Leslie A Lamb/Sifted Wheat

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  • Lessons Maddie has taught me

    Twelve years ago yesterday, I held the most precious, wide eyed, soft skinned little baby my eyes had ever beheld! The next day, after the labor pains and still exhausted, my lessons began. The hard knocks of parenting were leveled at me. I got my first taste of judgement and learned the hard truth that I will mess up, and I won’t do everything just right. I learned that parenting is hard work and requires diligence and attentiveness. I realized that it hurts you when they are hurting and how much of a failure one mistake will make you feel and that emotions can rise and fall hourly with the mood or well-being of your child.

    I also learned that what I knew of “love” was insignificant in comparison to what I felt for my sweet sleeping daughter in my arms. I learned that for someone that had grown up feeling used for her body, my child using me was entirely different. I realized that her dependence on me was necessary and that no matter what I felt or what I wanted, she had to come first. I learned the value of uninterrupted sleep.

    I’m still learning.. And messing up.

    And, in my failures I am becoming a better parent. I’m learning that it’s best to just say no than to say yes and regret your answer and have to go back and set higher standards. (A lesson one can only learn through the struggle of mistake.) I’m learning that they grow up way too fast, that the phrase, “you’ll blink and she will be grown,” isn’t an old wives tale but a literal blink in time. I’m learning not to rush the moments, not to hurry their independence, and to take every moment to pour into their hearts the love that only a parent can have for their child.

    I’m learning the importance of faith and the wisdom that it brings. I’m seeing through her childlike faith that relationship with God is a journey and doesn’t just happen over night or because I desire it. I’ve had to learn that just because I am tired or sick or impatient doesn’t give me a right to take it out on my kids… and that God will correct us if we mistreat them. I’m learning that it is less what she hears about Christ and more about what she sees in me, a Christ Lover. I’m realizing that as much as I long to see her fall in love with her Savior, I can’t force it. And I’m sadly seeing that as much as I would like to prevent any fear or doubt or pain from breaking her heart, it’s that struggle that will make her stronger.

    I’m still learning… And I’m only 12 years into a forever life as her mom and 10 years in as the mom of her sister.

    It’s not easy …But, my Teacher hasn’t let any of us out of His sight.

  • Another Look at Proverbs Thirty One

    From the time I was pronounced as a bride, I have been admonished to live up to the character of this woman. Not that that is a bad thing, but it can be quite intimidating and daunting a task, even for a woman that feels guilty for resting. One of the most peaceful words of advice I have ever received regarding this woman, and by a mother of 4 and consummate wife, were these: “It’s important for us to remember, that this was over her lifetime, not in the course of one day.” Sighhhh. Can I tell you what a relief that was to a mom that was stressed to the limit trying to make every day look like a “successful” day as it lined up with that woman!

     

    Then, yesterday, I was reading the Proverb again. Try as I might it always convicts me to be better, to do more, to give more, to love deeper. Only, as I was soaking in the gargantuan challenges, God whispered to my ear, “This is a look at My Bride.”

     

    So I read it again, this time not as woman failing, but as the Bride of Christ striving to make my Groom proud. I challenge you to read it and do the same:

     

     

    A good woman is hard to find, and worth far more than diamonds. Her husband trusts her without reserve,
and never has reason to regret it.
Never spiteful, she treats him generously
all her life long.
She shops around for the best yarns and cottons,
and enjoys knitting and sewing.
She’s like a trading ship that sails to faraway places
and brings back exotic surprises.
She’s up before dawn, preparing breakfast
for her family and organizing her day.
She looks over a field and buys it,
then, with money she’s put aside, plants a garden.
First thing in the morning, she dresses for work,
rolls up her sleeves, eager to get started.
She senses the worth of her work,
is in no hurry to call it quits for the day.
She’s skilled in the crafts of home and hearth,
diligent in homemaking.
She’s quick to assist anyone in need,
reaches out to help the poor.
 She doesn’t worry about her family when it snows;
their winter clothes are all mended and ready to wear.
She makes her own clothing,
and dresses in colorful linens and silks.
Her husband is greatly respected
when he deliberates with the city fathers.
She designs gowns and sells them,
brings the sweaters she knits to the dress shops.
Her clothes are well-made and elegant,
and she always faces tomorrow with a smile.
When she speaks she has something worthwhile to say,
and she always says it kindly.
She keeps an eye on everyone in her household,
and keeps them all busy and productive.
Her children respect and bless her;
her husband joins in with words of praise:
“Many women have done wonderful things,
but you’ve outclassed them all!”
Charm can mislead and beauty soon fades.
The woman to be admired and praised
is the woman who lives in the Fear-of-God.
Give her everything she deserves!
Festoon her life with praises!

