God Has Not Left the Building

Recently I had a migraine. Often I have to take a pill, go to a quiet spot, and lie down before I find any relief.

I thought I’d find that relief in my bed but no sooner did I lie down that Roxy curled up at my feet. She doesn’t require much so I didn’t shoo her away. Then came Regi who wanted to watch the Olympics from his favorite spot. Next, and wouldn’t you know it, Eli decided to plop down between us. All we needed was Sophie to complete the moment, but she was dealing with a sinus infection and wouldn’t be showing up to the party.

Silence was nowhere to be found. Regi was cheering on the runners and Eli was intent on finding the best price, size and color of his latest obsession—Nike Free.

“What do you think of this color, Mom?”

“Hmmm. Nice.”

“Ohhh. How about these pink ones? They look more like your style.”

“Hmmm. Sure.”

“What size are you? 7.5? Or just a 7? They cost less here, Mom. Want to see them? Maybe I could get some too. Here Dad, what do you think? Maybe the whole family should get a pair.”

On and on and on and on. I tried to act interested when all I wanted was the headache to leave. I went downstairs without telling anyone and slipped between the heavy jersey sheets of one of Eli’s twin beds. They draped over me as I smashed his pillow over my head. All I could hear was the distant whirring of the fan. Peace.

Then Regi realized I was missing and came to find me.

“Are you okay?”

“Leave me to die in peace,” I wanted to say.

“My head is killing me.” He rubbed my temples for a few minutes, got me an ice pack, and left.

Next came Eli. “Mom, are you okay?”

“Seriously? You again?” I wanted to say.

“Yes.”

Happy that I was going to be fine, he left. Right as Sophie came into the room.

“Mom, are you okay?” she whispered.

How does a mom do to get a little peace around here?

“Headache.”

“Oh.”

She took her laptop and climbed into the other twin bed and went about conducting her business next to me, in her brother’s room, for no apparent reason (you have to have a 14 year old daughter to even understand the enormity of this). The first day of school was tomorrow and she wouldn’t be going due to her fever; yet she left the comfort of her bed to be with me. I didn’t hear a thing from her, nor could I see her; I was buried in the pillow. But I felt her. Every now and then I heard her take a breath, maybe even smile if that’s possible, but that’s it.

Soon I didn’t feel the pain as much as I felt her presence.

We sat there for about fifteen minutes without speaking. I loved that she wanted to be near me so much that I stopped focusing on my pounding headache. When she slipped out unannounced, I immediately felt a change in the room.

“Get to the point,” you say.

Very often I’m guilty of assuming that I have to ask God to show up to my circumstance, as if he’s only available on Mondays and Wednesdays to perform his wonder-working-power. You know, let everything come up roses and I’m confident in my salvation. But let the house not sell or the IRS send a large bill and I’m all like, “Oh God! Where are you?!”

Psalm 34:18 (The Message) says, “If your heart is broken, you’ll find God right there; if you’re kicked in the gut, he’ll help you catch your breath.”

It doesn’t say He’ll only show up as an earthquake to destroy whoever kicked you in the stomach! Nor does it say He will only show up as a hurricane force wind and topple whatever stands in the way of your miracle. It says, “You’ll find God right there,” and that means in the midst of exactly where you are.

Just like when Sophie was in the room, the presence of God is always with me—abiding so quietly that I forget (even doubt) He’s there. Trust me, I’d come close to begging if it meant He’d speak audibly every once in a while, or at least scribble something on the wall as a confirmation.

Alas, that’s just not how he works (in my life anyway).

Because lately I find that I’m most aware of His presence when I’m in the throes of my deepest pain. And the powerful and effectual presence of God that I wish would just raise a hand and stop the gale force winds? It grabs a hammer instead and helps me batten down the hatches so we can ride out the storm together.

So if your world is crumbling, don’t take it as a sign He has left the building. I promise He’s with you in the emergency room, living room, guest room, and your son’s room when you have a headache. He’s on the plane with you, in the train with you, and even in your car when it’s broken down on the side of the interstate. Sometimes it’s as a mighty presence but other times it’s as the whisper of a breath that fills the darkness reminding you of one of His greatest promises ever…

“I will never leave your or forsake you.”

Things I Do Not Know

Why do I speed up when we get to a yellow light?

