Five Minute Friday: SHE

A day behind, but here is this week's Five Minute Friday.  Head over Here to join in on the fun!

SHE

Her heart is racing.  So many emotions running through her head and heart.

She thinks about her life.  Her life that’s going to change forever.

No more alone.  No more on her own.  No more loneliness.  No more saying goodbye at the end of the night.

She adjusts her dress.  Fidgets with her bouquet.  Takes a deep breath.

Oh, it’s time to go?  Ok.

She’s trying to take in the moment.  This life changing, life altering moment.  The weight of it is almost too heavy to bear.  She’s never wanted anything more in her life. 

The anticipation is building.

They get out of the elevator and head towards him. 

To her life.

Her new life that is waiting.

She sees everyone stand up.

She can’t hear anything.

“Did it start?  Is it playing?”

“Yes, come on.”

She enters.

She sees him.

There he is.  The one the Lord has brought.

Words were said, prayers were prayed, and covenants were made.

It took 23 minutes.

Twenty-three minutes and she became his. 

And he became hers.

Five Minute Friday: Mercy

This week's Five Minute Friday's topic is Mercy.  Head over HERE to join in on the fun!

Mercy:

GO- 

“Mwen adore ou”

This is one of my favorite songs in Haitian Creole. 

The English Translation:

I adore you.  I adore you.  I adore you, Jesus.

You are the first and last.  Alpha and Omega.  Lion of Judah.  No one else.

You are the first and last.  Alpha and Omega.  Lion of Judah.  No one else.

I adore you.  I adore you.  I adore you, Jesus.

The last time I went to Ferrier Haiti, where our girls’ home is located, I heard this song and was moved to tears.  I’ve heard it now for many years and is always one of the songs we love to sing with our Haitian kiddos.  Not only because it’s an easy song to sing in Creole for us, but because of the deep meaning behind it.  It’s always so humbling to sing worship songs in the midst of people who have nothing by the world’s standards, but who so passionately serve the Lord.

While in Ferrier, we have no electricity.  This means after the generator goes off after dinner, we use our head lamps for the remainder of our night, which typically isn’t long.  This particular night, I had been up playing with the girls and was the last one to go to bed.  While I was waiting for the last person to get out of the shower, I was joined by one of our girls.  She started playing with my hair and singing this song.

It was pitch black.

Only stars.

Oh the stars.

Me, the stars, and this girl.

This girl who less than a month before had been rescued from things that we can’t even imagine.

In the dark, this sweet girl starts singing to her Lord:

I adore you.

I love you.

You are the only One.

You are the first and the last.

I don’t want anyone else. 

I only want you.

It was haunting.

Beautifully haunting.

Soul stirringly haunting.

The Lord heard her sweet song.  

Saw her sweet broken heart.  

Wiped her tears.

And poured out His Mercy.

STOP

Church + Baby = Tension

The responsibility of caring for, shaping of, and rearing up of a little human is terrifying.  I have so many questions and doubts and hesitations about who/what/when/where/how this parenting thing works.  Most days we’re just winging it all the while praying we’re not screwing up. 

But that’s parenting, right?  …right?

One of the times I am most insecure about parenting is at church. 

First off, how ridiculous is this statement?  Why is this even an issue?  Honestly, it’s not because of any one or any situation… it’s because of me. 

Good ol’ introvert me.

I HATE to stand out.  HATE. IT.  Unless I want to. 

I mean, a girl’s gotta have a spotlight sometimes, mmmk?

This made my life horrible while I was pregnant. 

Everyone who has ever been with child knows the spectacle you become when you are incubating a human.  Not only do people see that you are preggers, but everyone feels compelled to talk to you about said child. 

EVERYONE. 

So, not only did I FEEL like a house, everyone was commenting on me BEING a house, and wanted to talk about MY house.

All. The. Time.

So, now that the picture is painted…

Traditionally, “church” is supposed to be:

Quiet. 

Reverent.

Tranquil.

Orderly.

Worshipful.

Still.

And in case you haven’t met my 10 month old, or sat in the same room (or sanctuary) as him, none of those words describe this little soul.

And that is what’s so hard about the whole situation.

This little…SOUL.

It is so easy to forget in the midst of the quiet room that the baby screaming in the corner is a soul in need of a Savior… in need of spirit nourishing words sang, read, and spoken over him.

That the momma (or daddy) in the back of the worship center exhaustedly rocking the teething/squirmy/screaming/tired/cranky baby is trying to desperately feel… something.  She needs to hear and be a part of the body of Christ joining together in worship to her King.  She needs the Spirit to wash over her and refresh her whole exhausted body. 

For us, we want Jude to be in the service with us because we want this for him.  We need this for him.  We want this for us.  We want our whole family to hear and see and experience worship. 

With our church family. 

There are just some things you can’t experience from the church lobby.

While I feel very passionately about this, at the same time, I don’t want to be a distraction.  I don’t want to be “that lady”.  No one ever wants to be “that lady”.  I’ve made comments before about her.  I’ve been distracted by her and her screaming child, and I don’t want to be her.  Mortified introvert aside, I would hate for people to be distracted from the true purpose of worship because of us.

