The Will of God, the Will of Me and the Intercessors

My goodness, that is a mouthful! There seems to be a theme in my life in the past few weeks with various friend and associates who are trying to follow the path that God has laid out for them but are getting tangled up in the will they have for their own lives. To add to the challenge, a good friend gave me a reading last week about the role of the intercessor. It goes on to describe Agabus, who received word from God that Paul would be beaten if he went to Jerusalem to proclaim the word of God. Agabus assumed this meant that Paul was not to go to Jerusalem, but here comes the "Ahhhh Haaaa" moment, Agabus was an intercessor not a leader, God calls intercessors to the role of seeing, but calls leaders to the role of interpreting actions. Paul knew that God meant for him to go and proclaim his word in Jerusalem knowing he would be beaten. It is confirmed in Acts where Jesus comments "Take Courage! As you have testified about Me in Jerusalem, you must also testify in Rome". Beyond the often difficult time many of us have discerning God's will in our life is the added challenge that input we may receive from the people we contact may be in the form of an intercessor as opposed to a leader. While we need the information to create a complete picture of the situation, we have to discern how this information will help us to know the actions that are necessary to fulfill Gods will for our lives. While I can comprehend in my head and try as I may to understand that God has a plan for all of us, I struggle with being patient and allowing that will to manifest itself, especially when I see the pain my friends are going through when a situation seems to remain stagnant and unresolved which just seems to prolong the hurt.

All Things Guatemalopia

We are so blessed that the Ethiopian community in Chicago is so supportive of us as adoptive parents that they put together a wonderful string of cultural classes for us adoptive parents and kids, but I start to get concerned when our little Guatemalteco starts telling everyone he is from Ethiopia! That being said, we were so excited when we heard that the Guatemalan adoptive parents group had combined forces with Casa Guatemala to put on a Christmas party at Mayan Essance, the fair trade store in Chicago, complete with homemade Guatemalan food that was fantastic, a Mayan prayer and a performacne by Marimba Ixchel. Even though it was so packed that you could barely move, the food was out of this WORLD! There were so many things I had never tried before and would really like to learn how to make. E1 and E2 cut a rug to the marimba music to the delight of everyone around us. It was a wonderful afternoon and we so look forward to some combined Guatemalan Community and Adoptive Parent get togethers in the future!

Its just one of those things..

You get a commercial jingle stuck in your head. Maybe something your heard on the radio, on the mp3 players. Sometimes its just flat out annoying that you can't seem to get it out of your head.

As I listen to the local Holiday station, I'm just mesmerized by that Trans-Siberian Orchestra song, "Christmas Canon". I don't normally post about the same thing so close together, but as I'm working tonight, its on the radio again. My head just fills with such a variety of things. I would say Good, Bad, and others but that's just not quite accurate.

I would like to leave something deeply profound about the topic, but I'll just say this. Lately when I hear that song, I'm just filled with hope, but also regret over my own personal missed opportunities to effect change, but also thanksgiving at being healthy and having more time and inevitably more opportunities to bring about change. Hmm.. sounds like "Christmas Story" like... not really intended though..

This night, we pray
Our Lives, will show
This dream, he had
Each child, still knows

Peace

In Katie's Words

"We have had one of those really great days when I can't stop praising Jesus for this life. The girls are on holiday from school (thank goodness because almost all of them have had the chicken pox!). Today I managed to clip all of their 140 fingernails and 140 toenails, file them and paint them. On a quick trip to the pharmacy I found surgical gloves almost small enough to fit my child-sized hands. During nap time I got to sneak in a long, quiet run. Chocolate chip cookies are in the oven. I feel so full and so very blessed.

But as I sit down, content, something is weighs heavy on my heart. Something that I have been milling over for some time, unwilling to write about it because my words seem too inadequate to describe the ache I feel. However, I know that this is urgent. An emergency. And as adequate as my words may be, maybe I should at least try.

