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Love is a risk

I don’t want to love them too much.

I don’t want to hold on too tight.

I mean, it was amazing when I was in Haiti – when two little boys with big smiles fell into my lap, when one fell asleep on my shoulder and I didn’t dare move so I could enjoy the sleepy weight of him, when I coaxed out deep belly laughter that rang like music in my ears. In those moments, my heart expanded with love so deep and rich and big, that I could hardly contain it.

But then I got home and they’re far away.

And we got word that the mom of one of our boys didn’t sign the paperwork that needs to be signed, and we can’t take a single step forward until she does.

So a voice in my head says, Guard your heart! Hold on Loosely! Don’t love so much because this will hurt way too much if it doesn’t go through.

Love is a risk.

But here’s the truth: Love is always a risk.

It’s a risk to love my husband. We never know what tomorrow will bring. A dear friend recently lost her husband in a matter of months. Her heart is utterly broken, her family devastated.

It’s a risk to love our friends. Life is transient and unfair and harsh sometimes. Friends move or fall away.

It’s a risk to love, period.

So the more I try to figure out how to guard my heart and still fight for our boys… I realize it can’t be done. It just wont work to hold on loosely when our boys need us to pray, hold tight, love deep.

When Brian and I were in Haiti, I snapped this picture of Brian with Laurentz.

Brian and Laurentz
A father’s love

The hand of a protective father holding his baby boy, Brian’s strong hand is planted right over his heart.

I look at that picture and my heart melts.

I realize that’s how we will love our boys, in spite of the risk. I realize that’s how we can allow the expanding of our hearts as we hold them, pray for them, fight for them.

Ultimately, even if our hearts break, the one who fixes broken hearts is right there with us, his strong hand upon us. He is big and kind and good. And He risks more than any of us. He loves each and every one of us deeply and passionately. He longs for us to be his children. And yet so many of us never realize it, or we say no, turn aside or walk away. I can’t imagine how his heart breaks!

If we can trust our hearts into anyone’s hands, it’s his.

And so we pray:

Please, Lord, if you would be so kind—bring our boys home. Hold that mother close and help her to know how much we will love her son. Pave the way through government red tape and financial need. Expand our hearts and our world. Fill us with battle-fighting, prayer-warrior, mom and dad kind of love. And then open every door to bring these boys home, that this risk will have it’s precious reward: a family united.

And if by some painful twist of events, things don’t turn out as we expect, hold us close, wipe our tears and teach us to cling to you.

Teach us to risk as you risked for us,

Elsa and Brian

Family
Family
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Real life stuff.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Brian so sick.

High fever, shaking, barely able to stand. I’d already taken him to Urgent Care and they’d sent him home with some strong antibiotics to battle a bad infection that came on overnight. Only a few hours later, his temp kept rising. We knew the antibiotics hadn’t had time to work, but we were concerned about the high fever. And infection of that nature with only one kidney – it wasn’t good.

When the thermometer topped 104, I called the doc and they urged us to go to the ER.

The ER docs weren’t nearly as worried as I was. They said it was good we came in, but they simply gave him a strong med to bring his fever down and sent us home – with the condition that we come back if he got worse.

We kept a close eye on him, and he seemed to slowly improve.

That’s when the financial reality hit.

Brian switched jobs recently and his health insurance had yet to kick in. Nine days. Only nine days until his insurance would begin.

We’ve never been without insurance and in the time I’ve known him, Brian has never had to go to the ER.

The one time he had to go for medical help, we were without insurance. And of course, I took him to Urgent Care first. Two doozy bills in one 24-hour period.

And we’re in the midst of all our adoption travel and agency expenses.

I nearly went into a full-blown pity party. Really? This so stinks! Talk about bad timing… grumble, grumble, grumble, gripe, gripe, gripe, extra long sigh and a good old-fashioned whine.

A few hours later, I received a call from the director of the orphanage where our boys are living in Haiti. Miriam was broken down on the side of the road and they were waiting for help to arrive. She thought she’d check in. I listened as she told of the children they had just rescued. Thirteen of the worst were in the truck with her, along with some of the parents. Kids dying of malnutrition, others burning up with fever because of infection. She was just praying that they’d get the tire fixed quickly since it had already been a 13-hour trip across treacherous mountain roads. These kids needed help.

A few days later, two of the boys, Wisnor and Naisson – an 8-year-old and a 3-year-old, died of the lingering effects of malnutrition.

Wisnor and Naisson. There’s this deep ache in my heart that they be known. It was all so real. I’d talked to Miriam when these boys were in the truck. I heard the stories as they unfolded. Both sets of parents LOVED their boys. Wisnor’s mom had to leave to go back to the village and care for her other children. She planned to come back and check on her boy soon. The night after she left, Wisnor passed away.

