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What I’m Learning About Faith

I don’t have much of it.

The end.

———

Oh, you knew I’m way to wordy to stop there.

As a self-professed control freak, I admit that I need more faith. I like to have a plan, goals, a to-do list a mile long.

The start of 2012 hasn’t been what I thought it would be: we’re still trying to figure out how to juggle all that’s on our plate and not much has changed. I’ve had some discouraging days. I’ve questioned God and wondered why me more than once.

In a moment of frustration, I nonchalantly said to a friend who was volunteering for Mercy House, “I don’t know why God chose us. Some days I just don’t know how to do this.”

The next morning, I woke up to this email from my friend:

He chose you because even on hard days he knew you would never give up
He chose you because those precious women and their babies needed parents and role models like the Welch’s
He chose you because He knew that you would be real and that you would show others how much we need Him in the everyday daily things we go through
He chose you because in a world where we don’t see the power of Christ often and the way Jesus moves us you guys live that out…our pastor used to say when was the last time the power of Jesus moved you? I see that in you all the time
He chose you because he knew you would step out in faith. He chose you because even when people question your decisions or why you do what you do…you continue to follow Him and choose His ways
He chose you because He knew you could change the world.
He chose you because He knew that family was special and He believes in you more than you believe in yourself.
He chose you and Terrell because at the end of the day He knew you would realize you could never do this on your own and that you two would rely on Him to make HIs power perfect in our weakness. That He is your completer. and that this is what this life is all about.
He chose you because He knew you would never stop dreaming to do more for His kingdom

It was just what I needed. God is never late. He is working in ways we cannot see. His purpose will be accomplished if we yield to Him.

My hubby and I snuck away for breakfast the other morning. We held hands.

We hold onto Him.

He has chosen us and we need to believe in Him to accomplish what He has begun. 

I still don’t feel any closer to having the answers.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not.

*My beautiful silver faith ring is from The Vintage Pearl. It inspires me throughout the day!

Kristen
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30 Ways to Make Christmas Meaningful

Our world makes it challenging to keep Christ in Christmas.

Anyone else notice that?

Don’t get me wrong: I love this season. The lights and festivities. I’m a Christmas baby and I find this time of year magical. I love experiencing it with my kids…the excuse to wear Christmas pajamas days on end, reading holiday books, sipping hot chocolate and eating cookies for lunch

But more than anything, I want to make it meaningful. I want Jesus to be the focus. I want my kids to know what the day and all the celebrating is really about. They won’t hear it at school or see it in the sales advertisements. They will know because we will show them.

Our Nativity, waiting on Jesus to arrive Christmas morning

Here are some ways we make Christmas meaningful (and a few ideas we plan to implement):

  1. Set up a Nativity and make it a focus in your home. [We put ours front and center on the entry table in our home].
  2. Hide baby Jesus and “seek” Him Christmas morning before opening gifts. [I did this first thing this year. Here's how I found it half an hour later. Turns out Mary had a little Snowman. I love four year olds].
  3. (or) Gift wrap baby Jesus in your nativity and let this be your first unwrapped gift Christmas morning.
  4. Take a cue from the Magi and limit the gifts and reminding kids it’s not their birthday, it’s His.
  5. Have a daily family devotion that unwraps Christmas, here’s ours for this year. [This is perfect for families. It offers a verse for each day and a question or two that will hopefully lead to a meaningful discussion. You can get it for 30% off now with code SUPER30].
  6. Participate in Advent. Last year, we did the Jesse Tree Advent. And I love this Advent ebook for little hands.
  7. Light an Advent wreath each day leading up to Christmas.
  8. Have a birthday cake for Jesus or go all out and make it a birthday party! I love this Happy Birthday, Jesus! Celebration Kit. (Also 30% off with code: SUPER30)
  9. Watch DVDS like Why Do We Call It Christmas? that help you tell the real story of Christmas.
  10. Give your kids the gift of giving: Have them shop with purpose. This year we are giving our kids money to shop from the Compassion gift catalog.
  11. Or buy something that blesses twice and changes lives (Mercy Shop). Ahem.
  12. Don’t stress about things that really don’t matter this Season. I have been a Christmas hoarder in the past. Last year, I had two newlywed couples come and dig thru my decorations. I saved two boxes of things I value most and gave the rest away. It’s simple this year and I like it.
  13. Make the Nativity interactive with tools like What God Wants for Christmas. I’m really excited to try this out! It’s from the creators of Resurrection Eggs.
  14. Do something for someone else on Christmas Day. This will be our fifth year to visit the NICU (with treats) that saved our daughter’s life five Christmas’ ago.
  15. Talk with your kids about giving God a gift. What does He want from us?
  16. Hang a stocking for Christ. Fill it with notes just for Him.
  17. Invite someone to share Christmas dinner with your family. This is a goal for us this year.
  18. Shop for an impoverished child (Angel Tree). Our community group from church has adopted a family with five kids. We are so excited to shop for the kids and DELIVER a the gifts and a Christmas meal on Christmas Eve this year with our close friends!
  19. Don’t participate in the excessive commercialism. Enough said.
  20. Watch The Nativity Story together as a family. We started this tradition two years ago. I think this PG movie tells the greatest story ever told very well.
  21. Help your kids shop for their siblings.
  22. Talk about the symbols of Christmas.
  23. Be generous as a family at Christmas-baking, giving, doing.
  24. Hold a Yule log party: it’s an old European custom to bring in an enormous log on Christmas Eve and it in the fireplace (or fire pit) and say prayers. Today, Yule log cakes and eggnog are served. You can sing carols, read Scripture, tell stories, pray for the new year, and have good fellowship.
  25. Bake, make or buy a special gift for your Pastor. We did Pioneer Woman’s Cinnamon Rolls year before last. What a gift!
  26. Cherish traditions with your family. Start a new one! Like the next one:
  27. When preparing your Christmas meal, set a literal place for Jesus, your honored guest.
  28. Attend church on Christmas Eve. This is a highlight for our family!
  29. Read Luke 2 together on Christmas Eve or morning. We’ve been doing this since before we had kids.
  30. Leave a Nativity out all year long. I did this last year and it was really special.
How do you keep Christ in Christmas?
[This post contains referral links]
Kristen
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Someone is Waiting on You to Jump

[God spoke these words to my heart while I was at the Relevant Conference. Perhaps they are for you? I wrote them down for me.]

We could have said no. We could have pushed away the beckoning to respond in such a manner. The months of churning and wrestling, seeking and struggling, the labor pain that gave birth to Mercy.

Would you have thought less of us? Sponsoring more kids, changing our priorities, losing the American Dream….they were enough. Maureen would have understood if we’d answered, “No, we can’t help right now.” Right?

It would have been okay for our response to be okay.

I know this.

And the truth? Standing at cliff’s edge, we wanted to say no. We asked if there was another way. We researched and begged. We cried it is too big, we can’t, we are afraid, we don’t know how.  We don’t want to love mercy.

