Smug and Humbled

At times, I tell my eldest that God can use anything or anyone, at any time, for any reason, to get any part of His truth across to us.  That’s one thing I love about Him—the fact that He can use even somebody like me, with NO perfection, to do HIS perfection.

He often uses things like entertainment to whisper to my heart, and last night’s movie was no exception.  Our hearts had been touched by The Nativity Story before; the portrayal of history and of what could have been part of Mary & Joseph’s story is thought provoking for me and Scott.  Both of us grew up hearing the story and completely taking it for granted, missing so much.

If I could give 2014 a theme for the major lesson I’ve been learning, it would be God’s Wisdom.  He doesn’t miss a thing when He orchestrates our world; not one life; not one detail.  His orchestra is all so……perfect!  God does not flaunt His wisdom, though He has every right to; instead He chooses just the right moments that give us a peek into this part of His nature.  We simply have to choose to believe what we see in those peeks, but it’s not always that easy, is it?

In two acts of sweet mercy and grace, God chose to speak directly to Mary and then Joseph as He sent them on the most incredible journey two humans will ever make.  Can you imagine hosting the King of Glory in your humble home during His growing up years?  Could they have imagined what was to come?  As far as we know, all that was told to Mary is that Jesus would reign on David’s throne forever, and all that was told Joseph was that this Jesus would “save His people from their sins.”

Ella happens to be studying the Roman Empire in Story of the World for school.  She had a test on the subject today, in fact. The depravity and cruelty of many rulers at that time is shocking.  With that fresh in my mind and the visuals during the movie last night, I understood just a little better why the Jews were looking for their Messiah to set the world right and save them……from their troubles, not their sins.

The whisper to my heart last night was “It’s easy to sit on the smug throne of 20/20 hindsight and wonder why the Jews did not see what was right in front of their faces. How many times have you done the very same thing?”  My heart was humbled:  “Too many times.”  I thought of various difficult blessings throughout the years—losses of those I loved, infertility, burying children—every single time I prayed for escape from the pain of the circumstances, though I couched my prayers in illusions of wanting God’s will above my own.  I truly do want His best for me because I know He is the Wise One, but when His best hurts like the very darkness from which He died to save me, my heart defaults to questioning His wisdom and looking for a way out.

It wasn’t until about 6 years ago that I began to realize that God was saving me through the pain, not from the pain.  His goal is not my comfort; His goal is the likeness of Jesus in me.  He’s saving me from the darkness within myself, which, if left unchecked by the grace, mercy, and love of my Savior, would destroy me.  Realizing that His goal for me is always, absolutely good relieves the haunting questions.

When I catch a glimpse of my Daddy’s wisdom in the circumstances He has allowed for me, as I did this year through our little guy’s adoption, I stand in awe!  As with Mary and Joseph, God handed us a miracle, His miracle, and told us not to fear but to hang on for one exciting ride!  I’m certainly not comparing our Lord to Dawsen, but watching an artist’s rendering of what Mary and Joseph may have experienced, helped me to realize a bit more that their fears and questions were not unlike my own.  Gratefulness is in my heart today as I think on what has been done for little ol’ me by an awesome and wise God!

Hey, could you watch my stuff?

I spend a lot of time in Starbucks.  But, I don't spend a lot of money on coffee.  More often than not, I buy a tall black coffee and spend approximately $1.80.  Some days I add half and half, other days I don't.  It's really pretty good rent.  For $1.80 I get an internet connection, air conditioning, 120v power, live entertainment, and don't forget - I also get a cup of half-way decent coffee.

The live entertainment alone is worth the price.  It's amazing what wanders into a Starbucks.  I'm currently writing from the corner of a busy Starbucks and can see a college age girl in cowboy boots- not that cowboy boots are worthy of notice in a small rodeo town like Livermore.  But she's wearing a shortish dress, and a very long sweater.  From the back, she is wearing cowboy boots and a long sweater.

Just behind her is a gentleman with long hair and large gold nose rings.  Behind them is another woman in a long flowing black dress, which - I'm no fashion geek, but - looks like something a Chinese woman might have worn 75 years ago.  Tied to her messenger bag are a pair of black shoes, and peeking out from under the dress are a pair of blue denim colored, corduroy slippers.  She's chatting with the large woman behind her, who must be from Wisconsin, or has grandchildren in Wisconsin, or possibly came across the bright green T-shirt with large white letters at a garage sale and liked the colors.

I'm not judging them.  I actually fit in.

I'm not criticizing; just acknowledging that these folks are evenly dispersed among the men in business suits, mothers guiding baby strollers, and air conditioner technicians also waiting in line.  If catching a decent glimpse of a large cross section of American culture is entertaining to you, then Starbucks is live entertainment.