Why do you take the short way home when the long route offers the beautiful view?

Why can’t you find a spouse or have a child?

Why is your marriage is failing?

Why did the chicken cross the road?

So many things and so many reasons I just don’t know.

I don’t know why people die when they’re young
Or before they get to meet their first grandchild.

I don’t know why people stop praying
Stop hoping
Stop trusting
And make so many rules that not even Jesus could have followed them.

I don’t know why there are more fireflies in the country or what their purpose is other than to make kids happy on summer nights.

I don’t know why we fight with the people we love the most

Or why your business isn’t successful

Or why you can’t find a job.

I don’t know why you find jokes funny that I think are stupid

Or why some people are just plain odd.

I simply don’t know.

I don’t know why we’re living in the country in a house that’s not ours
Or why I started blogging when there are days I have nothing to say and the last thing I want to do is write about nothing when I really do have a lot to say.

I don’t know why my son isn’t a better reader
Or why people make such a big deal that their child is
Or why we push our kids to grow up too soon
Only to wish time would stop so they’d be little again.

I don’t know why I ask for things and don’t get them
Or why I get things I don’t ask for.

I don’t know why friends move away
Or why it’s so difficult to make new friends
Or why we don’t see good friends more often
Or why friends are even important.

Don’t we deserve an explanation to at least one Why?

I don’t know if the sun will come out tomorrow
If Jesus will return tomorrow
If the child fighting for his life will live until tomorrow
Or if I’ll continue putting off today what I could do tomorrow.

I don’t know why I write and talk all high-and-mighty when I haven’t even walked over to meet my new neighbors yet. I don’t know.

I don’t know why I am in this appointed place in life, what we’re doing here, or how this is supposed to change my life. I don’t know if I truly hear God telling me something or if it’s me telling myself what I want to hear. I don’t know how long I’m going to be here getting shin splints from walking on raw wooden floors or how living in a cabin is going to be anything more than living in a cabin.

I. Do. Not. Know.

Do you?

I don’t know why I cry for no apparent reason and whether the tears are happy or sad. I don’t know if the people I look up to ever feel the same crazy way I feel and ask the same crazy questions I do.

I don’t know why cancer can’t be cured
Why innocent kids are abused
Why people go hungry
Why people are homeless
Or why more people don’t help the homeless and hungry.

But…

God is faithful. God is stable. God is understanding. God is kind.

And He knows. Yes, God knows everything.

He knows why you are there and I am here. He knows how long you’ll be there and I’ll be here. He may choose to make it clear, He may not.

But ALL things work together for good. And ALL THINGS means ALL THINGS. The things we know, the things we don’t. The good and the bad. The unclear, the clear, the scary, the beautiful, the kind, the mean, the death, the life, the valleys, the mountains, the cabin, the kids, the short and scenic route. All for good…

How do I know this?

Because I trust God.

Come to think about it…that’s about all I do know.

 

 

It’s a Beautiful Day In the Neighborhood

When Jesus said, “Love thy neighbor,” I never thought He meant to love the person who lives right next door. So to help Him out, I defined who my “neighbor” would be: my relatives and/or the person in my adjoining cubicle that I went to lunch with every Thursday. But now I think Mr. Rogers was more in tune with Jesus than me. We all have beautiful neighbors in our neighborhood…it’s up to us to see the beauty in them.

37 Jesus said unto him, “‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.’ 38 This is the first and great commandment. 39 And the second is like unto it: ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.’ 40 On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.” [I rarely quote the New King James Version but that’s how I first heard it as a child so it’s only right.]

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

Two weeks ago, I was playing fetch with Roxy. I usually chuck the ball as far as I can and she runs after it. This time she got preoccupied with what was happening three doors down so I ensued chase onto my neighbor’s driveway. The semi-stranger extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Teddy! Are you the new owner?” (We just sold our house if you didn’t know.)

What was I to say? “I’ve lived here longer than you and I’m sorry I haven’t taken the time to come over more often. I meant to bring you a new baby gift but now that your son is four, it might seem odd.” I was speechless and surprised.