     

    I’ve heard a lot of attitude about service lately. Some of us are of the mind that it doesn’t matter, that it shouldn’t drive our actions, and the smallest offering we give should be enough. We don’t want to be bothered in our selfishness to actually “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” And, we don’t want to be treated as we treat others. I challenge us to think past ourselves. To see our “husband at the gates” as our Father in Heaven, our eternal Groom. Is He bragging on us? Is He, like with His beloved Job, able to point us out and say, “Look at him/her! Look how well they love me, how obedient they are to reach out to others, to serve with their whole hearts.”

     

    Can He trust us with the work? Can He be assured that we are taking care of the affairs of the home while He is away? Do our actions and words prove that He is a good Father, a loving God, a generous and gracious Groom? I pray so. And, that is what I am living my life for…not to gain respect or admiration or the praise of others, but so that He is praised and respected and worshipped for the amazing One that He is!

     

    I will do my best to live up to the character of the Proverbs 31 woman as a wife and mother, but I will give my all to be the Bride of Christ that is worth far more eternally than the accolades of any human being, because what I do in this life needs to mean more, do more, and inspire more to find the Groom that so desperately loves us all. My effort is not to gain His love, I have that without trying, my desire is to kneel at His feet with arms full of crowns that I did not attain on my own and hear the words, “Well done….enter your rest.”

  • Jesus didn’t have blue eyes

    I’m sorry if I just offended you, or burst your bubble, but it’s true. Jesus was a Jew, and while it is possible for Aryan Jews from Europe to have blue eyes and white skin, we know that Jesus wasn’t from Europe. He was from The Middle East, Bethlehem born and Nazareth raised.

    I once had a vision of Jesus… His eyes specifically. They were the richest brown, and in them they held the fullness of all emotions. They were joyful yet sympathetic and sorrowful and loving and peaceful and caring, more than any human eyes have the capacity to express. I didn’t have to ask, “Whose eyes are these?” His presence was felt and their Owner was evident – Brown eyes that embraced me like no one before or since, that saw past my fears and needs to the very heart of me and spoke intimately to my soul – my Jesus.

    I was talking to a guy recently that said he didn’t realize Jesus wasn’t white until he was 18. Wow. Granted growing up overseas and being a minority around tan skinned people in Asia, might have been my saving grace, but still. 18. And what was it that clued him in? Being there, in Iraq and seeing places he had heard about all his life in Bible stories… Pictures he had grown up with of white boys fighting white giants and white Jesus hanging on a cross. It blew his mind. Jesus was dark skinned!

    Just last week I was writing a devotion about the woman that anointed Jesus feet. I was reading that intimate moment and putting myself in her place, when the thought entered my mind, “you know his feet weren’t white right?” Okay, honestly that was a ridiculous thought. Of course I knew that, and if it weren’t the feet of my Lord and Saviour I wouldn’t have even wanted to take her place! I don’t do feet as a rule… But His feet are a different story.

    I’m in love with Jesus. Have been since I listened to His voice through red letters and glimpsed His grace suffered at the cross. Who doesn’t fall in love with a man that takes all your sin, calls you His, and exchanges the rags and filth of life and sin for His glorious goodness?! Well, obviously there are some. But I’m admittedly smitten. I’m also aware that “there was nothing about Him that would attract man to Him.” He might have had a wide nose, almond eyes, and a unibrow. We don’t know for sure… But I know that he wasn’t depicted as Hollywood Jesus. It wouldn’t matter to me… It’s what He did and Who He is that I’m in love with… His colour and features are of no consequence.

    Many might be surprised at that. Many who use derogatory terms like “sand niggers” and “towel heads” might be surprised to know that He could be pointed at and named the same if anonymously walking down the streets. I think it’s good for us to soberly look at that reality. Not in judgement but in widening our narrow thinking and broadening our acceptance of others. Would you point at Jesus and call Him a name? Why would you point out His creation, His people, His beloved and say the same?

