Stick and Stones

I’ve spent time thinking lately about the power of words. And the childhood chant of “Sticks and stones may break my bones…” just doesn’t work.       Words do hurt.      Words have power to hurt, but also to be more than words. Words affect people in different ways and each person has words that get to them most. 

I was asked recently which of my children were “Fosters.” While harmless it brought back memories of “Which are yours?” and “are they terminal?”. These words, while not ill-intentioned, were used by adults to determine how they should treat my children: “Fosters” need saved, redeemed and safe guarded against in case they act out in line with their dirty past.  Kids that are “yours” have value in permanency and biology while having a brighter future which should be nurtured.  “Terminal?” They should be pitied or held at arm’s length. You see, loving them would cause heartache when they die so it is best to not let yourself get messy or involved because living comfortably is too important.

The truth is though: all my kids are “fosters,” “mine,” and “terminal.” They have been temporarily put into my care by a governing agent until they are reintegrated with their (Heavenly) Father. They are “Fosters.” I feed them, sing to them, hold them, comfort them, change them, cry for/with them, hope for their future and strive to redeem the hurts of their past. They are “mine.” Each day is one closer to me saying goodbye for good, each hour could be my last with them before death whisks them away, and each moment I have to choose to cherish life or count it down to zero. They are “terminal.” 

Labels created with words have the power to categorize and keep you safe by informing you how to interact with others in order to avoid getting hurt. In doing so words do much more damage than sticks and stones do.

 I urge you, don’t label….just LOVE.

-Silas

W H Y

Being a foster parent the last four years has been the hardest life experience I have ever chosen. This journey has caused me to cry more, sleep less, and experience more powerful emotions than I could have imagined. It has exposed me to such hideous ugliness and darkness in the world. In the beginning, I felt certain that despite the hardness, foster care would draw me closer and closer to my God. Yet, I have spent many nights in the last four years wide awake, panicked and screaming inside, wondering if there even is a God and where He is. I have continued to speak and live my faith, but there have many times when I could not be certain the faith was even there anymore. So…this begs the question…why? Why would I choose to live out a journey that has robbed me of sleep, a social life, or my twenties full of enjoying marriage and 2.5 non-traumatized or ailing children? Why would I continue to step into a gap where thanks are rare and people are quick to offer judgement and condemnation? Why would I continue to say yes to a mission which has shaken my self-image, physical health, and relationships with my husband, friends, extended family, and God to the core? Why would I say yes to an everyday (and every night) full of appointments, meltdowns, trauma triggers, therapies, meetings, emails, phone calls, court hearings, treatments, and more days in hospitals than I would have liked to see in my entire life? Why would I choose to allow this hard to be my story? Why do I find myself tonight, Friday night, unloading my heart while tears stream down my face when I could be watching Netflix or partying with friends? Why….?

Is it the kids?

These children are precious. Despite their many flaws, deep wounds, and immense difficulties, it is easy to become lost in their eyes, their smiles, and their victories. Even on days when the smiles and warmth and victory is buried beneath trauma and disability, it is still easy to cling to the knowledge of a child’s value and right to be wrapped in safety and love. So do I do it for the kids?

Yes…but that isn’t enough.

Is it the bigger circle?

Foster care doesn’t end with the children in care. No, it seeps far into the circle that surrounds them. There are biological parents who need to be told and shown for the first time that they are worthy of love. There are social workers who need to see good in the world once again through a positive and thankful foster parent. There are churches and neighbors and friends and extended family members who need to see the joy of living life outside the lines. So do I do it for the bigger circle?

Yes...but that isn’t enough.

It is the compensation or the accolades?

This one is easy: No.

That isn’t enough.

The truth is, even when my faith feels broken…even when I begin to doubt that the eyes of a loving God are on me and my home…even when I am barely, barely clinging to the tiniest thread of faith—that is the why. Without Jesus, without the hope of who He is and what He has done, none of this—None. Of. It.—could be enough to say yes. Somehow, after a night of tossing and turning, wondering if I have been abandoned or I am drowning in the ache of the stories of heartbreak that fill my home, it is that teeny tiny thread that lifts me to my feet the next morning. Actually, it isn’t even the thread because I am powerless. But on the other end of that thread—and every other side of it—is a great big God who sees, hears, and loves His daughter and every other person who fills my home. That God is too faithful to abandon me, too good to leave me undisciplined or without a good hand and heart slap every now and then. That God is so kind and gracious and forgiving that He hears my words of doubt, sees my confusion and pain, and tells me it’s time to rest in Him as I place one foot in front of the other and step bolding into the story He is writing. Without Him, these kids would just be kids who couldn’t possibly be worth the sacrifice. Without him, these circles would be full of people who there is no hope of redemption for.

It’s. All. Jesus.

He is the why.

Even when I forget that and find myself leaning on my own sorry excuse for wisdom or strength, it is still Him. He is the one who takes days full of insanity and pulls to the surface the moments of stillness, laughter, smiles, joy, growth, relationship, grace, and over-comings. He is the one who makes the hardest of hard days worthwhile when He plants tiny seeds. He is the one who is glorified even when there is not much earthly fruit to show.  He is the why, the reason, and the worth it.

