The Moberg Family

Category: God

  • Faith Like a Gecko-Loving Child

    Brian has been working in L.A. today (what does “L.A.” stand for, you ask? …a Long way Away!!!!) so he won’t be back till late tonight. After putting Elliott down, I decided to take advantage of every minute I had to be ultra productive–so I showered, got the kitchen all cleaned up and the dishes done, started a couple loads of laundry, made my second dinner (don’t judge) and sat down for a nice quiet evening with one goal in mind: get our update letter written.

    Well, as I waddled on over to sit down at my computer with my second dinner, something–HUGE–caught my eye and I stopped dead in my tracks. And then I laughed. And laughed again. You know–that nervous, giggle-laughter where you’re caught somewhere between shocked and freaked out even though you know what’s happening is really quite funny but your body is somehow frozen and the only part of you that works is your giggle button…yeah, that kind of laugh.

    Can you see it there? Just “hanging out” right behind my computer?

    Meet our new pet:

    Why, hello there.

    When my limbs started working again I instinctively went to grab Elliott so I could share the creature with him–just like I did earlier when the two bunnies were frolicking outside in the street or every time a new type of bug worms its way into our house or when a flock of birds is soaring through the sky. But, he was asleep. So I went to get Brian–but quickly remembered he wasn’t home! So I grabbed my third best buddy–my camera–and we shared in this ridiculous moment together.

    But I just couldn’t stop laughing…at myself! And honestly, do you know why? Because it is a gecko*, and it had me so startled I couldn’t move. A gecko. Come on, folks. There are MUCH worse things to find crawling in your house. But the fact that it had me so freaked out that I didn’t even want to sit down at my computer for fear of it doing a back-flip onto my face IS RIDICULOUS. Because it’s a gecko. Not a gorilla.

    Although, LOOK–he’s the same size as my sleeping Elliott!!! Gah!!

    Let me tell you a little something about me that will help you understand the ridiculousness of this in its entirety.

    “Gecko” was my first word. Seriously. Ask my mom. (Right, mom?) I was born in the Philippines where geckos abound like tacos are consumed in Mexico. And I loved them. I mean, seriously loved them. I was totally obsessed with them all through my early years of childhood and I would constantly chase them around our house in hopes of catching one to keep for a pet.

    And one day, I did. I did it! I caught a gecko!! And do you know what happened the very next moment???

    Well if you know anything about geckos, you do…ITS TAIL UP AND FELL RIGHT OFF!!!! Yes, you’re reading this correctly–ITS TAIL FELL OFF!! I was HORRIFIED! TRAUMATIZED! HEART-BROKEN!! I had somehow knocked this poor creature’s tail off in the midst of my selfish desire to call the beautiful reptile my own! WHAT HAD I DONE?!?

    So I grabbed my brother and begged him to help me tape the tail back on. “Come on!!” I pleaded with him as he disgustingly refused to be of any assistance. I specifically remember when he declined to hold the tail so I could tape it on, I said sarcastically, “Oh, well would you rather hold the gecko then???” You know, in that mocking “I’m-the-little-sister-and-I-know-it-all” tone of voice…

    Well my dad heard us arguing and put an end to the gecko fiasco. Someone must have explained to me that geckos’ tails instinctively fall off when they feel endangered so as to scare off their predator (Me?? A predator??) and so although I was quite sincere in my effort to “save him,” I let it go. Literally and emotionally. And I never saw that tail-less gecko again. Mom got home later that night and when Dad recounted the incident to her she decided to write a poem about it. And guess what–she submitted it to a contest and it won first place! Soon after our home was filled with every type of gecko you can imagine–big stuffed geckos, little stuffed geckos, gecko pins…gecko parafanalia lined the walls, shelves, and clothing in the Mauss family home.

    Okay, so back to current events. I am sitting here staring at a gecko as I write.

    Dun, dun, dun…

    He hasn’t moved since I discovered him 45 minutes ago. Do you think he’s dead? Eesh…

    But let’s get back to the laughing-at-myself. Do you see now why it is SO ridiculous that I couldn’t even bring myself to come within 10 feet of the thing? Because of some creepy-crawly fear that I’ve developed in the last 25 years since I was fondling that gecko like it was a baby kitten?? Where has my joyous, care-free youth gone??

    This morning I felt prompted to read Hebrews 11…ahh, Hebrews 11, the blessed Hall of Faith. A passage I’ve read, probably literally, 100s of times and a passage that strikes me to the core every single time. Oh, for faith like these heroes of mine!! And God reminded me, again, that this whole journey we’re on is simply–utterly, profoundly, magnificently–simply about faith. All day I’ve been dwelling on that, eager for new revelation that I knew He was going to show me.

    Why is it that the older I get, the more I “see,” the more I hear, the more I experience, the more I’ve been hurt…the less apt I am to depend upon God?? The less apt I am to trust Him? The more apt I am to say, “Yeah, you may be the God of the Universe, but I’ve got this one covered…thanks anyway, Almighty God!”

    Because faith is about believing in the unseen–that’s the whole point of it. So why do I base my faith on things I’ve seen? And heard? And been disappointed in?

    I’ve been afraid this week. Of things I can’t see, of things to come. Afraid of things that I never used to spend a moment fearing. Afraid of things that are so far out of my control that it’s ridiculous for me to even spend a minute trying to figure out how I can control them because I couldn’t even if I tried to. It’s like I grew up and the big bad geckos are suddenly out to get me, where they used to be my best friends. (Now, I feel like I have to put a disclaimer in here…that my fears have had nothing to do with the fact that we live in Mexico.)