So, what is a family to do?  If Jude is in the sanctuary, we’re going to be a distraction.  But if he isn’t, we all are missing out on important worship time as a family.

------

It was in the midst of this struggle that I was given the best compliment I’ve ever gotten as a momma.

We walked in to church one Sunday morning and sat in our new spots in the back. 

Back right corner. 

Easy access to the aisle.

And the door.

Quick escape.

Before the service starts, I always survey the people in the pews surrounding us to measure the degree of crying I can get away with before needing to leave.  Mainly Jude’s.… sometimes mine.

It’s a horrible thing to do, but it matters.

Any time an older person comes and sits close to us, in my mind, I just know it’s gonna be a problem.

Jude man is usually really good during the praise time.  He loves music.  He’s a clapper now, so any chance to show that off… GAME ON!  And he also might be a little Pentecostal with the hand raising and waving. 

LOVE IT.

When the preaching starts, he just wants to keep on worshipping!  And if anyone gets in his way of making noise, it’s gonna lead to a screaming baby.  EVERY TIME. 

This particular day, he’s extra cranky about being shushed by momma and wants everyone to know it.  So I go to the back of the sanctuary… again.  And then out the door into the foyer… again.

But this day… this miracle of a day, I’m able to actually put him to sleep.

MIRACLE from above!

I might actually be able to listen to the sermon… in a pew… with the congregation… instead of outside listening through the speakers.

So, I walked back in, with my finally sleeping little man and quietly and carefully sit down.  I try to listen to the rest of the sermon, all the while praying that Jude doesn't wake up.

And he doesn't!  We lasted an entire service.  Ha-le-lu! 

At the end of the service, one of the men that always sits near us comes up to me on his way out the door.  I can tell he has something to say. 

Oh no… here it comes.  This is gonna be one of those things. 

One of those defining things.

I will recount this as my first horror story of being chastised for the noisy baby.

And just as I thought, it ended up being a thing… a defining thing.

He looked at Jude, grabbed his little hand, and blessed me with a string of words that I will never forget. 

He said:

“Buddy!  You did so great today!  You are so lucky to have such amazing parents!  They are doing such a good job with you!  I can’t believe you’re so lucky!”

That was it.

It was as if the Lord Himself whispered into my heart and caused one of those I’m gonna break down and cry because I’m so overwhelmed by grace moments.

I felt a huge weight lift off of my shoulders.

I just sighed, teared up, and said thank you.  He patted me on the back and walked out.

That was it.  But that was everything to me.  The exact Spirit washing, soul refreshing that I craved more than I even realized.

We still sit in the same section of pews every Sunday.  And every time I see him, I smile.  He always talks to us and greets Jude.  He and his wife offer to hold him so they can get their baby fix.  They have grandkids, but no grandbabies.  We would never ask them to wrangle Jude during the service, but the offer means so much.

THIS. 

This is the reason I want Jude in the service. 

I want him to experience community like this.  Real like this.  Raw like this. 

Worshipping the Lord isn’t quiet.  It isn’t calm.  It isn’t peaceful. 

It’s messy.  And dirty.  And loud.  And it’s ok.

I am so grateful for the kind, spirit giving words that man gave to me.  Thank you friend.

Lord,

I don't know the answer.  I don't know what to do with a baby in church.  I don't know if we should stay in the service.  I don’t know if we should listen from outside.  I don't know if we should put Jude in the nursery.  I just don't know.

But I do know one thing…

Lord, make me like that man. 

Make me into someone who speaks life giving words straight into the hearts of those in need. 

Help me to be a vessel of your voice to one desperately seeking words of encouragement.

Five Minute Friday: RED

Join us for our Five Minute Friday.  Today's topic is: RED.
____________________

I am not what one would call an athlete… or athletic… or even coordinated. 

I’m clumsy and look like a baby deer when I try and run.

(Cue Phoebe run)

I sprained my ankle a few months ago by walking.

Yes walking.

Imagine my embarrassment when limping into the Doctor’s office and explaining my injury during my sport of “walking to my car”.  Quite a dangerous sport, I say.

But when I do the least little bit of anything... my face turns red.

Not a slight hue of color with a glistening bead of sweat.

No, no.  A full on almost purple face of “athleticism”.

Run a marathon?  Nope, just took a walk in Texas.

RED.

I am also not what someone would call “tan”.

Nope.  Just white.

When all of my friends (and family) go into the sun, what do they get?  A tan.  What do I get?

RED. 

Not red turned to tan… just red.  Sometimes turned to blisters.

But you know what?  Guess who else has this gene? 

One of my favorite people in the world…

JUDE!

 

My poor little pasty baby… he is so white.  When we were in Haiti, he looked like he was glowing against his beautifully dark skinned brothers and sisters.

Fourth of July?  He was as red as his Americana shirt and hat. 

Not because of a sunburn (I’ve recently taken up stock in baby sunscreen), just because he was hot.

And he’s mine!  My own little red baby.