And that…that why…makes the hard years, months, weeks, and days like today undoubtedly worth it. -Micah

"Do the next thing." ~Elisabeth Elliott

My phone rang today. For the second time this month, I heard the voice of a social worker say, “I wish I had good news, but I don’t. I have some pretty bad news.”

I laid on my bed while tiny hands knocked and called for me. All I could think was: I want to be done. I am weary. I am weary of advocating my heart out and it not yielding the results I felt we needed. I am weary of those who do not know me and do not know my children choosing power and policy over common sense and compassion, making life-changing decisions for us and then stepping back, leaving us to pick up the handfuls of shattered pieces that may never be fully mended. I am weary—broken really—as I watch the children in and out my home—children who are priceless masterpieces of humanity—become numbers to be added or subtracted and boxes to be checked. A large piece of me wants to run. I want to hide from the weight of what God has called me to. I want to step into the safety of predictably and naivety. I want to turn my back to the inhumanity of some of the policies that are in place and give myself permission to throw my hands up and declare there is nothing that can be done. 

Fast forward a couple hours: My husband and I were silently sitting on the living room floor. We both felt the weight of a rough week and the brokenness of the world on our shoulders as we went through the motions of giving meds, feeding our tubies, and changing diapers. In the room with us was one freshly bathed sweetie, dressed in her very favorite cupcake nightgown. She was wearing construction goggles (upside down) hammering the walls proudly declaring she was a worker girl. Through a nearby doorway, another darling spun circles in the kitchen, her nightgown billowing as she stared her favorite stuffed dinosaur in the eyes and giggled hysterically. In almost the same moment, Silas and I caught each other’s eyes soaking in the girls and said, “It’s so simple, isn’t it?” 

These girls have not been spared from the world’s brokenness. Not in the least. Trauma has certainly left marks on them in so many ways. But at the same time, they break away from that burden, picking up nothing but the simplicity of being a child and doing the next thing before them. They know the world isn’t safe, and yet they carry on in precious love, joy, and trust. When they meet a crisis, they lean into it. They cry, they regress, they ache because it is so wrong and it hurt. But they rise again. When joy comes, they are all in, claiming the peace and delight that is theirs. So much of the time, it isn’t a clear-cut line, but a clumsy and beautiful dance within brokenness and beauty. 

It really is so simple. God isn’t asking me (or YOU) to fix the world, the system, or even one child. He doesn’t even ask us to fix ourselves. He simply asks us to do the next thing. Today, I will be sad for the brokenness around me. It is where I am. But come tomorrow, I will do the next thing. I will seek God’s guidance and step big when he tells me to go and rest when he tells me to be still. I will roar when He leads me into battle and I will sit on the sidelines when He asks me to trust what I can’t see. How thankful I am to trust in such a mighty, wise, loving God. How thankful I am I can trust Him to be all those things and more while He calls me to a simplicity that changes the world. He is so good. 

I know the chaos and heartache of foster care can seem like too much to take on. I know it must be so easy to say, “I could never do that!” and carry on. But please do not let the brokenness of the world and the system drive you away. Do not fear the pain and the loss. Instead, be afraid of sitting still and not doing the next thing God has called you to. You don’t have to be enough. You don’t have to be fearless or free from pain or flaw. Just simply ask…seek His will and do the next thing, whether that be in foster care of a different area completely. 

One Night

For one night I held you when you let me near;

letting you go when you drew back in fear.

One bed tonight, yet another tomorrow.

I feel my heart buckle beneath the crush of your sorrow.

You are living a nightmare filled with hellish unknowns;

What you desperately need is your worth to be shown.

For one night I rocked you and stroked your hair;

For one night I carried the load that you bear.

I begged God for a home, a perfect fit,

For you, sweet one, so wonderfully knit.

For your mama you screamed as I held you tight;

I, too, cried for your mama, and her pain tonight.

For one night I tucked you and sang you a song;

I prayed for your journey, one bound to be long.

I washed your clothes,  few--if any--in tow;

But not your bear for that smell is the safety you know.

For one night, I screamed for your story unfair;

For one night, I lived out the truth that I care. 

I ache to be your hero--to mend your broken heart,

But that is not my role--though I do play a part.

For this one night, I will embrace you and cherish you as my own;

For this one night, I will speak truth you may have never known.

I will pray for seeds to be planted deeply in you,

Seeds that will grow and point to what’s true.

My heart screams that one night is not nearly enough,

 But for tonight, dear one, you don’t have to be tough.

You are loved, you are cherished, you are seen, you are His--

May this one night speak volumes to the truth of this.