    My mom woke me up to the reality of what we say about others reflects back to God. When I was in Junior High I had a foul mouth. Seriously. So glad God redeemed me from that! But for whatever reason I got a real thrill from throwing up my middle finger… I didn’t say anything… But the name I was thinking was implied. My mom very seriously said to me, “Leslie, do you know that when you flip off another human being you are doing the same to God?” I was appalled. Not that I thought flipping people off was okay, but that I would ever do it to God was unheard of! I argued with her. She told me, “Where does you finger point?” Ummm. Yeah. She had me. “You don’t point your finger at the person, do you? You point it up God, and the implication is against His creation which is unacceptable for His child!” I was shocked. You can think that was stupid, but it penetrated my heart. I might have done it again 3 more times in my life and even then with such disgust in myself, I didn’t enjoy it.

    Racism, hatred, prejudice and judgement has NO place in the hearts of God’s own. We can’t love with our words and roll our eyes. We can’t praise Jesus on Sunday and bad mouth our coworkers on Monday. We can’t despise others without first acknowledging that they too were created in the image of God. You can’t worship a blue-eyed Jesus when He was a dark skinned Jew.

  • Whatever It Takes – A Look at Human Sex Trafficking

    I know we have all seen the red X’s affixed to profiles in social media. The cry to “end it now”‘is echoed throughout the world. Those who are aware of human trafficking are appalled, overwhelmed, and desperate. We want to do something, but what?

    The first thing we have to do is see the reality of it.

    One story told by Geoff Moore during a concert recently shook me up. He spoke of a recent trip to Haiti. Almost as soon as he got off the plane a woman ran up to him and started pleading with him. She showed him her young daughter, obviously dressed to impress wearing a most likely very costly beautiful red dress, hair fixed and smile plastered. He smiled at the girl and spoke with her, and the woman became desperate! She wept and pleaded and raised her voice. Feeling a little freaked out, Geoff asked his interpreter what she was saying. The interpreter replied, “I don’t want to tell you.” The woman continued on, the interpreter responded to her, and she left. Geoff later discovered that she was begging him to take her daughter. She didn’t know him, but her desperation to see her daughter live drove her to beg a complete stranger to take her because in her mind he was a rich American and could give her a better life. I couldn’t help but think as I heard the story, “What if he weren’t Geoff Moore, Christian artist and song writer?” And then I wondered, “Did another man get the same plea? And is that young girl in the red dress still smiling?”

    Whatever it takes.

    It’s sometimes those desperate moments and places that take them there – the desire to see more for them that strips them of their freedom and eventually life.

    I heard a story of a homeless woman. She had found shelter and help through The Friendship House in New Orleans. She had taken her young daughter, around 3 years old, out to the park which was just across the street. A man was there and was watching her and her daughter. Then, after commenting on her beauty and no doubt learning a few things about her, casually at first so as not to raise suspicion, he asked, “Could I buy her from you?” The woman was appalled. She grabbed up her baby and ran the distance back to The Friendship House and told the missionary there what had happened. But, what if The Friendship House wasn’t there? What if the mom, instead of finding help through a local ministry was desperate? Where would her daughter be now?

    Whatever it takes.

    That’s what the predators think, too. They aren’t all randomly walking the streets for desperate souls and pretty faces, many of them start with friendship.

    The 18 year old that befriended her on Facebook seemed to legitimately care about her. The more he talked to her the more she could see that her parents really didn’t have time for her or want her around. He promised her hope and love and companionship, something her 16 year old heart desired. He told her he was passing through town and would love to meet. Why wouldn’t she? She was already sharing her heart and emotions, and he could be trusted. Even after he met her and took her phone and got her a tattoo and changed her looks, she still trusted that he was going to take care of her… As long as she gave him what he needed. Luckily, he was wrong. Her parents did care, and they were vigilant, and with the help of law enforcement, they got their daughter back, but she was forever changed.

    The second thing we have to do is understand how it happens.

    Whatever it takes.

    Force.
    Fraud.
    Coercion.

    And there are enough desperate hurting souls out there that get lured in.

    Did you know that the homeless are the most at risk? Within 48 hours of being on the streets, they are propositioned for sexual favors and opportunity.