How to even get word to her?

I have two hospitals within a five minute drive.

I have plenty of food. Most days too much.

Yes, Brian was sick and it was scary. But even without insurance, he received medical attention and was quickly on the mend.

I know a lot of us are worried about the election. We wonder what will become of our nation if this one or that one gets elected.

For me, this was a stark, vivid, powerful reminder that as much as I worry for our nation, I am blessed to live here, blessed to have medical care and food and a place to lay my head.

So as election results come out tomorrow – as various groups go into panic mode and threaten to move to Canada, I’m going to do my best to remember Miriam, Wisnor and Naisson and remain grateful for all that we do have at our fingertips—no matter who is in the White House.

Will you join me?

Oh, and friends, if you would like to help Miriam and New Life, you can go to their website and donate there. With the recent hurricane, the need has certainly grown.  Your funds will definitely go to good use. Click here to find out more.

 

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Sniff a Longing

I love to sniff a new book.

Some people like the smell of new car, I like the smell of new book. And every time I walk into a bookstore, the smell overwhelms me. I wander down the aisles sniffing away, drawing stares from nearby patrons. But I never care. Because with the smell, comes the longing – to write and write and write. I start dreaming of telling stories, the kind that stir up emotion – joy, sorrow, hope…

The longing runs deep and it surges every time I walk into a bookstore.

Well, I had a bookstore longing tonight.

Not to write (although that remains)… but to wipe noses, cheer on sports, read bedtime stories and throw water balloons.

The longing surged when I walked my puppy after dinner. We went down to the park and made a loop around the large field. Kids were everywhere – playing football, chasing the soccer ball, hanging off the swing set. Some toddled, some ran and others rolled down the grassy hill all willy nilly like.

Note the gentle sloping grassy knoll to the right – PERFECT for a good body roll…

Sure, I can do that stuff by myself. And to my husband’s chagrin I have. But I long to roll down the hill with little ones. I want to hang off the swing set and kick around a soccer ball with two boys who will say, “Again, Mom, again!”

I want to parent again. I want to love and chase and cheer and make up goofy stories just to make my kids laugh.

It was that old bookstore longing, only towards a new adventure—a new purpose and hope that stirred in my belly.

And it made me think of all of you. It made me wonder – what is your bookstore longing? Where do you go or what do you do that brings up that feeling? The feeling of longing and joy and hope and purpose? The yearning that stirs excitement in your heart for your future?

As I pursue my longing through the adoption of our Haitian boys, I’d love to hear about your dreams and the steps you’re taking to pursue them. Will you please share them with me? I really would love to hear… Just click and share them in the comment section.

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When it hurts

Sometimes things fall apart.

A desire remains unfulfilled.

A dream is dashed.

A hope is deferred.

Death crashes into life with unwelcome abandon.

It’s tempting in those moments to wonder about God’s goodness.

Does He see us?

Does He hear our cries?

Does He know the desires of our hearts?

Does He notice our pain?

I remember talking to my brother not long after the loss of his 17-year-old son, Caleb. He looked at me and said, “Elsa, there is no anesthetic for this pain. It rips my heart out.” And yet a little later he said, “But in all of this, I don’t doubt God’s love for me. He loves me. He already proved that on the cross.”

Jesus gave it all so that we could have life.

He paid a huge price for us.

He gave us a way to God.

To life.

To hope.

To love.

To purpose.

He already proved his love.

So every disappointment we experience, every heartache we encounter, every dream that turns out differently than we expected… instead of running from him, we can run to him.

With our tears, with our pain, with our anger or frustration or fear.

For comfort.

For strength.

For refuge.

For hope.

Because He already proved it.

He loves us.

No matter what.

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Hug a Wrinkle!

Everyone tries to get rid of them. Cover them up. Smooth them away. Botox the bejeebers out of them.

I’ve been hanging out with my mom here in Florida. Every sign at the mall talks of the next best treatment to take care of those pesky lines, grey hair, spotted cheeks and aching muscles.

Aging is the big fat enemy—fight it with the big guns, they say.

This month I have five nieces and nephews who graduate high school. They’re full of passion and excitement – they can’t wait to see what the future holds. Big dreams. Great relationships. Best-selling novels. Cozy houses. Beautiful babies.

At the same time, as I look around at the aging gems here in Florida, I realize they were once high school graduates with the whole world before them. Some of them conquered their dreams and did more than they imagined. Some felt they were thwarted at every turn and nothing turned out well.

And they all have wrinkles.

Some have pain.

Some can’t remember the last time they laughed.