The War Within

We live in a world where happiness tends to be the goal we naturally strive and long for. A parent’s life-long wish for their child is almost always: “I just want you to be happy.” The problem is, this world we live in is deeply and terribly broken. Even with as much happiness as floods my small world, I find that the brokenness never fails to leak into my happiness--not distracting from the beauty of what I am experiencing, but adding an opposing tsumani of feeling and passion. I snuggle my daughter and as my heart overflows, it also weeps for the mother who walked out of the hospital without her little girl. I delight in the healing of my foster daughter, but I ache for the children we saw who will never know that miracle. I lean into a season of slower paces and less new foster care placements, but my heart screams for the children who have no home. I take in the warmth of my bed and a piece of me cries out for the refugees sleeping on the ground alone, far from the home they’ve never known. I thank God for a new friend and hurt for the friendless. I delight in the truth of my salvation and purpose and yet cry thousands of tears for those who will never know hope. I can’t escape it. I’ve always been this way, from the time I remember having conscious thoughts. I am filled with joy, but I am so brokenhearted. Year after year has gone by and I have waited for the time when I am only filled with joy…when all I know is hope…when I can shake this endless nagging in my soul that screams, “It’s not fair!” I’ve been labeled over the years as discontent, overly emotionally, or in need of treatment for depression. For so long, I viewed this war within as my greatest flaw. Recently, I have begun to see my inability to disconnect from the world’s pain as my greatest gift—as ALL of our greatest gifts. While it is probably far more comfortable to seek only contentment and happiness, not only is it unrealistic (we will all experience heartache) but it cripples our passion and drive to be the difference—to be love, to be compassion, to be change, to be like Jesus. What a different world we would live in if we could feel what our neighbor feels and DO something about it.

So today, I will snuggle my babies, hold them tight, laugh, and cherish them. I will also cry and ache so deep for the family who lost their three-year-old last night. I will be thankful for our yummy meals and I will also teach my children that not all people are lucky enough to have the food they do. I will rest in my husband’s arms, soaking up the safety and I will hurt for every person who has had every ounce of their safety and trust shredded. I will be thankful for routine and I will pray for God to mix that routine up by allowing us to bring another child into our home and opening doors for us to advocate and raise up more foster parents. I will sleep in a warm bed and research ways to support refugees. I will exercise and play on the floor with my children and feel sorrow for those whose bodies are too broken to rise from bed. I won’t try to make sense of it because I know that I can’t. It’s ok to acknowledge that it really is unfair. Most of all, I will keep learning to cling to Jesus and trust Him in this incomprehensibly beautiful joy and crushing, overwhelming heartache. He, more than any, knows the war within.

-Micah

Life Update

The last three years have been trying and also amazing as we have grown as individuals, a couple, and most definitely a family. We have crammed a whole lot of wild living into the last three years, perhaps more than we even thought possible. Our hearts have broken and also exploded with joy. We have experienced the miraculous providence of God and learned to hear His voice and see through His eyes in new ways. Perhaps more than anything, we have asked God to align our hearts and desires with His and we have found ourselves desiring anything but conventional, risk-free living. Our eyes have been further opened to the deep, deep brokenness in this world and God’s desire to place His people in the gaps. We are not called, nor is it possible, for us to fill every gap. But we can be available and willing to be placed in gaps we may not have ever thought it was possible for us to fill. As we have prayed, grown, sought and listened together, we feel confident that God is going to use us and our children to fill even more gaps for children in need of loving homes, specifically children with complex medical needs and children who are needing someone to love them as they die.

Our next step in this calling was to purchase an obnoxiously large van. As of a few days ago, after much prayer and waiting, God provided a 15-passenger van to our family. This van will allow us to transport more than one wheelchair at a time and still have more than enough seats. We have discussed the possibility of a friend of ours moving in with us as a live-in nanny of sorts. Her presence would allow us to attend most medical appointments without searching for babysitters and also to have another heart and pair of hands to help out with the needs of our kids.

The next (very big!) step is house hunting. We know without a doubt that God is going to have to provide a house in a very non-conventional fashion. We are looking for a BIG house…as many bedrooms as we can get within our price range (which is pretty limited). An added bonus would be ability to be made handicap accessible to some extent. While this seems impossible, we know that all we are called to do is trust and keep taking one step at a time. God has always provided and finances have never stood in the way of His vision. It is important to us to be good stewards—to avoid large amounts of debt when possible, pay it off as soon as possible when debt does arise, and to be very wise in what we choose to spend our money on. We are currently looking for houses that would be options, trying to make the need for a unique home known, but also digging into preparing the house we have know as best we can to perhaps take another child. We would ideally like to move as soon as possible, but we must wait for the perfect home and providence beyond our own understanding and ability.

Here are some tangible things we are needing help with:

-Prayer for wisdom as far as timing, calling, and next steps

-Prayer for our current kiddos. Their world is often rocked. If we begin taking children who are terminal….WHEW. It’s going to be rough. We do NOT take this lightly and would not ask this of our children if it was not clear to us that God was calling us to.  Pray for God to guard their hearts and grow them in compassion. Pray for us as parents, that we would know when to step out and place them at risk and when to pull in and take time to steady their world.

-We ask that you still include us/invite us/reach out to us, even when the answer may be no. We don’t want to be completely isolated and we don’t want anyone to ever feel like they would be burdening with us with one more thing. The best thing to do would be to still just ask. We are still US!

-We need a house to move into. We would appreciate if you could make the need known if you have any connections with people who may have an idea of a house that would be a possibility.

Silas and Micah

Word of the Year 2018

It's that time of year again...and by year, I mean end of year...that time when I venture to the nearby coffee shop, reflect, write, surrender, and ask God to give me the word that He wants to use to shape the coming new year. 

