit hard for the next nine months.  Gasping for breath and swallowing water became the new norm.  Before we knew it, we had completely lost sight of the boat and of the horizon.  It was only Jesus and the army of family and friends that were sustaining us.  Yet, we never let go.  We struggled hand in hand; holding on to them tightly and treading new waters while God healed old wounds.  God was faithful.....every.....single......day.

The first storm cloud grew in size and strength until hurricane force winds threatened to destroy the structure of who we were.  We called out to every resource known, but no one seemed to be able to send the help needed or direct our steps where to find it.  God had us anchored, but weathering this storm became dangerous.  The waves finally broke us and the Lord said, "let go of his hand".  I struggled harder and squeezed him tighter, hoping more love was the answer.  But again, God said, "let go of his hand".  Face down, battered, bruised, and stripped of strength; I relinquished his hand into His hand.  Tears became the waves pounding my heart; scars remained where once love filled.  he was gone.  The winds and water receded, revealing the damage left in the storm's wake.

Our children were in shock from the fury they witnessed.  Willie was in "protector" mode.  My Mama heart was broken.  But God's peace surrounded us all until we knew God had only called us to hold his hand for part of the journey.  Wherever he goes, Jesus goes with him.  Our touch on his life was over.

With no time to catch our breath, the second storm cloud hovered over our exhausted, broken bodies and souls.  This storm did not have the potential for destruction as the first storm did, but we had nothing left.  Even our prayers exhausted our souls as we were weary for a boat or the horizon to come into view again.  "Lord, what do you want us to do?"

Whether God faintly whispered or we acted from sheer depletion, we will never fully know.  But we let go of her hand too.  We needed to find solid ground quickly and this seemed best for everyone.  We heaved ourselves over the side of our boat and slept.  And slept and wept.

As we slowly began to regain our family and life inside the boat again, we could still see her from a distance.  We called to her and shared time with her, but the reality was she was drifting further away.  Not drifting forward, but drifting backwards.  The new was fading into the old.

We scrambled and prayed and desperately sought all the resources known to us, to reach out and grab  her hand once again.  To stop her from drifting away from who she was meant to be.  Our attempts failed.  She too is gone from our touch.  We are once again left with an ache, a scar, and a heart that still loves.

In my anger and hurt and depression I called out to God, "why did you ask us to get out of the boat and hold these two precious hands if all that was accomplished was damage?"  "Why Lord, WHY?"

After weeks of silence and pain, God softly spoke into the quiet of my heart.  "Because now she's Mine."  June 26, 2014 she became a Jesus-girl.  "You took her hand and led her to Me."  "Nothing can snatch her out of My eternal hand."  

"But Lord, what about him?  He's so young and carries so much baggage."
"He's Mine too."  "You took his hand and brought him to Me every night to talk."  "I slept with him and he was no longer afraid to sleep every night."  "He knows I am his biggest Super-Hero."

The missing is still messy.  Life out of the boat on the choppy water felt anointed with a passion only from God.  Life inside the boat now seems so very hard without them.  There are days I want to jump ship and just start swimming; hoping to close the gap and catch just a glimpse of their faces.  I still want to hold their hands, pull them to safety, and give them everything they need.  But they have Jesus and He is more.

God said, "let go, they are Mine".
And so I trust and pray and listen for the Lord to say again, "It's time to get out of the boat".........

 

354 Shades of Love

Wanting to support the Christian film by Focus on the Family, we spontaneously decided to see "The Drop Box" film last night as a family.  The trailer looked like something we wanted our children to experience and be able to discuss and process with them.  So we purchased tickets online and planned  on dinner and the movie after school.  God was up to something.  :)

Yesterday afternoon, I was given the opportunity to serve a special needs child for a short period of time.  Jillian accompanied me after school and looking back, I see how God was preparing her heart for the movie later that evening.  Being face to face with a child much different than herself and her friends, moved Jillian out of her comfort zone; and to be honest, myself included.  In the forty-five minutes spent with this precious child, Jillian observed physical limitations she hadn't been exposed to before.  They were not familiar and made her somewhat uncomfortable.  She alternated between interacting with him and retreating to the familiarity of her drawing and artwork.  I, too, struggled with how to relate and love on this child in ways he could feel.  Music and physical touch penetrates all barriers.  Musical toys allowed this child to unwind after school with dancing.  I could not stop smiling at how he had so much more rhythm than I did and he danced away our time together.

Jillian and I headed home to pick up Willie and Braeden for dinner and the movie in Germantown.  Between a stressful day at school and the stretched comfort zone after school, Jillian had a meltdown.  Her "marble jar was empty" and she just wanted to stay home.  Her disinterest in the movie hurt this Mama as I saw her temper tantrum through the lens of selfishness.  After an ugly fifteen minutes, our family was finally on the road.  Jillian cried herself to sleep and slept most of the ride.

