You Can’t Have Children…part 2

Before you read this make sure you’ve read Part One so you get the whole story.

I arrived late on a Saturday afternoon, nervous but ready for the days ahead. Sunday morning went well and after lunch I invited some friends to the evening service. They came and brought a couple with a little baby. When I was introduced to their friends, I commented that their baby was cute. They thanked me and said they had just adopted him a couple months earlier. The next evening a gentleman purchased my CD and asked if I’d sign it. There’s a first time for everything. He gave me two names to address the CD to. I’m not sure why. but I asked him if the names he gave me were his children. With a huge smile he said, “yes, they are my adopted children.”

After a round of golf the next morning, my friends called and invited me to lunch. Their worship leader joined us and ten minutes into our conversation he asked if my wife and I had children. I told him no and he commented that he and his wife didn’t either. Finally, I had met someone who was like us. Then he said, “but we are adopting in a couple months.” What?? Unbelievable! I thought everyone in this town must be adopted. I remember most everything about that moment. The tree we parked under. The cracks in the pavement. The slightly overcast day. I don’t remember much about the food or any of the rest of our conversation. My mind was racing.

The next morning Pastor Joe picked me up for lunch. On the way, he told me about a woman who had requested prayer the night before for a young lady she was working with planning to give her child up for adoption. She was praying the child would be placed in a christian home. Pastor Joe said, “I know we haven’t talked about you and your wife’s infertility since last year but is this something you may have interest in?” I was glad I was sitting down. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I couldn’t speak for a second. I remember him saying, “are you okay?”  Finally, I told him what had been happening ever since I had arrived. He said, “Regi, did you ever stop to think that maybe God is up to something?” That’s one lunch I don’t remember and I like Chinese food. I called Pastor Joe’s assistant as soon as I returned to my hotel room. Within a few moments I was on the phone with the social worker. After a 20 minute discussion she asked if I’d like to meet the birth parents. Whew. I’d never done this before. “Yes”, I blurted out. I was leaving early the next morning so she didn’t know if it would be possible. But she called back to say we could meet that evening after the service. I couldn’t tell you anything about that final worship service except that immediately after the final prayer we were walking out the door. My heart started beating faster. I felt like I needed to let down a window. And then we were in the parking lot. Waiting.

The story continues soon with Part 3…

You Can’t Have Children…part 1

This is part 1 of a blog my husband posted on his site at www.RegiStone.com. You really ought to check his stuff out while before going any further! He has shared this story on his travels over the last 14 years so he tried to condense it and this is what he came up with. One day, we’ll capture it all in a tiny little book that you can read, share and eventually use as a paper weight. 

Some years ago we found out we couldn’t have children. That was tough to hear. And living with that reality was even harder. We thought the first Laparoscopy would take care of everything. Then the second. And yet a third. Have you ever gotten your hopes up only to have them dashed like waves against a rock wall? It leaves you breathless. Unsure of how to cope or communicate. You make decisions you wouldn’t ordinarily and life feels like a fog that won’t lift. That was our world for two years.

“When are you guys going to have kids?” This was the question we heard more than too many times. Baby shower invitations were difficult to open and it wasn’t long before depression moved in like a cloud over our home. Been there? Writing about it brings up memories of great difficulty but living on this side of pain reminds me just how far God has brought us.

I traveled almost every weekend during those years which left my wife home alone. Alone, to deal with the pain. Even when I was home I wasn’t present when it came to discussing children. I can’t find any explanation why I didn’t communicate with her, but I didn’t and time dredged on. One particular weekend I was at an event when a gentleman approached me and introduced himself as Pastor Joe. He asked about my family and then the question came. Do you all have children? I told him we didn’t and then for some reason I told him we couldn’t have children. I didn’t mean to tell him it just sort of spilled out before I realized it. He said he was sorry and told me he and his wife had struggled with infertility year earlier but that God had blessed them with a beautiful baby girl through adoption. He told me with a smile, that they now were enjoying their grandchildren. Before he left he asked me to contact him to discuss coming to his church as music guest. Since he had never heard me sing or play, I figured it was a nice gesture and that I’d never see him again.