The show can be distracting, so I often put in headphones and secret myself behind my computer screen to shut out the noise and get some work done.  My work consists of catching up on emails too lengthy to deal with from my phone, writing proposals, and whatever else needs to be done before I'll have a chance to get back to the office.

I can get a lot done at a Starbucks, but I can only sit at the table for so long after finishing 12 ounces of coffee.  And that speaks to another benefit available for only $1.80 - a clean bathroom.  My experience has been that the vast majority of those ordering coffee from Starbucks are honest and kind.   I suspect, however, that once in a while, one of another sort makes his or her way in too.  Thus, it makes me nervous to leave my computer sitting unattended at my table as I step out for a moment.  On the other hand, packing up the computer and charger, clipboard and everything else is a hassle and runs the risk of losing my corner table.

So I will often lean over to the nearest person likely to stick around for the next 3 minutes and say, "Hey, could you watch my stuff?"  They always can.  And it's not unusual for someone to lean over to me and ask the same thing.

 "Excuse me - do you mind keeping an eye on this for me?"

"Sure," I say, and go about my business.  And I do watch their stuff, and I suppose they watch mine.  And it sits there and doesn't do anything worth noting.  I've never seen a computer slam closed and scurry off, or seen anyone make a dive for another's laptop the second the bathroom door clicks shut.  Actually, I've never seen anything remotely resembling a crime ever take place in a Starbucks.

But I got to thinking - what exactly do we hope the person watching our stuff is going to do?

Next time, I might ask.

"Excuse me," a fella might say, "could you watch my stuff?"

"Sure,"  I reply; then, "Oh hey, wait a second - should I come get you if someone grabs your stuff?"

"Uh, well I hadn't thought about that."

"Well," I would say, " I've given it a little thought, and as I figure it, here are your options.  First, I could come knock on the bathroom door and let you know that someone has grabbed your computer.  Then you might either hurry up and finish, so that you can run after them, or we might come to some sort of agreement about what it would be worth to you, for me to run after them.  Should we just discuss that now, or would you rather wait and chat through the closed restroom door?"

By this time he has stopped walking and is probably, slowly, inching back toward his table and laptop computer.

"Or, another option," I would continue, "would be that I just jump up and start yelling at the thief. That might work, and might not, but I would at least be doing something.  You might even hear me in the restroom and know to kind of hurry things up."

My audience by this time would have returned to his seat, but would still be listening.

"I'm not sure what the legality of this next option is," I would continue, "but possibly you would like for me to hit anyone that grabs at your computer.  I'm a little uncomfortable with this idea, but it would be best if we clarify this before you walk away with me in charge of your stuff.  I would hate to disappoint you with my lack of decisive action - supposing that's what you were thinking."
"Were any of these options what you had in mind?  Cause, ya know I could always just watch your stuff."

I doubt I would have to watch his stuff.

Like I said, there are a lot of entertaining people that come and go through a Starbucks.  Wouldn't it be worth the price of admission one day, to see Ms. Wisconsin jump up and run to the bathroom yelling, "That girl in the Chinese dress just grabbed your computer!"  Wisconsin might even bang on the men's restroom door.  I would see the absconded laptop tucked under an arm, shrinking into the distance.  A vault from the curb, an arc of blue corduroy, and a flutter of skirts would land the woman in the pickup truck driven by a college aged girl wearing a dress and cowboy boots.   Flapping in the warm breeze, a few inches at the tail of her long sweater would be trapped in the door.

The storefront glass doors would burst open and out into the courtyard would rush a man with gold nose rings - just in time to see the tail lights of a pickup truck round the corner.

He would finish tucking in his shirt, and I would be glad he didn't ask me to watch his stuff.

The Revolt of a Pen

True, This! —
Beneath the rule of men entirely great
The pen is mightier than the sword. Behold
The arch-enchanters wand! — itself is nothing! —
But taking sorcery from the master-hand
To paralyse the Cæsars, and to strike
The loud earth breathless! — Take away the sword —
States can be saved without it!
Edward Bulwer-Lytton, Richelieu; or, The Conspiracy


I am particular about the pens I use.  I purchase black Pilot G2 .07 Rolling Ball pens by the box. These particular pens are the familiar "click top" style with no caps. Mind you, this is not a ball point pen.  The rolling ball pen is far smoother and produces a line richer and darker than possible from any ball point pen.  What I write may be of little importance and of lesser legibility, but the implement with which it is applied to paper is of great import to me.

My wife hates them.  She refuses them, preferring a pricked finger with which to write in blood.  She is left handed, thus her hand drags through the ink as she writes, smearing the calm wet pools of ink at the beginning and end of each letter.  Annoying to her and unsettling to me is this disturbance of the tranquility of drying ink.  The arrangement works out well, therefore, so that we never take each other's pens.