I will acknowledge that reflecting on the last year was not the most uplifting of experiences, although the miracles it contained still steal my breath away. Unfortunately, in the last year, I spent less time making room for even more miracles and more time giving into the darkness of my own heart and mind. Last year's word(s) was: Faithfully Obey. Honestly, I spent the year doing the opposite of that. 2017 was a rough 365 days for this heart of mine. I often found myself gripped by jealousy, hopelessness, loneliness, entitlement, and all the kind of yuck that come along with those. Gross.

It's safe to say I have been more than ready for a fresh start and new defining word. I could just sense that my 2018 word would be epic....a word brimming with excitement, potential, and anticipation for an action-packed year ahead. 

This year's word is......(Drumroll please!)

Be. 

Be?! Seriously God?! Let me DO! I am a go-getting, chaos-thriving DOer!

I was gently reminded by my Father that I can do nothing until I choose to BE back in the presence of Him, the Almighty God who equips me. So first, I must be and only be. As I continued to listen to God's words to my heart, he added more meanings to the word be for me.

Be still. (yeah, yeah...I get it...)

But then, He also spoke the word be to me as an action:

"Micah, instead of waiting for Me to send you a friend, BE the friend.

Instead of waiting for a healed marriage and perfected husband, BE the wife I am shaping you to be.

Be the forgiver.

Be the voice for these children.

Be the encourager to everyone around you.
Be the mom I have called you to be.

Be the peacemaker.

Just be.

Stop waiting for the world to meet your needs and BE Me to the world."

I do look forward to the adventures that God will bring our way this year through daily life and circumstance. But more than that, I find myself looking forward to BEing with my Jesus....drawing near and learning once more who I am before Him, who He is, and how I can bring Him glory first and foremost. That, friends, is the greatest adventure I could ask for. 

Taboo: Do Hard Things

Life is hard. It can be easy to decide that the hard that life throws at us, completely beyond our control, is more than enough hard and we should therefore scoff at the idea of voluntarily taking up more hard. Yet, that is what God calls us to do. One of the hardest hards that He currently has my family wading in the midst of is foster care. Looking back over the past few years, I can clearly trace His hand, highlight His call, and point out His providence. But recently, I have noticed a dark feeling associated with this journey I’m on. After some reflection and prayer, I identified the reviled sensation as nothing less than good old guilt. GUILT. I am haunted by guilt as a foster parent. There are certain times in particular where this hideous enemy rears his ugly head, clenching icy fingers around my gut tighter and tighter until I was to scream and run for the nearest one way out--times like when someone stops by and my house is grosser than gross. Times when my marriage is struggling and in a heartgush moment, I speak this outloud and instantly regret it. Times like family gatherings, where the depths of my children’s needs and my own insufficiency are on full display. Times when a stranger or a friend watches the ridiculous way I load our almost-too-many kids into our busted up van (that I love). Times when I must be honest about a financial decision that other couples our age would easily make, but we must choose differently. Times when I am asking the same person for the fifth time this week to babysit so I can take a child to an appointment. Times when I am asked if my husband is ok because he just looks so darn tired. But I can’t run. I can’t scream. So instead, I make excuses. And then later, behind closed doors, I give into heartwreck, searching, praying, listening, and trying to find out what it is that I need to repent of. Again and again, this guilt is defeated by the knowledge that I needn’t repent or apologize for doing hard things, for CHOOSING hard things.  Not just any hard things, not hard things done to score a pat on the back, but hard things that my God orchestrated and led me into through His own divine hand and the wisdom of my husband. So I must ask…where is the guilt coming from? Unfortunately, we live in a culture that doesn’t like to do messy. We love safety, comfort, and normalcy. To be blunt, even the Church itself can be caught up in ministry and service that only consists of that which is safe, clean, and comfy. We are so comfortable with making family, self-care, marriage…and so many other very good things idols. Hear my heart here…..all these things are invaluable and absolutely must be cared for and fought for first most of the time. But when we refuse any calling that might require us to fight even harder for these things, we choose safety. So perhaps, the guilt that creeps in is found in the uniqueness of my journey. The fact that I am 25, married for three years, living in a small fixer-upper house, driving a God-send of a minivan that is on it’s last leg, and am currently staying home with our six children under the age of six, three of them with medical/special needs, and none of them operating above a two year old developmental level is quite shocking. Maybe I feel guilty because we have been so warned about laying a firm foundation martially and financially these first few years, and yet we still felt led and chose to follow this path. Maybe I feel that people think I can’t possibly be enough…and I know they are right. Or maybe, I just really, really don’t fit into the norm of society and feel as though I should at least try to. Whatever the reasons may be, I somehow feel like I am failing those around me and that is hard for me. But the truth is…I am called. When I brush aside the norms and the standards and the opinions, I find the heart of my God leading my family on a painful, but fruitful journey…a journey that is a blessing because it causes on to lock our gaze on Him each and every day. There is so much sacrifice. But doing hard things doesn’t mean I stop fighting for that which is important, it means I fight harder. Silas and I have to fight harder for marriage and for time as a couple. We have to fight harder for every child in our home, but especially to make sure our biological children are being heard and loved and encouraged. I find over and over that as I seek the heart of God that that which is useless (and also happens to be the root of my guilt) falls away. I don’t need a fancy house. We don’t need dates out of the house every week and have learned to love date nights in and treasure date nights out. We don’t need a dozen other hobbies. We need Jesus. So here it is, the raw truth: My family doesn’t fit into society. I am NOT a superhero. Six under six plus special needs is just as darn messy as it sounds. Sometimes my house reeks like all the bodily fluids. My kids disobey all the time. I hardly ever wear real clothes. Marriage is hard and Silas and I miscommunicate, hurt one another, and drive each other nuts all the time. Some days I spend too much time on my phone at the expense of my family. I can’t remember the last time I dusted. I can’t remember the last time I hung out with friends. Sometimes (lots of times) I yell at my kids. Sometimes all of them are crying at once and I don’t know what to do.