Some laugh so hard that their wrinkles twinkle.

But many feel forgotten. You can see it in their eyes, their demeanor, their shuffling gate and downcast eyes.

We honor the young and can’t wait to hear of their dreams.

Then we forget to ask the old if those dreams came true.

So today, this very day, I’m instituting Hug a Wrinkle day.

Pass it on.

Say hi to someone older. Find out their story. Hug their necks and remind them that they (and their dreams) still matter.

And if you hear any great conquer-the-world, dream-come-true stories, share them here.

And if you find out a heart is broken, hug a neck and kiss a wrinkled cheek.

It just might make all the difference.

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Six things you do that crater out God’s dimples…

When you first say yes to faith, yes to Jesus and believing in him. (He hits the “replay” and “share” button on that one.)

He sets something on your heart and you choose to listen instead of chalking it up to heartburn.

You fight a temptation in his strength—and win.

You sing loud and off-key (or on key if you’re gifted in such things), smile and worship.

Your heart hurts and you run to him instead of chocolate, alcohol or any other quick fix.

You first open your eyes to face the day and your hair is wild and your breath stinks and your face is all puffy… and you haven’t done a single thing but wake up.

He loves you then.

He loves you now.

He loves you always.

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This Christian, atheist and ex-military guy walk into a…

We’re like the start of a bad joke: An atheist, a Jesus-lover, an artist, a teacher and an ex-military guy walk into a bar…

Only it’s no bar. We met at the dog park and (most) every Monday night we walk into a coffee shop or someone’s home to talk writing.

They’re my writer’s group—and they rock.

It’s our dogs that actually brought us together. Mattie brought her owner, Jayson, to the dog park. Max and Simba Roo brought me.

Max and Mattie

Max and Mattie are sweet on each other, so while they whispered sweet nothings into each other’s ears , Jayson and I found out that we’re both writers.

Tiva hangs out at the park too, and she introduced me to her owner, Thom.

Jayson, Thom and I started chatting and they invited me to their writer’s group. We’re a diverse band of artists. Thom is a gifted cartoonist and sculptor. He’s a great writer as well, and has written a book on being the best atheist you can be. I write books on loving Jesus and then speak at women’s retreats. Jayson does Civil War fiction, Cheri writes children’s books and Pam does a little of everything, including painting and sculpting.

You’d think Thom and I would go at it at our Monday night meetings—I’d thump my Bible and he’d debunk my beliefs and the others would vote for the most eloquent argument. A good old-fashioned rivalry: like the Yankees and the Red Sox, apples and oranges, vegetarians and cattle ranchers… you get the idea.

But it’s not like that. We genuinely like each other. And while I occasionally say things that make his eyebrows go skyway, he smiles when he sees me at the dog park and still welcomes me into the writer’s group.

The others are just as engaging. We don’t share a lot in common beyond a love of the arts and a tenderness for our pups, but that’s enough. It’s enough to make us laugh together, cheer for each other and share life.

Now I’m not saying that I wouldn’t love for Thom to believe in Jesus. After all, I love Jesus and care about Thom – I’d be crazy not to want that. But I don’t hang out with Thom for that sole purpose. I hang out with Thom, Jayson, Pam and Cheri because they are lovely people with unique talents and I genuinely enjoy their company. They make me a better writer, a better artist and a better person.

And bad joke or not, that’s good enough for me.

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Even if you have to switch it up – live your dream!

I’m pigeon-toed.

I looked it up on Google and asked the question: “Do pigeons actually walk with their toes turned in?”

You would think that question would garner a lot of hits. Oddly enough, it didn’t.

What I did discover is that I was supposed to grow out of them when I was a kid. Why I didn’t is a mystery. Maybe God is partial to my birdie toes.

So why is this blog worthy, you may ask?

Well, my pigeon toes have caused my pigeon knees to have major issues. Things that shouldn’t be grinding together are making music as I walk. Tendons that are supposed to be supporting things are rebelling against their God-given duties.

So in my youthful adolescence, I’ve been diagnosed with arthritic knees, and I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that I am not allowed to run long distances.

“But I have a triathlon…”

“No.”

“But I made a big deal of my goal…”

“No.”

“But my pride…

“No.”

“And what about the cool t-shirt?”

“No.”

Well, poo.

So I’m here to tell you that my triathlon goals have been dashed because my toes like to smooch as I walk.

But don’t worry. For those of you who were going to bring pom-poms to the big race, there’s still hope.

I am not giving up. I’m losing weight and I found other races I can participate in. I can do a swim-bike-swim race or a bike-swim-bike race. In fact I just joined the Endomondo National Bike Challenge. Brian and I are called Team Hope (So if you want to join our team or create your own, come on! It’s a nationwide challenge to ride your bike tons and tons from May 1st to the end of August. Click here to check it out).