    A couple of weeks ago, I had fresh revelation about how we, as women, so quickly shut off, shut down, and put on scales that could repel the hardest bullet over our hearts because we’ve been hurt and so we are afraid of being hurt again. And I really, truly, utterly, overwhelmingly believe that God has created women to radiate His glory. Read all about it in Captivating. The essence of a woman is beautiful. Simply divine. Simply radiant. That is, a woman who is not guarded, not hard, not hidden, not ashamed, not afraid.

    I long to be a woman who “can still and quiet her soul like a weaned child with her mother” (Psalm 131:2). And this can only, only, only come about through faith…faith like a child. Not faith like a woman who’s watched babies die. Not faith like a woman who’s seen too many children abandoned and abused by the ones they should be able to trust. Not faith like a woman who’s seen the poor suffer. But faith like a child.  Faith like my child, who’s received milk or food every time he’s been hungry. Faith like my child, who’s never known to fear in his life because he can depend upon his parents. Faith like my child, who knows he is loved.

    I didn’t have any fear turning 30 last month. I didn’t have the “O-M-G-I’M-TURNING-HOW-OLD??!!-NOOOOOOO!!!!” moment. 30. Despite the fact that my friend Kari told me our bodies start to decay at 30, I wasn’t afraid of getting older.

    But tonight, I am. And I’m stubbornly and adamantly putting my foot down. I refuse to get older at heart. I refuse to let my faith become that of an “adult” when I am commanded to have faith like a child. I refuse to let geckos freak me out when they used to bring me laughter and delight. Oh, how I long to be the woman who can “laugh at the days to come” (Proverbs 31)!!! Oh, how I long to not be the skeptic, the cynic, the “well-let-me-just-warn-you” old cranky fart of a woman who is so worn and tattered by this world that she can’t even get her mail without thinking a bomb is going to go off in her mailbox. I don’t want to be that woman. I refuse to be that woman. I long to be soft before the Lord, soft in my Maker’s hands, soft in the will of my God. We are called to live in this world but not be of this world, and tonight I am pushing the “reset” button on my citizenship–for it is in Heaven, for it belongs to my Creator, for it is resting in hands with holes in them. And I trust Him.

    Thank you, creepy sweet gecko, for renewing my faith tonight, and reminding me who I used to be. And who I am.

    Amen.

     

    *Gecko: apparently the rest of the world calls these things “lizards” but I, on the other hand, call everything that looks like THIS a “gecko.” Just for the record. 🙂

  • Easter Eggs, Soccer Balls, and Lessons for Mommy

    Elliott is COMPLETELY obsessed with balls, and so we were so excited to bring him to his very first Easter egg hunt that they held at the base. Eggs are just like balls, right? Only squished in the middle? Like a ball with a belt on…that’s what I told Elliott.

    They let the “little” kids get a head start so the big kids wouldn’t run them over. Great idea, except that the head start was about 30 seconds, which is clearly problematic when toddlers “toddle” and big kids, well, SPRINT. So we found an open, low-traffic area with just one or two Easter eggs, figuring the big kids would go elsewhere. We found an easily-spottable Easter egg beneath a table and figured that would be a perfect way for Elliott to start.

    We pointed out the magenta “ball with a belt” to Elliott as I explained to him that he could go get it and put it in his little easter basket! He walked over with me, smiling at the kids who were zipping by him as they hunted for Easter eggs themselves. We had almost reached the funny-shaped magenta “ball” when suddenly, out of nowhere, this little girl wiggled in around me and snatched the Easter egg Elliott was going for! I was SHOCKED. And APPALLED. How could she do that?! Doesn’t she know that this is Elliott’s very first Easter egg hunt, and that was the very first egg he’s ever hunted? And she stole it from him? Doesn’t she know that he’s barely 1 and he can’t understand why someone just swiped his treasure right out from under his nose?? Doesn’t she know that he’s going to be scarred for life because of this?!?!!!

    No, she doesn’t, because she’s 6. And that’s not what 6 year olds think about.

    And no, he’s not going to be scarred for the rest of his life. Because he didn’t even know that egg was “his.”

    So, I quickly grabbed another egg, purple this time, and moved it right close to Elliott and blocked the path so no one could grab it from him. And he got it! Hunt successful!! Phew!

    I grabbed another egg that had been hidden and placed it under the little table. Now Elliott had the hang of it, and he immediately started to go for the orange belted-ball in his sight. He quickly moved over to it, reached out to grab it, and–a little boy ran over to grab it before Elliott!! But this time, my mom-like reflexes were in super-heightened mode, so with a quick “hiya!” I knocked that other kid out of the race!

    No, I didn’t. Because he’s 4. And that that would be horrible of me. Like, really horrible. I can see the headlines now: “Missionary mom sends 4 year old boy to the moon just to let her son play with a 5 cent Easter egg.” Yeah, that would be bad.

    But I did very kindly and urgently tell him that that egg was not for him, it was for Elliott. So back off, kid!!

    No, I didn’t say that last part. But I wanted to.

    This is by far the hardest part about being a mom so far. I have never had the urge (okay, maybe once when I was in high school) to punch someone in the face. But there is something about hurting my little boy’s feelings or doing something that I deem potentially harmful to him, that completely takes away all of my ability to reason and think clearly. All I can see is my fist flying, and everything getting better after that.

