Category Archives: devotional

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Like breathing or eating or peeing.

I have to write.

Dishes are piled up in the sink, a child is doing cartwheels off the couch, the puppy is chewing a lovely pair of shoes…

And here I sit, typing away on the computer with a smile on my face looking, as my husband says, just like Stevie Wonder. Only white.

I mean seriously. Life is delightfully full. My time is wrapped up in relationship. I have a wonderful, stud muffin man who melts me with his kisses, four adopted littles (12, 8, 5, 3) who do cartwheels off stuff, four bigs (31, 28, 26, 25) who are launching cool life adventures and a sweet mama who offers wisdom and support in the chaos. Add a cute little puppy who snuggles and wags and chews. And well, you get the picture.

So when am I going to write?

I know I don’t have time, but writing feeds me. I have to do it: like breathing, eating, peeing. It’s something I was born to do. And somehow writing to you about things happening to me – helps me see God better, feel him more, notice him more. And I so desperately want that. I don’t want to miss a single God kiss. I need him. Not only that, I need to share him with you. Share this with you. That’s what we are wired to do. Share life. Share Jesus. Share joy. Share laughter.

Oh, and I’m not the only one meant to do this. You have to do what you were made to do too. Because I feel him when you do. When you sing, dance, write, speak, paint, comfort, parent, teach. Do it, friends. You make him real to me, to us all. Please!

So there you have it. I’m all passionate and full. I’m ready to roll and this is my final blogging home.

I will import all the content from GodHasDimples and WhenHopeComesHome and will do the rest of my writing here. I promise.

Will you join me? Go do something you were meant to do and feel God’s pride and joy! Don’t worry too much if you don’t know exactly what it is. Try lots of things and see what gets you up in the morning with a smile on your face – making you look a whole lot like Stevie Wonder.

And then do it.

Can’t wait to see it!

Smiling big,

Elsa

Oh, and if you would like to receive these in your e-mail, you can click here and sign up to subscribe. 🙂 And then please let me know what you’re up to, so I can cheer you on too!

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COUSIN!!!

She called her “Cousin.”

Not by her name, “Hannah,” but by her relationship. Like she calls us Mama and Papa and Oma, Hannah was Cousin.

And she said it a lot.

“Cousin!”

“Cousinnnnn!”

“COUSIN!”

Savannah adored the time with Hannah, her 14 year-old cousin visiting from South Carolina. They swam, they jumped on the trampoline, they played chase around the kitchen.

Savannah called to her cousin with such love, such longing – and she does the same thing with other people in her life.

Our new neighbor is “Neighbor.”

“Hi Neighbor! Do you want to come over and play?”

Her gymnastics teacher is “Coach.”

“I can do it by myself, Coach!”

The terms coming out of a three-year-old are endearing. Adorable. Cute.

Although even all grown up I love it when Brian introduces me as “My bride” or calls me “My love.”

It made me wonder – what if I did the same thing? Addressed people solely based on their relationship to me?

Friend, professional hair fixer, acquaintance, pain in my tushie…

God does it. Not the pain in the tushie part, but calls us by our role in his eyes.

Beloved

Son

Daughter

Bride

Treasure

Apple of my eye

Family

So that’s my random thought for the day, friends. You are his beloved, his treasure. Defined by love. He’s calling you.

Beloved! 

My son!

My daughter!

Rest in your name on his lips, your meaning to his heart.

You are his.

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Give up, little mouse! It’s hopeless! Or is it?

The little guy wouldn’t give up. Brian, Hannah (my niece) and I watched as the tiny mouse reached from underneath the fireplace to grab one of Savannah’s balls. He pulled, he yanked and it just wouldn’t fit.

I filmed him. Added some goofy commentary. We laughed harder (see the 20 second video Here).

That little mouse tried to pull that ball through for a good 30 minutes, convinced that either the size of the ball or the solidity of the fireplace would eventually give.

It didn’t.

I kept laughing, Brian laughed, Hannah laughed. And eventually we went to bed, promising to buy a mouse trap in the morning.

This morning I woke up and the ball was gone. Gone. That little mouse figured it out. I have no idea how, no idea when, but while we were laughing at his foolishness, he was figuring it out. Darn if that little fighter didn’t make it happen.

I underestimated that critter.

And he taught me something.

Never give up.

You just might find a way.

No matter what big humans might be laughing at your efforts.