Bottom line, sometimes our dreams don’t turn out as we hoped, but that doesn’t mean we need to give up. With a little adjustment here and there, we can still hit the ground running. Or walking. Or cycling.  Or crawling.

Whatever works.

How are your dreams coming? Share them in the comment section and let’s cheer each other on!

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Heroine unaware

I don’t know if she realized how beautiful she was. She sat on the stage, hands trembling slightly, eyes down cast. She took a deep breath, looked up and scanned our faces. I wondered what she might be searching for—judgment? Compassion? Someone… anyone… who might get it?

“I was 15-years-old when I got pregnant,” she began. She shared how she’d come from a Christian home, how she never expected that this would happen to her.

She went on to share how difficult it was to tell her parents.

This young woman knew she couldn’t care for her baby, so she began taking steps toward adoption. She sought out a family, she invited them into her pregnancy and then on the day her daughter was born, she set her into the arms of loving, adoptive parents.

She told her story with tears in her eyes. It was no easy choice to give up someone she loved so much. Even now, four years later, tears slipped down her cheeks as she thought of that painful moment of placing her daughter into the arms of another mom.

This lovely young woman still gets to see her daughter through the open adoption. Her smile broadened as she talked of how well her girl is doing, what a joy it is to see her thriving… and how much she loves her still.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the whole place.

I found this young woman achingly beautiful. I wanted to scoop her up in my arms and hold her tight and thank her for all that she did. Such an incredible sacrifice, such profound love to give life to a young couple that would experience it no other way.

Sometimes heroines come in small packages, small packages with humongous hearts.

I stand in tearful awe.

Beautiful.

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God told you what? That’s just weird.

It always weirds me out a little when people tell me that God spoke to them. Especially when they’re very specific. “God told me to bring cookie dough ice cream to 125 Main Street. I did it and it turns out they were praying – at that moment – for someone to bring them cookie dough ice cream!”

Whoa, I think. Really? If I’m honest, a little warning light goes off in my head. This one’s a wee bit strange, I think. Keep a safe distance.

See, God isn’t usually that specific with me. I get feelings, ideas, thoughts… but I always have to sift through them – is this God, my own brain or the pizza I ate last night?

But just recently he’s been very specific with Brian and me.

And it’s tough not to think, Is that really you God?

At the same time, I’ve been reading about Gideon. He was my kind of hero. He was just a puny little guy when God first shows up to talk to him. God calls him a mighty warrior who will save Israel, to which Gideon replies, “Pardon me, my Lord, but….”

Translation to Elsa language: Sorry? Did you just call me a Flighty Courier? Because I know you didn’t say Mighty Warrior.

God goes on to reassure him, “Am I not sending you?”

“Pardon me, my Lord…” he says again. Translation: I don’t think I heard you right. I weigh 100 pounds soaking wet. They are big people with big muscles, big weapons and big attitudes. I can’t be your guy.

God convinces him. Later on in the story Gideon has a whole slew of men ready to go to battle. But God wants to shift the odds. After thinning out the crowd by sending home guys who were afraid (22,000 of them took off—oh crud), he has Gideon bring the last of the men to the water – “Separate those who lap the water with their tongues as a dog laps…”

Gideon does it. He keeps the guys who lap and sends off the ones who get down on their knees to drink halfway civilized.

He’s left with 300 men.

Later that night, he had to be looking around at these guys.  I bet that’s when the fears crept in. Did I really hear God? Did he say to keep the ones who lapped or were they the ones I should have sent home? Look at that guy over there. He’s scrawnier than me! And he’s still got water dripping off his beard and that goofy grin on his face. Oh man, what was I thinking?

I had to have misunderstood.

Now, it doesn’t really say that’s what Gideon thought, but it does say that God showed up during the night to confirm what he’d told him earlier. So I figure Gideon had one of those middle-of-the-night freak out moments, and God understood and met him in his fear.

Then God comes through. He pulls it off. Gideon takes down the Midianites and God gets all the glory—because there’s no way it could have happened by Gideon’s strength and his goofy lapping little army.

So maybe God is telling you something. And it feels a little crazy to trust it, to have faith that he’s really going to do what he says he going to do. And you’re looking at the situation and thinking, “Pardon me, Lord… but really?”

And maybe you’ve asked him all kinds of questions, and he’s confirmed it again. And he’s talked to you through others, and confirmed it again. And he’s been gracious with your doubts… and confirmed it again.

Well, then, I think it’s time to own it and trust it and walk in it, my friend.

Because he’s still speaking.

If we’re willing to listen.