I carry these pens around as a small boy would carry his toy soldier or a mechanic his red, grease-stained rags.  There is always a pen at the ready in my right hip pocket, as if at any moment some profundity may demand its presence.  They also lay about my desktop, and some days I leave the office and realize that one or more has stowed away, and I'm carrying a passel of them about.  The extras will be inevitably abandoned on my bedroom dresser for a time, ordinarily in the company of peers, until my stock at the office runs low; at which time I round them up and they return to my office to again graze among the staplers and paperclips.  Somewhere near the end of that process, I've ordered a new box of pens.

It appears, however, that a revolt is under way, with my pens in the vanguard.  Upon reflection, a revolt may be too strong a term, but that was the first to come to mind, and I shall be inclined to trust my subliminal judgement on this one.  A singular coincidence you may claim after hearing me out, or possibly no more than a chance occurrence with no inherent meaning at all, you may assert; and I will heartily disagree.  I feel that there is a disturbance among the desktop clutter; a harbinger of changing times.

This "shot across the bow," so as to say, came a couple days ago as I finished a purposeful stroll through a small townhouse community.  In my role as General Contractor, I was inspecting the various trellises and arbors scattered along the walkways and gardens.  Using my new IPad, I was documenting each location with pictures and simple notes with regard to any structural or aesthetic defect.  Purple agapanthus, red and yellow roses, yellow lillies, and colorfully blooming trees of a variety I cannot identify, crowded the pictures I was shooting with layers of color in gentle contrast to the white wooden structures.  The air was mild with a gentle breeze.  The chore was not at all unpleasant.

It was with a certain degree of melancholy that I left the final garden and began the walk back to my truck.  The data I had collected would be compiled into a sterile report and would eventually sit before a preoccupied and uninterested community board of directors.  I would perform the rather prosaic task of assigning methods to the needed repairs and values to the methods.  My tool at this early stage in the work was my IPad.

Commencing my stroll an hour earlier, I had made a strategic decision:  as was becoming my habit, I chose to leave my clipboard behind, and carry only the IPad.  Unintentionally, this simple choice had relegated my faithful companion - my pen - to insignificance.

Undoubtedly the darkness of my pocket deepened and the gloom closed thick, as the clicks and thumps of fingers on a glass display resounded through the thin denim shroud.  Each momentary pause, each shift in position could only raise for my pen, the prospect of action and hope of utility.  Each time the shift and jostle of a resuming stride was telegraphed onto the body of my friend, the hope of daylight and use was dashed.  I walked for nearly an hour, and never considered the pen

You can image then my chagrin when upon opening my truck and recovering the aforementioned clipboard, I reached to at last retrieve my fast friend and found its tortured form lifeless and dismembered, tossed about the interior of my pocket.  It was immediately clear that a tragedy had unfolded, hidden and obscured, right under my nose.

Rolled and tossed in the despair of disuse, a friend acclaimed mightier than any sword, had twisted and separated itself from itself, exposing its innermost well of existence to the coarseness of a world in motion.  I reached with tenderness, after ensuring I had suffered no collateral damage, and lifted my wretched friend from the darkness of despair.  In the shade of a large tree, with the morning sun filtering through leaves still tender from recent emergence - themselves a symbol of the cycle of life - I reassembled the remnants of a form no less symbolic.

Restored in substance and in purpose, my pen was recommissioned for service.  I held it familiarly between my fingers and pondered its simple existence.  Sharpened sticks and rocks, lumps of coal, quills and countless ancestral iterations have each in turn composed and revealed the substance of ideas and imaginations; then each in turn confronted obsolescence.  The progression of technology has enlightened and inspired mankind into more and more advanced forms of this, the conqueror of the sword.  Then with subtlety, computers rose in competition and the computer printer threatened more.  Yet, even in the face of these raging giants, the humble pen and paper had held steady in one seemingly unconquerable feature - portability.  And then, even that advantage was challenged.

The tablet - not of biblical stone, requiring the finger of God; nor papyrus scroll, etched with the hieroglyphs of ancient scribes.
The tablet - not assembled leaves of rectangular paper, bound and lined for a singular purpose; the application of ink through the nib of a pen.

Having taken a form unshackled from the constraints and burden of any writing instrument, a bold, aristocratic tablet had thrown down the gauntlet at the feet of the mighty pen.

Understanding slowly dawned upon me.  The light of this new dawn made clear to me that the self destruction of my friend within my pocket on a charming spring morning was more than despair - it was revolution - an act of revolt against a threat to its very existence.  This act of self flagellation, the timeless and universal act of final rebellious recourse; a sort of extreme civil disobedience on the part of my pen, was only the beginning.  As if in conspiratorial concert, since that day, my stapler has mysteriously run out of staples.  What's more, I discovered my pad of graph paper reduced to its last sheets.