As we began and ended (we stood and talked for a while) what could have been a glorious friendship, the neighbor from the other side of the street stopped his car in front of us, turned the engine off, and talked to me for well over an hour. He also lives three doors down from me and was one of the first homes on our cul-de-sac. Come to think of it, his wife brought a baby gift when Eli was born…

Again, I was speechless. Why was this man whom I’ve held a grudge against for years being so nice? You see, I think he complained to the neighborhood association when we put the trampoline in the backyard, and I think he complained when I didn’t store my garbage can properly. There are a few other things I’ve blocked out of my mind, but oh how I remember getting those notes in the mailbox. And oh how I remember the angst I felt when I’d see him walk to his mailbox wearing his hat that reminded me of Skipper on Gilligan’s Island. I will never know if he really complained, but I assume he did. Over the years I’ve even barked orders to the kids to keep the Frisbee, football, bike, chalk and dog out of his way because I assumed he didn’t like any of the above. Or us for that matter.

And at some point, I stopped loving my neighbor.

Last Sunday night he rode his lawnmower over and parked in our driveway. At first I thought he was simply happy we’re leaving, but I believed him when he said, “We’re really going to hate to see you all leave.” We may not have gotten Yard Of the Month, but we are good neighbors who have kept to ourselves while living at the end of White Court.

I wish I had gotten to know my neighbor these last ten years; I would have liked him a lot. This gruff ex-cop from Chicago spoke affectionately about his wife, even telling me about the fuss they’re in because he ran her cleaning lady off by discussing what she could do better. He told me about talking to our other neighbor who doesn’t take care of his yard, and how he offered to help him because he must be to busy to worry about weed prevention and mulch. I realized right then that he wouldn’t have called the HOA on us; if he’d had a problem, he would have told me to face to face. My neighbor wore a gold chain with St. Something-or-Other on it, talked about Jesus, cussed, cracked jokes, and reminded me again about his two granddaughters coming to visit. He even asked about our little dog (that I assumed he disliked) that always wound up in his garage when he’d get loose. I told him he passed away two years ago and he said, “Oh, I’m sorry. We love our dog, too.”

Then he brought up the time eight years ago that I needed his help with a dead battery because I had to rush my sister to the airport. He laughed and said, “That’s just what neighbors do!” I couldn’t believe he remembered so much.

On and on our conversation went. As we laughed—I’m talking oh-no-the-neighbors-are-going-to-hear-kind of laugh—I knew I missed the meaning of Matthew 22:39. I missed my opportunity to show the grace, mercy and kindness that Jesus would have shown. Like when the couple three doors down had their first baby, or when my new neighbor-friend’s father-in-law became quite ill, or by simply sharing cookies on a night when I baked too many. I had every chance to put the needs of another above my own but I chose to look the other way.

You know why this has affected me so much as we leave the neighborhood? Because I withheld the greatest message I know, about the greatest Man I know, due in part to worrying more about what to make for dinner and whether or not the piano was dusted. I mean, if I can’t obey the second commandment, how am I to make sense of the others?

We are moving today and will never see these people again. But I leave different, determined to never let my assumptions mask a beautiful neighbor again.

I offer you the same challenge I am giving myself. Find beauty right next door. Extend generosity and kindness. Smile and wave. After all, you have been given the beautiful gift of Jesus Christ and the people closest to you need to have it today.

Love thy neighbor. It can’t be any clearer than that.

 

Mom’s Sunday Roast. Oh man, I can already smell it…

There’s nothing better than a good ‘ole roast or a pot of spaghetti and meatballs waiting when we come home from church. You can smell if from the garage; like Grandma has been cooking all morning.

Here’s a happy medium when you can’t decide.

My mom made this recipe when I was a kid. I’ve never had it anywhere else so I’m find with saying it’s an old family recipe. I must admit: I get nostalgic in the kitchen. My sister, Annalisa, thinks I’m half nuts when I pull anything out of mom’s old cookbook and if she reads this, she will roll her eyes that I still make this.

I’m sure these ingredients could be tweaked, but if I did, it wouldn’t be the same. My mom made this some years ago (the first time I’d had it as an adult), and I could see myself opening the avocado green refrigerator and getting a glass of Tang. I’m getting teary eyed already.

Once again, I cooked this recently and forgot to take a picture. I’ll do it the next time. But if you make it, send me yours so I can post it!

