Jack Franklin turns NINE?!?!?

9 years ago, at 5 am...my life changed forever...i became a mother. 

9 years ago, at 5 am...God gave us a gift in this sweet baby boy.
9 years ago, at 5 am...i fell in love with Jack Franklin Pinson.

For the first time ever, I gazed into those big beautiful eyes (no really, his eyes were WIDE OPEN...this kid was ready to go!)

For the first time ever, I felt the weight of what God entrusts you with when He gives you a baby...this precious little soul, so fresh from Heaven...and God entrusted him to us? (yes, that is supposed to be a question mark...that was an appropriate question/doubt/fear in our minds at the time)

But, thankfully...for the first time ever that day, and every day since, I also experience(d) the fullness of God's grace...the peace that came in knowing we weren't alone in this...and that we didn't need more time to "be ready"...trust me, you'll never get there...to that elusive place of "being ready"..it's a learn as you go type of life experience...you pray constantly for guidance and then you pray that they will forgive you, when they are older, for all the things you got wrong

All we needed was to lean into God's grace. First tiny glimpse...the name we had already chosen...Jack...it means "God is gracious"...for his middle name we chose Franklin...a name that means "free", reminding us again that we were not alone, that this gift of God's grace was free...a promise that God's love for him, and ours, came freely, without condition...and a promise that nothing could ever separate us from that grace (a promise that we hope Jack will also cling to). But we really first chose Franklin because it was my own daddy's middle name...my dad...a man who was both the gentlest and strongest man i had ever known...and wow, has that turned out to be the case with my sweet boy...just like my daddy...just like his own daddy...Jack Franklin has such a tender heart...and it is a big part of what makes him strong.

no, he wasn't "planned" in our young minds...no, after only 4 months of marriage we were not expecting to see a + sign on that little test...2 days after we decided, no, let's wait on getting a dog because it's such a big responsibility and expensive and we don't really have jobs or a place to live after we graduate college here in a few weeks! as they say...God has a sense of humor.

Jack Franklin Pinson also has a sense of humor...Jack Franklin Pinson can have you in stitches one minute...and he can break your heart in another, because his heart is so very tender.

He loves to read...always has his nose in a book, and i love it...although we have literally had to alert him, a few times, that he should probably put the book down as he's about to cross the street! He is so animated and can tell a story like no one else...sometimes he get so excited that he just goes like a steamroller through every teeny, tiny, minute detail...with all of our faces dumbfounded...not because what he is saying is bad or wrong, but because we can barely understand a single word , he's going SO FAST! (no idea where he got that)

He creates these entire worlds in the stories that he writes...he knows every character intimately and it is rare to find a piece of paper in our house that does not bear some art work of his. On every piece of schoolwork sent home, there is no margin left untouched by his artistic hand...always doodling...always dreaming...and there is a constant stream of paper all over my house full of his little worlds and people and their stories...and I LOVE IT! He says he wants to be an author, illustrator and animator when he grows up...and, if that's what he still wishes to do later in life, I have no doubt he'll do it and he will succeed.

As hard as it is to see him so grown up, it is such a joy to watch him grow. He is the definition of "being a sponge"...ya know, how we all talk about kids, soaking everything up like a sponge...HE IS THE SPONGE...he notices every little thing with detail, he feels everything deeply and he loves fiercely. His little brother adores him...and drives him crazy...exactly as it should be, right?