I find this sudden disturbance of my desktop assemblage to be unsettling at best.  What more lies ahead I cringe to imagine:  Printer paper jamming at the far recesses of a device, scissors dulled and dangerous, letter openers missing altogether, lurking in dark corners?  Think about your own office - have you not noticed?

I have no resolution to this dilemma, no call to arms;  my observations may be irrelevent.  But I fear to ignore, lest at our collective peril, my observations be a glimpse of a prefatory skirmish, or outlier of a greater battle.  I do not know; I can only report my case.   But be sure - I'll be keeping my IPad safely away from my desk.  Let history bear record, the treacherous pen will not countenance defeat.

Victorious Faith

I'm an Overcomer!

Dawsen Kyler –

Where to begin with such a story of a perfect miracle. . . .  There is much to tell that is only Dawsen's to tell when he is ready someday, but one thing we want to share is the story behind his name.

Gianna sported a proud grin while holding Dawsen the other day and said "This is our baby."  I replied that indeed, he is. Then she said, "Actually, he's God's baby."  The now familiar lump in my throat was suddenly there again.  "Yes, you're right, Gianna. He is God's baby." Wisdom beyond her 4 1/2 years.  In her unique style, she lightened the conversation with "I think God is looking for him," as Dawsen began to squirm and whine in her arms.  Ha ha!  I guess that could be taken in a couple of different ways, but I prefer to think that the Holy Spirit was speaking through her sweet innocence, confirming in my heart that He does have plans for Dawsen.  He's already in hot pursuit of his heart as He has been for the rest of ours.  Dawsen's first mama also believes that God has special plans for him and looks forward to seeing how they unfold.  She helped us choose his middle name, a name that we and the girls voted for and love.

If you've been following our adoption story since our announcement last year, you might remember that we chose the theme “Overcomer” for this school year, before we knew what riches the year would hold. Because God has made it clear many times that this journey is His gig, and He will be the one to overcome the adoption obstacles, it seemed appropriate to look for a first name meaning overcomer, or similar.  We came across many possibilities, most of them uninteresting or reminiscent of somebody's grumpy old uncle. After narrowing the names down to a few, we kept coming back to one meaning "Son of the Beloved" or "Victorious."  Not exactly overcomer, but close.

Since settling on Dawsen as our future son’s first name, my heart has pondered why we were drawn to that name. We’re not believers in accidents or chance, but in a Father who has vested interest in every single one of His children.  Each one of our first 5 kids has a name with meaning, chosen for them by God Himself, though we didn’t necessarily see it at the time.  I cannot know the full “why” of anything in the here and now, but I do find it interesting that the passage of Scripture I chose to go along with our Overcomer theme is I John 5:1-5 –

Everyone who believes that Jesus is the Christ has been born of God, and everyone who loves the Father loves whoever has been born of him. ² By this we know that we love the children of God, when we love God and obey his commandments. ³ For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments. And his commandments are not burdensome. ⁴ For everyone who has been born of God overcomes the world. And this is the victory that has overcome the world—our faith. ⁵ Who is it that overcomes the world except the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God?

In the words of hymn writer John Yates, “Faith is the victory!” As Scott wrote here a few months ago, this adoption journey is actually a faith journey – faith in an immensely good and loving God, no matter our circumstances; faith in the only true Overcomer:  Jesus – friend of sinners, God in flesh, victor over sin and death, healer of our very souls. Only He could take our brokenness and make beauty such as our adoption miracle. He fought and won the battle for our son’s life before we ever knew of him, and the love of Jesus set us on this adventure before Dawsen’s first mama knew of him.

This adoption journey has further solidified for us that EVERY life is a beautiful gift with purpose. When we choose faith in a loving and good Father, regardless of what flavour of pain He chooses for us, that faith gives us victory in discovering our purpose, one leg of the life journey at a time.

Faith is both a choice and a gift. Dawsen’s first mama chose to have faith that God has plans for him, and in doing so, she became victorious over her impossible circumstances and gave us a priceless gift of faith. His short life has increased our faith incredibly. He is a little bit of the “why” in a much larger story than we know – one that began several millennia ago, but for us we’ll say it began with our first miracle, Gabriella, and has continued now for over 11 years. That is a story for another blog post.

We are now 6 miracles deep and are overwhelmed at God’s wisdom and kindness in ALL of them. This latest sweet miracle, our Victorious Son of the Beloved, leaves us even more in awe of Grace Himself – Jesus – and grateful beyond words for the gift of VICTORIOUS FAITH!

Dawsen Kyler Arrives

And according to plan...Little went according to plan.

It is therapeutically hot here in the desert.  The locals are basking in the relatively low temperatures, and assure us that, "It gets much hotter than this."  We are enjoying the uninterrupted sunshine, the desert scenery, and the three community pools.  Except, in our haste to get out of town, I forgot swim shorts.