Ingredients:

2 lb. Chuck Roast (not my favorite cut of meat, but my mom says this works best. I didn’t believe her until the butcher at Publix confirmed it. Just be ready to cut away the fat at the end. NOTE: a 2 lb. chuck roast shrinks up; so if you buy a larger roast like I always do, use your judgement and adjust your seasonings so. I usually double the sauce and water anyway but again, remember to adjust.)

2-3 garlic cloves (sliver one clove, chop the rest)

2 T. olive oil

2 T. butter

1 small onion, chopped

2 t. oregano

1 t. thyme

1 t. salt

1/4 t. pepper

1/8 t. cinnamon

1 15. oz tomato sauce (Plain sauce, not the flavored kind; this is not meant to be an Italian sauce.)

1/2 cup water

Spaghetti noodles

Directions:

Make a few slits in the roast. Jam one of the pieces of garlic inside. (I have no idea why, but Mom says to do this.)

I cook this on top of the stove in a large pan; no need to even turn the oven on.

Brown your meat and onions in the oil and butter on medium heat (remember, this is an old recipe. I haven’t changed it to a low-fat version). Once the meat has browned, about five minutes on each side, chop up the rest of the garlic and saute for 30 seconds.

Mom says to take the roast out at this point and then add your next ingredients. I simply scoot the meat to the side and then add. Take your pick.

Add the oregano, thyme, salt, pepper and cinnamon to your pan. Next add the tomato sauce and water and put your meat back into the pan if you chose my mom’s way.

Cook on low, covered, for two to three hours (or however long you’re going to be in church).

Serve over cooked spaghetti noodles. (Al dente please. I will not have you giving soggy noodles to your family.) Garlic bread, a salad, something good for dessert…could Sunday lunch get any better?

I’d choose a home cooked meal over a restaurant any day, especially on a Sunday. Besides, you will love how your house smells when you walk in from church; and I wouldn’t lie when it comes to food.

Enjoy!

Are You Barely Hanging On?

It’s been one of those weeks. Busy, yet quiet. Full, yet empty.

Sophie, Morgan, Eli, Hannah and I joined Regi at an engagement in Pensacola Beach over Memorial Day weekend. Friends, family and the beach: the perfect way to begin our summer. When we returned, I thought for sure some magical fairies would have packed for me. They didn’t and now my house is a wreck. Open boxes, sealed plastic containers, to-be-purged pile, and to-be-stored pile all growing by the minute. I simply want to close on Point A so that we can get to Point B. I’m done with where I’ve been, ready to move on.

Ever feel like you’re barely holding on?

My favorite day over the weekend was the one spent at Navarre Beach. The clear and shallow water (for the most part) was amazing. I knew the depth of the water by the color of the blue. Dark blue=deep. Light blue=shallow. Bluish white=sand bar. Our goal was to follow the bluish white because it would take us to places we otherwise wouldn’t go. My petite eight-year-old niece was with us and I have to admit, she has a mind of her own. I figured she knew that that to go back to shore, she had to carefully follow the sand bar after telling me she was heading back to collect seashells. She didn’t realize the current threw us a little off track while swimming and that she’d have to adjust her path in order to follow the sand bar back in.

She headed towards Regi who was near shore. He’s not a good swimmer so anything below the knee and he’s of no use if you need him to rescue you. The main difference between us is that I don’t worry very much when it comes to the water because I grew up around it. He didn’t, so I’m always telling him he worries too much. When I saw Hannah go sloshing back to shore, I didn’t think much of it. But Regi already knew what was about to happen.

And it did. Her short little legs stepped into the dark blue and she was forced to tread water without really knowing how. I was out of reach and didn’t even realize she had encountered choppy water. Regi yelled for me to notice while starting out to the deep, knowing that he’d be in trouble soon. I began swimming towards her, the adrenalin pushing each stroke. She wasn’t so far that I wouldn’t get to her in time, but you know that feeling of “What if?” Regi signaled a gentleman closer to help when he realized he couldn’t go further. Hannah did her best to swim into his waiting arms; he grabbed her and delivered her to shore. I got a strong talking to by my husband.

The situation ended without great alarm but it certainly could have gone another way.

