Sometimes I am afraid that if you read my blogs you might think I am always emotionally processing something. You would be pretty much right, but this isn’t the whole part of my life. I should probably write more lighthearted blogs about how wonderful my husband is and what homeschooling material I am using and funny stories from the mission field, but I don’t. I put those on Facebook or leave them for real life conversations and let my blog be the outpouring of all my inner drama. A requirement for our ministry is that the staff send their blog posts to their boss and boss’s boss. I always feel like I should preface the email to them with the link to my most recent blog post by saying, “Hello Gentleman my dad’s age. Here is my 30 year old female PMS blog of the month.
They are gracious, and my boss tells me often, “I read your blog. It was very good. I am praying for you.”
And I imagine him saying under his breath as he walks away, “Lord knows you need it.”

All that to say, Prepare yourself readers. I got some inner drama to share…..

I discovered something in my 20′s. I am an introvert. I don’t feel comfortable with mingling and chit chat. I don’t like women’s events where everyone is sniffing in their tissues, but no one really knows the reasons behind everyone’s sniffling. I feel energized from having time alone. And I have a phobia of talking on the phone. With the realization of all of this, I kind of (wrongly) came to the conclusion that this meant I wasn’t a people person.

I have been working hard the last few days on coming into agreement with God. I started out by reminding Him of some situations in the past where I have been hurt, and He followed it by pointing out some times in the past where I have just been plain wrong. So I have spent my dish washing time the last couple of days agreeing with Him that I have some sin I really need to fess up to and I’ve spent some laundry folding time really meditating on how I have not and am not aligning with God’s word in these areas. As I have come clean with Him, as I have formed each word of confession in my mind and articulated to the Lord my desire to be aligned with His will and purposes, He has forgiven me and began speaking beautiful grace into my heart.

He has shown me breaking news: that although I am an introvert and stink at small talk, I am very much a deeply relational person. He has taken me back to hurt after hurt after hurt and shown me that the root comes down to the fact that it wounds me deeply when people I feel like God has placed close to my life don’t show that they care about me on a deeply relational level. Either they distance themselves, or their closeness feels fake and polished, or they set themselves in a place of being over me, but not for me. Because of who I am, this wrecks havoc deep into my soul. And it’s hard to shake off.

So here’s what Jesus is showing me; what I am learning…..

#1 That He loves me deeply. He is deeply relational just like me. He understands me. He made me in His image, and he identifies with this part of me. He will never not love me in a deeply relational way. He knows how to help me with the soul pain that can come from being a deeply relational person. He knows how to free me from the sinful side of this strength.

#2 It’s a weird dynamic being a deeply relational introvert. I can push you away when I start to feel crowded, but love you deeply at the same time. I can want so bad to be your close friend but not have the social stamina to do what it takes to get to that level. I often feel heart wrenching guilt that I am not an extrovert, because I feel like it would better show you how much I love you if I were. It makes me think of one of my dearest friends who I only see a couple of times a year. She’s the kind of girl who will run across the room screaming when she sees me and jump on me, wrapping her legs around me, and squeeze the life out of me, while I stand there awkwardly patting her on the back. My insides are so excited, but they just can’t quite get themselves out in the open to show it with near the exuberance. Thank God she still keeps hugging me.

#3 Everybody isn’t like me and I need to learn how to not take that personally. When someone opens their heart to me, I open mine too. Every time. I won’t pastor you or advise you or correct you. I will open my heart back. I will find a part of my life that can relate to what you’re going through, and I will share it with you even if it’s deeply personal. That is what I do. That is my love language. It’s the sixth one the book doesn’t talk about. The love language of openness. On the flip side, if I open up first and in return you pastor, advise, or correct me without opening yourself to ME, that hurts me. It makes me feel insecure and vulnerable. It doesn’t feel like you want to be relational. And that is where my God-given deeply relational personality gets me into trouble. I expect you to be like me. I expect you to love like I do. And that’s going to keep me dealing with soul hurts all of my life. I am not allowed to be mad at people for not being deeply relational. Deeply relational needs to mean that I love you no matter how you love me. Deeply relational can be hurt, but then it has to learn how to let go. As a deeply relational person, it is vital for me to have a deeply relational prayer life so God can teach me how to let go of hurt, because on my own it is hard. It’s impossible really.