    Collecting his eggs
    Learning how to put the eggs in his basket…
    Loving these new "balls with belts"

    But do you know what happened a few minutes later? Elliott’s friend Parker came over and shared all his eggs with Elliott. And my heart just melted at Parker’s kindness. Then, Hunter came along and do you know what Hunter did? Share all his eggs with Elliott. And again, my heart melted.

    Parker (in the sweater vest) and Hunter (in the yellow shirt) sharing their eggs with Elliott, while he's cuddled on Jamie's lap.

    Seconds later, the sweetest little girl came over and guess what she did? Share her eggs with Elliott. Elliott was suddenly surrounded by children, all sharing their eggs with him.

    So in awe of these sweet children's kindness…

    I let out a big sigh as I could just see God’s face looking down on me, with that knowing yet gentle smile, and saying: “Susanne, did you really think you could take care of Elliott better than I could?”

    Elliott, sharing back. Look what they just taught him to do!!!

    So that brings us to the other night, when we were hanging around the base after to dinner. Elliott had spotted a gold mine–not one, but two, soccer balls. He was having a blast playing with one of them…throwing it to me, kicking it, carrying it around…all the ways he “plays” soccer. When all of a sudden, two bigger boys came up and wanted to play “with” him. Unfortunately, it’s pretty difficult for a 4-year-old and a 2-year-old to know how to play well with a 1 year old. Now don’t get me wrong, these two boys are so incredibly sweet…it’s just that they’re 4 and 2, and a soccer ball is involved.

    And Elliott’s world of “playing soccer” suddenly completely changed. It went from a friendly fun game that he plays with his mom and dad while laughing and squealing with delight, to an ultra-intense, fierce, competitive sport with these two older boys who had absolutely no mercy on him. No handicap advantages here! It took everything in me to not scoop up Elliott, grab the other soccer ball, and take him into a room where we could be all by ourselves and he could play fun-, squealing-, laughing-soccer to his heart’s content.

    But instead, I let go. And just watched.

    Watched like a hawk, mind you. Don’t get me wrong, I protected my little buddy when absolutely necessary (like when the zealous 4-year-old wound up to kick the soccer ball as hard as he could while it happened to be inches from Elliott’s face). But mostly, I let go. Cringing on the inside the entire time, I let go. And I just let Elliott be. I watched him get bumped and knocked over. And then I watched him get back up again, even more determined. And you know what–I learned so much about my son that day. He never once cried, whined, or complained when the bigger boys snatched the ball from him and ran. When they stepped on him in their eagerness, when they jostled him so hard that he fell over. No, Elliott chased after them. With all of his might. I’ve never seen him so sweaty, so determined, so covered in red marks on his face and arms from being pushed around. I have never seen him run like that. He would literally run after the ball and then throw himself down on top of it, stand up, and run away with it again. He was determined to play hard with the big boys.

    There was one time that the 4-year-old was waiting for the ball to be passed to him and he was blocking Elliott from getting to it. His arms were out and his feet were spread as he was guarded the territory. Elliott came from behind and I could see his brain ticking. He crawled over, started to go to the left of him, then to the right of him, and then he quickly darted between his legs!! Ha!! We all cheered and hoorayed at Elliott’s cleverness and determination…and you know what? He got the ball.

    We got in the car to go home and I couldn’t hold my tears back one more second…they started to pour out of my eyes in rivers (darn hormones!). It was so hard to just stand there and watch him grow up. To watch him learn what it’s like to play with boys. To watch him get knocked down. But mostly, I cried because I was so proud of my son. I loved learning more about his character in those moments. I loved watching him rise to the challenge, and not shrink back. Because that’s who our Elliott Brian is: Brave, strong, and true…

    I think the absolute, most difficult part of being a parent is letting go. If I had it my way, I would have Elliott in a helmet, knee pads, elbow pads, a butt pad…I would pad all of our walls and sharp corners and heck, even our marble floors! I would create a land of perfectness, where he could never be harmed, where no one could steal his Easter Eggs. He would grow up in a bubble and never be exposed to germs and never have one mean thing said to him and…

    And he would never come close to being the boy, the man, that God has designed him to be. In trying to save him from injustice, I would be creating the greatest injustice of all–not letting him learn, discover, fall… (yes, I’m crying after typing the word “fall”…darn hormones!)

    Elliott becomes more “boy” and less “baby” every day…and I know he’s only going to keep growing. Ahhh, and with each new passage into boyhood, it’s like a new layer of my fear is ripped off like a huge band-aid trying to protect my heart. I know I’m one of those sappy, sensitive moms. Let’s be real, I’m one of those sappy, sensitive people, no matter what the context. 🙂 But sometimes my heart aches watching him learn, when it’s one of those things that hurts a bit to learn.

    But I will–I resolve–to allow my son to grow and flourish as God has created him to run. I do not want to protect and hide him when there’s an opportunity for him to soar. The greatest truth I have ever learned about motherhood came from Mama Melisa, almost a year ago. She has one sentence that strikes me to the heart each time she has said it to me, and most recently it rocked me as she spoke about her sweet baby Stella, who had to stay for a little while in the hospital before she could come home. And she said to me, “But Sus, I just have to remember…she’s not mine. She’s the Lord’s. She always has been. And He’s got her.”