Six months later I contacted Pastor Joe and was invited to a 4-day conference at their church. I didn’t realize meeting him in the midst of thousands of people would be the beginning of a truly amazing story.

Part 2 coming soon.

Regi

 

A Brown Paper Bag

Something waits below the mundane of taking the kids to school, heading to the gym, sitting at a desk wishing you were home—do you see it? It’s called purpose. Sometimes you must search for the intention behind the action, but I assure you, it’s there.

For me it’s as though a Mack truck pulls into my driveway and blasts, “Can you hear me now,” because more often than not, I’m too busy to listen.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

It’s so much easier when you stop and listen.

Eli forgot his lunch last week. I didn’t notice the bag in the refrigerator until he called at 10:55 asking if I would bring it to him. There’s no chance he would buy what the cafeteria passes off as food, and neither would I expect him to eat it.

But I was in the middle of seeing the handyman off to Home Depot to get a few supplies for the house when the phone rang. Mr. Handyman was kind (and quite the talker), which made it difficult to pull myself away.

I finally cut him off mid-sentence to say it was urgent that I leave immediately—no time to explain. I knew that if I didn’t, Eli’s lunch period would be over; that quiver in his voice said he was hungry. I would break every speed limit to get to him in time.

Before you tell me how I should have handled this request, I assure you this was not intended to be a lesson in Good Parenting 101. Purpose was waiting. So carrying a brown paper sack, at the intersection of Edmondson Pike and Old Hickory Boulevard, I listened.

To understand what I’m saying, answer this: What was the last thing you asked God for? I bet most will say something tangible like a paycheck (or a bigger paycheck).

  1. The childless may say…a child.
  2. Those who are single may whisper…someone to spend the rest of my life with.
  3. For some…a new home.
  4. Others…groceries.
  5. The sick may say…a good report from the doctor.

The more we ask for things, the more I wonder if God simply hears our requests as, “Susan needs provision. Jim needs sustenance. Cynthia needs healing. Allison and Michael need peace.” Perhaps He goes beyond our tangible requests to offer what we can’t physically hold in our hands.

But first, I know what you’re going to say because I’ve said it before. “If He answers our prayers, then where’s the baby I’ve been praying for?” Or, “I haven’t even been asked on a date and He’s know how badly I want to be married.” Or, “My cupboards are bare. I need food.” The truth is, I really wish I had all the answers, or at least knew someone who could give them to you. What I do know is this: when we ask something in His name, His plan—which is far greater than what we could ever dream—perfects itself, but in His time.

Eli calling and me rushing to him made me think of it like this. Imagine you are in need. You pick up the phone and dial 1-800-I-Need-You-Jesus. He answers. He hears your cry, stops what He’s doing, and rushes to you. When He shows up, He is carrying a brown paper bag. You assume it’s exactly what you asked for. You open it and are a bit surprised at first. It’s not a baby. Nor a winning lottery ticket. Not even the clean bill of health you prayed for.

Then what’s in there that He rushed over to give you?

How about the exact measure of GRACE for today’s situation? STRENGTH to carry you through infertility until the baby He intends for you is born. PEACE that He will take care of you, even if you never get a ring on your finger. COURAGE to help you face your sickness with determination and confidence. 

Does it make sense?

That day was a lesson for me. Normally I would have rolled my eyes and been frustrated that I had to drop what I was doing and take a sack lunch to my son. But it was different this time because I allowed God to show me a much greater purpose.

Here’s my advice to you:

 

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

It’s so much easier when you stop and listen. What’s He telling you?