I long for all people to be able to do hard things, the kind of hard things that make it impossible to have it all together. God is so good at showing up when we cannot go on without Him. You may not be called to the hard that I am. But you are called. I encourage you to seek and ask what the hard that you are avoiding may be. It won’t be pretty. It might be awful. But if you faithfully obey, I can promise that you will see Jesus. And if no one else…I will be here to be a real, raw, hottest kind of mess right alongside you.

Pro-Life?

As I sit at the stop light I gaze at your bumper,

Reading the stickers there over and over

“I’m Pro-Life!” one declares, letters bright red and bold

“Save the baby humans!” through another I’m told

You lay on your horn as the light turns green,

With screaming and gestures for all to be seen

You stomp on the gas and with anger you fly,

Passing the woman on the corner right by

“A life is a life” I say thoughtful and slow

Deep in my heart grief, begins to grow

The label “Pro-Life,” we are so quick to bear

But do we understand the weight of what we declare?

If a life is a life no matter how new,

Isn’t a life a life no matter who?

Are we pro-life for those who are yet unborn,

But quick to overlook those who are forlorn?

Will we fight for the rights of babies in womb,

But be cruel to those whose stories we assume?

Will we hold signs for babies--lives ended in strife

But ignore the orphan whose mother chose life?

Will we raise our voice when life ends before it began,

But turn from the woman pregnant "outside of God’s plan?"

Why are we prolife about one issue alone,

When to millions around us we will cast the first stone?

We are pro-life when it’s convenient, clean, and nice

But close our doors to those in need, making them pay the price

What about the widow, the refugee, and the poor?

Or even the rich salesman who stands at your door?

Why is each and  every life not worth our best fight,

Since when is unkindness and judgement alright?

With each stabbing word and every cruel label

We devalue life, passing judgement so hateful

Around us the world is brimming with life,

Some happy, some weary, some overtaken with strife

No matter the life stage or status or race

Each and every life is beauty to embrace

Whether infant or aged, terrorist or pastor,

Each life is worth fighting for, created by our Master.

Democrat, republican, homosexual, or not

Valuing all life and people is what Jesus taught.

Every word that you speak, every time you press “post,”

Is a testimony of that which you value the most.

When you speak to employees or order a burger,

You either speak hatred  or value life with vigor  

President or prostitute, rich man or poor,

Every life being lived could not be worth more

Each life is more precious than we ever could know,

It’s time to step up and let this truth show

May we rise up as people pro-life to the core

Let’s treasure each life instead of raising up war

Muslim or Christian, young or old,

Let’s hear of the stories we haven’t been told

May we push assumptions aside and trade them for love,

Let’s remember the preciousness of each life from above

Elijah Update

     Last month, we once again ventured to Children's Mercy Hospital in Kansas City to have Elijah's lung mass re-evaluated. The plan was to perform a sedated CT scan to check the status of the mass, meet with the surgeon, and make a plan for surgery. We also had our newest family member in tow: a 3 year old boy placed with us through foster care. He is so precious and we were thrilled to have him join us. Our plan was to do our best to make a hard couple days into a mini family getaway.

     The CT scan was challenging. I was surprised by how hard I broke when the nurse took Eli from my arms for the sedation and scan. I couldn't help but think, "If a simple CT scan is this hard, how much harder will surgery be?" It was also a bit of a blow to learn that although the mass had shrunk a fraction, it was still there and requiring surgery. We have prayed and hoped for months that it would be gone. On top of already heightened emotions, our three year old had a very, very hard time. As much as we planned and hoped for this trip...it was a disaster. No joke. Children are unpredictable regardless, but when you throw in the hurt, insecurity, and baggage little ones in foster care bear, things can really blow up. I won't go into detail, but let's just say Silas was unable to be with us in recovery because he was busy accompanying a very angry 3 year old who was letting the entire hospital know that he was DONE.

     Elijah's surgery was scheduled for June 3 and we don't know much beyond that. They are still unable to tell if they will need to take part of his lung or not. Best case scenario, they would not need to take any lung and Elijah will only remain in the hospital a few days, as long as pain and wound drainage are managed. We've been told this is one of the most painful surgery recoveries a baby can have, so keeping Elijah comfortable will be the biggest priority for a while.

     By the time we left the hospital (actually, long before that), Silas and I were both emotional and physical casualties escorting an exhausted, nauseous baby and a grumpy, insecure three year old. We were quite a sight (and sound) I'm sure. Anyway. After all the crazy, we left Kansas City knowing that although we are not promised an easy life, God's grace is sufficient in each and every moment, crazy or calm as they may be. It's easy for me to become carried away in the anxiety of surgery approaching. In fact, I'm terrified. I don't want my baby to be in danger or in pain. But again and again I am reminded that this precious boy is not my own first. His heavenly Father is so much more capable of caring for my son than I am. I'm so thankful that God has given Elijah to us and that his story is one we get to be a part of.