We didn’t throw caution to the wind. We didn’t just jump into the chasm of the unknown.

We jumped into the very hands of God.

(photo source)

Why? Why do the uncomfortable? Why go beyond the comfort zone and risk so much? Every one of us has a unique purpose for our lives and our blogs. It’s a risk finding that purpose. It leaves you exposed and open to criticism and fear and failure.

It leaves you open for the supernatural, the extraordinary.

Stepping into the unknown re-destines your life.

When we jumped, it was as if He had poised people all over the world, who were waiting. Waiting for someone to say yes. We said yes, so they could say yes. Jumping, unleashed a force we didn’t know existed. Hundreds and hundreds of people who were waiting, praying, wanting the opportunity help us without even knowing us.

We are on the adventure of our lives. Yes, it’s scary. It’s uncertain. Control is gone, we are asking, believing for each new step, every day.  This journey isn’t a sprint, it’s a marathon of hills and valleys.

This is my command—be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go. Joshua 1:9

I believe everyone who believes will stand at the edge.. You can say no. You can push away the beckoning to jump. Everyone would understand if you walked away. It would be okay to be okay. Right?

You won’t know what you’re missing, your path will continue and life will go on.

But.

What if life is better, God is nearer, peace is more certain, faith is found in the jumping?

“This is how God works: he puts his people in positions where they are desperate for his power, and then he shows his provision in ways that display his greatness.” -David Platt

What if someone is waiting on you to jump?

So they can say yes.

What are you contemplating today? What are you waiting on?

I’m linking this post up to Muthering Heights series “How big is your But?”….

Kristen
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I’ll Meet You There

I’m still wiping sleep from my eyes and stuttering in steps of exhaustion.

The last few days have been long, and short and I’ve grown tired of hearing my own voice.

But I’ve never felt more alive.

I’ve just returned from Relevant, a Christian Blogging Conference, a first of its kind.

Know this: the weekend had very little to do with blogging.

Blogging at it’s core is egocentric: It’s about memy opinions, my thoughts, my life, and comments about my words on your screen.

I discovered in this time of beautiful connection, with laptop stored away, that I’m sick of me.

When I peel back the corner of my heart and I lay it bare, I see dark corners seeking affirmation from others, a need to fit in, to grow this space, to be known.

Like most in this online realm, I want to take my blog to the next level.

And I can.

How do we? “By going lower. By making our platform an alter.” -Ann Voskamp.

I’m still processing and on my knees in reflection, asking, waiting. Wanting more.

Of Him.

And isn’t that what it’s all about? This world is temporal. Our lives—how we live them, the glory we bring to Him—that is eternal.

I’ve left a blogging conference craving God. I’ve left behind the desire to elevate myself, to seek the approval of friends and foes. I can’t find my aspiration to be the best or the biggest. I’ve lost the desire to compete and climb the ladder of success.

I arrived at the conference, physically and emotionally empty. Deplete of energy and desire. Weary from all the doing, checking one more thing from my list, going to speak on being relevant, but feeling like I had nothing left to give.

Alone. Misunderstood. Accused of being brave, feeling so scared, my very breath hard to catch in the middle of the night, computer screen dark, burden heavy.

How can I give away what I don’t possess?

But I met God at Relevant. He showed up in the hugs of women I’d never met. He met me in the quiet. He was there in rush of people and the urging of words that poured from my lips.

I left with a heart so full it doesn’t quite fit in my chest.

I don’t know what’s in your heart today. I write these words hoping they find a landing spot. But understand that I don’t just write them for you. I write them for me. “Story is the way the Spirit of God can bind up our wounds. When these words find their mark, God heals two hearts-yours and mine.” –Ann Voskamp.

When you click away from my words and heart spilled onto this screen, I want you to run to Him.

I’ll meet you there.

meeting Ann

Kristen
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Adopted

*I heard a story about a woman who had a dream: She was in a vast stadium filled with thousands and thousands of people. The crowd was focused on the field.

There were people bringing children out, one at a time, and they were looking for homes for them…just giving the kids away. The kids were beautiful and as each one was on display, people in the crowd vied for the child.

It happened over and over.

Then another child was brought out. But this time the child was ugly. Hideous. It was hard to look upon her face without turning away. No one stepped forward for this child. The crowd was silent. There was no tug-of-war for this child like the others.

But then, a man stepped forward. He lovingly took the child in his arms. He scooped her up like she already belonged to him.

It was Jesus.

When the dreaming woman looked closer she recognized the child and her gestures.

She stared intently and recognized  her own face.

She was the unattractive child.

I used to think the word adopted was reserved for orphans from third-world countries or the lucky kids rescued out of the foster care system.

Until Jesus came and chose me in my ugly sin. He took my orphaned spirit and became my father.

Jesus adopted me and grafted me into His family.

Adoption isn’t just a word splashed on fundraiser t-shirts or reserved for those who are following God by bringing an orphan into their home.

Adoption is a part of my story, too.

Is it a part of yours?

———————————-

Knowing that according to the United Nations latest results, there are more than 160 million orphans in our world today, I would be bereft if I didn’t mention a day I’d like you to champion: Nov. 7 is Orphan Sunday. You can read about it here. Would you consider talking to your church about praying for the orphans of the world on this day?

After all, adoption is a part of all our story, isn’t it?

Why Love Orphans? from Christian Alliance for Orphans on Vimeo.

*as told by JD Greear at the Together for Adoption Conference

Kristen
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Teaching Your Kids to Pray Without Them Knowing It

Night after night, gathered round the table, it was the same: NO!

We begged, pleaded and implored our 3 year old to take her turn to pray for one of the countries in the book, Window On The World , a nightly ritual we value. After defiance and non-participation, we just worked our way around her. Ignoring the protests and the attitude. When couldn’t make her pray, after all, and trying to talk her into it was just distracting our older kids and frustrating to us.

So, we did nothing. Except continue to take turns praying aloud, around her.

Then something amazing happened around our dinner table.

One night, after my hubby had stated the country statistics and needs, he asked who wanted to pray the quick prayer for the country of the night. Our toddler stood up, “Me! Me!”

She mumbled something that didn’t make much sense and ended it with a loud, “Amen!”

We all smiled under our napkins at the significance of the moment.

Her desire wasn’t born from force. She simply watched and decided on her own that she wanted to be like her example, her family.

Our 3 year begs to lead our family in prayer nearly every night. And, of course, she often throws in attitude and strong-will just for effect.

I didn’t realize we were teaching her to pray.

But it makes me think about all the other character traits we are teaching our children, even when we don’t know it.

*Updated: last week my parents dropped off their dogs for us to watch for a few days, so they could go out of town and my little girl grabbed their hands to form a circle and said a quick prayer that they would have a safe trip! It was so sweet.

(darling headbands for sale in The Mercy Shop)

Kristen
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Miracles Happen When You Speak Up

I was late.

So, I slipped into the back of the crowded room and crouched on the floor.