    That statement profoundly impacts the way I mother every day. And there are new layers to that revelation and that conviction every day. I’m pretty sure it’s only going to get harder to “let go,” but it’s a lot easier than the alternative…

    So soar, my sweet baby Elliott…soar. Allow the Lord to set wind to your sails with the passions that He births within you. Allow Him to develop you. Allow Him to shape you. And know that I won’t be far… I’ll be right here to rejoice over every victory with you, or to let you cry on my shoulder if you fall…but always, always–I’ll always be right here…

    from BABY…
    …to BOY…
    Easter 2011, 1 month old
    Easter 2012, 13 months old!
  • For the joy set before me…

    For the joy set before me…

    "Baby Beta"…due October 1st (ish…)

    We are overjoyed to announce the newest addition to this Moberg family…I have the honor of growing another sweet little love in my womb!!!

    I have just crossed the 11 week mark in my pregnancy, and I’m not going to lie–the last 5 weeks have had their fair share of challenges. Nothing compared to my pregnancy with my perfect sweet little Elliott, but nonetheless…challenging. The toilet bowl has once again regained the title of “bff” (it’s a love-hate relationship) and I am a slave to food. I am fatigued beyond fatigue and carry my Tums with me every where I go to try to keep my lunch from crawling back up my throat. Life is challenging right now. YET…I wrote the following thoughts the very first day that I threw up this pregnancy, and I wanted to share them, both as a reminder for myself and hopefully as an encouragement to others. It has only gotten harder since, but nonetheless, I cling to the truth of the promises here. I hope that these words bring comfort, revelation, and a new joy to all those women out there who have tough pregnancies.

    February 11, 2012

    Scripture talks about the fact that the greater we suffer with Christ, the greater glory will be revealed in us. Suffering, in any form, teaches us to identify with our Savior, who, as an innocent man, suffered a grueling death that he did not deserve. And then there’s the verse in Hebrews 12: “For the joy set before him, he endured the cross…”

    I’ve had this verse running through my head for about a year and a half now. Ever since I realized that I was one of the chosen ones to endure 9 months of vomiting in order to pop a baby out, I haven’t been able to get this Scripture out of my head. Because I knew we would have more kids–we weren’t going to stop at one–but with every addition, I would KNOW exactly what I was about to endure. And yet–yet–it is the JOY that is set before me that gives me the strength to endure.

    It’s been 10 months and 21 days (but who’s counting?) since I’ve thrown up. And as I clung to the toilet seat this afternoon, the Scripture that accompanied every vomit with Elliott ran through my head again. I heard myself say out loud, “Okay…” in between hurls. An acknowledgment that it’s time to really start enduring. So many thoughts and emotions and resolves hung up in that word, “Okay.” “Okay, Sus, it’s time to put your game face on…” “Okay, just 8 1/2 more months to go…” “Okay, you can do this…” “Okay, you’re going to make it…’ “Okay…this is for you, Sweet Baby Beta…this is all for you.”

    And, as motherhood continues to do, Jesus reveals his love for me to me even more. Because I am doing this all for one…one precious life, that I do not take for granted. Don’t get me wrong–I wouldn’t mind cramming a few more babies in there so that at least I could suffer once for two or three! But–it is all so worth it for my one. This little one is worth it, this little one is worth it all. To say Elliott was worth 9 months of throwing up is the most obscene understatement of all time. To say he was “worth” waiting 10 extra days for him to come, painfully laboring for 8 of those, all to end up in an emergency c-section…to say he was “worth” all of that? No way. I need a much stronger, much more powerful word. I can’t think of a single thing I wouldn’t endure to bring his life into this world.

    And so I understand Christ’s love more than ever before. Because He suffered for all of us, but He would have died just for me. Because he loves me that much. Because I–alone–am worth it to Him. And the fact that I know that my re-birth into my new life in Christ came because of His sacrifice sobers me.

    So now I wait for Baby Beta. I endure for Baby Beta. And I endure with joy. I do not look at this pregnancy as if it were an inconvenience to my life…it is my honor, my joy to bring life into this world. And the fact that this life will come as a result of suffering? Well, I say, the greater glory that will come!! I want Elliott, and Baby Beta, to grow up knowing that they were WORTH my sacrifice. And I did not sacrifice begrudgingly or with complaint, but with joy in my heart for the prize that was set before me. (And, oh!! What a prize!!) And I pray that this understanding would begin to give them both revelation of the gift that our Savior gave to them…a gift that came with a cost. But it was for the joy set before Him that he endured…and so I pray that they would each know their value and their worth. That if they had each been the only one on earth, Jesus would have died for them.

  • The Greatest, The One

    The Greatest, The One

    Matthew 18

    At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” He called a little child and had him stand among them. And he said: “I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me…. See that you do not look down on one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven. What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off? And if he finds it, I tell you the truth, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off. In the same way your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should be lost.“


    The first time I walked to the Haitian Refugee camp, it was the smell that hit me first. 

    I would recognize the smell anywhere. The smell of “house” after “house” crammed into tight spaces, adjacent to a garbage dump…the smell of mismatched cardboard or slabs of tin that form the walls and the roof of each said “house,” each piece carefully overlapping the one next to keep the rain, wind, and sun out as best as possible. The smell of hungry children and runny noses and congested lungs… The smell of eyes longing for love, arms longing for an embrace, hands longing to be held. It’s the smell of poverty. Poverty of environment and poverty of spirit.

    This is one of the nicer houses

    And every time I walk into a place like this, I am struck with the same sentiment–I am not enough. I am not enough, the five friends with me are not enough, the games we’ve brought to play are not enough…we are simply not enough.