I asked Jack awhile back, when we were talking about his upcoming birthday...what his favorite birthday ever was...like the best one EVER...and do you know what that precious little angel said to me? He said, without even a second's thought, that it was his 6th birthday...the surprise party. That may sound totally normal to most people...surprise parties are fun. But this one was a little different...this surprise party was in a hospital room, where i had been for over four months...some people helped get some decorations to me and some nurses helped me decorate my room and we surprised that little boy who was turning 6. He came in and made the best little somewhat-overwhelmed-genuinely-surprised face ever...climbed right up in my lap and gave me a big hug and said, "it's a surprise party! thank you so much mommy...IT'S JUST WHAT I'VE ALWAYS WANTED!" There was a room full of family...there were some presents and some cupcakes and some decorating that would be so NOT pinterest-worthy...no party games other than the all-time favorite of my boys at the time...the "push all the buttons on mommy's hospital bed game". And, for some reason, THAT was his favorite birthday party ever. At a time in our life, when all we were trying to do was to stay afloat and survive...when we were living in what we call "crisis mode"...when i was in the hospital more than i was home and my sweet Jack Franklin was realizing that all of his friends' mommies were not in the hospital all the time...on a day that i held back the tears as much as i could because i felt so badly that i couldn't give him the birthday i wanted to...and THAT...that night...was this precious boy's favorite birthday ever.

Not too long ago, Jack made a piece of art that had what he told us were his favorite words from scripture on it. They were the words of Proverbs 31:8-9:

Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves;
ensure justice for those being crushed.
Yes, speak up for the poor and helpless,
and see that they get justice.
What a verse for a 9 year old to cling to...Oh Lord I pray that his heart will always break for the things that break your heart...that he will live his life giving voice to the voiceless and comfort to the suffering. These sweet boys of mine are learning, unfortunately, some difficult lessons that they shouldn't have to at such young ages. And, yet, i see evidence every single day that tells me they will grow to be men with a unique sense of empathy, compassion and service...that they will be selfless, steadfast, gentle and strong men...men like their daddy.

I love that Jack's middle name was also his Pappy's middle name...it is precious to me, and to him, that they share that...Jack Franklin Pinson also has quite a presidential ring to it...but, no pressure
I am grateful that Jack still retains some memories of my sweet daddy...I wish they had gotten more time with him. If there is anyone who would love Jack' stories and characters...anyone who would brag on him incessantly...anyone who would laugh hysterically at his crazy jokes...it would have be his Pappy. I am grateful that both of my kids got to know my daddy. I know that their memories will probably fade...but i am SO VERY GRATEFUL for that time. And I can guarantee that, as the celebration of Jack dies down on his birthday, he will take a balloon, go outside and send it up to Pappy...Pappy is always invited to the party.

was it really nine years ago that i became a mommy? nine years ago that i first knew what it felt like to have my heart living outside of my body...that i first gazed into those big eyes and felt those tiny little fingers clasping mine...that my heart became a mother heart and opened up to totally new love that overwhelmed me...that helped me understand the cross in a whole new way?

9 years...i am forever changed because of this beautiful boy.

happy happy birthday to my sweet, smart, talented, curious, loving, creative, sensitive, kind, hilarious, affectionate, tenderhearted firstborn...my jack franklin

father's day

I wrote this a few weeks ago when i was really missing my dad. Father's day brings joy in remembering how blessed I was with my earthly father...gratefulness in knowing that God has blessed me so richly with a husband who is the best father to our children...and it brings hope in knowing that my Heavenly Father has promised He will never leave us fatherless. It's also a little bittersweet. Sometimes I miss my dad so much it physically hurts...but I know I will see him again and, for now, I will be grateful for the little things

It's the little things...

watching the daily show and wishing you were here to laugh with me...making your favorite egg salad and wishing you were here to share it with me...seeing my boys so anxious to run outside anytime they get a balloon, so they can send it up to Pappy...teaching Sam your famous "Hi, my name is Chubby" story...listening to Jack tell me about Superfudge and telling him that it was one of many books you read to us as kids...knowing that you would LOVE watching Sam play ball and that you would be so proud of Jack and that great big imagination...that you'd listen to all of his stories and give all of his jokes the biggest laughs...listening to those boys beg for "breakfast for dinner" and knowing you'd be proud of that too...driving around in the same car that you bought new for us, after walking used car lots all day with a VERY pregnant me in June 2004, because you insisted that we be in something safe...to be praying for the baby we will adopt, and for the birthmother who will entrust us with that precious gift, and knowing that you and mom helped plant those seeds in my heart long ago as i watched the ways you so selflessly loved and served others...listening to Brad talk and catching a glimpse of him that looks so much like you it takes my breath away (shh, I think it's because his hairline is receding)...to be recording this album and knowing that you would be driving me crazy, wanting to hear every detail, but only because you were always my biggest fan...to be working on an arrangement of "My Jesus, I Love Thee", for that album, and thinking about how those were the words I sang before you walked me down the aisle at my wedding, and those were the same words that you asked me to sing for you the very last time i saw you this side of Heaven...to imagine you rocking your two little grand babies that never made it to this world and to picture you holding them close for Emily and me...knowing that mom has an ache she carries, and that time does not heal all wounds, but that you would be so proud of the way she is stewarding her grief

