FOWOT(Fear Of What Others Think), SO WHAT!

photo cred: internet

Yesterday, I spent a rare few hours with my middle child, Lily.  We were out looking for flowers for her wedding and we were having lunch at Chick Fil A.  As we were sitting and chatting and texting and sharing lunch together, I noticed a dynamic going on at two tables near us.  Both tables had mothers with young children, and those children were in the playground area, “socializing with other kids.”  What struck me and pierced my heart so much was  one table had a mother by herself, and the other table was a table of three moms, talking mom talk.  Sharing struggles, dreams, and advice.  The lone mom at first seemed to be fine, checking her phone and waiting for her little one to come and receive assurance that she was still there, and that it was ok to play, and maybe to grab another nugget before getting back to the work of childhood.

As Lily and I sat longer I started studying the dynamics deeper and I realized the lone woman was looking over at the table with the moms and the longer we sat there,  the lonelier she became.   You could see the isolation settle on her shoulders as the fog drifts in over the lake in the cool of the morning.  Her eyes seemed almost on the verge of being teary and I could see her lean in and I could see the things that she wanted to interject into a conversation,  if only there had been someone to listen.  They rolled across her face like the stock market ticker in Times Square.  “Yeah, does your little boy have trouble getting his shoes on?”  “Do you sometimes wish your husband would look at you like he use too?”  Do you ever summit Mt. Laundry?” and “Will the days always drag on into the next, leaving me in the wake of my life?” 

 I felt the need to pray for her and I told Lily to close her eyes and be silent and I would pray silently for her loneliness.  I asked God to comfort her, to show her that she wasn’t alone, that she was loved, and to bring her a lightness.  I asked him to bring a friend in her life that would help her through all the ups and downs over the next years in the trenches of motherhood.  We all need a wingman.  Sometimes it can be your husband or your mother, but what if you don’t have one?  What if you need a friend who is in the same battle, maybe even a bit ahead and can offer camaraderie. 

When I said my silent amen and opened my eyes, I saw her countenance was brighter and I could see that her child was waving to her from the play area.  I could sense that God answered my prayer for her, for the moment.  Although she wasn’t immediately presented with a new buddy, her child had the inspiration to grab her attention and wave to her.  I think God did that for her, just to let her know she was noticed and loved, and she means something to someone.   I’m sure her reprieve was temporary, but it was a reprieve, enough for the fog of isolation to lift.  

Lily and I left the restaurant and I started playing my tunes.  I said, “Hey Lily you want to hear my new anthem?  I played if for your father a few weeks ago, you should have seen his face!!!”  She looked at me with a quizzical glance and I turned on a song that is rowdy and raucous.  It is by a pop singer who is known for her salty, colorful language and catchy dance tunes.  The song is loud, bawdy, crass, and in your face and it makes me laugh every time!  I played it for her, and I laughed so hard at her reaction that I had to snap a pic before she had time to compose herself.   

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

“Mother!!! That is sooooooo inappropriate,” she scolded.  “I can’t believe you listen to her and that you would tolerate her language!  You would have never allowed us to listen to her!”  I said, I was homeschooled but it’s ok, I’m cool now.  She said, “What?? We were homeschooled, you homeschooled us.” And I replied, “no honey, I was just as homeschooled as you, but it’s ok, we survived!”  She shook her head and laughed, and we continued on with our driving and awesome driving dance moves.  However, much to my dismay, I received an admonition that I will not be allowed to offer any songs for the wedding reception playlist, unless they are G rated.  “Ok, my dear, it’s a deal!”  I smiled.

I began thinking about my declaration, “I was homeschooled, but it’s ok, I’m cool now!”  Where did that come from?  Well, as mother’s we are all schooled, and we don’t even realize it.  We are learning how to be mother’s, how to raise independent, well adjusted people, and it’s our children and our sphere of influence that are training us. Our children are training us to have courage.  And when we are doing our jobs of mothering and we don’t like our children’s actions, we find a way to encourage different behaviors.  We don’t know how to do that instinctually, most of the time, we have to study, and seek advice, and read books.  We don’t know how to act at Mom group functions, so we sit back, observe, take notes, try out an acceptable personality, wear the right outfits, until we feel as if we conform enough, not to be noticed unfavorably.  And by the way, it’s just not us mom’s, WE are ALL being schooled, all the time!