We had anticipated making this trip "anytime now," though we really didn't expect to leave until at least next Monday - the due date.  It was a great plan - but not the real plan.  We knew the real plan would not be one of our choosing, but it was fun to pretend anyway.

So pretend we did.  As the date loomed nearer, we rushed about for weeks in a sort of triage, first clearing the most critical items from the list: car seat, tiny clothes, bottles; while simultaneously covering the secondary items, such as: complete the construction and installation of bunk-beds and shelves, repaint kids rooms, new carpet; and finally as the countdown dropped into single digits, we contacted vacation rentals in Arizona and local friends to keep the girls - letting both know that we could be mobilizing at a moment's notice.

And then as abruptly as we had anticipated, the call came - the mother of our new son was going into the hospital RIGHT NOW for an emergency Cesarean.  Bec immediately began calling and texting me, upon which I replied that, "I'm in a meeting."  That proved to be inadequate to stem the tide of her desire to communicate, and I was soon brought on track.  That was 2:00 on Tuesday - 6 days before the due date.

I was on the phone before I left the parking lot, and was co-orchestrating an impressive getaway during the one-hour drive home. What happened next would have been more difficult 20 years ago.  Friends were contacted via cell phone and text message and we coordinated 3 different families to help care for our girls. (I was not texting while driving.) Kayak.com helped secure a last minute plane ticket.

Within 3 hours our amazing friends had rescheduled their life and Emi was at our house picking up the girls.  Another friend, Grandma Teri B., volunteered to keep the girls for 2 nights, and Grandma and Grandpa solidified arrangements to arrive on Saturday.  I finalized accommodations at a vacation rental - which if you ever need, we can highly recommend - Bec bought a one-way plane ticket for herself, and we all, the girls included, began throwing everything that looked important into a suitcase or bag.

A text message from the mother's attorney brought us the distraught face of a brand new baby boy.  That picture accelerated us more - if that was possible.  At 5:45, we were on the highway again.  I dropped Bec off in Oakland for a 7:15pm flight to Arizona, and a short cab ride to the hospital.  I kept going for the dark 12-hour drive through California's Central Valley, and the southern deserts.

Bec arrived at the hospital around 9:30pm and was able to spend most of the night with our brand new baby boy and his first mother.  I arrived in rush hour traffic the next morning with breakfast from McDonalds for Bec and a Dr Pepper for the mommy.

We spent the first night in our condo, alone.  Baby and mommy were able to spend a night together at the hospital.  Dawsen was discharged the next day around noon, and we immediately took him shopping for the first of a series of lists of things we had forgotten, then "home."

Friday afternoon, the paperwork was finalized and we officially added a little boy to our family.  Now we wait for Arizona and California, the attorneys, and the bureaucracy in general to allow us to travel back home.

Above is the travel log and the skeleton of this post.  What is not recorded above is the emotional roller coaster we rode.  Those roller coasters are familiar to all who dare to take an adventure, yet when it is your turn to ride, you are never quite prepared.  I refer to the wonderful gal that gave birth on Tuesday as Dawsen's mother.  This may seem odd to you, as it once did to me, since yesterday she terminated her own rights to claim Dawsen as her son, and Becky officially became his mother.  That is part of the roller coaster.

The woman that carried our son and loved him as only a mother can, for nearly nine months, is cherished by Becky and me.  Her difficult choices did not start nine months ago, they started many years ago.  Some choices were poor, and others were wise and kind beyond comprehension.  The life of the baby that we now sit up with at night was an amazingly wise and kind choice - and unimaginably painful for her.

We are more aware than ever that we are loved and guided by a kind Father, who knows our weaknesses, our composition of dust, our sin, and our flailing efforts, and still guides His dear children along.

The plans that we made - the plans that we continue to make, are not ours but His.

I was running along a scenic section of trail near our home on an early morning a few days before we left town.  I had just reached the top of the trail and was headed down a long descent with the Carquinez Strait on my right and the spray of wildflowers speckling the green hills all around me, when Brandon Heath's "It is Well," came up on my play list.  All I could think was how awesome it is to be able to sing along - indeed it is well with my soul.  Becky and I continue to thank our kind God that it is well - all is good.

GRATEFUL

I met her.

I am in awe. . .being part of a miracle is precious, humbling, exciting, and many other adjectives--including challenging.

I am challenged to live and love in new ways, knowing that I have so little to do with what Father is doing, yet so much.  He has rescued life with His wisdom, and I am simply called to love that life.

Simply called, simply filled, simply emptied and refilled. . .by the power of the love of Jesus.

There is much to pray over, and we would appreciate your continued help.

Our son will be born sometime in the next 7 weeks, or so. . . .

Lots of preparation still ahead for all involved.  Our sweet momma is a beautiful gem who sees Father’s plan as good, but hard.  She sees the miracle.