looking down at my hands and seeing that they are your hands...and knowing that there isn't a single shred of my life that hasn't been touched by those hands...the hands of the gentlest and strongest person I've ever known

that's you, dad, by the way

it's the little things that make me miss you so much

“Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you'll look back and realize they were big things.”
~Robert Brault

everybody knows somebody

This week is National Eating Disorders Awareness Week. I don't usually post about it when it rolls around each year...but the theme this year is "Everybody Knows Somebody".

15 years ago, I was a couple of months away from being hospitalized, and missing the last couple weeks of my senior year of high school, after collapsing in front of my terrified 13 year old brother. This was because of an eating disorder that had ravaged my body and spirit, leaving me close to 80 pounds and pretty hopeless. I had stopped nourishing the physical systems of my body, so they had begun to fail me. I had stopped nourishing my self-esteem and my knowledge of my worth as a daughter of God, so I had close to none. I was feeling out of control in many areas of my life, so I attempted to have control over something. I was living and believing a lie...that I could somehow manage my worth...forgetting that I had a Father in heaven who had already given me an identity that could never be taken away. 

I read an article today that resonated with me. It was about the abundance of "fakebooking" that we do...the ever present need to make the lives we present on social media look shiny and beautiful, filtered through the unreliable glow of instagram, and not so much rooted in reality. We all struggle to manage our identity, so that what people see is untarnished and "fine". What if we let people see what is really there? And what if we believed who God already says that we are?

So here I am...scars and all...and I will probably always struggle within myself to truly believe who my Heavenly Father says I am because of Him. Don't we all? It may not manifest itself for you as systematically destroying your own body...but we all fight against the holiness that is already present inside of us.

Even now, at a time in my life when I am overweight and struggling to learn to love my body in a different way and to take care of it...to strike a balance of teaching my children how to value and care about what they are putting in their bodies and yet not make that just another idol...I hear a voice in my head that tells me there is an easy solution to this...just don't eat. Those lies are still there...they always will be...but I can choose to hear the truth louder.

The world gives us lie after lie about who we are...and then Jesus says,

"...but you were washed clean, you were made holy to God, and you were made right with God in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the Spirit of our God." ~ 1 Corinthians 6:11

I love the word "WERE" in that passage. It has already been done. It is finished. Our identity in Christ can never be stripped away by the temporary trappings of this fleeting world.

"Everybody knows somebody"...and sometimes you may not even know it. If we're honest, we've all been that somebody. Maybe we haven't all struggled with an eating disorder, but we all know what it is to deny the truth of our identity.

My life does not fit into a neat little box...and, yet, I still try to cram it in.

I choose, so many days, to crop out the ugliness and to filter my life through a haze of what I think I should be living up to as a woman, a wife and a mother...but my Heavenly Father still says, "Come".

I abuse and mistreat this one body, this temple He has given me as a vessel for His love...and He still says, "Come".

I let the lies of this world seep in to my spirit and redefine who I think I am, and who I think I am supposed to be...and yet He tells me, "Come".

And so I come...broken and scarred, I come. I listen again, as He tells me who I am because of Him. And I don't try to hide the scars because even Jesus, perfect and spotless, had scars. And all I want is to look like Him. 