    Did you know that the majority of trafficked humans in American are American, and they are also the most trafficked citizens in Mexico, too?

    In ten minutes an unobserved and unassuming young boy or girl can be abducted and coerced away from home never to be seen of again.

    10 minutes…

    Did you know that jons pose as youth group members? Unheard of! Nope. One girl was trafficked for 3 years every Wednesday night all because she trusted a guy in her youth group that was willing to do whatever it took to make money. And she allowed it because she was willing to do whatever it took to protect her family.

    It happens. It’s happening. And it’s not just the little Asian or European girls that didn’t know better… It’s our kids. It could be your kid if we don’t wake up.

    We are creating a culture that makes it easier and easier. Our jobs keep us from being involved with our teens, from asking them the hard questions, from observing their friends or their classmates. We allow social media to babysit them, and there are many that are counting on you to be unaware and unconcerned.

    Until we say “Whatever it takes” it will continue to be an issue, lives will continue to be at risk, and evil will prevail.

    Are you aware that this world’s obsession with pornography feeds this sexual atrocity? And yet, even in the church we want to hide it under the rug and use excuses like “every man does it.” Well, it’s not just men obviously… And this sexual human trade relies on you to stay uninvolved or apathetic to its perils. In fact, whenever you pull out your credit card to purchase a movie or look at pictures, your red X statement becomes devoid of meaning because you yourself have helped fund their evil. In fact, most sites are set up to run ads, ads that pay them whether they are clicked on or not, so even if you “look but don’t buy” you have provided money for their crimes. Men? Women? Do you hear this?!

    The third thing is we have to be willing to do whatever it takes to get involved and take a stand!

    Are you willing? Taking a stand can look very different for many of us, but it is necessary. I’ve involved myself because I have seen the urgency! And, you can join me and many others by doing one or more of the following things: You can support homeless ministries or ministries that aid the broken and desperate in order to save them from slavery. Sponsoring children all over the world for $35 dollars a month, keeps food in their bellies and gives them advantages to keep them from being a desperate commodity to sell or trade. You can fund missionaries who are specifically called to go in and rescue and redeem these lost and misused children of God and show them the pure love of Jesus. You can raise funds to contribute to organizations that work to buy back these squandered souls. You can pray for those who daily find themselves in danger because they are doing what they can to put an end to this billion dollar industry. You can pray for those voices that cry out in anguish because they see no hope. You can become educated so that you can in turn educate others to the pitfalls and warning signs that surround this criminal activity. You can rethink how you view prostitutes and the stereotypical judgments of those in the sex industry. A majority of them are there out of necessity, addiction, or coercion, and I haven’t met one yet that is there and doing the unspeakable because they enjoy it. These are just some suggestions… But they can make a difference. What’s God calling you to do?

    “Whatever it takes”    …this is the mentality that has trapped them, and this MUST be our passion to see them freed and to end it now!

  • Choosing Discipline

    Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to do – cycle almost 5 miles in the heat of the day, especially after suffering with side pain, heartburn, and indigestion for over a week. But, at some point I decided that I had to do something for myself, for my health, for my mental well being, and I was tired of giving in to excuses.

    I admit my timing could have been better, and it was by the grace of Jesus that I made it all the way back home without A. Passing out, B. Vomiting, C. Cramping up from pain, or D. Passing out while vomiting from cramping up with pain. Literally, in my head because I was afraid if I opened my mouth B. would happen, I begged, “Jesus, get me home. Just get me home.”

    I practically tumbled off the bike, groped for the door, clutched my aching body and collapsed in my chair. I needed water, but I was afraid if I moved I would black out and land on our precious dog… For which, I would never forgive myself!