Our brave bear

In recovery...he was so sad!

Our surgeon is awesome. He always asks Silas to write a math problem from one of his classes on the exam table and then tries to solve it.

Happy as can be to be home

Thank you for your continued prayers! May God be glorified...He is good!

Purposeful Pain

Today, I went to the health food store for the first time after being diagnosed with Celiac Disease. As I scanned shelves aisle after aisle searching for gluten free snacks that wouldn't leave us broke, I felt an unexpected flood of tears well up inside of me. I plopped a few items in my cart and hurried through check-out as Eli screamed. I couldn't make eye contact with the cashier, as I knew some dam within me was about to splinter. I barely had the car loaded and my seat belt buckled when it came....a full-out shoulder-shaking, face contorting, breath robbing boo-hoo. I cried as I backed out. I cried as the man in the pick-up truck glanced uncomfortably at me at the stop light. I cried as the motorcyclist gawked in his rear view mirror through the construction zone. I sobbed in the front while Eli wailed in the back. I didn't stop until I was safely parked in our garage. I sat in my own silence, listening to Eli's sleepy breathing behind me and wondering where such a breakdown had come from. As I questioned my own heart, I not only discovered the recent frustration of this new diagnosis and lifestyle, but an enormous heap of hurt mistakenly labeled as "This Doesn't Matter Because Other People Have it Worse."Events from the last year and beyond swirled to the surface of my mind. Just as swiftly, I generated an excuse for each one of why it shouldn't bother me because it could be so much worse. I'm quick to become angry with myself when I feel worn by life's circumstances, believing it makes me selfish. But today, I felt a whisper asking me to look again...to look beneath the excuses...to acknowledge the hard and the hurt. So one by one, I did. I even said them out loud: It's hard that my brother died. Oh, how I miss him! It was hard to be depressed and suicidal for months last year and to be fearful of it returning. It was hard to not know where we would live. It was hard to move to a house I didn't see the potential in. It was hard to become parents before we thought we were "ready." It's hard to have my son's surgery looming. It's hard to feel called to so much, yet feel as if I am doing so little. It's hard to have a disease that makes me feel so sick. It's hard to have that disease so far along that my body isn't absorbing nutrients. It's hard that I am fighting with everything I have to make enough milk to feed my son. It's hard to learn to be married to someone. It's hard to feel so alone and isolated in a new city. It's hard to be entering the unknowns of foster care. It's hard to have felt so far from God. It's hard to watch my nation and world crumble. It's hard to be out of control of Grant and Reed's care. It was so hard to teach. It's hard to not know why I got a teaching degree. It's hard to have our income cut more than in half. It's hard to learn to be home everyday. It's hard to try to get involved in a new church. At 23 years old, it's still crazy hard to be a child of divorce. If I'm honest, there's a lot of hard and a lot of hurt. I'm realizing that Satan would love for me to believe that there's not...that I'm ok...that it's selfish to hurt. You see, one of Satan's greatest lies in my life is that my pain, my brokenness, my circumstances...they don't matter because there are so many others whose trials are much greater and deeper. While this is valid fact and always will be, it can also become a devastating roadblock between us and the healing God wants to bring. If Satan can convince us that our hurt shouldn't exist, he can keep us from experiencing the embrace and comfort of the Healer. Although we may not be struggling in the same way or capacity that others are, our pain is real, whether it's total persecution or a friendship falling apart. God knows our story, our pain, our circumstances. He is not wringing His hands, wishing he would've given us a life where we could know REAL suffering. He doesn't ask us to always compare our story to those of others....instead, He asks us to be faithful in our own aching. He desires to lead us, love us, and be glorified through the story He has given us in His goodness. The Bible declares that God is near to the broken-hearted (Psalm 34:18). In fact, He has an abundance of blessing to heap on the hurting (Matthew 5:3-11). Jesus Himself hurt...deeply. Instead of denying the pain, He cried out to His Father. Shouldn't we do the same? I don't believe  hurt should be wallowed in, used to define us, or that we shouldn't look to the pain of others for our own reality check. But hurt has a purpose and we mustn't let Satan brush away the beauty of our brokenness. May we be faithful and passionate to pray for and reach out to the pain of others while still allowing our hearts to be softened and exposed to the refining fire of our own lives.

-Micah

Joy: When all Seems Lost

As Micah has shared in her recent posts life has been pretty crazy. The last 6 months of our lives have been full of turmoil, transition and trial. We have experienced love and loss in ways that we never had before and we spent most of the time wondering if our son was going to be okay and if we would have someplace to live when it was all said and done. Through it all I wrestled with God asking over and over how could He keep telling me to have faith when everything that was happening was counter to what we had prayed for, counter to what He had promised. In the midst of crying out for justice from God, He in all His humor gave me an opportunity where I was asked to write a devotional about finding Joy in trial. So what follows is how God helped me find joy in trial by trying to tell others why we truly can find joy even in the midst of trial, hardship, pain and loss.     