And as I lean into Him...He leans in and whispers to me that, by His grace, I already do.

be still

Political opinions? Yep, I have them. They might even surprise some people (but probably not, if you know me even a little). I enjoy the political process. I've had three different news channels streaming most of the day. I am thankful for this country, and I do care who our leaders are. But that is not where my hope lies. I am grateful to live in this country but my first allegiance isn't to a flag or a president. Many people have spoken of being afraid for their children and the future. When I think of my children and the thing I most want to instill in them it is to live boldly in love and not out of fear. I wrote this post back in 2006, when Jack Franklin was not yet 2 years old. It continues to be the cry of my heart for my boys...and I strive to live it out for them, though I often fail. You can read it at this link:

My Son, Do Not Walk in Fear

Those words that I scrawled down, as a young mother, late one night in 2006 are on my heart tonight...along with these words from scripture...

"For God has not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind...

...if our hope in Christ is only for this life here on earth, then people should feel more sorry for us than for anyone else...

...look, all the nations in the world are like one small drop in the bucket. If the Lord took all the faraway nations and put them on his scales, they would be like small pieces of dust. All the trees in Lebanon are not enough to burn on the altar for the Lord. And all the animals in Lebanon are not enough to kill for a sacrifice. Compared to God, all the nations of the world are nothing. Compared to him, they are worth nothing at all...

...we who have turned to Him can have great comfort knowing that He will do what He has promised. This hope is a safe anchor for our souls. It will never move. This hope goes into the Holiest Place of All behind the curtain of heaven...

...and hope doesn't disappoint us, because God's love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us...

...there is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear"
~2 Timothy 1:7, 1 Corinthians 15:19, Isaiah 40:15-17, Hebrews 6:18-19, Romans 5:5, 1 John 4:18

I wrote a new song in the midst of all of the craziness I was seeing all over the internet and allowing to seep into my spirit. I meditated on Psalm 46 and the promise of a God who is our refuge and our strength...our God who calls us to be still. How often are we still in this world of 24 hours-a-day communication, where nearly every thought is spewed out and can't be taken back? How often do we rest in the presence of God? Is it even close to the amount of time we spend checking our facebook and twitter feeds? And believe me when I say this, I am indicting myself here. Yes, the future of our country is important. Yes, we should seek to honor God in all that we do, and allow our faith to guide our decisions. Yes, we should be concerned with issues facing our nation. But when we allow the issues to win out over people perhaps we should take a moment...breathe...be still...and begin again.

May we remember that what unites us is so much bigger than what divides us...May we be known more for what we are for than what we are against...May we be as passionate about loving people as we are about political parties...May we remember that those we disagree with are made in the image of our Heavenly Father who loves them as much as He loves us...May we place our allegiance and our hope in a kingdom that cannot be shaken...May we remember that we are but dust and that nothing on this earth that we could ever desire will compare to Him...May the perfect love of Christ drive out all our fear.

I love this from the book Common Prayer:Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals:

"Lord, if we are to be afraid of anything, let it be the fear of not committing ourselves fully to you. Let us fear the day will pass without our having lightened the load of another. Let us fear that someone will come looking for you and find only us. Amen."

 

On this night I am thinking about my boys...and how I can be better so they can be better. Red or blue, the world is still broken. Our hope will surely disappoint us when it is put in men. But we have been given a hope that does not disappoint, though the earth give way and the mountains crumble into the sea. God is on His throne. Love will win. Be STILL.

and i know he watches me

October...a time of change...new seasons...falling leaves and changing colors...a time to reflect...and give thanks...countdowns to christmas...to a new year...so much counting. I haven't done very much counting in the last two years. And, honestly, it has been nice. Because for so many years there we were...counting hours, days, long nights, weeks, months, even years...how much time could I spend at home before inevitably landing back in the hospital....and how long would they keep me there? It was a never ending cycle and we were always counting...counting...counting. So, in the last two years, where I haven't had need to even think about heading to an ER...I have relished the gift of NOT counting...not being so bound by time...not holding my breath waiting for the other shoe to drop. All those days of counting have slowly faded into endless days and nights with my family...moving forward...reclaiming moments...reclaiming relationships. And we have been able to just be...no counting...just BE.

Except for one place...one day...in October. One gaping hole so wide that it sometimes takes my breath away.