Our family is expanding exponentially with just one adoption.  The word “grateful” cannot express my heart.

Louie and the Wolf

Riding the indoor trainer is a last resort.  When running or cycling outside is unusually impractical, I'll spend an hour sweating it out on the exercise bike.  I'm not sure that these contraptions weren't present in the Gulags or Japanese prison camps - they are torture to the mind (and body) if you have the fortitude to make it so.

My diversion in the past has been a sort of documentary I found on Hulu, Battlefront, a series of 30 minute episodes chronologically portraying the phases and battles of WWII using veterans' interviews and a bunch of old black and white footage.  I found it to be interesting, as did Ella, to the chagrin of my wife.  As the GI's charge across the Solomon Islands, I pour sweat too, following along on my bicycle. Bombs crash, airplane engines drone overhead, and the cranks of the trainer creak as I push the resistance up one more level to keep up.

But they seem to have pulled the series from Hulu.  Last time I rode the trainer I settled for a series of documentaries on how they record various outdoor extreme sports such as Heli-skiing, Downhill Mountain biking, etc.  Interesting enough, but for this morning, Sunday morning, I needed something more likely to prepare me for worship.

I've seen Louie Giglio's presentations in the past on YouTube, and his being the only name coming readily to mind, I started searching for a presentation that was about an hour long.  51:22 for one titled Symphony (I Lift My Hands) seemed good enough, so I started spinning and hit play.  Louie Giglio is an accomplished communicator and is doing a great job connecting with today's youth, but he also managed to communicate with me.  If you've been connected to the internet for much time at all you've likely come across his presentation of the stars, whales, and Chris Tomlin singing How Great is Our God together.  It's spine tingling and likely to cause one of those goofy grins that you realize too late, but only because you see everyone else wearing the same expression.

That same presentation was integrated into this video, and so I nearly stopped it and looked for something new and different - but I had to let him finish the song.  I'm glad I did because the remainder was a challenge to live a life of worship.  I won't spoil the video since I think you should watch it for yourself.

But why am I pushing a YouTube video?  Because it was just what I needed.  Friday, we spoke via conference call to the mother of a little boy - yet to be born.  Her life and ours seem to have been chosen by God to meet for that fireside chat Bec wrote about last time.  The tiny, developing baby boy that she carries now, will - God willing - someday be our son.  We've started signing papers and making lists. The blizzard seems to have lifted momentarily - just as long as we don't think about it too much.

If we carry the blizzard analogy forward, there is now another element.  A black shadow now darts in and out among the trees as we plunge ahead.  Why didn't I see him sooner?  This malignant wolf obviously has my scent.  I know his name.  Anxiety.  We've met before.

Over 4 years ago he shredded me as I tripped along the path toward the delivery of our 2nd daughter.  The loss of our son Ezekiel, and the passing of a friend's wife at the delivery of her baby put the beast on my scent from the instant Bec showed me the positive test.  Anxiety nearly ate me alive then, and has been nearby ever since.

I needed that video.  The wolf is padding through the shadows again, and I could really use some ammunition.  Why didn't I see him sooner?  Because the blizzard was too much, and all I could do is look for the right path.  Now the path is more clear...and so are a lot of other things.  The mother of our son has a name.  She has needs.  We have a due date.  We have needs.  The pitfalls ahead are innumerable, and that hound has begun pointing them all out in an effort to get us off the path.

I could really use some ammunition.  I got it this morning.  Worship.

BLAM!

I hit him this morning with the biggest shell at my disposal.  Anxiety stumbled and plowed a furrow in a drift before howling off into the woods.  It felt good to shoot back.  Worship packs a punch.  But I'll be out of ammunition soon, I realize, and will need to get more.  In another video?  No, I didn't get that ammunition from the video - I got it from God's Word.  Yes, Louie let me borrow some of his ammo, shared with me through a video, but there is an endless supply right now within arm's reach.

Supplied with ample shells found neatly arranged between the brown leather covers of an ancient book, I intend to blast that old enemy again and again.  I've known that I have the upper hand on Anxiety and can conquer it at any time by tapping into God's infinite supply of peace and strength.  Yet, a simple message was necessary to remind me of what I already know.  I hope you can benefit from it too.

Blizzard Clarity

Clarity - We have some.

Hope that clears things up for ya!

I'm not sure where to begin in telling what God has done through our adoption journey over the last few weeks. . .not sure if it's really necessary to say anything more than, "WOW, our God is amazing!"  That's a fact, but it's especially poignant when He allows us to catch glimpses of that fact.

