The air is growing thick and hot. Dust coats every surface and the earth seems to be listening for water. The rainy season approaches and I can feel it when I breath. Traffic has quieted as walk though the house in the darkness. A lone dog barks in unending revolt to the otherwise quiet night.
I walk barefoot on the cool tile, imagining the scurry of scorpions and spiders as I intentionally slide my feet to avoid a direct crush. I don't know why, but my feet on the rock tile just makes me feel very human.
My daughters are asleep and the room is hot. My young children have pulled the curtains tight against the night. I slide the heavy fabric away from the open widow as the night air is pushed in by the moonlight. I consider the outline of my oldest daughters face in the moonlight. She is beautiful.
I stand in awe as I listen to the soft sound of my two daughters breathing. One from Russia, the other from China... my life is surreal. I think of the struggle and the adventure to bring them home, and then to transport them here to Guatemala. I love our family.
My mind flashes to the first moments that I saw each of them, carried in by nannies... how can I explain that in the line of babies in arms, when I saw Aleksandra and Sterling... my eyes locked on theirs. I recognized them as my own. I would die for them and my life would be complete. God has great plans for them. I know this as I gaze at them in the soft light of this quiet night.
I have lived and I have loved. My soul is content. I am desperate to pursue this mission here, and yet... I know I could die tonight and my soul would have peace. Through all of my hard headedness and misdirection, God has given grace so that I can be obedient. This is right where I am meant to be.
I walk to my bed and begin to type. I think of tomorrow as I address the students of Christian American School in morning devotional. I'll have a steaming cup of Guate java in my right hand and a hefty NKJV leather-bound edition in my left that I took from my mom's bookshelf. The Value of the Month is COMPASSION. I'm going to tell a story.
You've heard it... the little girl who comes upon thousands of starfish on the beach. They're still alive, but the tide is going out and they will die. She bends to toss one into the surf. A man passing by laughs and says, "you can't possibly make a difference here. There are too many." She flips another into the water as she says, "it will make a difference to this one."
I'll quote John 3:16 and I'll invite the students to say the words with me. I'll flash back to Aleksandra's face in the moonlight as I tell them, "you are that starfish. Jesus came because God loved you so much... He is here to make all the difference in the world... for you."
He has picked you up out of the drying sand, and He has given you living water. My children were lifted up from abhorrent conditions. I saw dying children. I could not save them all... but to these to whom God has entrusted me... I can make all the difference in the world.
I'll stand with a bible and a coffee cup in my hands, and I'll gaze at the starfish that God has entrusted to my care. I feel deeply convicted and accountable. I want them all to find living water. I really don't care what the cost. I want them to live. I want them to be restored. I want them to not perish, but have ever-lasting life.
And... I want them to carry on. I want them to be starfish flingers. I want them to know that every act of kindness matters. Every life matters. It's not about what we can't do... but it is EVERYTHING about what we do with those in need who are placed in our path.
People must see something different in us if we claim to be followers of Jesus Christ. There must be a hope, a joy, a willingness to dig deep, to give, to work, even to bleed... because we are connected to the savior of our souls. He restores us back to a perfect relationship to the diety of the universe.
There simply is no greater light than that. I want his silhouette on my face. I want to shine like a star(fish). I want to walk boldly in the darkness, because His hand is better than a shining light.
And so... let the rain come. All is well here.
I walk barefoot on the cool tile, imagining the scurry of scorpions and spiders as I intentionally slide my feet to avoid a direct crush. I don't know why, but my feet on the rock tile just makes me feel very human.
My daughters are asleep and the room is hot. My young children have pulled the curtains tight against the night. I slide the heavy fabric away from the open widow as the night air is pushed in by the moonlight. I consider the outline of my oldest daughters face in the moonlight. She is beautiful.
I stand in awe as I listen to the soft sound of my two daughters breathing. One from Russia, the other from China... my life is surreal. I think of the struggle and the adventure to bring them home, and then to transport them here to Guatemala. I love our family.
My mind flashes to the first moments that I saw each of them, carried in by nannies... how can I explain that in the line of babies in arms, when I saw Aleksandra and Sterling... my eyes locked on theirs. I recognized them as my own. I would die for them and my life would be complete. God has great plans for them. I know this as I gaze at them in the soft light of this quiet night.
I have lived and I have loved. My soul is content. I am desperate to pursue this mission here, and yet... I know I could die tonight and my soul would have peace. Through all of my hard headedness and misdirection, God has given grace so that I can be obedient. This is right where I am meant to be.
I walk to my bed and begin to type. I think of tomorrow as I address the students of Christian American School in morning devotional. I'll have a steaming cup of Guate java in my right hand and a hefty NKJV leather-bound edition in my left that I took from my mom's bookshelf. The Value of the Month is COMPASSION. I'm going to tell a story.
You've heard it... the little girl who comes upon thousands of starfish on the beach. They're still alive, but the tide is going out and they will die. She bends to toss one into the surf. A man passing by laughs and says, "you can't possibly make a difference here. There are too many." She flips another into the water as she says, "it will make a difference to this one."
I'll quote John 3:16 and I'll invite the students to say the words with me. I'll flash back to Aleksandra's face in the moonlight as I tell them, "you are that starfish. Jesus came because God loved you so much... He is here to make all the difference in the world... for you."
He has picked you up out of the drying sand, and He has given you living water. My children were lifted up from abhorrent conditions. I saw dying children. I could not save them all... but to these to whom God has entrusted me... I can make all the difference in the world.
I'll stand with a bible and a coffee cup in my hands, and I'll gaze at the starfish that God has entrusted to my care. I feel deeply convicted and accountable. I want them all to find living water. I really don't care what the cost. I want them to live. I want them to be restored. I want them to not perish, but have ever-lasting life.
And... I want them to carry on. I want them to be starfish flingers. I want them to know that every act of kindness matters. Every life matters. It's not about what we can't do... but it is EVERYTHING about what we do with those in need who are placed in our path.
People must see something different in us if we claim to be followers of Jesus Christ. There must be a hope, a joy, a willingness to dig deep, to give, to work, even to bleed... because we are connected to the savior of our souls. He restores us back to a perfect relationship to the diety of the universe.
There simply is no greater light than that. I want his silhouette on my face. I want to shine like a star(fish). I want to walk boldly in the darkness, because His hand is better than a shining light.
And so... let the rain come. All is well here.
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