 

“I don’t think the way you think. The way you work isn’t the way I work.” (God’s Decree.) “For as the sky soars high above earth, so the way I work surpasses the way you work, and the way I think is beyond the way you think. Just as rain and snow descend from the skies and don’t go back until they’ve watered the earth, Doing their work of making things grow and blossom, producing seed for farmers and food for the hungry, So will the words that come out of my mouth not come back empty-handed. They’ll do the work I sent them to do, they’ll complete the assignment I gave them.” Isaiah 55:8-11, The Message

 

 

The Cabin In the Woods

Morgan, Sophie’s BF, was at our house during the last round of tornado warnings. While the girls were squished in my closet-turned-office-turned-safe-place, I headed outside to take pictures of the swirly sky. “You’re not much of a worrier, are you?” Morgan commented. Funny how I don’t worry about tornadoes ripping the roof of the house, but do worry what people think of me. I’d say it’s a 6 on a scale of one to ten.

Now, let me get this off my chest: we have not gone off the deep end.

With the very quick sale of our home last week (on the market for five days with four offers), we were faced with two choices: find another house fast, or find a place to rent and breathe. I am fond of breathing.

The only problem I foresee is that we haven’t rented since the beginning of our marriage when we lived in a two-bedroom duplex with ugly green carpet. Twenty-two years later and I’m assuming all rentals look the same. Besides that, I never dreamed of being here after trying to do all the right stuff. My expectation was that we’d be moving into our dream home where we would retire in years to come and I’d eventually rock a grandkid or two. (Note to self: lower the expectations and chance for disappointment is much less.)

I am the one who talked my husband into renting (remind me of that in the days to come should I need it) because I’m not one to rush; I don’t even like being late to church. Another thing I don’t like is debt. While we’ve maintained a mostly debt free lifestyle (apart from a mortgage and that stupid car Regi bought but has since sold), it feels like a plane has crash- landed right into the second act of this important play called Life. As small business owners, we’ve carried around our last remaining business loan for a few years now. Then the KGB (thanks for the perfect description, Dave Ramsey) sent us a hefty bill that they want paid yesterday. Living with that kind of debt is like carrying a ball and chain with you everywhere you go.

Regi immediately started looking for a rental and found a place within a day. After seeing it online however, I gave it two thumbs down and asked him to look for something normal. However, it’s difficult to say no to my husband, sweet as he is. I obliged to simply look.

The Front Porch

When I sat in a chair on the front porch and looked over my front yard, I was hooked.

Guess what?

We will be living in a cabin on 22 acres. Of course we’re not renting the 22 acres, we just get to enjoy it. And no, I’m not simply giving the house the affectionate name of cabin. I’m talking made-of-wood with a fireplace that doesn’t have a switch. Yes, a cabin. Complete with a front porch view of the stables and horses, the pond, garden, and the two other homes on the property. We even get to rent Sable as well, the oversized Lab with something-something mixed in who bounds over like a goofy elementary kid every time we show up. She’s the big dog we’ve always promised (I sure hope she likes little dogs).

Could it get any better? We’ll see. I feel a journey leading somewhere that is going to open my eyes to things I haven’t seen in a while. I hope you’ll come along for the ride.

Risking All To Walk On Water

We put our house on the market Thursday. By Sunday, we had two offers. Monday brought one more. I’m reminded of my pastor’s sermon two weeks ago on Risk Faith and Courage—was he talking about For Sale signs as well? MY plan was: find out about a change in schools by Friday, put the house on the market the following Monday, and then by the end of next week, have the house sold! However, in spite of the first answer taking longer than planned, we decided to go ahead and stake the sign in the front. I liken it to sticking my toe into a creek to see the temperature, not ready to jump in yet.

For the first time in years we aren’t sure of where we’ll land after our house sells. We’ve talked about, wanted to, and had a purpose for moving (all while staying in Nashville) for over a year. You know the “stuff” we worry about? None of it has lined up and that has been my signal to keep waiting for a break from the perfect storm before doing anything. Then I heard those words from the platform. Until then I assumed risk, faith and courage was for couples wanting to move to far off lands and open orphanages. Not reasonably normal people looking to make a few changes in life.