THREE YEARS...ONE THOUSAND and NINETY FIVE DAYS...TWENTY SIX THOUSAND TWO HUNDRED and NINETY SEVEN HOURS...ONE point FIVE MILLION MINUTES.

without...my...daddy.

October 29, 2009. The last day I saw my sweet father's face on this side of Heaven. There are days when that feels like yesterday and there are days when it feels like it has been so long that, if I take one more breath, I will forget everything. I try to meditate on moments...memorize every last bit...and hold them close. There are days when I can breathe easier...and there are days when I suddenly feel a lightness and then a heaviness all at once...because for a moment I forgot...and then remembered. Grief is strange that way.

I have been thinking so much lately about how much my Dad would have loved watching my boys in the stage they are in right now. He adored all 6 of his grandsons...and I have no doubt that he is still watching them. I am more sad for my nephews...for future cousins to come...and for my sweet babies...who were only 5 and 2 when they lost their Pappy...some days it breaks me apart to think that they may not remember him. By God's grace my boys were so very deeply imprinted upon by the short time they have with their Pappy. And we talk about him all the time. But still...oh how I would love to hear Jack telling him his jokes and reading him the books he writes...to hear them laughing together over the silly movies he makes...Jack Franklin has big dreams...and no one would have been a bigger champion of those dreams than his Pappy, Roy Franklin. And no one would have laughed harder or beamed brighter watching Samuel as he lives in his 24 hour a day never ending fantasy world of sports.

I think about my mom and what it must be like to live this new normal...the day to day...without her partner. I can only imagine what I would feel like losing Matt and just imagining it feels like not breathing. My mom does not grieve as one without hope...but still...there is still grief. I think about my sister, who was always our father's princess, and who longed to have her father there to walk her down the aisle and watch as she started her own family. I think about my brothers and what it must be like to become a man when the most important man in your life isn't there. But oh, how intensely proud I know my Dad is of all of them.

God has been so faithful...He never leaves us fatherless...and I know that...but I miss my Daddy...a girl is just never too old to miss her Daddy. One of my favorite quotes from St. Francis de Sales says, “Nothing is so strong as gentleness, nothing so gentle as real strength”. That was my Dad. We were alike in many ways and I miss hearing his voice speaking into my life. Sometimes I call his cell phone just to hear that voice. I have pictures that I study intensely, soaking up every last shred of connection. There is one in particular, from when I was little, that is a favorite  of mine...I love it for so many reasons...but especially because I love to study his hands holding me in it...because we have the exact same hands. Strange the things that can bring comfort so simply. Even in the midst of this election season I have thought often how I would love to sit and talk to my Dad. I am my father's daughter when it comes to that arena and I miss our talks...and his wisdom...not just for politics or social issues...but for life. He was a man of few words...but the words he spoke he chose so carefully. And he spoke with unwavering passion. Oh to have one more moment to attune my ear to those words. And yet...he is all around me.

There was a night when I was in a hospital bed in 2010 when I woke to see him standing at my door. And you can call it medication...or dehydration...or hallucination...I call it GRACE...the gift of a loving Heavenly Father who gave me the tangible presence of my earthly father for one more moment in the quiet of night.

I sang in church yesterday morning..."His Eye is on the Sparrow"...a song that was dear to my father's heart. He had first come to really love it when a friend of mine in high school sang it especially for him shortly after his first heart surgery. So when our worship minister called last week and said, "Hey, I have something a little special I'd like you to sing this weekend" my heart jumped into my throat as I thought about singing a song...this song...on October 28th.

But I sang it. I sang it for my Heavenly Father. I sang it for my sweet Daddy. And it was flawed. It was an emotional song to sing and there were notes that were not at all executed as well as a trained singer like myself would usually seek to sing them. My voice was a bit shaky...it broke in a few places...the pitch suffered in a few places. But I sang. Because I know that my Daddy loves it when I sing...I know that both of my fathers do.