    After a few deep breaths and some intense prayers of thankfulness, I thought, “I can’t possibly do that again.”
    Then I heard a voice I immediately dismissed, “But you have to.”
    Ugh.
    So I bartered, “Well, I need to work my way up to that… I didn’t get sick until about the 3rd mile, I’ll just shave down the time.
    “Until it’s no time?” Challenged the voice.
    Sighh.
    The Voice knew me well, and the more it spoke, the better I knew IT. “It’s discipline, Les.”
    Oh and now there was no doubt. “Daddy, I think I bit off more than I could feasibly chew. Besides, I’m not sure how well the bike will hold up. It’s only gonna get hotter.”
    Excuses.
    His response, “I know.”
    I stammered back in my heart, “But… But…”
    Silence.
    What could I say? Another excuse, another one million and ten reasons why I made a commitment and wasn’t going to see it through. I dropped my head in defeat. “I’m gonna fail.”
    Then, I felt Him smile. I imagined Him pulling me close and letting me rest my tears on His big, broad shoulders, “It’s not about whether you succeed or fail… It’s that you try again.”
    I pouted, “But what if I don’t?”
    And the answer came back so tenderly, “Then you let yourself down.”
    My lips trembled and my hands went to cover my face in shame.
    “Did you hear me, daughter?”
    I nodded, “I’ll let you down.”
    I swear I heard Him laugh. “Me!? I said you! You will let yourself down! You set this goal for yourself! I want to see you press on and accomplish it because I don’t want you to blame yourself a million days later for failing!”
    I stopped, “But you said this was about discipline?”
    He pulled me tighter, “It is. Don’t you think, if I wanted to, I could set a passion so deep in your heart for this that to miss even one day would be heartbreaking and unthinkable?”
    I really hadn’t thought of that, but nothing with Him was impossible. “Could you?”
    Again, I felt Him laugh, “I can. But what satisfaction and accomplishment would you feel?” (Oh this Guy and His riddles.) 🙂 “It boils down to choices, Love. You choose for yourself life or death, blessings or curses.”

    And, I got it.

    I choose what I do next, and as I challenge myself to move beyond my fears of what is comfortable or what seems possible, my faith grows and my confidence grows and as they grow so does the power He has placed in me! It might seem like no big deal, cycling almost 5 miles, but compared to yesterday my heart is a little stronger, my muscles a little tighter, and my spirit a little lighter. And that is one day… And as for my excuses… They may surface again… And a few days I may succumb, but I will choose to try again. After all, I don’t want to let myself down, and my Daddy has already called my number.

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  • Barren

    Barren.

    That word stings whether you are unable to have one or unable to have more. There is something that feels unnatural about that. Barren. You picture cracked dirt and lifeless ground. And it resembles what it feels like – a curse.

    I was the girl who dreamed big! Big aspirations, big plans, big families! I would draw diagrams of houses, fully decked out with four nurseries. I mean, I was gonna have at least 2 girls and 2 boys – Interspersed, of course, so each girl could have an older brother… Like I never had. And that was exactly the image that popped into my mind when my doctor asked me, “Were you planning to have any more babies?” I remember answering, “Well, if you asked me over the den of loud music at a social gathering I might have said no, but your asking me about ever, and I’m not ready to commit to that.” The fact was, as horrible as being pregnant had been on my body, We were actually considering trying for that boy we’d never had… Now would never have.

    In the end, it was necessary. It boiled down to life and death. Assuredly, if I had gotten pregnant, I would have lost the baby and possibly my life. I made the right choice. Everyone agreed. But I hated it.

    I have moments where I still deeply grieve. The enemy taunts me with accusations and fantasies, but the truth is I can’t have any more. It hurts. Please don’t get me wrong! I cherish my girls! I’m blessed to have them, and I thank Him daily. I love them more than life, but I can’t help but feel someone might be missing.

    “You can always adopt.”
    I get that a lot. And I could, if we saved up the money, but it’s not the same. Altruistic and beautiful, no doubt. Many babies need families and there are many hearts that need love. But, it’s not the same.

    “Have you considered fostering.”
    No. I know my limitations and most of all my too easily smitten heart. One kid taken back would devastate me. Multiple instances like that would have me committed. Not to mention the wear and tear on my girls affections. Madeline especially, she was marked with a heart like her mom.

    Then, there are the full-faithed that offer, “God could grow you another uterus, if He wanted to.” He could. But that’s a little extreme, not to mention miraculous… The kind of miracle that gets an article in the Enquirer. Not the kind of headlines I wanna make. Not me.

    I recently read that grief has no rules. It doesn’t. It can hit me at anytime… Sometimes sucker punches me in the gut in the diaper aisle. Or when I hold a sweet smelling newborn in my arms. Or when I see a woman caress her stomach and send her gift an unspoken secret from the heart.