So many emotions bubble over with the sale of a home.

I think I’m okay with moving in thirty days if the buyer wants. I think I’m okay with leaving the Japanese Maple and River Burch, two beautiful trees I’ve managed not to kill these last ten years. I think I’m okay leaving the light fixtures we went over budget on. I’d like to say I’m okay leaving here and going…Oh wait, we have no idea where we’re going.

I’m not one to cling to my stuff (there’s that word again), but lately it has been difficult to loosen my grip. To let go of the excess frying pans I’ve collected over the years, the chandeliers on dimmer switches, the pergola built with the sweat of Uncle George and my cousin, Josh.

And therein lies the problem with many of us. It’s this inability to let go that gets us stuck trying to take the car from second to third gear…as though everything we have at this current place in life is the best we’ll ever have. I say things like, “Here we go again. I’ve worked hard for this. You want me give it all up now?”

What careless faith. Don’t I trust Him to give me just what I need at just the right moment? Do you? Then why do we say things like: “I’ll do it…If You give me a better house; If I get that promotion; If I find that perfect spouse; If you fix my marriage. If not, all bets are off.”

Read this with me from Matthew 14:

Meanwhile, the boat was far out to sea when the wind came up against them and they were battered by the waves. At about four o’clock in the morning, Jesus came toward them walking on the water. They were scared out of their wits. “A ghost!” they said, crying out in terror.  27But Jesus was quick to comfort them. “Courage, it’s me. Don’t be afraid.” 28Peter, suddenly bold, said, “Master, if it’s really you, call me to come to you on the water.” 29-30He said, “Come ahead.” Jumping out of the boat, Peter walked on the water to Jesus. But when he looked down at the waves churning beneath his feet, he lost his nerve and started to sink. He cried, “Master, save me!” 31Jesus didn’t hesitate. He reached down and grabbed his hand. Then he said, “Faint-heart, what got into you?” 32-33The two of them climbed into the boat, and the wind died down. The disciples in the boat, having watched the whole thing, worshiped Jesus, saying, “This is it! You are God’s Son for sure!”

The part that strikes me is, “The two of them climbed into the boat, and [then] the wind died down.” Jesus, who had just walked on water and had already calmed one squall for His disciples, could have said, “Hang on a second, Pete. Let me take care of the storm before you start your journey.” But he didn’t. He called to Peter through the storm, as though Peter needed to learn that Easy Street is not the only open road.

Then he walked straight towards Jesus on the water. Maybe Pete, realizing the storm wasn’t letting up, got scared and decided he was more comfortable in the safety of the familiar boat. Do you know the kind of familiarity I’m talking about? That mediocre place where we get stuck doing it the way we’ve always done because we can’t fathom that there is anything better for us? It hardly seems possibly that God would call us out of our comfort zone, and still be ALL the provision we need.

“Courage!” He calls me by that name through the heavy downpour, so can he teach my faint heart how to maneuver through the wind. He gives courage when it’s time to move, time to change, time to let go. Just like he did for Peter, Jesus wants to show us that He is our sufficiency; but we have to be willing to take a risk—in courage and in faith.

Sometimes He says, “Go,” without giving you an address to log into Google maps. I know it’s risky, like you’re a blind man with no cane to tap the pavement, trusting completely in a still small whisper. But if God is in charge of everything, then He is also in charge of that storm. Some times He will take it out of your path, and some times He will tell you to slip on a life jacket and send you straight into the choppy waters.

I say it’s time to test the waters.

 

 

 

 

Show Me Your Scar, I’ll Show You Mine

I have scars.

I got one recently after I cooked lunch for some friends. In the rush to have everything on the table at the same time, I burned my hand as I took bread out of the oven. It didn’t hurt until the next day. A puffy little blister, sore to the touch; I knew it would leave a mark.

There’s more. If you look closely, you can still see the faded triangle between my left calf and shin from the fifth grade when I tried to officiate a fight between two German Shepherds. On my other shin, there’s a scar from when I slid down a concrete bench in the 11th grade. I can still see where I got cut with a piece of glass on my right hand from who knows when.

