Learning the Beauty of No

The Compassion blog posts out of Ecuador this week have been so moving. All of them. 


I have my favorites though, and today I'd like to share one.


It was penned by Melanie of Big Mama. Read the entire post here (pictures of the Amazon included). 


Here is a moving excerpt. 


As we were leaving the last Center today we had to walk on a vast expanse of rocks to get back to our canoes. We were all given rubber rainboots to wear for the day and had to walk very carefully from rock to rock so that we wouldn’t lose our footing. Not to mention that rubber boots don’t offer a lot of comfort against the rocks. Some of them were slippery from being in the water and I’d feel myself start to stumble and have to walk even slower.


But as we pulled away in our canoe, I noticed the children RUNNING across that same treacherous rocky terrain effortlessly. They didn’t seem to notice that the rocks hurt their feet or that the path was sometimes unsteady or that they might trip and fall. They just ran. They ran with joy.


I turned to Sophie and remarked, “Look at them running on those rocks when we were barely able to walk.”


And that’s when it dawned on me.


How incredible it is that I’m barely able to walk on those rocks, but they are able to run on them. With joy and freedom. They run.


It hit me that they have a faith in The Rock and a trust in Him that allows them to run. They run with abandon. They run with joy. They follow Him because He is all they have and they get that He is all they need.

I have a particular reason for loving these words. I've seen this miracle in my own children, though on a smaller scale.

Toys were plentiful here at one time. Sickeningly plentiful. Mommy was generous, though things came from thrift stores and garage sales most of the time. Gluttony is foolish, no matter the avenue.

A combination of things changed the landscape around here. First, the Holy Spirit spoke: These children have the stench. You've spoiled them with your yes. He didn't mince words.

Next, my husband lost his full-time job. Part-time jobs came soon enough, but even with 55 hours a week, he's still underemployed. Even a $3 garage sale purchase puts a dent in our budget.

Recently, I had to say: "No Halloween costumes. We can't afford them. Make do with what you have on hand." They decided to forgo Halloween because it wasn't that important to them. Even a trip to the thrift store for farmer clothes wasn't in the cards. 

They rode a scooter at someone's house recently, for the first time. Immediately, they wanted one. Sorry, we can't afford it.

Though there's sometimes disappointment, they've come to trust that He knows what they need.

We've uttered "sorry, we can't afford it" for 2.5 years and counting.

And the result? I like my kids more now. They're not spoiled. They're sweeter. They know the value of a dollar. 

We've purged toys three times, and each time, my kids get richer, not poorer. They get rich on God, because he's a bigger part of their lives. With fewer distractions, He enlarges. 

They really need Him. 

He's the one who fixes cars and provides more milk and puts gas in a car that's running on fumes. 

He's the one who provides the soccer ball we can't afford, because a little boy dreamed about it and prayed.

He's the one who provides the new jacket right before the coldest, windiest fall day, after a trip to the thrift store turned up nothing.

Mommy and Daddy can't provide, but God can. 

He's proven himself, because our poverty gave Him the chance.

When I said sorry, no scooter, it wasn't hard.  

You see, they don't need a scooter. They have bikes. They have their legs to run with, balls to throw. Trees to hide behind. They have minds that, when pressed, think up new, exciting, thrilling games. They have each other.

The less I give them, the more they have--both spiritually and mentally.

Think of it this way. When there's just a dirt floor, little food, no furniture, and no plan for tomorrow, He's all there is.

Everything added to this dirt-floor picture that isn't a need, blurs Him. Until eventually, He's gone.

No, I don't want dirt floors here. And yes, I'm grateful for the soccer ball. 

But I want Him to shine brightest.  

No is wise. Yes is easy, but cheap. All roads don't lead to Him and we get to choose.

No to the world of gluttony and comparison and greed. 

Yes to Him.

It hit me that they have a faith in The Rock and a trust in Him that allows them to run. They run with abandon. They run with joy. They follow Him because He is all they have and they get that He is all they need.

When You Ask God to Use You

I'm not an evangelist. For me, words of witness come after an opportunity passes.

My husband is the bold one. Last weekend he took our older three for a visit to a homeschool friend's house. A couple neighbor girls Elizabeth invited over began talking about childish superstitions, such as if you break your necklace, you get bad luck. More disturbing, they talked about seeing a bloody Mary in a mirror. One of them insisted she skinned her knee five times after breaking her necklace.