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Savannah, Justin Bieber and a Dark Night

I’m 45 years old and I downloaded a Justin Bieber song.

It’s true.

Sure it was a while ago, but the lyrics came to mind this week.

As long as you love me, we could be starving, we could be homeless, we could be broke.

Now that’s sweet.

This last weekend Brian and I went camping up in the mountains. I carried Savannah on my back in a cool little pack and Brian carried all the rest of our gear – tent, sleeping bags, diapers, food and a million other “just in case” essentials.

And yet I was the one to get all the compliments from the other hikers.

“Wow, way to go.”

“Good job, Mom.”

Brian carried twice the weight and received half the glory.

I married a good man.

mtn1

So we got to the campsite, six miles up a long and winding trail. By the time we arrived, I was drenched from head to toe in sweat and my shoulders were aching. I was thrilled to see the cabin where we could check in and Savannah was thrilled to see all the other hikers. She doesn’t know a lot of words yet, but it doesn’t seem to matter. She’ll hold a conversation with just about anyone as long as they nod at her animated noises.

We finally headed off to our site, set up our tent and nestled into our jammies. I wondered at Savannah. This was her first time out in the wild. Her first time camping. Her first time hiking.

Would she hold up?

I wasn’t sure what a dark night and the cold mountain air might bring. I could picture us trying to rock her as she wailed at the injustice of it all. Where is my crib? What have you done? Why is there a bear nibbling on my ear?

Waaaahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!

We laid out our sleeping bags and snuggled her in between us. She pulled her blankie up to her nose and looked around.

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Her eyelids did the sleepy shuffle and Brian and I exchanged smiling glances above her head. This just might work!

The sky darkened and Brian and I whispered a sweet conversation until our own bodies settled in.

At home Savannah usually wakes at 4 a.m. I’ll sneak in, give her a pacifier and off she’ll go to dreamland again. On this trip she woke up several more times than usual. Maybe it was the dark, the noise of the fellow campers, the colder night air.

I thought she might get undone, but instead, she woke up and reached out her hand. She touched my chest, “Mama.” She reached over to Brian, “Papa.”

And went back to sleep.

Four or five times through the night, “Mama,” “Papa.” Back to sleep.

She didn’t care if it was cold. Dark. Different. As long as we were there, she was fine.

I had a tougher week this week. My heart was hurt. I was tempted to pout, wail, ball up my fists. But then I remembered Savannah and her nighttime touches, and instead I imagined myself curling into my God’s arms, tapping his chest, “Papa.”

He’s there. I’m safe. And as long as he loves me, I can face anything.

Enter Justin Bieber: As long as you love me, we could be homeless, we could be starving, we could be broke.

Of course the week didn’t bring anything near as dramatic as all that, but the song came to mind. And yes, that’s why I downloaded a Justin Bieber song at 45 years old. It makes me think of my God and it reminds me of what’s important, no matter what this life brings.

He loves me. And I desperately need that.

But don’t expect me to dance. Or flip my hair as I gyrate my hips.

I have my limits.

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I choose you!

It happened every time I walked across the play yard to the baby room. And it started as soon as I was in view.

“Laurentz!” They yelled.

“Lllllaaaauuuurrreeennnntttzzz!”

photo1I walked up to the tiny fence where four beautiful dark toddlers looked up at me as their chorus of voices rang out.

“Ou Mama Laurentz?” They asked.

“Oui.” I said.

“Ou Mama Laurentz?” They asked, again and again.

“Oui, mwen Mama Laurentz.” I said as I touched their faces or rubbed their hair.

I looked over them to see Laurentz on his nanny’s lap. His bright eyes were waiting for mine and when our gaze met, his face lit up. He pointed in my direction. “Hurry!” he seemed to say as she finished getting him ready.

IMG_4296IMG_4300I looked down again at the babies waiting there. One or two had their arms outstretched. It was tough not to scoop up every single one. To be Mama Nathaniel and Mama Caleb and Mama Toto.

It wasn’t that they understood that I am actually Laurentz’s adoptive Mom, it’s just that they know I came for him. I chose him. Just like visiting missionaries who get attached to a certain child get dubbed Mama Lito or Papa Guivenson, I was Mama Laurentz.

IMG_4301I glanced again at Laurentz. He wriggled free from his nanny and came charging across the baby room with his too large shoes flapping on the concrete. He held up his arms to me and I scooped him up and hugged him close.

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Oh, how I love that boy!