It started a few months ago when my great friends Mike and Suzanne were here to adopt their daughter. In finding out she had HIV, they were obviously broken. Mike made a statement that stirred something within me. He said, "I guess you know that children are out there suffering. You know that children are sick, this sick. But it is different when it is your child. It's just different." And it is. I don't mean this blog to criticize you in any way, Mike, because what you said was true for me too. It is different when it is my child. I spend countless nights awake with dying, or at least critically sick, children. I love them and I cuddle them. I sponge bath them and give them their medicine and wipe up their vomit. I hold them and pray over them and tell them how special they are and how Jesus loves them. My heart really does hurt for them. But it doesn't hurt the way it hurts when I think one of my own children is close to death. It doesn't hurt the way it does when Sumini's fever just won't go down or when Patricia is up all night coughing with her third case of pneumonia in three months. It doesn't hurt the way it does when Margaret's teeth run into Agnes's eyebrow and I can see her bone, and then watch in terror as the doctor stitches it up WITHOUT anesthetic. Somehow, when it is my children, there is a bit more urgency, a bit more panic. There is a bit more frustration at the lack of medical care we can receive here and a bit more google searching of what to do. I am not saying that I am proud of this. I am just letting you know that it isn't just you I have held several children as they died of inadequate medical care. It was horrible and I grieve and cried, but I promise you that I wasn't as devastated as I would have been had it been one of my daughters. Its ugly, but its true.

Its just different when its your child who's suffering. But should it be? This is what I have been struggling with. I believe that this is a normal human reaction. I also believe it is WRONG. I believe that each human on the planet is God's child, perfectly made and beloved and cherished by Him. I believe that His heart hurts like mine does, even more than mine does, when my baby is hurting for EACH and every one of the hurting, dying, starving, crying children in our world at this moment. So I HAVE to believe that if my heart was truly seeking to be aligned with the heart of God, that I would have to hurt for each of these children as well. But sometimes, I forget. Sometimes I'm busy. Sometimes hurting for my very own children just feels like enough. I believe that the world says that this is ok. And I believe it is wrong. And this keeps me up at night.

Angelina is seven years old and barely weighs 15 pounds. You remember that picture that was made popular in the 1980's during the famine in Ethiopia of that little girl (who looked like a bag of bones) curled up next to a vulture? That girl doesn't look nearly as sick as Angelina. Her mother has not had any food to give her in over four months. When Angelina musters enough energy to let out a cry of hunger (she is far to weak to walk or even hold her head up on her own), her mother gives her some locally brewed alcohol to keep her quiet. For four months, keeping her a little drunk has actually probably been what is keeping her alive. The dirt floor where she has been laying her whole life accumulating bedsores is covered in waste, animal and human. Jiggers burrow deep into her little feet causing them to crack and bleed. She is naked, filthy, and cold. It is far worse than appalling.

I bet right now at this moment your heart is sad for her. Is it as sad as it would be if Angelina were your daughter? Angelina is God's daughter. His heart aches for this perfect, wonderfully made child of His. Her circumstances do not surprise Him, but I have no doubt that they grieve Him tremendously.

And it's not just children, because we are all children in His eyes. Grace is maybe 60 years old but looks to be pushing 100. She can't weigh more than 85 pounds. Grace is a mother to six children, but 4 have died of AIDS and the other two have deserted her for a better life. She lives in a 4 by 4 foot room that is pitch black, but she doesn't mind; in addition to being to weak to walk, Grace is blind. She NEVER has any visitors. At night her bones ache against the hard dirt floor and her feeble body shivers with cold. A cough racks her body and her stomach rumbles in hunger making sleep impossible.

Its sad, huh? How sad though? Sad enough that we want to do sometime about it? Sad enough that we will remember Grace tonight as we snuggle down into our beds or next month as we pay the bills? Maybe. But maybe not. Because it hurts, but it doesn't hurt that much. It doesn't hurt the way it would if Grace was your grandmother all alone there in the dark. It does for God. Because Grace is His.