    So I grieve. With many millions of women… In different extremes… But like me – barren nonetheless. It can’t be fixed, but I have come to accept it. Acceptance doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. I accept my condition, and I believe that God is good. I know He collects these tears, even if others might see them as selfish, and He assures me He will restore what I have lost… And I even have moments where I can see the blessing in the curse.

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  • One Stone

    “What are you doing here?! You are conceited with a wicked heart!” I can imagine the glare in the older brother’s eyes as he stared down at the boy before him approaching the battle lines.

    I can also imagine the fair headed boy, looking up with wide-eyed wonder at that accusation. “Dad sent me here with some food. What’s going on up there?” The boy likely pointed ahead to the commotion at the front lines of the fight.

    “Don’t go up there, David. This is big men stuff.” Maybe he said it, maybe he didn’t, but what we know is that David wasn’t dissuaded.

    Boldly, he walks up to the front line, to the side of Saul, and looks over his opponent, and likely the cowering form of their King, “I can take him.”

    This where the accusation of conceit must have come from. This is where the conceit is then twisted into the title of a wicked heart, but the truth of the foundation of that statement is declared not to Saul who feebly tried to equip the boy and failed, but to the opposing gargantuan man that stood a mere stone’s throw away, no doubt laughing, and said, “You fight me with sword, and javelin and spear, but I come against you in the Name of the Lord Almighty!”

    And we know how it ends.

    David – 1, Goliath – Dead.

    Confidence is often mistaken for cockiness. Faith is often misinterpreted as pride. But, the source of the Confidence and Faith is where the answer lies. David without God wouldn’t have even approached Saul much less Goliath, but David didn’t have to worry about that. He stood on the side of the biggest Giant of the world, and with faith, knew that he would win.

    I know the feeling. My giant isn’t quite as formidable but no less foreboding. And maybe it isn’t what my giant is as much as where my taunters stand. I can understand the sense of confusion that might have crossed David’s face when his brother attacked him, maybe not in that moment, but no doubt that wasn’t the first time he was accused of being wicked.

    A wicked heart. It’s laughable when we remember that this was said of the very man that God, Himself, named “A man after my own heart.” But, then again, the accuser usually speaks the very opposite of what God sees into the heart of man. I can relate…to the accusation as well as the accused.

    When someone stands up in adamant faith with unquenchable love well, it doesn’t sit well. It makes people uncomfortable and with that fear comes doubt and skepticism. I fought it forever. “I’m not who you think I am!” But, recently, I realized that the more I fight the more it seems I can’t win… but I have one stone…The Cornerstone…the Name that defies and stands against ALL names or giants that stand before me.

    And I have come to use it…often. When the doubts or accusations come, and my heart and flesh threaten to fail, I speak it. “Jesus.” It’s the only Name that matters to me, in my life, to my life. And, if you will notice, David doesn’t argue why he is there… he merely states that he was sent and gets straight to the matter at hand.

    That’s me.

    My brothers and sisters hurl insults, and I am finding the strength to look past them to why I am where I am and dealing with the matter at hand but most importantly, in Whose Name I come!

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  • Humans for sale

    Humans for Sale

    Today as I lay down trying to ignore this aching kidney pain, I’m not ignoring the plight of millions worldwide. We may not know them by name, or even recognize their faces but we could be one of them… In the wrong place at the wrong time at the hands of the wrong people. I can’t imagine. Even recently one of our local youth went missing, and many of us realized just how close to home it is… And how unsuspecting our kids are.

    I have a very loving and social child. She loves to go and do and play and laugh. She has a vibrant spirit, one I’d rather die than see broken. She doesn’t understand why I won’t let her go to her friends house- “Her older brother is there! He’s like 20!” She wasn’t hearing my no. She wasnt paying attention to my authority, but I wasn’t backing down. So I sat her down and I looked her in the eye and told her “It’s not safe.” She rolled her eyes and I continued, “It’s not safe because you are a beautiful little girl, and there are people who would hurt you and try to take you away from me because of that.” She clinched her jaw and crossed her arms. “Now, you do not understand, but I know that even in the safest of circumstances things cans happen to hurt you. I know because I had them happen to me, and God put me in your life to protect you. So whether you like me or not, go to your room and shut your door, or simply make the rest of this night miserable, I WILL protect you.”