You see, the very last thing that my Dad asked of me before he went into surgery...the very last thing he said before he went to meet his King was...will you sing for me? He had always been my biggest fan and greatest encourager...and he LOVED to sing...though he could not match one note if he tried...but he had spoken before of looking forward to being in Heaven one day and being able to sing perfectly. And so I sang for him. I sang a song that he requested...a song that means a great deal to our family...one that has become an anthem of sorts for us in times of great joy and in times of great sorrow. I sang the song "My Jesus I Love Thee"...the song that I sang a cappella from the back of a church right before my Daddy walked me down the aisle to marry the man I love...the song that I have sung at weddings and funerals of many we love since. Something about the words of that song just echo my heart so well...in the highs and in the lows.

As I married Matt...
"if ever I loved thee...my Jesus 'tis now"

As I said goodbye to my father for what I did not know would be the very last time...
"if ever I loved thee...my Jesus 'tis now"

And as we laid him to rest and memorialized his quiet, gentle, rich in all the ways that mattered life...
"if ever I loved thee...my Jesus 'tis now"

Those words don't always come easy on my lips...but they are always true. So that brings me back to church yesterday. I have been struggling lately with my voice...with my tendency to be extremely self-critical and with my lack of confidence as far as singing...and Satan has been having a field day with this...using it to put me in my own way in an effort to distract me and silence my pure worship. This may seem a strange struggle from someone who has sung all of their life...as someone who earned a degree that required hours and hours of intensive vocal training...from someone who does feel called by God to be a vessel of worship but sometimes lets Satan creep in through that vulnerable place and tell the lies that have me focusing on the technical...the execution...forgetting sometimes what I'm doing. As someone who is musically trained, yes, it is frustrating when things don't go as smoothly as hoped...it is frustrating when you have spent four consecutive years hospitalized with illnesses that include tubes down your throat and not much time for vocal warm-ups. So I am in a season of retraining my voice...of rebuilding that muscle memory...but I am also so very grateful for the in-between place I am in right now. Because there is a freedom in being real...in being broken...and He can bring beauty out of our broken offerings. And He does not look at the things that man does...He does not dwell on a note that went astray like I might have a tendency to do...He looks at my heart. I will not bring before my King that which costs me nothing...especially if what it costs me is my pride. And I know without a doubt that I would much rather sing a song that is flawed...but genuine before my Savior...than to sing something perfectly and it all have been for naught...only for selfish gain. I sing for Him and Him alone.

I thought about my dad so much in church yesterday...as we sang the song of course...and even throughout Jonathan's sermon. He spoke about the rich young ruler and about what it means to be rich toward God...and that was my Dad. He didn't have much in the way of material possessions...he didn't desire them...most all that he had and was...he gave away...but he was SO.VERY.RICH.

I thought of him as we sang these words of another hymn..."life shall not end the song". And I pictured my Daddy...my sweet, tone-deaf Daddy...healed and whole...in a place where there is no death, no separation, no counting, no night, no end...singing perfectly before our Heavenly Father right alongside me.

I sing because I'm happy

I sing because I'm free

His eye is on the sparrow

And I know He watches me

i will be your someone

This video has not left my mind since I first saw it and read all of the news articles about this young woman who tragically took her life last week at the age of 15, about a month after uploading this video. I have been trying to process my emotions and collect my thoughts enough to adequately express what this story, and the many others like it, has stirred within me.

It is incredible to me what people will say...carefully shrouded in anonymity; their cowardice protected behind a computer screen. And, believe me...I have plenty to say to those people. But my first instinct is to want to reach through that computer screen and talk to Amanda. Especially when she holds up that second to the last card that reads...

"I have nobody...I need someone."

Here is what I would like to say to Amanda...Oh, how I wish I could have said it earlier...that anyone could have said it. Because I truly believe that, in the midst of a chorus of cowardly hate, one heart being brave with love can move mountains. Here is what I wish I would have seen as a response to that video instead of the "she deserved it" and "she was weak"...words that continued to be posted even after her death. Here are the words I wish she could have heard:

YOU HAVE SOMEONE. I will be your someone. You are not alone.