I couldn’t see the face of speaker, Tom Davis, CEO of Children’s Hope Chest at the Together for Adoption Breakout Q&A Session. But it didn’t matter, his words still pierced.

He is a modern-day abolishionist, rescuing young girls from the terrifying grips of sex slavery. Every minute a child in our world is trafficked. Every minute.

I listened as he answered questions about the unbelievable life these girls lead, most servicing a dozen or more men every day and the dangerous covert rescue operations that his organization orchestrates with the local police.

It was terrible and beautiful to hear.

One of the questions: “How many girls do you know about that need to be rescued right now?”

Tom Davis: “Three. It costs about $2000.00 per rescue.”

He went on to describe the safe house the girls are taken to and the elaborate process of rehabilitation.

It was time for the session to end. As Tom shared his final thoughts, a man from the crowd pressed towards the front. He was nervous as he spoke, but their was authority and anointing behind his words, “I don’t know Tom Davis and his associate. I don’t know any of you. But I know there are about 80 people in this room. And there are 3 girls who are in slavery, being forced into the unthinkable, waiting to be rescued. If we all gave $30 each, we would have enough money to rescue one of them right now. My company will match whatever is given today,” he urged in the hushed room.

Tom Davis concluded the session with prayer.

My own tears splashed onto my $30 check as I ripped it from the checkbook. The room was noisy with silent tears and generosity.

Within minutes the table at the front of the room looked like this:

On my own, I couldn’t rescue a girl being sex trafficked. But my small check added to 79 others, makes a powerful impact.

It’s the power of working together for the cause of Christ. It’s ordinary mixed with God’s extra.

It’s taking 3 minutes to pray for the 3 girls raped every 45 minutes in Kenya. It’s giving $3 a month.

That off-the-cuff gesture by one man listening to the urging in his inner man didn’t raise enough money to rescue one girl or three.

That pile of money will rescue six girls being sex trafficked. Six!

Don’t underestimate the power of doing something, even when it seems insignificant. Don’t think that your small gesture doesn’t matter. Don’t let the opportunity pass to make a difference in the life of someone today.

*photo from the conference Twitter stream

Kristen
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When the Ordinary Becomes Extra

I’m afraid some of you have misunderstood.

There have been words thrown at me the last couple of weeks – godly, good, brave, crazy…

I’m not worthy of any of them (except maybe that last one).

The Mercy House is a home God is building. My family is honored to be on the construction crew, along with our fellow laborers, Maureen, and people just like you. When I look in the mirror, I don’t see those words reflected. I see a scared woman who sleeps too little and worries too much. She tries to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders and remembers when the burden is too heavy to give it back to God.

Our family isn’t any different than yours. We are ordinary people. Our garbage can stinks. Our kids talk back and throw fits in open places. Our marriage is a miracle. Our dog looks longingly at her leash. We are just like you.

My hubby the other night after hammering dozens of copper pendants said, “So this is what it feels like to jump off a cliff?”

I laughed.

Then I cried. “Free-falling, isn’t so bad, huh?”

I’m just like you. I was just given a glimpse into God’s heart (the poor) and I couldn’t turn away.

Now that I have seen….

I am responsible.

We are ordinary. God is anything but.

When you look into my life if you seen anything out-of-the-ordinary, He gets the glory for it.

Are you standing on the edge? The first step off  into the unknown is terrifying. But don’t worry, He won’t let you fall.

He is extraordinary.

**The story behind the song is truly an example of the extraordinary. It’s about a little orphaned girl named Albertine from Rwanda. You can hear her story here.

Kristen
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My Big Fat Mouth

Many evenings during summer, after brother and sister were tucked into bed, my oldest daughter and I would talk. We’ve worked our way, one page at a time, though the book, Preparing Your Daughter for Every Woman’s Battle.

I’ve mentioned before that this book is not for the faint-of-heart, as would be expected with a book about sexual purity. (Yes, 10 years old is young, but I wanted to tell her before the world did. Now anything she might hear can be compared to the standard found in the Bible.)

But the chapter on how we talk really got to me:

I smiled as she squeezed toothpaste onto a paper plate at my instruction.

“Now,” I said dramatically and paused. “Put all the toothpaste back into the tube.”

She looked at me, confident, at first. But soon, she was covered in minty goo and knew the task was impossible.

After she washed her hands and snuggled back into my bed, I explained how our words, like the sticky toothpaste, once spoken are impossible to get back. And we just made a big mess trying. We talked about respect and thinking before we speak. We talked about the power of the tongue, how it can bring life or death.

She scooted off to bed and I remembered how often my mouth got me in trouble when I was her age. Talking-back and being sassy were some of my biggest struggles. (I was bestowed the gift of sarcasm at a very young age).

And then I thought about how often (EVERY DAY, it seems) I say something I shouldn’t. I’m not a kid anymore. I nag my hubby about stuff I WANT DONE. I gripe at my children for messes I don’t want to clean up. I complain to my friends about something I don’t agree with. There are a lot of “I’s” in that last sentence.

I want this: “May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.” Psalm 19:4

It was a devotion for her.

But the words hit me in the big fat mouth.

_________________________

Do you struggle with your tongue?

Kristen
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What Did You Trade?

Cardboard Stories from The Austin Stone on Vimeo.

What does your sign say?

Kristen
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There was a need. You rallied. Thank you.

“God doesn’t require that you succeed. He only requires that you try.” -Mother Teresa

And sometimes you do both.

I’ve never been so proud to be a blogger, but I couldn’t have done any of this alone. Thank you for giving, praying, sharing it with your friends, family and readers.

“The miracle is not that we do this work, but that we are happy to do it.”-Mother Teresa

More than 200 large cans of baby formula were committed (that’s more than $2000 in powder!), plus $2000 cash was given (to match your donations). There will always be a need, so feel free to continue to give if you feel led.

Kristen
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There are hungry orphans in Africa. We can help them.

[Warning: There is a faith-put-into-action opportunity at the end of this post. PLEASE do not miss it!]

I believe in a Divine God that connects dots.

I’m a dot.

You’re a dot.

He draws a line between you and me and we are connected.

I can’t explain it, but I know in my heart that God wants to use my blog to mobilize mothers to do good things for Him. I don’t have time for a catchy logo or cute graphic-there are hungry babies in Ethiopia right now and there is a baby formula shortage.

My dot was connected with Dinah, one of America’s greatest pro-life leaders. Besides setting up more than 30 maternity homes in America and her first in Africa, she is using her pro-life warehouse to ship formula into the suitcases of people traveling into Africa. It is saving the lives of precious starving babies in four of Ethiopia’s orphanages, some in remote areas.

Dinah is running low on formula and that’s where your dot comes in: There are hungry babies in Africa and we can help them.

It is a fact that 30,000 (yes, you read that right: thirty-thousand) children die every day from hunger and preventable disease. That number is so large it’s hard to comprehend. But your donation will make a difference to one. Your gift of formula will save a life. (the tiny faces of these babes have been covered to protect their future adoptions.)