    The first week I was there we painted the girls’ fingernails and played jump rope with them. 

    Juliana

    It’s difficult enough for me to dig up the language in my brain that has been dormant way too long, let alone understand these sweet children’s Spanish, which is not only their second language but also “Dominican” Spanish–which is quite different than Spain and Mexican Spanish. I can’t give them anything… I can barely communicate with them, and their needs are far too great.

    So we sat there on the ground and painted these little girls’ toes and fingers…one by one, they chose a color and held out their hands. Is this enough? I don’t want to paint their nails–I want to buy them new clothes and give them healthy food and build them a home with electricity and running water…I want to give them an education and disciple them in the ways of the Lord…I want them to know they are loved, I mean really, really loved–by God. And I want them to really be loved by their friends and family. But all I held in my hand was a cheap bottle of nail polish. And my heart cried.

    I am not enough.

    And He whispered to me, “But you hold the keys to the Kingdom of Heaven.”

    And so I prayed. I prayed with every stroke of the mini brush. I prayed with the faith that every prayer I prayed would not only be answered, but answered quickly. I had no choice but to pray that way–I had nothing else to offer.

    One little girl was dubbed “the mean girl.”

    Beautiful one

    She would provoke all the others by hitting them, messing up their freshly painted nails, stealing the nail polish, spilling it every where. And then she would cry…and cry and cry…when someone hit her back or she didn’t get what she wanted. I was told she’s always like this. She was out of control.

    I didn’t have anything to offer her. My attempts to love her were rashly pushed away with cries and swats. She was difficult to communicate with and she had no intention of communicating with anyone anyway. I didn’t have weeks of relationship built up with her so she could trust me. I didn’t have a corner to put her in for a time out. I didn’t know if that would be the last time I ever saw her. And my heart flooded with tears.

    I am simply not enough.

    And so I prayed. I prayed as if this was the only time she would ever be prayed for–I prayed for her past to be healed, for her present to be rich, for her future to be set upon the straight and narrow. I prayed with deep unction and conviction. I prayed, believing every word uttered under my breath was answered the moment it hit the air. I didn’t have the option to pray any other way.

    Then there was Jonathan.

    His nickname is "Chiquito"

    He was constantly held the whole time he was with us and never uttered a word. We had to take him home after the program, and I got to hold him on my lap. Adrienne told me his story as she drove and as I listened to his congested breaths slowly go in and out…in and out…He was so thin, and so sick. She said that his mom abandoned his family when he was a toddler and so his father is his only caretaker. Yet he doesn’t actually take care of him…because he works every day. The neighbor woman told Adrienne to watch him carefully–since no one watches over him, the other kids rough him up whenever they can. He is so hungry. He is not well. He doesn’t waste his energy on speaking or running or playing–no, he uses the small amount of strength he has to lift his arms up towards anyone who will notice him, asking to be held. His eyes, his heart…long to be embraced. And there, in that moment, I had a 5 minute car ride with Jonathan. I knew it was my only window. And my heart sobbed.

    I am not even nearly enough.

    And so I prayed as my heart cried. It’s impossible to describe the agony of the ache in my heart for this precious child. How can he have a chance in this world? You know he wasn’t rocked when he cried. You know he didn’t nap and sleep well as a baby. You know no one was there to greet him with the biggest smile and warmest embrace every time he woke up. You know no one reads him books every night. You know no one sings to him. You know no one has taught him how to count. You know no one (on earth) has been speaking truth over him ever since the day he was born. I held the tears back as I asked God for big things for His son. I prayed for healing to consume his physical body and his emotional mind and his sensitive heart. I prayed for his salvation. I prayed for provision of every type. I prayed for love to surround him. I prayed every short minute that I had with Jonathan…because I knew that was the best thing I could do for him…

    It is times like these that I wonder if it would just be easier to look away; to not acknowledge and turn my face towards the massive suffering and injustice in this world. Because it is all-consuming and overwhelming to choose to invest my heart in the lives of those who suffer and have need.

    That is, until I can fixate my mind on the Truth of the cross, and the truth of our Savior who goes out of His way to love the one. And that’s all. Why do I underestimate that I am one, loving one? Over and over my God speaks to the importance and impact of just one. Especially one of the little ones. He calls children “the greatest”… God thinks Jonathan, this one, is the greatest. And so when I remember his eyes, I must not just remember the loneliness, the abandonment, the sorrow, and the pain…no, I must remember that his angel sees the face of our Father in Heaven. He is not forgotten.

    Because my God is enough…yes, HE is enough…He is enough for these children. There is too much need for my two hands. But He…yes–HE–is enough. He is always enough. And, just like the bible lesson I preached to those kids that day–HE in ME is greater than THE ONE in the world…HE in ME is enough.

    I, with the power of Christ living in me, am enough...

     

    …Because the one is enough. The one is the greatest.

    He is one God, who sent one Son, who left with us one Spirit.

    For one lost sheep.

    For one sandwich for the woman who hasn’t eaten.

    For one home built for the family who didn’t have one.

    For one toy for the child who has nothing.

    For one bible lesson for the girl who had never heard the Truth.

    For one gospel presentation for the boy who didn’t know Jesus.

    For one prayer lifted up in faith.

    For one person choosing not to avert her eyes when she sees the brokenness.

    For one believer who says, “Yes” to the call of God.

    For one…for the one who goes.

    “Here am I, Lord, just one. Send me.”


  • Dreams

    “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.” Proverbs 13:12

     

    I grew up with dreams.