                                                                                                                              

But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. (Isaiah 43:1-2 ESV)

It’s no secret that life is full of difficulties, loss, tough situations, and realities that we would prefer not to exist. On a regular basis we are faced with pain, hardship, pressure, temptation, sickness, and death. We simply need to watch the news to see how ISIS, racial tensions, shootings, drought, legal cases and economic uncertainty have affected the entire world around us. This brokenness can make it very hard to reconcile God’s promises to love and care for us when all we are experiencing is the pain and frustrations of the world. We can find ourselves questioning “Why?”. It can seem like all we are trying to do is follow God but everything keeps falling apart.

In the New Testament we see an example in Paul of someone who definitely may have thought that very thing. Paul was a missionary who spent his life traveling all over the world telling people about Jesus. Yet his devotion to God did not result in pleasure. In fact, 2 Corinthians 11:22-33 tells us that because he believed in God he was brutally beaten and imprisoned numerous times. During his life he was also shipwrecked three times and robbed more than once including many other things. Instead of growing bitter or losing his faith in God, Paul says that he rejoices in his suffering because it produces endurance, which produces character, which produces hope that will not disappoint because God loves us (Romans 5:3-5). You see Paul knew that just like danger can produce courage in a person, trials also can produce spiritual maturity because they give us the opportunity to have our faith tested which we know from last week is an important thing. Paul experienced an immense amount of pain yet through it he matured into the father of the modern church.

Ultimately there are very few words that can or should be spoken to someone experiencing trial or grief. No words can replace what was lost and there is no answer to the grief-filled questions asking “Why”. There is, however, one action that can bring relief, peace and in time healing; the death and resurrection of Jesus. No matter what happens we can know that God does love us. How do we know? Because He sent His son to experience pain, suffering and trial on the cross. The greatest pain and suffering anyone could ever experience is the punishment for their sins but God has already offered salvation from that. How can we say that God doesn’t love us because we experience pain when He has already taken away our greatest pain?

Acts 16:25 tells us that at one point in his ministry Paul was sitting in jail having just been beaten to within an inch of his life. In that moment Paul and the people with him began to pray and sing praises to God and as a result the walls of the prison literally fell down and Paul was able to walk away free. This does not mean we can expect our troubles to disappear just because we sing but in Paul we have an example of how God is with us and working in us through the hard points in our lives; and that is something to be joyful about.

So whether you are in the midst of a trial now or whether you are headed into a time that will be a trial, remember that even though nothing can make the pain go away, we can find joy. Find joy like Paul in knowing that you will not have to live forever in trial but someday we will worship God in heaven without any trial. Find joy by remembering that God can and does bring about beautiful things from ashes. And find joy knowing in the knowledge that God did not forsake you. He sent his son to die on the cross so that your trials would not overwhelm you but strengthen you.

                                                                                                                               

The past 6 months of my life may be the hardest I have ever experienced but their have also resulted in the greatest spiritual growth I have ever experienced. Through all the trials of life I can truly say, it is well with my soul because I know the LORD will never forsake me!

-Silas

Elijah Benjamin Pederson

Life is beautiful. I've always believed that, but after giving birth to life itself, it has never been more so. Elijah Benjamin Pederson was born on September 12 at 9:41 pm. He was 7lb 7oz and 20 inches long. After a week of labor off and on, my actual labor was only about 4 hours and he was resting on my chest just an hour after arriving at the hospital. I was so blessed to have had my pregnancy followed by a wonderful, God-loving midwife. She helped us labor at home for as long as possible. Silas was a rockstar...he held me up for hours through contractions, encouraged me, prayed for me, and filled my ears with truth and scripture. My sister was also able to be there. Giving birth was the hardest, strangest thing I've ever done. I remember being afraid, slightly out of my mind, clinging to God and my husband, and wondering what the heck had just happened when I looked around at a room full of doctors and nurses who said "That was the most hilarious labor and delivery we've ever been a part of. Do you mind if we write down some of the things you said?" Praise God for humor at all times! :) Elijah was placed on my chest right away and stayed there as long as I wanted him to. They waited to weigh him, examine him, etc so that we could bond. This was such a gift. Elijah was breathing well when he was born...another huge praise! He was taken within a few hours for a chest x-ray, where it was confirmed that his lung had a cyst in it. We were transferred in the wee hours of the morning to the main hospital for him to be monitored and prepped for a CT scan. We had to wait 26 hours for the results, and meanwhile, his respirations were remaining just a little too fast. The scan showed that his original diagnosis of CCAM (essentially a cyst) would be replaced with the diagnosis of pulmonary sequestration. The difference is that a sequestration has it's own blood feed/artery and can be more of a beast to deal with. The news was hard, but the whole time I was holding my sweet boy who was BREATHING and doing well. Praise God. We were finally discharged with a plan...Eli will be closely watched by doctors in Wichita for 2 weeks and will then head to Kansas City on October 1st to meet with a team of surgeons. He hardly ever cries and seems exhausted when he tries, which worries this mama. It's safe to say that I'm a becoming a hoverer. Elijah's name has been a beautiful reminder through this journey...Elijah--My God is Yahweh, Benjamin--Son of My right hand. His first name also carries the sweet reminder of my niece, Ellie, who passed away 4 years ago. With his middle name, he carries the legacy of his Uncle Benjamin. This little boy of ours is someone very, very special. I am in awe that Silas and I are the ones who get to keep him, raise him, laugh with him, teach him, cry over him, and shepherd him. Thank you, Father. Our God is Yahweh.