As I snuggle both these sweet girls, as I kiss their cheeks, as I spoon Pediasure into Angelina's little mouth or watch Grace rejoice over the gift of a scraggly old blanket, I allow the tears to fall. The tears that hurt for these people as if they were my family. Because they are my family. And it SHOULD hurt. It shouldn't be different. I desire for it to never again be different.

We are the body of Christ. But do we know what that means? Do we long for our brothers and sisters to be comfortable and fed and well? Do we long for it enough that we are uncomfortable under our blankets at night or eating our pancakes in the morning? Do we feel the hurt that God feels as He watches the body of Christ sit back and allow these precious children of his to perish? Maybe sometimes. But sometimes, we are too busy, or we forget, or hurting for our own children is enough. We are the body of Christ. We need to hurt. We need to react. Their needs to be the same urgency and panic and frustration and desperation as if these were our own children. They are God's children.

Heavenly Father,
Thank you for Angelina. Thank you for Grace. Thank you for creating them perfectly in your image, your precious, beloved children. Thank you for your beautiful plan for their lives and thank you for bringing them into mine. Thank you that they are YOURS. Help me to hurt. Not just a little, but the way you hurt when your children are overlooked and perishing. me to never be too busy or too comfortable to remember the people who suffer. Help me to never stop desiring to do something about it. Lord help us to remember that as the body of Christ, this is our responsibility. Thank you for loving us, even when we forget. I never, never want to forget again."

If you are not following Katie's blog, I invite you to start. She is an amazing woman. http://kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com/

Do you see what I see...

A light.. A light.. shinning (not yet) so bright..

I think there is a light at the end of the tunnel. It will only be a short duration until the next tunnel, but I think I might catch a break on having to "work" over my use it or lose it vacation in the next couple of weeks. Yeah! Maybe I can restart up the work on the basement. Get those bunk beds for E1 and E2 built. Maybe I could catch up on tv. Oh oh OH!!! I know.. I could sleep. I have forgotten what that is like....

A new Classic?

This night, we pray
Our Lives, will show
This dream, he had
Each child, still knows

Amen to that!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4cP26ndrmtg

For the first time..

For the first time since the 2009 Chicago Marathon on October 11th. I hit the path with my fearless training partner Tim. Because of the recent spat of tests, I was asked to stay away from all exercise. Given a clean bill of heath, with absolutely nothing found, it was time. I must admit I would have preferred a leisurely job. But Tim (not having 1 and 1/2 month layoff) kept the pace lively. I'm not what pace we race, but that 6 miles was a workout. I'm thrilled to be able to resume some exercise. Maybe I can burn off some of that pent up work stress.

Peace

btw. I've updated the Destination Addis.. we're on the home stretch. Less than 500 miles to go. that should be a snap..

Honey how was your day? Its wasnt so Good..

Traffic was bad.. they were out of my favorite Latte.. Someone cut me off.. that Guy/Gal at work was a pain.. I didn't get enough sleep.. that nagging cough is back.. My blackberry flaked out.. Gas prices jumped $0.25.. I was cold.. Some jerk bought the last snickers bar from the vending machine while i was waiting to get it.. The kids were fighting over watching Sponge Bob or Elmo.. the cat puked on the carpet.. the pile of leaves blew all over the lawn.. its snowed again so I have to shovel again.. My health insurance went up during open enrollment.. On black Friday i got shoved out of the way before I could grab the last Nintendo wii

We can all come up with a limitless number of other things to that list. They are all legitimate. They all impact us. Some greater, some only a little. In our world, those are the things, that make or break our days. We all deal. We all cope. But sometimes, at least I feel, we need an adjustment. We need a reminder about how to put it all into context. I'm not suggesting or advocating radical lifestyle changes here, rather, just trying to present a case for compassion. For a moment of understanding or empathy. A moment to pause, if only for one brief second, to step aside from those very real things listed above that impact our days. And to look beyond the walls of our homes.. our cities.. and our Country.