    And I am convinced, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that my dreams are from God. That He, the Author and Perfecter of my faith, planted these dreams in my heart long before I knew what the word “dream” meant, and He–and only He–is the One in charge of fulfilling them.

    There are so many “itty bitty” dreams that my Creator has knowingly crafted and accomplished in my life, but here I want to reflect on four of the “big” ones. (Note: I must put the size of these dreams in quotes because really, is anything “big” or “small” for our God?! With a spoken word, every part of creation was crafted into being…I can’t think of a more simple “act” on God’s part and yet with that, he created the greatest of all complexities!)

    Ever since I can remember remembering, I’ve always dreamed of being a teacher. Not sure where that came from…neither of my parents were teachers by trade, although they are both quite gifted in teaching. I remember sitting in school (as early as first grade) thinking, “Wow, my teacher is doing a great job of teaching me…I should write down everything she is doing so I can teach this well when I grow up.” Every grade I attended became my new favorite and thus the grade that I wanted to teach when I grew up.

    Somewhere along the line, I became passionate about Mexico. And little Mexican children. Definitely not sure where that came from… But I knew I had to learn Spanish, and it wasn’t until my freshmen year of high school that I was finally able to take a course. And I immediately fell in love with the language that I apparently had a natural knack for. And meanwhile I dreamed of living in Mexico one day, doing mission work and teaching little kids how to speak English.

    I went to college to pursue my teaching degree and finished with a bachelors in Education, endorsements in Spanish and Elementary Education and a minor in Teaching English as a Second Language. Perfect set up to pursue my dream. Not long after graduating, I was offered a job teaching at a Language Immersion School in Tacoma…and I remember blinking several times as the job fell into my lap…Really? Really? Could this really be happening? So many parts of my dream are coming true…

    Ever since I was a little girl, I have dreamed of marrying a prince who would adore me and cherish me and love me forever. I remember when Brian led me by my hand to the boat that was supposed to take us to a job site he was called to in the middle of a date we were on, and saw the gorgeous pink flowers and the perfectly wrapped presents inside and suddenly there I was again…in my dream. I was floating through a dream, watching Brian lead me across the dock and down the steps into the boat. And I heard myself say, “Wait, was is this?” And I saw my brain ticking…It’s not quite my birthday yet, so this can’t be a birthday surprise…and we haven’t picked out a ring yet, so he can’t be proposing…and wait a minute, we’re supposed to be heading to his job site…What is this? And I watched the tender and knowing smile spread across Brian’s face as he told me to sit down while he started the engine… And the dream went on, as a ring was slipped on my finger, as my brother and sister-in-law (who live thousands of miles away) suddenly appeared on the dock of the restaurant where we were to eat lunch, as the woman gave me a beautiful french manicure, as we ate dinner with both sets of our parents, as we drove to Brian’s home where our closest friends were waiting for us and as every day after that passed and my ring was in constant view, secured in a permanent place on my left hand. Really? Really? Could this really be happening? My dream, my prince has finally come? The reality of this dream becoming a reality was almost too much for me to handle…I couldn’t even filter and sort the gazillion thoughts flooding through my head during our engagement season, the night before our wedding day, and as I walked down that aisle towards my prince.

    Ever since I was a little girl, I have dreamed of being a mom. I have just loved “little ones” ever since as I realized that there were “little ones” littler than me. I volunteered in our church’s nursery, read every book in The Babysitter’s Club series, and enrolled in courses to be a certified baby sitter while still in elementary school. I ordered books on fun craft projects with kids and I’d bring them with me when I landed babysitting jobs. About 5 seconds into my teaching career I was ready to apply for my foster care license because I just couldn’t handle the injustice that so many of my students lived under. I wanted to be their mom. I knew I could do a good job, by the grace of God, and I wanted to take them home with me… When Elliott was, after a long hard labor, placed in my arms that Sunday evening, I just wept and couldn’t believe this dream was being realized. Really? Really? Could this really be happening? I have a son…a most perfect son… And not a day has gone by since that I have not been overwhelmed by the goodness of the Lord to give us this perfect baby boy.

    Ever since about 2001, I have dreamed of being called and sent out by God. I have dreamed of being a missionary. I have dreamed of working in an orphanage or working with children and families who are in need. I would read about times when the Lord would call his people in Scripture, and I would beg Him to call me. “The Lord spoke to Joshua…saying, ‘…Now therefore, arise, go over this Jordan, you and all this people, to the land which I am giving to them–the children of Israel. Every place that the sole of your foot will tread upon I have given you…No man shall be able to stand before you all the days of your lives; as I was with Moses, so I will be with you. I will not leave you nor forsake you. Be strong and of good courage, for to this people you shall divide as an inheritance the land which I swore to their fathers to give them…” (Joshua 1). I would read things like that and pray, “Oh God! Would you call me in the same way? Would you give me the land for your Name? Would you be with me, not leave me, not forsake me?” I would read about the destitute in Scripture and the ways that the Lord asks us to take care of them. “Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute. Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy” (Proverbs 31:8-9). And I would long to defend the rights of those who cannot speak up for themselves. I longed to be with the broken and the hurting. I longed to bring the love of Jesus to those who were suffering. The words in Isaiah 6 were the cry of my heart: “Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?’ And I said, ‘Here am I. Send me!’” I told the Lord over and over that I promised I would go if He would call. And He has called me various places over the last 10 years. I have been called to my students, I have been called to my colleagues, I have been called to my friends, I have been called “to the least of these,” I have been called to Africa, I have been called to the Eastside of Tacoma, I have been called to my husband, and I have been called to my son.