Ever feel like you’re doing more than holding on? Like squeezing someone’s hand so tightly that you’re cutting off his (the) circulation. Like treading water in a deep ocean for longer than you’d like. Your alternative would be to give up and simply drown, but you’ve got some fighting spirit in your veins. The lifeguard is in site but he sure is taking his time. And hello?! Questioning why he is taking his sweet time doesn’t help—he knows the water is deep and you have no option but to cling to the hope that help is about to show up.

We are all faced with moves/changes in our lifetime. It’s not fun, it’s not easy, and it doesn’t happen instantaneously because a magical elf shows up and does all the work. Today I don’t have much more to tell you than this.

Hold on. Persevere. Launch out into the deep. And don’t be afraid to follow the sand bar…but don’t be surprised if you’re thrown a little off course and need some extra help reaching your destination.

The day on the beach was worth the hassle and ended with many laughs and sand in places we never intended. Trust me. It takes a lot more than a few rough seas to throw us completely off course.

Now excuse me while I get back to packing. There’s an adventure out there and I don’t want to miss it!

You Can’t Have Children…part 4

Finally my husband lets me have a say! This is part 4 of part of the story of how our precious daughter, Sophia, came into our lives. You really should read parts 1-3 first. You can find them here under the Category “Life” or by searching for its tag with Adoption, Regi, Sophia or You Can’t Have Children. While you’re here, feel free to check out my husband’s blog at www.RegiStone.com. I think you’ll like what he shares. 

The phone call from Regi came out of nowhere. I was in the bathroom putting make-up on to go to my job selling make-up. Life was miserable. And I sure didn’t want to hear my cheery husband calling from an exotic location where he’d probably ordered room service the night before while I ate a bologna sandwich. (Okay, so Kansas isn’t exactly exotic, but at the time, anywhere was better than the hole I was in.)

To top things off, he called with a story about a baby. The last thing this woman dealing with infertility wanted to hear was about some rosy-cheeked baby he held between services so I tuned him out. I don’t know at what point I started listening, but I remember sitting down as my freshly applied mascara turned into big black tears. As if God were whispering in my ear, I suddenly knew this baby girl would be ours.

Two years earlier, my doctor confirmed my suspicions of infertility. So after many tests, my last option was outpatient surgery. All I remember as I lay in the recovery room is Regi telling me that it would be nearly impossible for me to have a baby. Instantly everything became clear. God had kept a record of my sins. Every scripture I’d ever highlighted in bright yellow had been a big lie. Too angry to cry all my tears, I determined that when the Big Guy and I got alone, we’d have it out once and for all.

You know that feeling you get when your electricity goes out on a night when the moon is hidden by clouds? That’s what the next two years were for me. Anger. Tears. Guilt. More tears. Ugly, ugly night. Eventually I would learn that the darkness has to come in order to give way to the light. It was during this time that I found my way to a 13-week Bible study and embarked on a journey of learning about God in a whole new way. A funny thing happened when I got honest with myself and God—my heart began to heal. Finally, two years later, I began letting go of things that I had no right to carry.

And the lights came back on.

I stood firm in my faith and acceptance of God’s love for me just the way I was. I found scripture I never knew existed. And I wrote through the pain. Before long, it was the beginning of a new year and I believed in my heart that I would become a mom this year, that my body would be healed this year. The days came and went, with nothing. Again I questioned…Are you there, God? It’s me, Kim.” I even tried to take back all the anger and guilt I had given Him, but He couldn’t remember where He put it! Helpless, I looked up and said, “What are you gonna do? Drop a baby out of Heaven into my arms?”

I guess you could say that’s what He had in mind.

Upon returning from Kansas, the man who had never even discussed adoption with me could hardly be contained. We wrote some letters, scrounged up the best pictures of family we could find, and took pictures of an empty room that we hoped would be filled, before sealing our dreams in a FedEx envelope. We waited for one very long week until the phone rang at 11:00 p.m. on April 15th. Thankfully, it wasn’t the IRS.

It was JoAnn, an angel from heaven in the form of a social worker. She told Regi, “Before you go to sleep tonight think pink. You’re going to be a father.” She said something to me next but all I remember is hearing the word “Mommy” and then crying. This time, the tears didn’t hurt.

We headed to Kansas on July 4th and by the next day we were at the hospital awaiting our precious daughter to be born. It seems crazy that we shared so much laughter and excitement with the birth parents and their siblings, parents, friends, and my sister who flew in from Florida. But it was like a puzzle taking shape before our eyes. No fear. No doubts. No anxiety. Just peace as the pieces began to take shape.