Can you send formula? Will you connect your dot with ours?

For the next 30 hours, I will be pushing hard, updating, mobilizing and partnering with Into the Streets of Ethiopia to get cans of formula committed to send to Arizona (and then on to Ethiopia)!

TWO generous donors have offered to MATCH the first 100 200 cans that are donated (that’s $2000 in formula!) from my blog.

Please leave a comment with how many of the large cans of WalMart (milk based only, no soy), you can send to this address:

Heritage House ’76, Inc.

919 So. Main St.,

Snowflake, AZ  85937

If you do not have a WalMart near you, you can purchase a WalMart gift card online and have it sent directly to the address above. Please make sure you make a notation that it is for formula if you can. But they have been notified that all WalMart gift cards are designated for formula. You can also send a check for formula (for a tax deductible donation) to Living Hope Women’s Centers. Formula will be bought and sent.

[from Dinah: "We will send the formula with work crews and adoptive parents as they go over.  We have shipped close to 400lbs since April but are running out.  Check out the Post Office one price if it fits and see how many cans can fit in a box]

God connects dots.

Please leave a comment if you can send a can of formula.

*Update* As of 9 am CST on Monday morning, there have been 115 cans of formula donated!!! Let’s keep going!
*Updated Again* As of 2pm CST, there have been 156 cans of formula donated!!!

Kristen
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When Jesus Isn’t Enough

When I sat in his closet-sized home in the middle of Africa, I couldn’t take my eyes off the pathetic interior or ignore the dripping rain on my head.

I tried not to imagine the “community toilet” he shared with neighbors adjoined by paper-thin walls or how far he walked each way to school everyday, in the dark, both ways.

The peace on his face was undeniable and the light that radiated from his eyes filled the dark room of his orphan-led home.

I didn’t understand how he could be so content with so little. And I couldn’t stop the question, “Why are you so happy? Why aren’t you afraid?”

He looked at me as if I’d missed it entirely and said, “Because I have Jesus.”

He didn’t say anything else. It was a heavy statement. It was enough.

He was right, I had missed it. Entirely.

I equate Jesus to comfort and blessings. And when I sat in a hovel, a young boy called home, void of every comfort, I was envious of his contentment.

I returned to a lifestyle with every blessing, only wanting more.

I add Jesus like salt and pepper to a tasteless dish.

He isn’t the main course, just an extra on the side.

Jesus isn’t enough for me.

I think about my happiness that is clouded with every storm that blows into my life. I think about my happiness that is contingent upon what I have versus what I want. I think about my happiness and the strings I attach to it.

I think about a young boy who taught me more about Jesus and myself in a single sentence than my entire Bible College degree and 37 years of living.

One of the great lessons I learned in Africa: When Jesus isn’t enough, something is wrong.

I’m on a quest to make it all about Jesus. It’s easy surrounded by the comforts of my American life to melt back into the The American Way-bigger is better, more is what matters.

This is a painful journey, but more than anything, I want Him to be enough for me.

Is Jesus enough for you? If your happiness, like mine, is determined by how much or how little you have or the next exciting thing in your life, can I gently remind you to return to Him? He is waiting to be enough.

Kristen
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The Email I Don’t Know How to Answer

I get a fair amount of email. I don’t ever want to get to the place where I can’t answer it and so I make the effort to respond to each one.

Every once in awhile, I get one that knocks my socks off. It may be so encouraging that I want to tattoo it on my thigh. But since that would be very painful, I just stick it in a special email folder. Occasionally, I get emails so heartbreaking, I stop what I’m doing and pray for the person on the other end. And on a rare occasion, I get a mean email that points out all my faults. I have a special folder for those too. I call it my delete file.

But it’s rare that I get an email I simply don’t know how to answer.

I received the following from a college student and with her permission, I asked it I could share it with you.

It not only knocked my socks off, made me cry and ended up in my special email folder, it drove me to my knees. Because I want to be the person that *Hope thinks I am. Actually, I want to be more like her:

Hi!

I’m Hope, I’m 21 years old and will be a senior in college. My mom found your blog and she shared it with me and to say it has helped me dig deeper in my relationship with Christ would be the understatement of the century. My mom and I are so different but we both love your blog. We joke its one of the only things we have in common. I love the deep stuff. My mom is wonderful but I know sometimes she thinks my passion for serving others is a phase. She thinks when I volunteer at the homeless shelter, I’m going to catch a disease. When she sees my cry because I feel the pain of God’s people, she thinks I’m on my period. Frankly, shes so happy I read your blog because I think she knows what a wonderful role model you are for me. She loves to donate money to organizations as long as she doesnt have to be hands on.

I know that I don’t have the life experience you have, I’m single, no kids, no REAL responsibilities yet but when I read about how your heart has been changed since your trip to Africa, I cant help but cry and realize you are putting my thoughts and feelings into words. I come from a family and a hometown of people who all love God, everyone I know goes to church, and its become acceptable to “shield” our eyes from any pain or discomfort we see. After the earthquake in Haiti, I heard “sweetie change the channel this is depressing!” “I’m tired of seeing those kids on TV, change it back to MTV, I want something happy!”. When I wanted my group of girlfriends to come bring a meal to the homeless shelter I heard “its depressing, it makes me sad, God wants me to be happy! its the summer!” and “its not a good night, dancing with the stars comes on I might not be back in time and my DVR is filled up!”  There is no judgement here its just I feel like a weirdo because I relish anytime I can be with the people hurting. I want to give them hope. I want them to know they arent forgotten. This is where YOU come in. When I read your blog, its like a breath of fresh air. Youve somehow managed to let me see what HE has been trying to show me all along–that its okay to embrace the sadness of the world. Its okay for me to cry WITH the mothers who cannot put food on their table. Its okay for me to feel so disgusted with all of my material possessions that I go on binge clean ups where I sit and weep with all the crap I have allowed to try to “fill” this void in me over the years. Your words have helped me realize HE is the only thing that will fill me up. When my friends/family see me becoming distraught with all of the “stuff” my family has I often hear “you are so UNGRATEFUL, you should be happy that your mom and dad have bought you all those cute clothes, and that EVERY year you get a new wardrobe” “BE HAPPY! I wish I had all those cool gadgets” “Hope, those people are homeless because they arent following God, they keep messing up, your family is living right so be happy you have tons of stuff!” I’ll admit that last one was a little exaggerated but I sometimes feel like a fish out of water.

I struggle with balancing between being completely oblivious to the poverty and pain in the world around me, and on the other side wanting to sell everything and live in a tent.