    And then the Lord called us to Mexico. To do all of the above. All my dreams, colliding into one.

    As is the reality of dreaming–dreams feel so surreal. So real, yet so unreal at the same time. You pinch yourself over and over, blink until there are tears streaming down your face, but again and again you wake up and realize that the dream is, indeed, reality. And so here we are, selling most everything that we own, because we’ve heard him say, “Whom shall I send? Who will go?”

    And we, two children of God on our knees, have blinked and pinched ourselves to the point of realizing that yes, He is asking us to go. And though I think we’ve known in our hearts that this was our call since the moment we heard of the opportunity, we are finally able to audibly say, “Us, Lord! Yes, send us! We will go!”

    And so we strap our little one our back, and we go…We go with the faith that “He who’s promised is faithful,” with the faith that “a longing fulfilled will bring life,” with the faith that, “God reigns over the nations; God sits on His holy throne.”

    Here am I, Lord. Awake, alert, and ready to be sent out into this dream that You have fostered in my heart. Send me, God!

  • My delight.

    My delight.

    Zephaniah 3:17

    17 The LORD your God is with you,
       he is mighty to save.
    He will take great delight in you,
       he will quiet you with his love,
       he will rejoice over you with singing.”

    I am starting to get it. 
    It’s just incredible how much I delight over my son…and I’m learning anew daily about the way the Lord delights over me. I thought I got it…until I had Elliott.
    Elliott is simply the most delightful being ever created… You know, some people say about their kids, “I don’t know how I ever lived without them!” I have a similar sentiment, but mine’s a little different… I’ve always dreamed of having children; I’ve always known deep down that there were children who were designed to be a part of my family, and in a weird way, I’ve always longed for them. So I’ve always kind of lived knowing someone was missing. It’s kind of the same as how I longed for my future husband when I was single…I didn’t know who he was, but I knew there was a piece of my heart created to love him, and until it did it would always be in a little bit of tension. Once Brian found me, my feeling was not primarily, “How did I ever live without him?” (although I really don’t know how I did!) but more: “I knew I always longed for you…I just didn’t know “he” was you, and I only wish I could have married you years and years ago….”
    And so it is the same with Elliott. In a strange way, I’ve always known there was a void in my heart for him…I just didn’t know that it was shaped like “an Elliott”…like a perfectly, clear-eyed, pure-skinned, tall and skinny baby boy named Elliott. I didn’t know this determined, brave, pure, joy-filled little baby was what the perfect puzzle piece looked like that would fill this void. And I know there are more “voids” in my heart…but only God knows how many there are and who they are…Ahh, I can’t wait to meet them… But with Elliott I find myself wishing that I could have known him all my life…he simply makes everything more delightful.

    But even though I’ve always loved him in some peculiar way, my love for him grows every single day…It is profound how it grows, and so, so beautiful. With every new dawn, with every new discovery, with every new skill, with every new event…I love him more. I love learning more about who he is…I love discovering the ways that his heart was knit together.

    It was no different when Elliott grew his very first two teeth.

    They started popping through on a Saturday. Sunday and Monday days and nights were all consumed with teething. EB’s nose ran constantly and his big eyes were lined with red and filled with tears and his cheeks were blotchy and warm.

    And there was something about that face that melted my heart even more than his usually perfect skin and normally vibrant clear blue eyes. He was a little baby boy. A messy, needy little baby boy. And for someone who doesn’t typically do well with “needy” people, I was just enamoured with my needier-than-normal little love, and couldn’t have been more eager to take care of his every need.

    He had just started to reach up for me a few days prior when he wanted me to pick him up. Ahhh…talk about melting my heart! There is nothing greater than to know that you are the one this perfect little boy wants…that  you  are the one this precious baby needs…he’s showing his affection, he’s showing his choice. And that choice is me. I can’t get enough of it. Though he’s been sleeping through the night for a couple of months, for those three teething nights he would wake up crying such a sad, sad, sad cry and couldn’t get himself back to sleep. The first night, I went in to try and soothe him in his crib but it wasn’t working. He just kept crying that sad, sad cry…like he was in so much pain. But as soon as I picked him up and squeezed him tight, he was okay. And the simplicity of the miracle of that act struck me afresh. Isn’t it beautiful? Isn’t it beautiful how God created us? That, with an embrace we are comforted.

    We were created to be loved.
    And there is just no greater honor than to love him. Than to comfort him. Than to tell him he’s being so brave and strong. Than to tell him it’s all going to be okay. And I’m just so struck by the fact that it’s not a burden to get up in the middle of the night to comfort him. I was not annoyed that he was teething and interrupting my precious sleep. Did I try and take a nap those days? Yes. And if I couldn’t get a nap in? God provided strength. But that doesn’t mean Elliott’s inconveniencing my life by teething right now. He can’t help it. And, let’s not forget that he is my full time job. And this full time job has its breaks, but sometimes it requires work hours in the middle of the night. And that is an honor.