At dinner, when Willie tried to broach the subject of the movie, Jillian put up her walls.  She told 

Willie she was scared and wouldn't explain why.  She watched the movie trailer on my phone and was quiet yet grumpy through dinner.  When Willie pressed again, she just shrugged her shoulders.   In that instant, the Holy Spirit gave me these words:  "she's not scared about any particular part of the movie, she's scared of not knowing what to expect."  Jillian's eyes lit up and she nodded in agreement that Mama had given words to her emotions.  Willie, living in a "blue" world, looked completely confused, so I jokingly said, "it's a "pink" thing".  :)  More often than not, we find ourselves more scared of the unknowns in life, than the knowns.  Jillian just needed some extra love to be brave.

Arriving at the theater, we stood in line to have our tickets printed out.  Looking around, I noticed there were no signs for "The Drop Box" movie.  No cardboard advertisements.  No framed posters announcing that it was playing.  I glanced up at the box office billboard and noticed "The Drop Box" wasn't even listed as an option for movie goers.  No title, no show times, no nothing.  I began to think we had chosen the wrong theater or that the movie didn't exist.   As I checked in on Facebook, "The Drop Box" movie was not in the list of movie options that I scrolled through to post we would be watching.  Only after physically typing in the title, was I able to access its existence.  In a matter of minutes, our tickets printed out and we were directed to Theater #13.  Still, no signs of this movie anywhere in the theater.  

"The Drop Box" was an INCREDIBLE movie.  Subtitles, precious faces of precious children, love in the eyes and heart of Pastor Lee and his wife, sacrifice of time and health for the weakest, a passion to lay down life for those unable to be cared for by others, and the God behind all of the above.  This was God's ministry, birthed in the heart of one man--who's wife had given birth to their own special needs son.  Pastor Lee was obedient to God's call on his life and considers it a blessing to serve those who need a chance at surviving and need to be loved.  The cost is great, but the Lord has paid it; for His glory.  God placed Pastor Lee's passion in his heart and gave courage to his actions.

As I glanced over at Jillian throughout the movie, she had a smile spread across her face.  Her heart was penetrated with love through the eyes and smiles of the beautiful children God redeemed in "The Drop Box".  The fear of the unknown was replaced with joy---visible in these children who are loved unconditionally.  The experience earlier in the afternoon with the special needs child, took on a whole new meaning.  There is no physical limitation that love does not conquer.  The same is true of Christ; there is nothing His precious blood and Love does not cover.  Nothing.  He redeems imperfect life with Perfect Love.

So as we left Theater #13, and headed for the exit, I still saw no signs for this movie that revealed one man's passion for the helpless lives dependent upon his love.  I saw plenty of signs and marketing for other movies that our culture is promoting right now.  I left so very heartbroken that the 354 babies Pastor Lee saved in his "Drop Box" at the time of filming, paled in comparison to the promotion of "50 Shades of Grey".  Pastor Lee's 354 Shades of Love preserves life.  Christian's 50 Shades of Grey destroys love.  And tragically, only the latter goes down in history as a box office hit in our culture. 

Midnight Mama Hugs

After an incredibly long day, I had crashed into bed and was sound asleep.  The phone startled me awake at 11:15pm.  Braeden didn't feel good and wanted to come home instead of staying at a sleepover.  While I dozed in and out of sleep, Braeden came home and told us that he was really tired more than anything, and just wanted to sleep in his own bed.  Willlie tucked him into bed with a little Pepto for his stomach, as I began to drift back to sleep again, smiling at how my boy has always handled fatique with tears and wanting his own bed.

The next thing I know, Braeden walks back into our bedroom and collapses onto Willie in bed, holding him tight and sobbing.  "I can't stop crying..........you guys love me so much to get up in the middle of the night and take care of me."  Needless to say, my Mama's heart squeezed me to fully awake.  We talked with Braeden in the quiet and dark of the night, assured him that before midnight does not qualify as "in the middle of the night", and reminded our sweet boy that we are always on duty and would do anything anytime for him.  After calming down and starting to feel better, Braeden suggested his belly may hurt from a little hunger, and so he and Willie ventured downstairs for a midnight snack.

As I lay there in bed and replayed the dramatic events, I chuckeld at the thought that this only seemed dramatic because it was our 13 year old baseball-loving Braeden.  This wouldn't have phased us if it had come from our sweet little Drama Queen.   In fact, we would have expected it, and probably rolled our eyes and been less than compassionate.  But for my son, who stands taller than me and is quickly growing stronger than I, the tender heart he braved to expose became a pricless treasure.  He just wanted to be home and loved on.  He felt we were sacrificing ourselves for him and he was touched to tears.  Our love had truly penetrated his heart.

Just that day I had shared with a friend how Braeden had seemed to flip a "teenage" switch on his birthday.  He seemed overly confident, centered a bit too much on self, and time simply talking to Mama was not an option he would choose over video games.  Yet, here, in the vulnerbility of the night, my son was running for home, for Dad, and for Mama.

Thank you Lord, for waking this bone-tired Mama to see the-heart-outside-her-body reaching for his Mama's hand; even when he begins to tower over me and tread the teenage waters.