I had my reminder today (Thanks for sharing J!). I'd like to share it with you all. Perhaps you will also have a second to pause as well. If we think about changing the entire World, its overwhelming, to the point of why bothering. But if you think about that story about the little girl on the beach with her father. The story goes something like...

A Father and daughter were walking on the beach. The beach was filled with starfish that washed ashore from a storm. They would all surely die, being outside the water. The father watched as the daughter picked up a starfish, and walked up to the water and carefully placed it back in. She did this over and over and over. The Father, while filled with Pride for his daughter, comments. Honey. Why are you doing that? You are not going to make a difference, look at all those starfish. They are everywhere (as he motions to the thousands of starfish across the beach) As the Daughter picked up another starfish, carries it to the waters edge and places it into the water, the Daughter replies. "It made a difference to that one"

Amen I say to that. That's what I'm talking about. We can change the World. We can change it with each little baby step we take. I hope that following, First hand account of a Gentleman that recently returned from Western Africa, give you a moment of pause.

Today was full of emotional highs and lows. We started the day by going to an Orphanage. We had been warned it was bad. We had even seen some pictures. Pictures nor warning could have prepared us for what we saw. As you drive down a dirt side street there is a big green gate on the left. We stopped in front of it, stepped over the street side latrine and went thru the gate. When we went in there were several kids running around the path leading into the office area. There were no adults until we got to the office. All of the kids were curious to see what these people were doing there We visited with the 2 women who run the orphanage. There were probably 35-40 kids at the orphanage, 10-12 were under the age of 2. The remaining 65-70 were in school. We walked into the “nursery”, a large room with 10 or so bunk beds. Most of the kids under 2 were either sleeping or sitting in their bed crying. Few were able to walk at this age due to malnutrition. The girl I held stopped crying the minute I touched her. I held her and she snuggled in for a hug. She was probably 12 months and weighed at most 7 lbs. My wife noticed that the little girl I was holding was covered in feces, as was I now. For some reason it did not matter at that point. I gave her to one of the teenage girls who went to clean her up. I went and cleaned myself up and could not believe what I was seeing. How can 2 women, care for 10-12 infants, and 90+ other children? The answer is no one was getting cared for. At age 15-16 the kids are turned out to the street. So if they are lucky enough to survive no care as infants they will be homeless as teenagers. The bad part of this story is this is one of hundreds of orphanages just like this in this part of the world. The images I saw today will haunt me for a very long time. We are to visit 2 more orphanages in the coming days. They are not supposed to be in such desperate shape. In the storage room all they had was rice and a few beans, no formula, no baby food. There was no running water, no toilet, and no shower. The kids carried water from a well a few blocks away.

How is my day? You know. My day is not so bad. In fact, as i finish my plain turkey sandwich, at my desk at work, tired from lack of sleep. As I look over the pictures of J, E1, and E2 on the cubicles walls around me, you know my day is pretty darn good...

A minor hassle...

Hi, so anyone that reads this blog, or posts comments, or what have you. Because of some growing spam comments, I had to turn on the "word verification". If I did it correctly, I think that anonymous posters are still allowed, only that they will also need to enter in the words. Should anyone have trouble.. just let us know.
Peace.

Can it be..

Everyone knows that I'm an 80's music nut. I'll dabble in the 90's a bit. But I'd say pretty much all of the .. umm.. 00's? have been a bust. The music styles I just can stand. So what happens now as we are closing out the decade? I find myself listing to the top pop hits again. Except the people singing them could be my daughters or sons. How sad is that. The fact that I know who Miley Cyrus or the Killers, or Plain White T's, or Lady Gaga are.. I shake my head at myself. Maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks. So where do I go for my fix for tops hits.. Fresh 105.9 baby!
http://www.fresh1059.com/

Peace