My husband told the girls boldly that "we believe in Jesus, not in superstitions."

Later at home, we sat down with the prayer jar, adding the girls' names (for them to know Truth).

I expressed how happy I was that Daddy mentioned Jesus. God gives us opportunities such as these to share our faith, I told them.

Paul, who is shy, was nearly in tears. "I don't think I could ever say what Daddy said."

I told him Mommy is also shy and not very bold. I added another prayer in the jar, asking God to make us all bold.

Knowing evangelism wasn't natural for me, I told God more than once over the years........"Please use me. If not my evangelistic words, then my life."

On Wednesday we went to Beth's physical therapy appointment. Her therapist, who has a European accent (a low percentage of Europeans have faith), was at first a bit overwhelmed that three other children were along for the appointments. The kids behave, but still, four is a lot of little people.

From Pew Research: 
Either way, popular attitudes toward religion in Europe now stand in bold contrast to those in the United States. While 59 percent of Americans say that religion is very important in their lives, only 11 percent of the French, 21 percent of Germans, and 33 percent of Britons do, according to the Pew Research Center.  Excerpt from this article: http://www.usnews.com/usnews/culture/articles/050530/30europe.htm

This time, because of Beth's flare, the therapist lovingly wrapped my daughter's knees with gauze dipped in hot, liquid paraffin wax. If Beth responded well (she did), the therapist planned to carry on the normal therapy routine that day.

Beth is a sweet girl and she particularly likes doctors (she calls Bea her therapist doctor, only she says this without the th and s sounds, if you can imagine that). Of all my children, Beth is the best candidate for a chronic pain disorder. God knew who He could use. Of course He did.

On this, our second visit, Bea was not overwhelmed by the four children. She was charmed. Peter, Paul, and Mary worked together to entertain Beth, who sat with wax gauze and towels wrapped around her knees for twenty minutes.

Beth was responsive, full of laughter and vitality and charm. Bea gave her a piece of wax to play with, and the children marveled at how fast it hardened. We talked about heat expanding molecules, like when an ice cube melts. When you take away the heat source, the molecules get closer together again. Thus, the liquid wax hardens.

Beth played with it, making many different shapes. Peter said, "That looks just like one of Mommy's tampons!" (Beth unwraps and plays with them occasionally, so they all know what they look like.)


Yes he did, folks. 


Driving home from the appointment and reflecting on Bea being charmed by the children--especially by sweet Beth--I marveled at how God uses us. I'm not an evangelist, but I am a Momma. I am discipling these children, keeping them from the world's stain, so they'll be set apart for God. And this, not of my self. Through Him, working in spite of me, not because of me.

With their simple faith, children speak volumes about God.

Along with her siblings, Beth will shine a light-giving faith, to her caregivers, throughout the course of this disease. God will use her condition to change hearts. To soften them. To cause them to reflect....what makes these particular children so happy? Why do they seem different?

It doesn't matter that we are imperfect, stained. He seems to orchestrate that their sweetest moments, always come at doctors' offices.

Now I know why. (Our regular doctor is from India, and he sees Peter regularly, because of ADHD, OCD and the tic disorder, Tourette's.)

Paul is healthy, but sees an ENT every few months to have ear wax removed. All these conditions and appointments? Not an accident. I'm sure of this now.

When I prayed....God, use me....I didn't expect it to take this form. A form that involves pain for my child, sleepless nights for both of us, and a young body full of anti-inflammatory medication.....not to mention another child with serious issues.

But today, I am prepared to say...thank you, God. Thank you for using us.

What a privilege.

Out Of My League

A good friend e-mailed me, asking if I wanted the contact information for her college friend, whose 3-year-old daughter has JRA.

I said yes, but I sat on the information for a while. Finally, today, I e-mailed her friend, asking about arthritis flares. What causes them? Can I prevent them?

The Internet couldn't help me with this question.

I'm shy. Did I ever mention that? Writing a complete stranger doesn't appeal to me. But neither does too little information.

Ask my husband. Information arms me. To a fault. He doesn't understand how anyone could love research. I never actually said I loved it, mind you. He declared that. And I admit it's true. I'm a research junky.