We've had the driest winter since we moved to California 12 years ago, while many of our family members and friends have endured record-breaking snow and ice storms in the East. This has me thinking how glad I am that I don't have to go out in that mess anymore! Though it has been at least 15 years since I last drove in the snow, I well remember trying to see between snowflakes that reflect headlights with the intensity of the sun. Not fun. Our adoption journey is much like that right now, though a bit more exciting. . .and less life-threatening. :-)

I think of how God has somewhere sent a budding mother on a journey to find us in a terrible blizzard; and at the same time, He has sent us on a journey to find her in that blizzard.  We don't know who she is or how to find her, but He knows right where she is, and He's leading us to the people who know her and can help us. For the last month-and-a-half we have searched diligently for someone to help us find her. We thought we had found that guide, and then we didn't. We almost signed a contract with another guide, but suddenly it looked like maybe we already found her. . .which we hadn't, but then again, maybe we had. Wait, are you as confused as I am?  God's little blizzard blows us along.

Back a few weeks ago, I was a bit disheartened and weary in the journey--yes, already. My once crystal-clear vision for the end of this journey became rather cloudy, and I began to wonder if we had misunderstood. So I kinda pulled a Gideon. "Lord, I'm pretty sure you have the wrong gal, and it would be great if you'd show me that you are leading us on this journey, and we're not going to battle this storm with misguided good intentions. I could use some serious clarity here!"

And He delivered.

The delivery did not come immediately... it took at least a couple of hours for the email to come.  (Ha! Do you need any more proof that God still speaks in the 21st century?)  That unexpected email was the encouragement Scott and I needed to take another step in obedience. Over the last three weeks, that has been what we have done--take the next step, and the next (after another completely unexpected email--are we seeing a trend here?). And now. . . hmmm, here we are, right back to where we were three weeks ago--although with more confidence in our purpose and more appreciation for the patient Shepherd who is guiding us through the blinding snow.

Our Psalm 23 Shepherd, unbothered by the storm, walks quietly with us, knowing right where she is (He is with her, too, after all) AND knowing how we are going to find each other. We can't wait to meet her and warm up by the fire with her, before we head back out into our separate but connected blizzards.

Do I Clearly Understand Why I Want To Adopt

Warning:  The following paragraphs periodically slip into philosophical meanderings.  Read at your own risk, and if you're inclined to skim - maybe skip this one.

Bec and I were hip-to-hip on the couch with our computers on our laps researching adoption at double time. We joke to our friends that we only ever communicate via email, and I must admit that even sitting side by side it was tempting to send her links to the pages I was perusing.  We sat together for 2 hours straight - without a movie; a certain record for the books.

But we were on a mission and, true to form, were researching like the future of the galaxy depended upon our conclusions.  We do this with dishwashers, hotels, and Hondas so it stands to reason that adoption should get its share of screen time.  Bec's contribution to the research is ordinarily infinitely greater than my own, and the same here is true.  I prefer the executive summary, but on this issue it has come time for me to do some of my own digging.

Do I clearly understand why I want to adopt?

Well that question stood me on my head for moment.  I stared at it awhile, and then scrolled down to the other questions.

• Does my lifestyle allow me the time necessary to meet the needs of children?
• Have I discussed adoption with all my family members, including my children?
• Do I have support systems to help me after I adopt, or do I know where to find them?

Ok, easy enough - Yes, Yes, and Yes.  But that first question was still sitting up there with the ever-blinking cursor awaiting my response.

This is something that I have been putting out of my mind for a few months, because I knew an honest answer would not be a short and simple one, and before I could answer this to the rest of the world, I needed to sort it out for myself. After bumping her elbow to get her attention, having resisted the urge to send an email, Bec glanced at my screen and to my surprise, sat there unable to answer the question either.  We chatted it out for a few minutes and then pulled out of our separate stations on our separate trains of thought. Yet the question haunted me for days, and I soon discovered that it stuck with her too.  I offer some of my thoughts here, though I caution you that a resolution may not emerge herein.

Let me begin by asserting that the answer to the question "Do I clearly understand why I want to adopt" isn't as simple as you might think; at least not for us. In looking at our lives from the exterior, you may, if you know us, assume that you know why we are pursuing adoption.  I congratulate you for coming to the answer before we have.  May I humbly submit, that you may be mistaken.

Yes, we have experienced 3 miscarriages in less than 4 years - but that has only proven how painful attachments can become.
Yes, we would like to have had another child - but we are content with our family as it stands.

Yes, we care deeply for the orphaned children around the world - but we care about the elderly, the widows, the sick, and the impoverished.  Pick your "good cause" and we can likely join hands with you to support it.

Yes, the Bible says that true religion is to care for the widows and orphans - but alas it also says to love your neighbor as yourself.  Not doing so good on the latter one, so why be so attentive to the former?

There are countless good reasons for us to adopt a child, but none of them can answer the question as to why WE are preparing to do so.  These are not the why behind our decision to adopt.  Frankly the why is the sticking point.