    And I will. As far as I am able, as long as I am able, as much as I am able, I will protect my children. I am their parent. Yeah, that scares the mess out of me at times! And I fail everyday in some way, but it’s a responsibility I don’t take lightly. We can’t take our children lightly. We can’t assume they are safe. We can’t. Because millions of eyes stare back at us and ask, “Why didn’t you protect us?” And I can’t bear the thought that one of those sets of eyes would ever be hers. But Daddy God hears those cries every night, and every sleepless night they cry out to Him.

    Humans for sale. That is shocking enough. Children for sale. That is horrific. But not our children. Tell that to a mom who hasn’t seen her teen son or daughter since Christmas. Well, its rare. Not as rare as we might like to think. We dismiss the runaways and the homeless. Why? Because their lives are less meaningful or valuable? No. A life is a life – age, social status, color, or culture hold no bearing on its value. And those of us that turn a blind eye are no better than abortionists.

    That’s a stretch. Is it? You’ve neglected valued life and by doing nothing you have allowed it to be taken, painfully, terrifyingly, and endlessly time and time and time again.

    We answer to God their cries of “Why?” and when we answer “Am I my brother or sister’s keeper?” Do you think we are dismissed? No. God hates slavery. So much so that He laid siege and havoc on Egypt because of their cruel and inhumane treatment of Israel’s defendants! So much so that He declared through Christ He was setting the captives free! And through Paul He declared that there is no distinction between the slaves and the free. He desires to see us all set free… And He has made us a part of that plan. Not just for the lost, but we are called to bring justice to the unprotected and captured.

    There are worst things than death. Slavery is one of them. If we can’t protect them, we must rescue them. Start by being educated.

    Www. Enditmovement.com

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  • Not just an American Girl®

    I have literally been stressed this Christmas. I don’t usually stress about trivial things so being hugely stressed over one toy on the list is mildly ridiculous. But I am. What is this toy? An American Girl doll.

    My mommy heart wants my baby to be happy. I want to see eyes sparkle and feel love-filled hugs as she calls me the best mom ever! But my increasingly radical, compassionate heart just can’t see spending that amount of money on a toy! A toy that most likely will end up on a shelf in a few years time – forgotten and collecting dust like every poor outcast of Toy Story.

    I’ve heard every argument that can possibly be raised. And I nod at their validity. I definitely don’t fault anyone for spending their money on an iconic doll for their daughters. But, I’ve researched the “knock-offs” and honestly… Imitations are getting quite good! Granted, there are no mega stores with play spots and tea rooms for these dolls, but they are quite beautiful, even more beautiful, in some cases, than the American Girl dolls.

    But here is the thing, I’m not cheap. I see the value in good quality and want the best for my kids, only in the end is it an investment that will matter? In the past few months I’ve read some things that have me rethinking how much I spend and on what I spend my money. This quote from “God can’t sleep” by Palmer Chinchen pretty much wrecked me, “We must live generously, live simply… So that others may simply live.” That means living beyond iconic dolls with high price tags to meet more devastating needs, more life sustaining needs.

    I want to leave a legacy, and I want my sweet, precious, priceless daughters to leave one, too. But, I don’t want it to be a doll. I want it to be a generous spirit, a heart that puts others needs before its wants, and a soul that understands that it’s not living to please itself… Quite honestly, dedicated selfless Jesus followers. I want to leave the legacy my ancestors left me, the one my parents worked to instill in me – The passion that made them stay on a mission field far away from the comforts of home for almost 30 years. That same passion inspired my oldest sister to volunteer in the Korean pediatrics unit as a teen instead of landing a high paying job teaching English, and gave my other sister the desire to get her Masters degree and mentor and teach kids with special needs, and has my parents still giving the clothes off their backs at times to meet the needs of those they come in contact with. That’s a lasting legacy. The one I want to leave my girls, and the one I desperately pray they leave to theirs!

    So, after great deliberation and insight, I made a decision. We got the “knock off” brand doll. My daughter hasn’t unwrapped it yet, and I pray she isn’t disappointed. But, with the money I saved I bought one other gift – a goat. I’ll never see the goat, or milk the goat, or (thankfully!) have to touch the goat, but without really realizing who or where, we are going to meet a desperate need. And, hopefully with that small pittance of generosity, some family in a third world country will live to leave legacies of their own.