When I walk down the street with shoes on my feet, food in my belly, the love of my family, the knowledge that I am forever one of God’s beloved and I see someone who is homeless. My first instinct is to take them home with me and fix them up. My dreams dont seem realistic. I want to take off my shoes and give them to the homeless woman. But even if I do that, there is another homeless woman I’ll see another day and I’ll want to give her shoes too. Do I have to pick and choose who I help when? I have often thought maybe I could quit college and use the tuition money for children in Africa. However, if I don’t get a college education, I won’t be able to fulfill my calling to work as a social worker.  My question is, HOW DO YOU BALANCE NOT FEELING GUILTY EVERYTIME YOU ENJOY A MEAL WITH YOUR FAMILY KNOWING OTHERS ARE GOING TO BED HUNGRY? I know its not feasible for me to sell all of my things and live naked. Any advice would be wonderful.

I’m saving up to go to Africa (I’ve been once before). I have never felt closer to God than when I was holding hands with the people in the slums of Tanzania. It was hard to come back to my world. It was hard coming back to a house where my mom doesn’t go to the grocery store without wearing her pearl necklace. It was hard getting off a plane and getting back into my familys gas guzzling SUV and driving to our home where we would have a full refrigerator of food. When I got home I started sponsoring *Naomi with Compassion. Seeing you with the children in Kenya helped renew my faith in the compassion organization SO THANK YOU!

Id love your thoughts on living a blessed life (materially) WITH THE KNOWLEDGE that others don’t have food, clothing or any extras. I struggle with this guilt and even when I lay it at HIS feet I’m still searching for some direction.

I wrote about guilt the other day, it was spurred by this email and some comments I’d received. I told Hope that since returning from Africa, I truly struggle with every purchase I make. I’ve joked with my hubby saying “Thank God, I’m not a home decor blogger since I keep un-decorating my home.” I weigh every item-do we really need this? It’s been a painful process and I’m not sure where the balance is. In Radical, David Platt asks a similar question and encourages Christians to put a cap on their living expenses and give the rest away.

Pretty huge idea, huh?

What would you say to Hope?

Kristen
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Rescue the Girl

It started with a handful of college kids.

They knew modern day slavery, commonly known as sex trafficking, was destroying the lives of thousands and thousands of girls who were trapped in the worse kind of Hell.

So. They came up with a crazy idea: They would rescue one girl.

Their Idea:

In March of 2009, four friends simply said “yes” to the inspiration to do something about human trafficking. Rescue The Girl started as an event to raise enough money to at least rescue one girl from the horrors of modern slavery. Within just a few weeks the four friends were on a plane to India to film a documentary about the tragedy and hope of modern slavery. Little did we know what we were getting ourselves into.

This July our team is going back to India to bring hope and healing to girls rescued from the horrors of the brothels. We’re going on the ground, into the thick of it, to tell them that they are worth fighting for as we hand-deliver inspired art, personal messages, and nearly $10,000 in aftercare raised by hundreds of students and ordinary people like you and me. We’re showing them how valuable and loved they really are!

Bottom line: These kids need money. Will you give? Will you help them rescue another girl?

I know the couple behind this ministry. They go to my church. They have been married for less than three months and they are world changers. Yesterday, we talked about the terribly wrong things in the world. Child sex slaves is among the worst.

Will you strive and yearn with them to Rescue the Girl?

Donate here.

Kristen
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Your Weekly Guilt Trip

A few people (respectfully) suggested last week that I’ve been writing about the poor in third world countries to give my readers a guilt trip.

So, I thought it was about time for another one.

[clearing throat]

At first I was a little offended, but then I just felt irritated. You know like that speck of sand in the oyster shell that rubs you the wrong way, but turns into something meaningful? Yeah, that. So, I’m all about the pearl.

I need to talk about what is happening in my heart. If you read my blog pre-Africa, you know that this subject wasn’t even on my radar. Now, that the perfect bubble I lived in has popped, I can’t pretend I don’t know how the rest of the world lives. And more importantly, I can’t keep living the same way.

I can’t please everyone and I stopped being politically correct a long time ago, so don’t expect me to start now.

I’m reading When Helping Hurts: Alleviating Poverty Without Hurting the Poor. . .and Ourselves. I’m chewing on this profound quote that is painfully true. If it makes you feel guilty, you’re not alone.

“North American Christians are simply not doing enough. We are the richest people ever to walk the face of the earth. Period. Yet most of us live as though there is nothing terribly wrong with the world. We attend our kid’s soccer games, pursue our careers and take beach vacations while 40% of the world’s inhabitants struggle just to eat every day. And in our own backyards, the homeless, those residing in ghettos, and a wave of immigrants live in a world outside the economic and social mainstream of North America.”

It’s that last part that really gets me: We do not necessarily need to feel guilty about our wealth. But we do need to get up every morning with a deep sense that something is terribly wrong with the world and yearn and strive to do something about it. There is simply not enough yearning and striving going on.”

In my heart, I know there is something terribly wrong with this world.

What am I doing about it?

I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m trying to fit back into my life and I’m finding that I don’t want to be the same. Sure, I’m still a mom. I still get mad at dirty socks under the bed and I blog weekly about parenting lessons and mishaps.

I just don’t want my life to be characterized by The American Dream, racing and working for more, for me. I don’t want to teach my kids by default that we live for ourselves, adding God in when it’s comfortable, doing for others when it’s convenient.

If a movie was made of my life, of your life and it was summarized by this statement, what would it say?

I’m yearning for _____________ and striving to _____________.

You fill in the blanks.

I’m trying to.

Kristen
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There is No Plan B

I think he is right. And in doing so, I’m trying to figure out what this means for my family.

What do you think?

from the book, Radical by David Platt

Kristen
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[re]Cycle

I had a sale (in my awesome friend’s garage) to rid my life of the first layer.
We gave the money here
and we bought these:

As I stood in front of a Goodwill drop-off donating my unsold stuff that cluttered my home [and heart], it was a surreal moment. I said, “I want to remember this feeling the next time I want to buy something I don’t need.”
I’m creating a new cycle.
***********
I just read Radical by Pastor David Platt. It’s a thought-provoking, turn-your-world-upside down kind of book and well, radical.
Or is it?
He proposes that God doesn’t make us rich (*and if your family income is $10,000 a year, you are wealthier than 84% of the world. If your income is $50,000 or more, you make more than 99% of the world), so you can call yourself blessed and get a bigger house, better car and more stuff, you know live The American Dream. He proposes, based on Scripture, that God gives us more than we need, so we can use it to bless others.
But how many people really do that? How many people take just their daily bread and give the rest away? I personally know one.
Agree?
Disagree?
I’d love to hear your thoughts either way.
*stats from Radical, 2010
Kristen
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Mothering Daughters

I found this beautiful promise and pledge in the book I’m reading with my daughter, Preparing Your Daughter for Every Woman’s Battle.