#4 I am an asset. My husband is relational as well, just not deeply so. So he relates with who I am to a point….which is perfect. The rest of the time he just holds me and begs me not to think so much…which is perfect. I can be a strength to him with my deeply relational personality. I can be a strength to our work here. He has a pastor’s heart. He loves people. He can draw them in, but I can make them stay. Because I open us up. I am 100% okay with being real. I am 100% okay with people knowing my mess. I am 100% happy to know your mess and love you anyway. And I kind of think when you open yourself up to people who’ve opened themselves to you that you’re bonded for life. You’re soul brothers and sisters. I don’t know but maybe that’s kind of like being the body of Christ.

#5 I am not the only one like me. There are others of you that love like I do. And you have soul pain that keeps you up at night sometimes. Your deeply relational, raw, sensitive, vulnerable soul has had more moments of rejection than you can count. Chances are likely that your pain hurts even worse than mine, because I’ve heard stories that wound me just to hear them. I am so, so, so very sorry for your hurt. I want to wrap you in my arms and hold you and weep out loud, but I can’t because I am an introvert. But I want to. I don’t want to pastor, advise, or correct you, I just want you to know that I know how you feel. I hope that you don’t lose the person God created you to be because you’re tired of being hurt. I hope you don’t decide you’re not a people person. I hope you don’t stop being open. I hope you and I learn how to accept love that looks different than that which comes natural to us. I hope that we can let God help us let go. And most of all I hope that we can realize that there is no more fulfilling deeper relational relationship than the one Jesus wants to have with us.

Today is Camden’s birthday. And it’s Saturday just like the day he was born. I remember that day so well. I was amzed that he was there but traumatized at the same time. Wondering how I went through THAT much pain and was still living and breathing. I remember sitting in a daze on the twin bed in his nursery while both sets of grandparents passed him around oohing and ahhing and taking pictures of him and thinking “What have I done to my life?” I was 21 years old and in charge of a 6 pound living, breathing baby.

We kept him alive. It wasn’t easy, I’ll tell you that. He didn’t want to sleep. He hated his crib and his bassinet. I thought I would die of pain every time I nursed him. And I felt this almost scary instinct to be on high alert to protect him from any imminent danger. Like the contractions that I was so unprepared for, that mama bear feeling knowing that I would do ANYTHING to protect him kind of freaked me out.

Eleven years later I still have days where I have no idea what to do with him, and I still know that I would do ANYTHING to protect him. He has changed so much over the years, but he’s changed me even more. He has stretched me and challenged me and softened me and convicted me and sanctified me.

I reminded him today that it was a year ago tomorrow that we told him that we would be moving to another country. We talked about how devastated he was to know he would have to leave his friends and home. I told him how strong I thought he was for getting through this year. I asked him what his thoughts were when he thinks back to then and then thinks of now. He said, “I am more happy now but more stressed.” Blake and I looked at each other in amazement. “EXACTLY!” What a perfect description of stepping out and following God on a scary adventure. Stressful but a deep down feeling of happiness that we are where we are supposed to be. Thank you Jesus for the gift of hearing wisdom come out of our 11 year old’s heart.

I thank God for giving me the grace to be the mom he has needed this past year. Not that I’ve been perfect, but we have sure built our relationship to be stronger and closer. My mother in law came for a visit a couple of months ago. Usually when Grammy is around I have to take several steps back to protect my heart. He loves his Grammy and really doesn’t care if I am around or not when he’s got her. But it wasn’t that way this time. He, of course, still loved having his Grammy here, but he stayed attached to me at the same time. He would sit by me. He would seek me out. He would hug me. It was one of the most precious realizations that I have ever had in my life as a mommy. That I am DOING this. That I am being a mom to a preteen boy and that I am doing it well. Again, not perfect. But I am doing it.