“Ou Mama Laurentz?” The other babies kept asking, even as I walked away with my son.

Oui, I thought to myself, mwen Mama Laurentz. But oh, how I wished I could be Mama to all. I wished I could choose each one. I wished I could bring the kind of wide smile that brightens Laurentz’s face to each one of those beautiful babies.

I still wish I could say to each one: I choose you.

Those babies long for love. And when someone reaches out and says “I choose you,” it changes their entire countenance. When they know… No matter their saggy diaper, their runny nose, their too-big shoes… I choose you. Something significant shifts inside of them.

I remember that feeling myself. On my knees, in a chapel, not long after my divorce. Feeling horrible for the things I’d done and not done. Dressed spiritually in a saggy diaper, my hands dirty and my eyes to the ground. Figuring of all the people God would choose, it wouldn’t be me.

And up walked my God. I choose you. I still choose you.

Really?

And what I understand even more today is that it’s mutual. My response mattered to God. Just like when I walked to that baby room with such joy, looking for Laurentz – his joy at my arrival quadrupled my own. His smile, his delight, his wriggling to get into my arms – I loved it!

I don’t know how God does it, but He does. He chooses each one of us. He chooses you. And you. And you. In His world, no one is left behind. No one is left standing at the gate with their arms outstretched, tears on their faces.

And if my heart exploded with joy when Laurentz ran to me with a smile, how much more does our God delight when we run to him, when we receive his love and let the joy ooze out of every pore.

He chooses you. And you. And you.

And you.

Now run to him…. Let your shoes flap on the concrete as you raise up your arms and smile wide.

Because, my friend, he’s come for you.

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Rats, spiders and love that won’t quit

The rat visited at 5:37 p.m. every night. While I was in Haiti, we clocked him by the minute. We’d enjoy dinner on the outside veranda and at 5:37, Ratatouille (as we affectionately nicknamed him), would run along the roof of the veranda and dash off to parts unknown. We made up a whole life for him. Father. Husband of Mrs. Ratatouille. Factory worker or garbage sifter, possible chef or tiny rat accountant.

Ratatouille was just part of the fun in Haiti.

One of the biggest joys of my time came as I met Jesus there. I met him in the director of the orphanage who has a heart for the starving children, I met him in the staff who love and serve from a deep place of compassion.  And I met him in Heather, an adoptive mom whose sacrificial love touched a deep place in me.

You’d like Heather too – fun, spunky and kind, her story is perfect to share as we come up on Christmas day.

Heather is a petite gem from the Chicago suburbs. She moved to Haiti in order to bond with their son, Izaiah. She initially planned to be there for just a few months – until the adoption was finalized. She and her husband, Matt, knew the separation would be worth it for what it would give their son.

heatherandIzaiah

Heather and Izaiah

Three months turned into six months. Six months turned into twelve. Heather is at nineteen months and counting now. Living in Haiti amidst the chaos to love, nurture and ultimately rescue their little boy.

Heather hates spiders, but has faced down multiple tarantulas with a grimace and a sturdy shoe.

She loves order, but has dealt with chaotic traffic, distant gunshots, cold showers and spotty electricity.

She loves her family, friends and her husband, but has spent many holidays and Sunday meals away from the comfort of their care and the warmth of their love.

Even today, as we all celebrate with family and friends in preparation for Christmas, she and her husband are in Haiti, tending to the needs of a little boy who knows them only as “Mom” and “Dad.”

Heather reminds me of Jesus. He left a world of comfort and peace. He left a place of love and order to come here. To enter a dusty, stinky manger. Heather didn’t have to give up her world of electricity, warm water and family fun to be with Izaiah. Nor did Jesus have to give up his world of divine hope, fellowship and comfort.

But that’s what love does.

Love enters our world. Love lives our pain. Love holds on despite the sacrifice. Love never gives up.

In a broken world where tragedy strikes on a regular basis, I’m profoundly grateful for the powerful examples of love God has planted in my path. And when I think of this young mom giving up every comfort to love her baby boy –  in order to one day bring him home to the place she has prepared… it’s enough to melt my heart.

Because that’s how Jesus loves us – He gave up everything to enter this dark place – so we could find our way to the home He has lovingly prepared for each one of us.

Happy Birthday, Jesus. Thank you for people like Heather, bright lights in our lives. And thank you for your sacrifice – not only to die and rise again, but to come and live in our mess in the first place.

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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