If you have a daughter, please consider sharing this with her:

The Promise
“You, my dear, are a princess
and a stunningly beautiful creation of the King of the universe;
and He is absolutely, positively head over heels in love with you.
You have been richly adorned with spiritual beauty,
and your role in life is to radiate God’s magnificent glory to others.
Your mission is to live such a pure lifestyle
that your friends can’t help but be influenced by you in a really good way.
As they try to imitate you, they will begin pursuing God
and a lifestyle of sexual purity as well.
Together, you girls are going to have such fun as you celebrate God’s goodness in your lives and grow in His grace.”

based on Psalm 45:11, 13-15


The Pledge
A princess always respects parental authority.
A princess behaves the same in her parents’ absence
as she does in their presence.
A princess pursues friendships only with those both she
and her parents feel good about.
A princess doesn’t abuse her telephone privileges.
A princess surfs only parent-approved Internet Web sites.
A princess wears only clothes that look appropriate on her.
A princess gets her parents’ permission before inviting
n class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">someone into her home or getting into a car with someone.
A princess doesn’t pursue a boyfriend or until her parents determine
that she is ready to do so.

Media teaches her that promiscuity is normal. Friends pressure her to be like everyone else. Magazines create a false sense of body image and companies vie for her attention to be placed on outward beauty. Marketing demands she dress her body like a woman, rather than a girl. The Internet offers deviation and defilement at every turn and her value system isn’t supported in our godless country.

Sometimes it feels like I’m battling against Hell itself to protect my girl.
Maybe because I am.

Fight hard for your daughter’s purity because the enemy is at war for it. Teach her early about her body and sex. Set the bar high, so that everything she hears from her friends and media will be compared to God’s standard of holiness.


Have you talked to your daughter about these things?

Because someone else will.

(a post on Mothering Sons is coming soon….)

Kristen
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Mean People

“Mom!! Come watch this!” my seven year old son called as I walked in the house from running an errand. “It’s the Discovery Channel and they are talking about Kenya!” he exclaimed.
I sat down beside him, captivated as the words Masai Mara flashed on the screen. I nodded “Yes, this is the exact place we went for our debriefing.”
We watched in awe as a pride of ferocious lions singled out a lone buffalo.
They attacked it. An amateur photographer captured the gruesome scene. As the attack ensued, the frightened, injured buffalo bellowed. The sound was unusual; it was a cry for help.
The lions were fierce and knocked the huge buffalo down, a sure sign the end would be near.
But then, there was a cloud of smoke as a large herd of buffalo arrived on the scene. They heard the cry for help, huddled to form a defensive group and charged the pride of lions.
[Pause here: I learned in Africa and just from being so smart, you don't mess with lions. They are king and the most feared predator of all. So, I'm thinking...what the heck are y'all doing? Crazy buffaloes.]
The herd of angry buffalo charged as one. The lions were so intimidated by the sheer mass and power of the group–they scattered and ran!! Immediately, the buffalo herd surrounded the injured one and began to lick his wounds.
But it didn’t move. They continued to smell and nudge, lick and encourage the wounded in a defensive position.
A cheer rose up in my house when the wounded, battered buffalo moved and then STOOD UP. It limped off with the rest of herd. The camera kept rolling and caught the lion pride return, sniff the ground and leave defeated.
It’s too bad that people aren’t more like buffalo (a sentence I never thought I’d write).
We see others struggle, separated from the crowd and weak from their isolation. A mistake, for sure. They are attacked by the fierce predator who seeks their very soul. They cry out for help.
But unlike the buffalo, we don’t always run to their defense, charge the enemy, circle around and defend. Mend the wounds, help the fallen stand again. Restore the fallen. Be Christ.
Often, we’re more like lions. We turn predator when we see the weak. We attack each other, judge harshly, let jealousy reign. We turn on our own. We become mean people.
Sadly, I’ve seen this scenario in the Christian world far more often that I’d like to admit. I’ve seen it in the church, the ministry, in the blog world, even while I was in Kenya with Compassion International.
And people aren’t just mean to the weak and those that have fallen, often times they are mean to people they don’t agree with. I can handle honest, respectful differences in opinion. It’s the ugliness that offends.
Why do we (women especially) attack our own? I’m not saying anything new here. Girls are mean to other girls. I’ve warned my own daughter of this fact. Perhaps it’s because girls watch their mothers?
Even more disheartening are Christians who are mean.
I’m reminded of my devotion yesterday in Luke reading about the Sadducees attacking Jesus for healing a crippled woman on the Sabbath. He’s like “Would you rather her suffer than follow your dumb rules?” When we demand perfection from people, we become legalistic. God uses imperfect people who mess up!
Maybe mean people feel justified. Perhaps they feel like they are sounding an alarm or actually helping. Or perhaps they are like the lions, just going in for the kill?
I don’t know if this post is about the mean people (lions) who attack or the united group that defends the wounded (buffalo).
I just know which group I want to be a part of. How about you?
*photos by Keely Marie Scott from our time in Africa
Kristen
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Why I Don’t Have an Easter Dress This Year

The first Easter I was married, I cried (and threw a bit of a hissy fit) because my husband of three months said we didn’t have enough money for an Easter dress.

So, I called his mother.
I got two dresses that first wedded year.
And so when I randomly say on Twitter:

I am married to the best man I know.

about 13 hours ago via TweetDeck


Now, you know why.

For me, Easter has always held an air of excitement. And it hasn’t always been about Jesus (see above). Our world has pushed Him out of His own Resurrection Day and I’ve followed along. Stores are stuffed with Easter Apparel, chocolate bunnies and pastel junk.
What will my kids wear on Easter Sunday?? What will I wear??
Um, who cares? (Can I say that? Yes, because clearly, I’ve cared too much in the past). I don’t have a problem with a pretty coordinating outfit, but if that is our ONLY preparation for the Holy Day, then we’ve become just like the world.
The world has taken Christ out of Easter and made it an overblown holiday about a bunny and new clothes.
I was watching a video with my 3 year old this week about The Easter Story. When they showed Jesus in the Garden of Gethsamne, praying, alone with his closest friends, snoring in the background, I cried.
But I saw myself in the slumbering disciples. Yawning away the significance of the day, consumed with myself in His moment.
I don’t want to be asleep anymore. When He shows me the poor, I want to be alert. When He moves me with compassion for the lost, I want to jump.
I’m awake and it feels good.
This year, I have no idea what I’m wearing on Easter (and if you do, I’m truly happy for you. My kids are wearing clothes I bought off season last year. I’m just wrestling with myself here and you’re getting to read it) and I’m completely fine with it.
I’m rebelling to the way I’ve lived. I’m opposing my own love of the world and all it’s stuff.
I’m preparing my heart for Him.
[*Y'all know this isn't really about a dress, right? It's just about me caring too much about a dress and a lot of other unimportant things. Africa is helping me see differently, more clearly.]



(disclaimer: there WILL be Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs. . . because I’m not that holy)
How are you preparing for Easter?
Kristen
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Do Hard Things

I grew up watching Little House on the Prairie.