I can’t believe I have a preteen. I am sad sometimes that I am no longer a mama of toddlers but instead a mama of big kids. I remember ME being a big kid. I had my first crush when I was 11. I wonder if he will? I wonder how I will handle that? Right now it doesn’t seem like that big of a deal. But 12 years ago having a baby didn’t seem like that big of a deal. It’s funny how things sneak up and surprise us. How we respond in ways we never thought we would. Blake and I so thought we’d be the coolest parents EVER since we had them so young, but I’m realizing that whether you’re 21 or 38 when you have your first baby, you are still going to surprise yourself. You’re still going to learn a whole lot about yourself and you’re still going to be totally “un-cool” sometimes.

I have had my cool moments here and there. Like when I saved Camden from a bee. I have always been scared of bees. Really scared. But one time when Camden was a baby I ended up in the car with my mom, Camden, and a bee. I became like a ninja. Covering my baby with my body and attacking that bee like my life blood depended on it. That’s what Camden has done for me. He’s made me face my fears. He’s made me be strong when it wasn’t in my nature. He’s made me fight for what God has given me. I am better because of him.

I know we have some big years ahead of us. I know we are going to need some major help from the Holy Spirit. But I’m ready. I am excited. I am not accepting that the teenage years are going to be torture. I am expecting that they are going to be happy, stressful at times yes, but still happy. Because being his mom is exactly where God wants me to be. Happy Birthday to my 6lb skinny baby that is now a 70lb skinny 11 year old. I’d still fight bees for you.

Hope turned 9 on August 7th.
She has had a lot of changes happen this year, and she has shown us that she has the perfect personality to adapt.

She is flexible.

She is persistent.
She is a quick learner.

She is friendly.
She is a leader.
She is accepting.
She is funny.

I feel like she has been the person that has assured us that we are going to do well here. Watching her soak in Guatemala and the people that we have met has been inspiring and comforting. If the baby of the family can do this and do it so well, then we all can.

She is a performer. She wants us to watch her and praise her. Her gymnastics, her dancing, her tricks in the swimming pool, the way she has organized something or drawn something or created something. She isn’t a private person. She needs people. She doesn’t want to be in a room by herself and begs for Camden to sleep with her every night. She is appalled when I see someone I know in the market or when we are walking the streets of Antigua and I don’t shout their name or run after them to say hello. How could I miss out on such an opportunity?!

She is the extrovert of the family. The only one.
We need her. We are thankful for her. And we adore her.
Happy Birthday Esperanzita!

I have learned a thing or two and heard a thing or two about missionaries and their/our quirks. During our missionary training school they told us lots of stories and warned us and prepared us on how not to become crazy and how not to burn out fast. Then we get here and have heard lots of stories of missionaries in all kinds of organizations doing this exact thing: coming crazy and burning out fast. And as much as we convinced ourselves that we wouldn’t, sometimes I can feel it already knocking on my door a tiny bit…the crazy – that’ what’s knocking….not that I’m inviting it in…but sometimes I hear it knocking. Go away crazy.

Crazy, not as in I think I might start rocking back and forth and mumbling to myself, but crazy as in an over-zealous desire to make my reality match my dreams. An aggressive, impatient, insensitive, inflexible attitude that wants to prove to myself (and everyone else) that everything I left behind was, in truth, worth it.