The reply was very quick. From a Blackberry. She was very outgoing, nice and gracious. She wrote a few paragraphs, then asked if I could call her...she'd love to help me figure out the JRA maze. Or was I on Facebook?

Oh, boy, I thought. She writes me from a Blackberry--I type this word as though I know what a Blackberry is, do you notice that--and asks me if I'm on Facebook.

I'm out of my league. In the second e-mail--still very gracious, interested, and out-going (Did I mention I'm shy?)--she said I could call her or text her.

Text her?

Do people actually have conversations on Facebook, or just post things? I didn't know it was like e-mail. Come to think of it, if it's like e-mail, then, well, what's wrong with just using e-mail? Why is e-mail out of vogue?

And isn't texting like e-mail? I've never done it, but isn't it just typing a message to someone? Who wants to type one-fingered, using keys so tiny, I can barely make contact with them, let alone see them with my forty-plus eyes? Why is this in vogue?

So, if texting is like e-mail, only harder, then...what's wrong with e-mail?

Don't even get me started on ipads, ipods, iphones, and Kindles (what's wrong with books? Is turning pages out of vogue?).

Did I leave any i-thing out? And are ipads and ipods actually phones? Or is the iphone the only phone?  If you have an ipod or ipad or Blackberry, do you still need a cell phone? Or are they out of vogue?

I clearly don't belong in this era.

To be continued....little one keeps waking up. My topic wasn't going to be technology, interestingly enough.

A Witness Of His Grace

I have more blessings, but time is short tonight. Little one keeps waking up, which goes along with JRA.


~ One of my great mothering love affairs? Paints, brushes, and the minds and hearts of my children caught on paper, to be saved as a slice of childhood, and a slice of motherhood. Always a privilege.  When I'm an empty-nester, their treasured paintings will be part of my everyday salvation. This Momma finds money for paint, no matter what. God knows my heart, and he makes up the difference. 

My sweet boy turned 8 a few days ago. An aspiring artist, he asked for the fancy kind of watercolors for his birthday. This boy? How he blesses me!

This is tempura paint. A flower, by Mary.

Tempura paint again. A fall tree, sun and grass. By Paul.

Another famous abstract. Poster paint. By Mary.

~ Nursing my fussy Beth today in the rocker, I suddenly laughed out loud. Quite the belly laugh. The funny Boo Mama post I'd read that morning, with the picture of the lodge chair and the backpack and the water bottle--all a scheme to alert these women of nighttime jungle monkey invaders--was too much. I couldn't think of it without laughing. All day. Miss Beth, surprised but delighted at my antics, laughed with me, asking what was so funny. Ouch. Note to self: Don't make nursing toddlers, with mouths full of teeth, laugh. 


It felt so good to see her laughing! It blesses me that she laughs readily, despite her recent life change. Her laughter reminds me of this truth: Grace isn't a change of circumstances. It's a change of heart about those circumstances--a gift of the Holy Spirit. That's why I sit here and write now, as the Holy Spirit's witness. I'm not going to bed downtrodden, from depression over an arthritis flare. I'm going to bed with my head full of blessings. Full of thanksgiving.


Psalm 28:7
The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and I am helped. My heart leaps for joy and I will give thanks to him in song.

   

Laugh Until You Cry Today

Boo Mama, who went to Uganda with Compassion Bloggers a few years ago, doesn't like nature. Understatement. She wrote the funniest post back in 2008 about a night she spent in her Ugandan lodge. I'm not familiar with Boo Mama's blog, but I found this link recently on both Shaun's and Ann's blogs. Boo Mama is with them this week in the jungle of Ecuador (featuring humongous snakes and spiders the size of dinner plates), so they posted this to give us a giggle.

I laughed until I cried. You need this today.


Miss Beth's arthritis is flaring, so I really, really needed a giggle today. Initially, I was optimistic about her diagnosis, because so much of the literature is optimistic. But as we live this and I see the medication give her only modest relief, I grieve anew. This is a long haul with no guarantees. I was hoping she wouldn't need anything stronger than the naproxen. Now, I wonder what the doctor will say next week, as she evaluates Beth's month-long progress on the naproxen.

I will step back here this week to give thanks, but otherwise take a break.