Half Pint was my friend. I cried when Mary went blind and fell in love with Almanzo like the rest of the world.
I didn’t bat an eye watching my TV heroines sleep in a one room cabin, wear their one good “Sunday dress” to every church service, wedding and special occasion. Life was hard on the prairie, days were long, work was consistent, and distractions were few.
I know life isn’t a television show. It’s not divided into 30 minute feel-good segments, all wrapped up with a tidy moral at the end. But there are some wonderful lessons we can all learn, not only from this wholesome show, but from the period in which it was set.
It was a time in our country when children lived under great expectations. There was early childhood and then there was adulthood. Teenagers were often newly married with land and babes of their own, working under tremendous responsibility.
I don’t remember any Little House on the Prairie episodes about “Laura’s challenging tween years” or “How much allowance should Mary get for making her bed?”
Now, I’m personally thankful for modern times and certainly don’t want to go back to the ways of yore (I love the word yore, don’t you?). But in reading Do Hard Things, a book written by two teenage brothers, who have rebelled against the low expectations of today’s culture, it’s pointed out that with money, technology and a shift in work ethic, we’ve made things easy for our kids.
We don’t expect hard things from them.
Instead of expecting greatness, we do something worse, we reward our 10 year old for picking up dirty clothes off the floor and our 7 year old for cleaning his plate. I’m not pointing fingers here, we’ve done it too, but in reading this life-changing book, I realized this has to stop in our home.
My kids don’t need an allowance for being a part of the family. They don’t need a reward for putting away their own laundry (that I usually fold!) They need to be challenged to greatness, pushed away from laziness and mediocrity. Our society expects our kids to do the minimum, filling their minds with low expectations.
We need to expect them to do hard things.
They don’t have to wait until they are out of college to witness of Christ to a friend or turn a certain age to raise money for the poor. They don’t have to expect comfort and ease and be okay with the status quo. They don’t have to be like everyone else.
Doing hard things is, well, it’s hard. It’s gut-wrenchingly hard to share your marriage testimony for the world (and your neighbors) to read. It’s scary-hard to squeeze another $38 out of your budget to rescue a child from poverty. These things are hard, but they are good.
I want my children to know that not only did we expect hard things of them, we did them ourselves.
When I announced I was going to Kenya, I received a comment from a stranger. Another Mom, just trying to make her mark on the world. She and her little girl were touched by a photograph of hungry street children in Kenya gnawing on the leg bone of a cow.
Nanyus boys
They could have just felt bad, even whispered a prayer. But they did more. They have done something hard. They created a company called Mom and Me Baking, a great little cookie bakeshop that profits the hungry in Kenya. In just the first two months of business, this mom and daughter duo fed 150 African people for a week!!
Are you expecting hard things from your children? Aiding them to make a difference and fanning the flame in their young hearts? (If so, PLEASE tell me all about it in the comments!)
In a few days, I’ll be doing something out of my comfort zone (and also have I mentioned, terrifying for me?) I will be asking you to join me as I travel to Kenya.
I will push you out of your comfort zone as you read along, exposing you to uncomfortable pictures and heartbreaking stories from Africa’s largest slum, a place without electricity or running water. A place where a million people survive and put their own sewage in a plastic bag and throw it out the door. A slum that is littered with thousands of plastic bags–
I’m asking you, today, to open your heart……
to get ready to do something hard. For Him.
[This book is written for teens. But we decided not to wait to share it with our 10 and 7 year old. As we read it aloud, we did so with their age in mind and edited out a few parts.]
I’d love to hear about your choice to do something hard in your life….tell me about it in my community and you’ll be entered to win three dozen cookies from Mom and Me Baking!! (this little giveaway is happening in my Blog Frog Community, not on my blog).


Kristen
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I Want to Make a Difference

**UPDATED** $3,200 was given to orphans in 24 hours! Thank you so much.
How much does it take to make a difference?
One dollar.
One hug.
One act by each of us?
Lately, I’ve been so moved by this blog. And by moved, I mean to my knees.
I want to be like Katie.
I want to think less of myself and more about children like these:
This isn’t just any (of the 143,000,000) bedraggled, dirty orphans in our world today. This is my daughter’s best friend, my niece. Our skin is like night and day, but our hearts our intertwined forever.
This is what she looks like after 4 months with parents:

This is what love will do. 
Unbelievable, isn’t it?
It looks like two completely different girls. Come to think of it…my sister looks different too.
So do I.
Someone said to me (after hearing me go on and on about the plight of orphans in the world) “Oh…you’re going to adopt too, aren’t you?”
I answered, “I don’t think so. I think all Christians should feel this way.”
Adopting orphans makes a huge difference, but I know that we all aren’t called to do that. 
[I stumbled onto this site, sponsored by Focus on the Family, I Care About Orphans. It has an enormous amount of info on adoption, including pictures of waiting children in every state. It tore my heart looking at the photos of children without a Mommy and Daddy...so go check it out, but prepare yourself. God may just speak to you. There are 4 African American siblings in my town, waiting. I'm praying for their future parents].
We are all called to do something.
James 1:27 makes it perfectly clear:
“Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”
It’s my job. Something I’ve neglected, until today.
Katie (if you aren’t familiar with this hero, modern day Mother Theresa, girl-turned mother of 14 orphans, living among the natives of Uganda, please get to know her blog) needs our help.
Did you know that for $10, you can buy a chicken that will provide eggs/chicks? For $10 you can buy a blanket to cover the cold body of an orphan child?
During the next 24 hours, for every person reading this blog, who donates $10 to feed/clothe a child, to be the hands of Jesus, to follow His instructions, my family will match every donation.
We aren’t rich. We live in a modest home, support Russians and our local church. But we’ve been abundantly blessed and we can help these children in Uganda.
After praying, our family feels compelled to match whatever money comes in during the next 24 hours from our savings account. 
It’s Christmas. We want to be a part of Christmas Change. Our tree is up, soon to be surrounded by gifts. We have so much. Here is a small opportunity to help orphans.
Can you give $10?
If you participate and donate, please leave a comment, signifying that you have made a contribution here—–

If you can’t contribute right now, would you please pray for orphans today?

DO NOT leave a comment if you can’t help right now…but if you want to talk about adoption or have a story to share, please do so in my community…I would love to read it!!