It doesn’t help that I’ve been imagining being a missionary since I was 11, but a girl has to talk herself into moving to another country even when it’s what she always dreamed. I had to talk myself into it when we put our house that I loved on the market and had strangers stomp through it in dirty shoes and with critical eyes. When we sold our furniture for which we had saved for years for a small percentage of what we had paid. When I laid out on tables in my driveway the stuff that I loved: wedding gifts, hand me downs from my mom, grandmas, and great grandmothers – treasures, comforters that we loved and slept under every night, frames that I carefully picked out to house my favorite photographs that I had taken myself in the fields around our neighborhood, curtains and my favorite dishes, my shorts – dang I miss my shorts, jewelry and the floating shelves on my walls that I wanted so badly. I sold it ALL to people who haggled me down to practically giving it away… all because of my passion to be a missionary. And with everything sold I just made my dreams bigger. Imagined deeper and hoped stronger…that being a missionary would be everything I’d ever believed it would be. I traded my love for all my beautiful things and imagined it transferring to the Guatemalan people, the moms, the children, the sick ones and the lost ones. The teenagers and college students we would get to know and work with and minister to. They were going to be worth every sacrifice.

As I thought about leaving behind friends that I loved and our youth that I felt fiercely protected of. When I thought of leaving a place where I felt safe to drive 10 hours away by myself with the kids to visit grandparents. Toilets that flushed toilet paper, tap water that I could put in my mouth, and grocery stores that have EVERYTHING I need. Where policemen and guards didn’t carry around big and scary guns and we didn’t walk out of the bank feeling nervous after cashing a check. Where I knew the language inside and out and we had parks and sports for the kids and my favorite places to eat. But I thought about what we’d be doing…our job, our work, our responsibilities, the opportunities, the need and I told myself that it was going to be worth the sacrifice.

It was a LOT Of building expectations to get me through the hard of letting go of everything. I ignored the lump in my throat and focused on big dreams. My dreams, if tangible would have overflowed the 20 suitcases and carry ons we brought to Guatemala.

Guatemala is beautiful. More beautiful than I dreamed. Guatemalans are friendly, gracious, and they touch my heart in a way I never imagined. It already feels like home here which happened faster than I ever expected.

But on the other hand I admit that this is hard. This can be lonely. I can feel very deep, down sad that sometimes my expectations and my reality are not even on the same planet. Some moments out of nowhere I just grieve for something I sold or left behind. Something that I didn’t let myself grieve about at the moment I let it go because I was too passionate about the future. But now that I’m in the future I realize: “I’m really sad that I had to let that go.” And in the middle of letting myself feel sad, I get a big punch of reality and crazy starts knocking. Stupid crazy. Go away.

I know what I should say here. “This isn’t about you Christina.” How many times have I said that to myself since I’ve been here? More than I can count.
But can I tell you a dark secret? Sometimes it doesn’t help.

The last few days Crazy has been the annoying neighbor kid who knocks when people (me) should be sleeping or when I JUST finished telling him it was time to go home.

So for a minute I gave myself permission to NOT say the words, “It’s not about you Christina.

Instead I just imagined myself standing before God. I saw myself with my head bowed not out of humility but out of defeat. I saw myself with emotions in my hands held out before Him that I’m not proud of. I saw my hair hanging in front of my face like that you tube video where they put that scary looking child holding the doll in the elevator to scare people, because, well, I know God sees Crazy knocking on my door.

And you know what I saw, what I felt, what I heard as I stood there before the Lord?
Acceptance.
Acceptance that makes me think of love.
Love that I feel pouring from Jesus straight to my defeated heart.
Love that covers a multitude of sins…most of which are my sins.
Love that fills up my heart so much that I think of the things I gave up as a gift back to Jesus for loving me so much, instead of things I gave up for Guatemala.
Love that calms me into the realization that things are going to work out. And that it’s really not the end of the world when reality is different than I expected. And that Jesus has got this and He’s got me and we are all going to be okay.

Love that overwhelms me to the point that I feel pretty darn sure that crazy has left the building…for today.