When my baby girl was placed into my arms for the first time, it was like the hand of God was handing her to me. She looked at me and all I heard God say was, “See how much I love you? You had to wait because your gift wasn’t ready. I’ve never left you. I’ve never turned a deaf ear to you. And I haven’t punished you like you thought you deserved. Don’t ever forget how much I love you.”

I assure you that the road to Kansas and finding my way to being a mom was a difficult one. I felt so forgotten, so unloved, and so disgusted with myself that I didn’t think there was any hope for my dreams to come true. I know now that the path God carves for us in the mud sometimes takes a completely different route than we imagined. You can’t be afraid to trust where He leads just because you might get a little dirty. Do you need to hear from Him? Then search for Him with your whole heart. I remember praying that someone would come my way who could help me through my depression, who I could talk to when the pain got unbearable, who would simply understand me. Know what I heard God say? “I’m not sending anyone to help. This is about you and Me.” And it was in His true faithfulness that God met me, at my lowest pit and changed my life for good. Oh, I’m grateful for the children that call me Mom. I’m grateful for my husband who obediently went to Kansas because he thought he was there to sing a few songs. I’m eternally grateful for the brave girls who chose life and gave us the privilege of becoming parents.

But more than that, I am forever grateful to a merciful Father who loves me. Who works all things together for my good. Who never leaves me or forsakes me, and who doesn’t deal with me according to my sin or repay me according to my iniquities.

He has written a story we’ll never get tired of telling.

 

You Can’t Have Children…part 3

This is Part 3 of You Can’t Have Children. Make sure you’ve read Part 1 & 2 before you continue.

As we sat in the parking lot, I could hear my heart pounding against my chest. My mind was racing. I wondered if I’d be cool enough. I was afraid my accomplishments wouldn’t measure up. I felt inadequate. Then a car pulled up 3 spaces over. A young couple appeared. Hesitant. Half smiles. With obvious apprehension. Table for 4 please. And there we were face to face sipping our cold soda’s when the birth mom quietly brought out a small pad of paper and pen and started asking questions. I answered until she seemed satisfied. The birth father hadn’t said 2 words. So, I asked him what he enjoyed doing. He shrugged and said he liked to bowl. Funny, God has a sense of humor. At that time I was in two bowling leagues. And, of course, that sparked an instant connection. Bowlers unite! Writing about this feels like it all happened yesterday.

After about an hour we said our goodbyes and I joined Pastor Joe and his family for dinner. He asked if he could pray for God’s will and we did. If you would have known me during this time of my life, you would understand just how unusual this story is. I didn’t talk much about having children. This left my wife reeling with frustration and the pain of not having me there, willing to communicate during our journey with infertility.

The next morning came early. Pastor Joe picked me up for the airport and just as I got in the car he said I needed to contact the social worker right away. I called and she informed me that if I wasn’t serious about adoption that I needed to tell her because the birth parents had called saying they wanted more information about our family. Whew! I figured now was probably a good time to call my wife back in Nashville to tell her what was up.

When Kim answered the phone I said, “you’re never going to believe what I did last night.”

I was home within a few hours after our talk and we started collecting pictures and we videoed Kim saying hi to the birth parents. We sent everything Fed-Ex and waited. I had no idea that Kim had slipped a letter in with the package to the birth mom.  Here’s part of that letter.

“I can’t imagine what you are feeling as you are preparing to make one of the greatest decisions of your life. When Regi told me we were going to be among those considered to be your little girl’s parents, I cried and cried and cried. I never dreamed it could happen. But I realize how hopeful our future is and how God can work miracles in very mysterious ways. Please know above all that whether or not you choose Regi and me, it is my hope that you find peace in your choice of parents and that you gain the wisdom needed to make this decision. However, If we are your choice, you can be assured every night before you go to sleep that your baby will be loved unconditionally. My arms have longed to be filled with a baby for so long that I don’t know if I would ever let go of her. We are truly honored that you’ve even considered us. You have given me yet another moment’s strength and another day’s hope. May your years be filled with peace, love and happiness.”

The next few days seemed like forever.

Part 4 The Final Chapter coming soon.