This is just one story and there are countless others like it. Our words are powerful...they can be a wellspring of life or they can literally take life away. I'm not really concerned with people's arguments that she was somehow responsible for the kind of harassment that she received. This was a 15 year old girl. She was a dearly loved daughter of our Heavenly Father and no one deserves this kind of treatment. These are our children...both the bullied and the bullies. They have weapons at their fingertips and can chip away at someone's spirit with the click of a mouse. And what is incredible in these situations is that, even when it seems there are masses of people against you, sometimes all it takes is for one person to be FOR you to make all the difference.

There are so many things I want to say...so much more I wish that I could do. But one thing that I know I can do is instill in my children the immense power and weight that their words can carry...power to build up and to tear down. God help me to model this for them. Because I know all too often I let the ugliness in myself be reflected in my own words. And I can see it in my own children's eyes when I let frustrations get the best of me and when I know I've chipped away a little piece of them. How thankful I am that I know the grace of a loving Heavenly Father who, amidst all my brokenness, pursues me and will not ever let me go. I long to live a life that sees the broken, hurting and lonely and tells them YOU HAVE SOMEONE. I WILL BE YOUR SOMEONE.

In the words of one of my favorite prayers, from Saint Francis of Assisi...

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon.

Where there is doubt, faith.

Where there is despair, hope.

Where there is darkness, light.

Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive.

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Amen.

harvest

I can remember back when Matt and I were dating...those days of butterflies in the stomach, not being able to keep our hands off of each other and many, many late nights of talking. We talked about our hopes and our dreams...we imagined what it would look like for those hopes and dreams to converge. We talked about jobs and cities and baby names. We kissed...alot. We talked about fears and insecurities and doubts. And we kissed some more. There are so many things that made me fall in love with Matt. And in the 10 years we've been together I have fallen in love with him for many more reasons. He's hilarious...no one makes me laugh like he does. He's creative. He has such a passion for things that really matter. He protects me and honors me and values me. And he has the most tender heart of anyone I've ever known. Long before there was a ring on my finger I knew that Matt Pinson was going to make a wonderful father. And I was right. There is no one that I would rather have walking this journey of parenthood alongside of me. There are still so many days that we look at each other and wonder how it is that we have been entrusted with these two little lives. We don't know what we're doing...at all. There are nights that we fall asleep wondering if we've handled things the right way...hoping that we aren't screwing these two little boys up beyond what they will be able to forgive one day. But there is never a moment that I feel alone in it all. I always know that I have a partner and a confidant and an ally in him.

Back in those early days when we would sit up and talk for hours on end we spent alot of time on one subject...orphans. Yep, you heard me right. Two 20 year old kids...with the world at their feet...with a deep burden for orphans. I had gone on several trips throughout high school and college and had been so moved and changed and convicted by what I had seen. We dreamed of what it would look like to one day start a non-profit that would build orphanages and advocate on behalf of orphans around the world so that, one day, maybe there wouldn't be a need to build more orphanages. A seed planted...rooted deep in our hearts...lying there for years...being turned over in the soil of love and loss and sickness and health and richer and poorer and better and worse. I never imagined what God might be doing all those years ago when I was just sitting up talking to the boy I loved...to the boy I knew would make a wonderful father someday. To the man that is now the father of the two sweet boys sleeping down the hall. To the man who is still just as burdened as I am for the heart of the orphan. To the man who feels the urging, just as I do, to embark on a new dream...adoption.

There is still much to talk about...much to pray about...much to listen to God's voice about. But there is not a doubt in our minds that this is right. That those seeds planted long ago are now coming to bear fruit. That there is a harvest happening in our hearts and in our family...drawing us closer to the very heart of our Heavenly Father. So I lay my head down tonight thankful for a Father in Heaven who has adopted me and called me His own; who is father to the fatherless, who places the lonely in families...and with a heart that is open to His leading for our family. I lie down as a daughter of the King who longs to reflect His heart...and as a mother who knows in the deepest part of me that we have a child we have not yet met. I lie down tonight so grateful for the man that is lying beside me. He still gives me butterflies.