    I’m not just an American girl. This land is not my home. I’m merely a traveler passing through, praying to leave the world a better place, and leaving a better hope for my children. For me, a doll brings temporary happiness.. A generous spirit ignites eternal joy.

    You, too, can give a gift that sustains life. Go to this link: http://www.globalgiftguide.org and find out more about how you can, “Live simply so that others may simply live.” Happy shopping!

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  • Body image issues

    Body image issues

    I recently heard that a small group won’t let a divorced woman lead them in a study about marriage. Why? She has repented and been redeemed, not to mention, faced the foe she is encouraging them to fight and resist! Why? She has learned the hard way about what it is to try and fail, to struggle and to find her only solace not in human arms but in the supernatural hands of her Daddy. I know from experience it is those of us that have fallen that are able to more effectively and readily administer grace to the falling.

    This upsets me.

    I want to stand before the women that have made this judgement and ask, “Who among you is without sin?” But the problem is, I know these women, they would look down their noses at me and point with long fingers at the crimson letter they insist is attached to me. There is no getting through to them. They’ve cast their lot, made their choice, selected their chosen with a smile and a condescending “bless your hearts.” I’ve seen them in the spirit. Empty, emaciated, lifeless women, colored green with their envy. Not willing to reach out past their own comfort, not even if it mirrors their own pain.

    And these that they have marked, those of us that must face their looks of judgement and disapproval, we suffer from Body image issues. Does the Body look like this? Is this our only hope? Do we assimilate and pretend we do not wear blaringly obvious masks, bear our scars publicly at their disgrace, or what these have done… Starve ourselves?

    Many will choose the masquerade, plastering a mask upon their cracks and holes – Hoping time will wipe away our grievances, looking down at others instead of pointing to theirselves, standing proudly above those they deem unworthy. And they exist. Only exist. Wondering but never quite willing to find out about an abundant life. Their glass steeples of self-assurance and self-righteousness might get dirty but they don’t crack.

    Then, there are those that are starving. They neglect solace and retreat even though they long for it. They’d rather nibble at crumbs and call it a meal than dare to venture over to the wedding feast. That finger that they point at others in blame, they shove down their own throats and vomit its pain onto those around them. They are not happy. They are not unlike the masked in their delusion. They’ve been blinded by the words “enough” and “content” and the idea of seeking and finding a treasure in their faith is ridiculous. They look down on the transparent that have found joy. They doubt their validity and look for a sin to pin or repin. When they don’t find one, they make it up. Because it feels better that way – to call those who feast gluttons. They whisper their prayers not believing until they see. Faith is an exercise they’d rather abandon. And despite their greatest attempts at grace, it falls short in the glare of their envy.

    This upsets me. I’m not the only one. It upsets me because in their own deception, they have deceived His Bride, and convinced His daughters that they too must starve themselves to be acceptable.

    Then, there are the beautiful. They are made up of the shattered masked and the recovering starved. They will be transparent, despite the onslaught of judgement. They will wear their scars humbly before the Redeemer as His Bride with the knowledge that they do not deserve a smidgen of the grace they’ve been given, but instead of clutching it to them as a prized possession not unlike that of Golum, they freely extend and search for others, the broken that need to be repurposed – and they come – silently, quietly, desperately, running away from the life of the masked and starved, wooed by the Lover of their souls, longing for more than cheap beads, desperately believing they are a pearl recently discovered.

    Sadly, the masked seem to have chosen; their pride shadows any look at what could be. They have what they need, or so they believe. They’ve hidden themselves perfectly and scoff at those who try and touch them. Like the starved they only nibble, but just enough to point out others wrongs. Only God can set them free, and He will when they are humbled and have no where else to turn.

    I believe if we show the emaciated and starved a mirror, they can turn around, too. But, first they have to see themselves honestly – The way they are, jutting bones, protruding clavicles – The stark reality that they are wasting away when they think they are fine. They have to admit they need help, and they have to be willing to do the work, to be vulnerable, to reach out. They aren’t alone if they will open their eyes. We have been there before, those of us now pink cheeked but scarred and many still chinked. We encourage them not to hide what He has done and is doing. We remind them that He alone makes us beautiful. Hopefully, then, they will see our healthy glow for what it is – His love. Our girth for its intent – His grace. And slowly their greenish hue will fade into a radiant white as our image becomes the unblemished Body of Christ!

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