Thinking logically:

Why would I add this huge potential disappointment into my life?

Why would I spend all of this money?
Why would I spend all of this time?

Why would I commit to the full execution of maintaining the well-being of another human for nearly 20 years?  Think about it, a 20-year commitment and possibly a lifetime if that new member of the family cannot leave our nest.  Did you think about this as your first child was in the womb?  I did.  I have one daughter that is 10 years old - halfway there; and another one 4 - nearly a quarter of the way there.  I'm well underway with sails unfurled, lurching toward fulfillment of my commitment.  Or so my logical and more selfish side reasons.

We have some understanding of loss and pain.  Do we think that makes us fit to be adoptive parents?

We are decent, God-fearing people.  Does that make us fit?
We are financially stable.  Does that even have anything to do with it?

I ruminated on each aspect of my willingness to adopt and realized that there was no unifying theme.  I am willing, able, prepared, informed, and a handful of other predicate adjectives.  But still no answer to the question of why?

I've heard that the solutions to many problems can be found very near the source of the problem.  This was - in part - the case for me as I clicked from one link to the next.  The nuts and bolts of adoption were becoming more clear.  I was for the first time putting effort behind a good idea, a concept, an overflow of Bec's vision, a noble cause.  So as I sat on the couch I began to feel for the first time what Bec must have been feeling for some time now - sadness.  I began to read stories about children without families.  I would stop periodically and listen to the chaos coming from my daughter's room and let the sadness take a still stronger hold.  My happy little girls...  I read a brief statement from a 16-year-old girl who said that she prays every night that someone will come and be her parents.  In 2 years she will age out of the foster care system and never know...  I paused again to listen to my 2 girls and let the sadness soak in.  Bec told me about the several-year wait that many Chinese children endure as the bureaucracy churns.  

So is this why I want to adopt?  The lump in my throat and my welling eyes - are they in contact with the why?  Maybe we're getting closer.  The sadness is certainly another wedge that is opening my heart wider and giving strength to the willingness and desire to take this path.  But no, this is not why.

I must confront my motives honestly, and thus I can only begin to describe the reason why, and I can only do so with hesitation, because I don't suppose to know the reason why behind anything that happens during this short time we dash whirling through the galaxy.  "Why" is that ever nagging question which the Society of Skeptics (In which I hold membership) all want answered by others, but are supremely hesitant to answer to others.  "Why" touches the metaphysical, the psychological, the sociological, the chemical core of life, the center of which has never, for any of those pursuits been discovered or even approached.  Metaphysics has myriad religions while psychology, sociology, and the physical sciences have mostly theories.  The brightest, noblest, soundest minds across millenia have failed to answer the question "why" at just about any level.  Yet I presume to respond to this "do you understand why" inquiry and uncover the reason for having made a certain decision.

If I begin to sound as if I stand on shaky ground, then recognize that I live in tectonically active California and accept my hearty agreement.  I run far around certainties, because so many have crumbled into uncertainty leaving chaos and confusion for the zealots to pick through.  My wife has labeled me "jaded," and may find some adhesive for it, but I personally prefer "cautious."  So why am I so certain that embarking on this adventure of adoption is the right path?

Faith.

It's really as simple as that.  I believe that Jesus is the Son of God - by faith.  I believe that God created the world - by faith.  I believe that good is the inevitable result of persistent pursuit of God's revealed truth - by faith.  You shouldn't ask me why.  If I knew why, it wouldn't be faith.

I believe that this path toward adoption is our path - by faith.  The confirmation will come as we turn each corner and see the path continuing to wind away ahead of us.  But then, it will always wind away, now won't it?  I return to Frost's words often, "I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence. Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."  God assures us that He will never leave us nor forsake us.  That means that somewhere ages hence when I look back, I will see us having taken the path of His good plan.  I WILL NOT see the why - at least not until we stand amazed in His presence.  But, I will see that by faith I followed His path, and in it, goodness was found.

The decision to take a "road less traveled," can be daunting.  Yet, we are learning that "why" must not necessarily be answered in order to decide.  I was listening to a song on the radio the other day and it occurred to me that the lyricist must have understood this concept as I am beginning to understand it.

Jesus in Disguise is a song that reminds us that Jesus can do His work through us.  It is a suitable reminder to allow the Holy Spirit of God to walk, talk, and love through us.  The lines that made me think were at the beginning of the second verse:

Ever feel like you've been somewhere before,
You hold the key,
You know which door?

The emphasis here is on the fact that indeed the situation is unfamiliar, and yet the way forward becomes obvious.  To the question the song proposed - I answered, Yes, I have.  And that is as close to an answer as I can provide for the question, "Do I clearly understand why I want to adopt?"  I want to adopt because I realize I now hold the key, and I know which door.

I need to remember to email my conclusions to Bec before I forget...