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Kristen
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Raising My Children to be Christians

We had house guests recently, the kind that stay a few days, overnight even. 
This always makes me nervous. 
I worry about my cooking, if the bathrooms were clean enough…if there’s extra room around the table, you know how it is. It can be stressful for people like me (straightening the fringe of the rug at odd hours of the night-not really-but nearly).
This time (maybe because I was trying to impress?) I caught myself over-correcting my kids. Closely watching for bad attitudes, micro-managing their every move and expecting them to be perfect little Christian children. 
By the end of the weekend, I was exhausted, not from the company or the extra work that goes with it, but from me. I was tired of me.
I was trying too hard to make my kids into what I thought they should be. They couldn’t let their hair down and just act as they normally do.
I want my kids to have Christ-like character traits. I want them to be Christians. But sometimes, I am conforming them to Christianity, rather than letting Christianity transform them.
I’ve seen kids raised in Christian homes, sent to Christian camps, schools, surrounded by “Christian” things, only to go wild and delve into sinful activity when those restraints are lifted.
I’m not against any of these settings. I think they all have their place. But in every child’s life, at some point, there will be testing. And if they’ve only conformed to Christian practices and standards without being transformed by Christ, they will fail.
My greatest desire is for Jesus to be real to my kids. I want them to turn to Him, even before they come to me. I want them to know Him, to fellowship with Him, to touch the scars in His hands and tremble at His holiness.
And this won’t happen because I demand behavior that I deem “Christian.” I honestly think that making them conform to Christianity at every turn is harmful. 
It’s my job to lead them to Him. But then I have to step back and let Him move in their hearts.
I’m raising my kids to be Christians. 
He will turn them into disciples. 
“Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” Proverbs 22:6
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Kristen
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The Lost & The Found

I stood on the crowded concrete walk looking for my oldest two in the throngs of children bursting through the school doors. Spotted, their eyes find mine and ask the same question that comes each day, “Can we stay and play?”
I nod my head, they drop backpacks at my feet, grab their baby sister’s hand and run to the swings. I find a spot to sit and visit with other mothers.
It doesn’t take long for my toddler to find a mud puddle from the rains that soaked the ground the day before. I collect her shoes and tug her resistant hand. It’s time for homework and time to stir dinner in the crock pot.
My oldest helps with the youngest and I search the playing field for my son. I don’t see him. I ask his sisters. They look too, calling and looking.
Searching. Looking. Pacing.

He is not there.
I try to slow the heart that beats faster with that very thought.
I ask around and pick up my pace, trying to remember if his shirt is yellow or orange. The crowd has thinned, but my voice is thick.
I call his name. I search and grab my phone. Others are hunting him too.
And then I look into the future of a life without my son. I pray that thought away….
Suddenly, he stumbles towards me from a forbidden wooded area that surrounds the elementary school. I can tell by his trembling lip and his older sister’s stern face, he knew my heart was in my throat.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he cried. This is my sensitive one. With just a look, he crumbles. I hugged him close, taking in the scent of this one-day man. Tears formed and I blinked them away.
He continued to apologize until we got home. I accept it over and over. “Let’s talk about this. What happened? You know that you aren’t supposed to go into the woods. I thought you were lost.”
Wiping his nose on his sleeve, “I didn’t know I was lost. Some friends asked me to come with them to help collect pine needles. I knew I shouldn’t. I gave into temptation,” he said as he hugged me tight, willing my forgiveness. I hid my smile and my tears in his hair.
“You are forgiven. But you disobeyed.” I doled out a consequence (a small one since he had already punished himself so severely).
Later as I recounted the event, I saw it differently. I was the lost. Searching for something unimportant in a place I shouldn’t be. Trying to do things on my own, pleasing the people around me, giving into temptation.
But He was searching for me. He was calling my name. Even now, when I stumble off the path, neglect the Word, seek fortune, and altogether, fail. He rallies a search party, shines His light into the darkness of my selfishness and draws me near.
He leaves the 99 for the one.
To find me.
Luke 15:4
“Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Does he not leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it?”


Kristen
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The Unwritten Script

I don’t talk a lot about our life in full time ministry, during our first decade of marriage.
Our last staff position was painful, it was filled with confusion and failure.  Our dream job turned into a nightmare. We were isolated across the country from friends and family. 
Anxiety became our companion and fear our partner.
It’s been several years since we made the decision to quit that job, sell our home and move close to family.
It was our greatest leap of faith.
 
We lived without a job in a borrowed home for six months. 
It was a scary time, but is now one my most treasured seasons.
During those months, we struggled with our identity, but we healed. It was a slow process, but we realized God had not forgotten us.
I like to think I’m over it. 
Over the unanswered questions, the why’s, the abuse.
And then when I least expect it, there it is.
During Family Camp, the camp speaker talked about when God doesn’t make sense. He shared his own painful journey and spoke to the unanswered and often unspoken questions that we all have. 
He spoke of the unwritten script our lives.
And the pain resurfaced.
Life is about free choice. We all have the power of choice. And we love this! I love the freedom to decide for myself. I would never give it away. 
But when I think of my children having free choice, to decide whatever they want, I’m not quite as confident in this great freedom. Because I like control. I like freedom for me, but not for everyone else.
I can’t control what others choose. I can’t stop the poor choices my kid’s might make, or worse, of an evil person. 
I can’t have my free choice, but not allow it for others.
That’s why our life is unscripted. God knows what we will choose, but He lets us choose.
And sometimes those choices, ours or others, aren’t the best.
God allows pain into our lives because He is more concerned with our character than with our comfort or convenience. He can take man’s poor choices and rewrite the script of our lives.
It is God’s mystery. 
And we have a choice: we can kick and scream our way through a difficult situation or we can say God is in this.
Because He is good.
We can see Him in the midst of our pain.
In the script of our lives.
What is your life saying today?

Kristen
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Chasing What Matters

It’s easy to be like everyone else.
I find the world I live in is constantly striving for more, More, MORE.
There is never enough. My house could be bigger. My car could be newer. My bank account could be fuller. My life could be better.
My blog could be bigger. I could have more readers, more offers, more, More, MORE.
I want more than what I have.
It’s hard to be like no one else.
I want to chase what matters (The theme of our Family Camp).
It is enough.  
This goes against the very core of modern society. To stop and evaluate, to acknowledge, “I have enough. I don’t need more.”
When I focus on the blessings in my life, I can see what I need to chase more clearly.
What matters to me:
my soul. my hubby. my marriage. my kids. my family. my friends. my attitude. my effort. my effect on others. my home’s atmosphere. my…..
What matters to you?
Food for the Soul:
Matthew 6:19-21


Kristen
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I Know How You Feel

I said no.


And I watched her storm up the stairs and heard the slamming door.

Sigh.

Some days, nine is hard.

Some days, thirty-six is hard.

My daughter and I were both frustrated. With each other. With ourselves.

Before bed, she slipped a note, half scrawled in cursive, half in print, under my door. 

Half a little girl. Half a preteen.

“Dear Mom, I’m sorry I said ugly things. Every time I do that it’s because I get mad really easily and get all steamed up and angry and say stuff I don’t mean to say. I don’t know why I get worked up like that, but I’ll try harder. Every time I get worked up like that, please remind me to try harder to not say ugly things. Please pray for me and forgive me. Also I want to stop getting worked up like that, but it’s hard for me not to. I don’t know why I do it. But I need your help not to get mad or worked up. I love you and I know you love me.”


I read her letter a dozen times. It reminded me so much of another letter. 

A familiar one about a raging inner battle to control a quick temper, a bad mood, an imperfection, a battle against me.

“I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it. When I want to do good, evil is right there with me….Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God—through Jesus Christ our Lord!” Romans 7

I hugged my girl tight and told her she wasn’t alone.

“I know just how you feel.” 


Kristen
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