One night towards the end of March 2010 before we’d even started the adoption process I was lying in bed and I won’t go into a long explanation on the whys but I just had this strong feeling that something important was happening on that very night. I couldn’t explain it, but it stayed in my mind quite strong. After we started the adoption process I thought back to that night and wondered if maybe that was the night when our little one in Ethiopia was born. Not too long after being in the process, I was on a conference call with our agency, and they were talking about a big group of children that was moving from the Southern region into our transition home. Again I had this strong feeling that one of those from the Southern region was ours. Six months later a good friend of mine 4 months ahead of us in the waiting got a referral for a little boy. She told me that he was born in March 2010 and was from the Southern region. I was thrilled for her, but at the same time I couldn’t help but feel a little sad and think…. “she got my dream.”

In May 2012, as I’ve talked about before we tried very hard to adopt a 10 year boy off the waiting child list. We bought him some toys and clothes and cleaned out drawers for him in Camden’s room and got VERY excited. And then our social worker said no. This same beautiful little boy came home this summer to a wonderful set of parents and siblings and a swimming pool and a golf cart and cousins and baseball. I am completely excited for all of them but again there’s this tiny part of me that says….”they got my dream.”

Two weeks ago I had this vivid dream. Our adoption agency called and said, “We have a little girl in your age range, but we are giving you the choice on rather or not you want to receive her referral because she is malnourished and very tiny.” Without a thought we said, “Yes! We want her!” Then my dream moved to me holding her in our room trying very hard to make her serious little face break into a smile or a laugh. I woke up with my heart aching for her. I typed out an email to our agency asking them to please call us if it’s our turn for a referral and a little, tiny malnourished girl comes available. Don’t call a family open to special needs I typed – call me! However, reading it back to myself, I thought it sounded completely crazy, so I deleted it. Then, very recently, a friend of mine received her long awaited referral. In shock I read that when they called her they told her, “She is in your age range but she is very malnourished and tiny so we are giving you a choice.” And for a third time, I’m beside myself with excitement for her while simultaneously thinking….”SERIOUSLY?! she got my dream.”

I tried to ignore it. I tried not to think back to the other times this has happened. But this morning it was there pounding away at the back of my heart.
“Your dreams are being stolen. Your dreams won’t ever be yours. You’re not good enough. You will be waiting forever.”

Why God? Why must I dream for other people?

And God whispered back, “Why not?”

Blake looked at me across the table at lunch and said, “The dream is for orphans to find families, not for us to find an orphan.”

So tonight, in the midst of a dull ache, I’m feeling honored that I dream of orphans that are not my own. That in my heart and in my sleep I fall in love with little ones that I will never hold. I am privileged to see precious ones created by God find a place in homes with mommies and daddies that love them.

I think of people in the Bible that did the same:
Abraham who had the promise of being the father of nations but it was his grandson Jacob who fathered the 12 tribes of Israel.
Moses who was asked to lead the Israelites into the Promise Land, but never saw it himself.
David who had a dream of building a new temple, but Solomon his son was given the honor.

I think of the dreams I am realizing of others
Like our pastor in Brownsville who was told by God his ministry would reach Guatemala and then told us WE were how he was reaching.
Like my dad who was called to be a missionary in college, yet it is I who actually got to go.

We are the body of Christ. We share in suffering and we share in victories. Our inheritance is the lost and it belongs to us all. It doesn’t matter who does what because all of the honor and reward belongs to Jesus anyway. It is reward enough to have our tiny roles whatever they are and whenever they come.

But God is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him and He loves to give good gifts to His children. Rejoice with the realization of your dreams…even when you see them realized in other people. But at the same time hope in this: He is faithful TO YOU! YOU are priceless to Him. You will see God’s hand in YOUR life. You will see His pleasure through His gifts TO YOU. You will know His faithfulness throughout YOUR journey.

Keep dreaming. Keep rejoicing. Keep trusting.

“I will proclaim the Lord’s decree: He said to me, “You are my son; today I have become your father. Ask me,
and I will make the nations your inheritance, the ends of the earth your possession.” Psalms 2:7-8