What about the other scars? The ones that go deeper than dogs and bread?

It’s safe to say we all make a mess in life. It’s only when we refuse to clean up that mess, to deal with our wound, that things get ugly. I learned early on how to conceal what was inside by looking good on the outside. Do you know the smile I’m talking about? Thought so.

So instead of asking for help, the wound in me went unattended and infection set in. Gross and blistery, oozing with nastiness. No band-aid is large enough to cover guilt and shame forever. There I was, going to Bible study on Tuesday and bringing peanut butter cookies to the potluck, with that smile you know so well. Though I was in desperate need of some ointment, I was too worried what someone would think if I showed them how deep the wound went.

Just like it’s NOT normal for a person to show up at the ER smiling while bleeding profusely, it’s not acceptable to walk through life crippled because we’re afraid to seek help. Do you tell yourself, “Just keep smiling…no one will recognize I’m on crutches?!”

Reality is often ugly. Unfortunately the people we welcome into our lives don’t want to know WHERE we’ve come from, just that we arrived safely. It’s the equivalent of taking on this sort of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell gospel!

I’ll never forget going to a Bible study at one of the first churches we attended after moving to Nashville. We met in what seemed to be the busiest hallway on that Wednesday evening. It was, you know, one of those classes. The kind where the curious mill around the hallway just so they can see who walks through the door—unable to grasp the idea that imperfect people attend their church. Anyway, imagine my shock when my good friend walked in after me. I love this friend dearly and could never have imagined that we were on the same journey. Until then, she had never showed me her wound, I had never showed her mine.

Healing often begins when we realize we are not alone.

After I dealt with my pain, I began sharing my story with others. People would walk up to me and whisper that they’d been through the same thing. I could see the weight being lifted off their back because they found someone who had walked where they walked. I’m not saying everyone has to make a public proclamation of their experience. I just think that too many people allow shame, embarrassment, and guilt, and friends, and family, and church…to erase their story.

What does the Bible have to say about scars?

It says that when Jesus appeared to His apostles after the resurrection, “He showed them His hands and His side.” If you’ve read the account, or seen it acted out on any given Easter Sunday, you know Jesus didn’t show them gaping holes with bloody pieces of mangled skin still in tact. No. He showed them wounds that had been healed by His Father; and those very scars were how his friends knew it was truly Him! See the purpose of His scars?

Can you grasp the difference between scars and wounds? Scars come with a story of redemption. Wounds are still in the middle of trying to figure out their story.

I wish you could see my inbox. I often get private messages from people who are right in the middle of a gaping wound. It’s like they’re limping their way to the cross, and no one even notices. Here I am, miles away and connected only through the internet, and I wonder why they’re telling me? Is there no one around them to notice their wound?

Imagine how different the path to the cross would look if we were brave enough to lock arms with our friends who can’t make it on their own.

Today I want to challenge you. Yes, you, the person reading this post. YOU, the person who was wounded but found healing. You have a story…you know you do. I’m simply asking you to become more aware of the people around you that are lame, abused, and hobbling to the water cooler.

Don’t be afraid to ask, “What’s wrong?” So that at the right time you can say, “I have one of those scars too.”

You may be just the person to rip that Band-Aid off their wound and expose them to the greatest Healer ever.

 

 

This Bud’s For You!

On the way to the bus stop this morning, a thought occurred to me. It’s early March.

The blossoms are not supposed to be out. It’s not right.

Mother Nature hasn’t given the sprouts on the Bradford Pears permission to make their entrance yet.

But they’ve decided differently. Just look around.

I took these pictures for those who have found the courage to bloom, even though your season says,

“Not yet.”

Who cares if you’re older than you’ve ever been. Who cares that you’ve never been here before.

It doesn’t matter. Something is calling you out of your old season. You’re not late, not even early.

You’re right on time.

This bud’s for you!