New Beginnings...with a bang!

The last few months have been one WILD ride...I could probably write a book! Instead of sharing all the crazy right now, here is a quick update on big life events: We started house hunting in March, trying to find a home to move into when our lease is up in June. We had completed the foster care process and only needed a home to complete our home study! Things did not go as planned...part of me wishes I had written down every step of house hunting that fell through just so we could look back and laugh someday! It has been several months of disappointment after disappointment. My sweet Silas and our fabulous realtor worked endlessly trying to pull things together. When we still had no where to move to in June, we were able to go to month to month rent on our apartment, but had to be out by September 6th. In the midst of all this, we were still traveling to Kansas City for appointments for the mass in baby's lung. They began to worry about his heart so we had even more appointments...Praise the Lord, baby's heart looks great! As we continued to get good reports, our doctors agreed that it would be fine for me to deliver in Wichita instead of Kansas City! This is such a huge blessing...I don't have to be without Silas from 38 weeks on and things will be a lot less hectic when little man arrives. As we continued to have houses fall through, it was beginning to look like we would be in our bitty apartment for longer than planned...a lot longer. My heart wrestled with this so much. I desperately wanted to believe that I could be content wherever we are, but this would be the first time in 23 years that I did not have a job, school, etc. I am so excited to stay home with our little guy, but with that, I long to serve foster kids, work some respite jobs, and be in a place where ministry is a focus. In our little one bedroom apartment, that would be tough. To add to the excitement, I began showing signs of preterm labor and spent a couple weeks "taking it easy" in the middle of having to pack and adjust to life at home during the day. FINALLY, a couple weeks before we had to move, things moved forward with a house and we would be able to close September 4. Honestly, it was a house that took a little bit of effort to love, but would meet our needs, was a good financial fit, fit our ministry, and give us some things to work on the next few years. Then the house fell through because of a roof issue. Our realtor worked hard for us and got things up and running again but the close date was moved to September 18 (meaning we would have from September 6-18 without a house and a baby on the way or here)...until last Saturday. A week before we had to move out of our apartment, we heard that the seller was wanting to back out. Our realtor is a Christ follower and spend the day in prayer for us. She wrote a letter to the seller explaining our story, the events of the last few months, and our hopes for ministry. Tuesday morning, our realtor was extremely frustrated because the seller's realtor had not passed on the letter and there was no change of heart. We were told to find another option. Within 30 minutes, we got a call that not only had the seller agreed to sell to us, she was willing to let us move in September 4 and rent FREE of charge until September 18 until we close! We could hardly believe it...what an emotional whirlwind! (Oh...and then a few hours later I wrecked the minivan we had had for 1 day. Talk about roller coaster! Ha!) Part of me thinks, "Ok God...You did it. But wouldn't it have been easier to just give us the first house back in April?" And that's where I have to remember that His ways, His timing, is not our own. I don't see all the unseen that He does. I don't know all that He protected us from or the plans He has for us that we need this particular house for. But I do know that He provided. He changed the heart of the seller...and He's changed our hearts and faith as well. He is worthy of praise...and still would've been if we spend another year in this apartment. Life is so crazy. God is so good. I love adventure. And I am SO. VERY. TIRED. And now...it's moving day!!! Here we go!!!

Bring the Reign

In every direction, the parched ground throbs--

Longing, aching for cleansing sobs.

The blistering heat, relentless and cruel

Beats down with pain far beyond brutal.

In the midst of this wasteland, a tiny plant cowers,

Growing weaker and weary with each passing hour.

In her own strength, she tries to once again stand,

Hoping she’s strong enough to survive this land.

But no matter her effort, death only snakes nearer.

She curses her weakness; the end becomes clear.

Her final leaves cling to a shriveled stem;

One more blow to be the end of them.

With each passing second, all hope is lost;

This deserted land a life will cost.

Refusing, unwilling to beg for salvation,

This broken life is surely forsaken.

With a final effort, the frail one cries,

Calling the One who holds the skies.

She shudders and aches in her lack of power,

Begging, pleading for redeeming showers.

Alone and broken, death not to be cheated,

She crumbles in surrender, fully defeated.

Then far in the distance, a rumble is heard;

Her weak head raises, her eyes heavenward.

Much closer this time, thunder quakes and drums;

The tiny plant knows her salvation has come.

Across the expanse, gray beauty churns,

Swelling with life for which the plant yearns.

First one drop, two, and then a thousand more--

This life in the desert is seen and fought for!

Leaves open and catching each precious drop,

Soaking in life from bottom to top.

“My child!” A voice bellows, “Stand in awe of me!

I am the salvation you long to see!

In your own strength you’ll always crumble and fail;

Seek me, and my glory, my beauty unveiled!”

The plant once again fell in a weak, helpless heap.

This time in awe, her heart to leap!

Her Creator had seen her and brought her to life;

His strength alone could carry her strife.

All glory is due to His mighty name,

For He is the One who is worthy to reign.

~Micah