    These are my two favorite pictures that show off his hard-earned, brand new two front teeth:

    I still view God as being frustrated as I grow. But daily I am being shown that if He loves me anything like I love Elliott, than He is not frustrated at all. No, no…He is far from frustrated. He is pleased with me. He delights over me. Even when I’m growing and it hurts so badly that all I can do is cry… It is a joy for him to be my Father, and it is a joy for him to scoop me up and embrace me. And as long as I am in His arms, there is no need to cry…
    Thankful for the love of my Father today…and thankful for the most wonderful son in the world, whom I have the privilege of delighting over every single day…
  • “He Was Born For Heaven”

    “He Was Born For Heaven”

    Today is Father’s Day…and it was filled with copious amounts of joy-filled moments staring at our son, playing with him, kissing him, snuggling him, laughing with him, smiling at him…all while I told Brian over and over again how grateful I am that he is my son’s father, and the greatest dad Elliott could ever ask for…

    But with as much joy as today brought, I could not escape the grief that still lines the edges of my heart for my dear friends who lost their baby boy just 15 days ago. Can you imagine celebrating your first Father’s Day ever, but not having your baby in your wife’s womb to eagerly anticipate, let alone in your arms to hold? My heart has been especially heavy today for my dear friends, and for sweet baby Moses whose short life has had a profound impact on mine.

    When we first realized there might be a problem, we began to fight hard in prayer. The next 10 hours or so were filled with some of the most faith-filled prayers I’ve ever prayed, along with one of the hardest battles I’ve ever fought for. I’ve never understood the friends of the paralytic who raised him down through the roof to get to Jesus like I did that night as I cried out to the Lord to save my best friend’s child. I would have done anything to save him. I’ve never cared less about what people thought of me as I screamed out for LIFE in that delivery room. I would have gladly accepted a scarlet letter for being a lunatic if only… And I’ve never felt greater grief in my life as I did in that moment that the NICU doctor so gently relayed the news that I had refused to believe was an option all night long, “There is just nothing I can do to save him.”

    The grief was unbearable.

    And this sweet little baby boy, who was supposed to wait another 4 1/2 months to come out and meet us, sovereignly passed quickly from his mama’s womb, to his parents’ arms, and onto the Heavenly Father’s lap.

    The ensuing few days were some of the hardest I have ever known in my 29 years of life of so far. Everything was suddenly different. I couldn’t look at my own vibrant, healthy, alive son without being reminded of Moses’ death. I couldn’t nurse my baby without being reminded that my dear friend would not get to nurse hers. In just the 2 short weeks that we knew Moses was Moses, he had secured such a permanent place in all of our hearts. Every morning as I watch the sun rise, I see the face of the One who painted it into being that morning. The sunrise…a new day, a new start, new mercies. But even the sunrise was different. We got home from the hospital just as the sun was rising, and I’ll never forget looking out our window and wondering how joy could ever “come in the morning” ever again. You just don’t know if life will ever go on without such intense grief spilling over onto every aspect of it. There were few moments that our eyes were dry those following few days.

    After several minutes of pouring out my heart through a flood of tears and questions, a friend of mine said to me, “Susanne, he was born for Heaven.” And these words brought such peace and the beginning glimpses of perspective. We, as believers, are not citizens of this earth. We anticipate and look forward to and LIVE for eternity. When we keep our eyes on the eternal, we realize how temporary the here-and-now of our day-to-day lives just really is… What are we living for anyway? We are living for eternity. And this precious boy, whose life was just created 5 months earlier, beat us all there. The little stinker :).

    Yet still, we grieve. Every day. But we grieve with the faith that our most loving Father–who sent his very own son to die so that we may be free of the bondage of sin–has purpose beyond what we can fathom in this moment. I hurt for my friends…oh, I hurt so deeply for my friends…there is not a day that has gone by that I haven’t shed tears for them. I wonder if there will be, until we see the redemption that we are believing God for bundled up in their arms one day. Scripture says, “His ways are far above our ways”… I have never wrestled over God’s “ways” as much as I have in the past year. Moses’ death takes the cake for my wrestling career. If we’re only allotted a certain amount of Why, Lord?s, the last 2 weeks have certainly thrown me into debt. But one thing the Lord showed me over Easter was that if I had been writing “The Salvation Story,” I would have never chosen to have the main character–the man who was PERFECT and the full essence of LOVE–suffer a grueling death. For my behalf. A sinner. Who deserves nothing. But God showed me that the resurrection would hold no power had Jesus not died. He had to conquer death and the grave…by dying. If I had authored the story, not only would it not be a best seller, but most importantly–we would not be ALIVE through Christ. Through His death, I live. Through His sacrifice, I am redeemed. And so as difficult as it is to thank God for death, I do so continually…for that death has brought me life.

    And so…so. To the Author of my friends’ story and to the Author of my own life…I thank you that your ways are far above mine. I trust you for the plan that you are unfolding. And though tears are streaming down my face even now as I pray, I thank you that you are in control, and that Moses’ life slipped through your hands…hands with holes in them, marking your own death…Hands whose fingerprints run deep with love that I cannot understand, and hands whose fingers are grasped tightly around Moses’ right now. You are LOVE. You are MERCY. You are SOVEREIGN. Thank you for letting us share in Moses’ life for a short while…it is an honor to love him.

    Moses Myles…I love you so much. It’s difficult to believe that I can love someone who I’ve known for such a short amount of time so incredibly much. But I love you. And I love your parents deeply. I know you are with your Creator now, and I know there is no better place for you to be. But we sure do miss you down here. Elliott can’t wait to meet you. Although you’re running around and talking up there, he’ll catch up to you one day. I am so grateful that you get to look straight into the eyes of Jesus every single day of your life. What a privilege…

    You–sweet, precious, baby Moses–were born for Heaven. Hallelujah.