Our Uncomposed God

I’m typing this sitting in a doctors office in Boston, Massachusetts.  I’ve traveled across the country to sit in a chair beside one of my dearest friends in the world and so I can hold her hand while people say really hard things to her and operate on her and give her shots in very unpleasant places.

Recently, I have a bit of an empathy situation. It’s out of control and awkward.  Today my sweet strong friend was doing AWESOME in her appointment and there I was – on the verge of tears.  Hold it together fabs. Hold it together.

You’re not my real mom.

I have a friend who is working through the incredibly glorious and painful process of caring for a newly adopted daughter.

On the good days, she would tell you about the unspeakable joy that comes when the barriers of blood and DNA dissolve in the baptism of true family that comes through love.  On the hard days, she has to endure the incredibly violating pain of watching this little human look at her and reject her love as insufficient because of that DNA.  The oceans this mom has crossed, the scars she bears that declare her love and evidence her intention – all are dismissed as inadequate.

Ask nicely

“Want loud!  Want Jesus Better loud!” – That’s how my favorite 3-year-old asks me to turn up the volume to his favorite song in the car.

“Ask nicely, buddy!” – That’s what I tell him.

“Please-may-I-have-Jesus-Better-loud -please.” – That’s his response.

The cuteness doesn’t really translate when you read that because you can’t hear the ridiculousness of his voice, but trust – it’s totes adorbs.  And no one in their right mind would say no.

A prayer for my pal

[Happy birthday to my sweet Hosea.  This little kiddo probably already has more words prayed over him than most people in the world, and I trust that must mean that God has glorious plans for him.  Please join me in praying for Hosea on his third birthday.]

Father,

Thank you for the fearful and wonderful crafting of the soul of Hosea.  Thank you that all the days of his life were written before one of them came to be.  

Will you send your Spirit into him even now?  Own his heart for your inheritance. Will you take this prayer for him and make it more than words? Make it real and tangible evidence of your power and grace.

toddlers and trash

Let me paint a little picture for you.

I’m sitting outside at a coffee shop/bar.  It’s one of those perfect Austin days (as long as you can hold your breath so that the allergies don’t silently destroy you).

A man just propped open the patio door with his body, making room for a chunky toddler to waddle out.   I’m not good with ages, but i’m guessing this little chubster was around 2.