Let me talk about it…. about “Group Sociology” and the “Herd Mentality”.  We learn at an early age how to behave acceptably within our culture.  We all live in little subcultures, depending on our socioeconomic level, our education level, our childhood experiences, our hobbies and interests.  We find groups that we feel comfortable in.  If we feel as if we are marginalized or outcasts on the fringe, we find more vocal groups that make us feel included.  We find those “militant” groups who massage out the pain of loneliness and alienation by claiming they are our tribe and they have our back.  We settle in and attend meetings and rally around each other and band together against “those others” who obviously are lost and don’t understand we have found the path to enlightenment!   

I have often felt alienated and on the fringe, actually for the majority of my life.  I was adopted, a tomboy, the daughter of a mentally ill father, a South St. Louis city kid, the list is endless.  I never really fit in anywhere, so when I began homeschooling, I figured it would be more of the same, and it was for a while. I received all the comments about how I was damaging my kids and blah blah blah, but then I found a group who was filled with like-minded people and suddenly I was no longer on the fringe.  I had a tribe, a posse, and we were fighting the good fight together!

It wasn’t long into my homeschool mom career that I realized my group was as militant as any other social justice organization.  I use that term “social justice” to describe those who are disenfranchised from the “normal” way of life as prescribed by the American culture.  You know the:  step into the rat race like everyone else and do things like everyone else or you are weird… mentality.  We were rebels to the cultural norms.  We weren’t violent in action, out for blood and vengeance, but I believe we wanted to be heard, accepted, and respected.  The values we espoused are not bad, in fact, for they most part they are noble, worthy, and as American as the apple pie of olden days…”God, Family, Country”... "God Bless America"... and all that.  

The homeschool community has its own culture, norms, values and unwritten codes.  They are for the most part, honorable and admirable.  But make no mistake, there are watchmen on the wall and if you don’t adhere to those accepted ideals, if you dare to question, you will find yourself on the wrong side of the “Board of Education” metaphorically.  There is corporal punishment and it is

photo cred: internet

the same “socialization mechanism” of the public school and society in general.  Act out of turn, question the status quo, be independent-minded and you will be called out about it.  Indeed, homeschoolers are socialized, contrary to the general American popular culture’s opinion.   

As with all groups, there is a primary desire to attain greater good.  But there is also a sinister underbelly.  That is true, because groups are man-made and man-led and man is fallible and selfish and prideful, naturally.    We humans have this innate sense of needing to please people, to be admired and put up on a pedestal and we suffer from FOWOT.  Fear Of What Others Think. To that,  I say, So What!   

If we would own that mantra:  FOWOT, SO WHAT and recognize we are only playing to an audience of one, our Creator, who created us just as we are, who knows what we could accomplish.  He put us right where we are in time, space, and relationally, on purpose.  Let that digest.  He’s perfect, makes no mistakes and we are not mistakes.  It doesn’t matter what the other creations think of us, only what our Creator does!  Do we worry about what trees think of us?  Do we worry about what our cars think of us?  Are we trying to impress our material possessions?  I think not, so why then, do we let other created beings…people, dictate how we feel about our worthiness and importance, and if we are good enough for some arbitrary standard? 

The sinister underbelly of homeschooling is a kind of Mafia.  Its unwritten code is perfection.  The created’s version of perfection, not the Creator’s.  He already knows we aren’t nor ever will be perfect.  No, the Homeschool Mafia consists of busy body enforcers, Miss Know It All and Miss Holier Than Thou, Miss Toe the Line, Miss Color in the Lines.   If you dare cross them, they will be at your door to take you down a notch or two. If you don’t fall in line, and if your kids don’t measure up, whether it is in their manner of speaking, biblical knowledge, grades, clothing choices, music choices, yada yada yada, well you will find yourself getting your dose of socialization.  You will get the silent treatment, be ostracized, banned, shunned, or if you aren’t too far off the mark, just a shake of the head and a tsk tsk, by those who obviously have a better reading on the pulse of the Lord.  

photo cred: internet Godfather Movie

More importantly, if you aren’t careful, you can get sucked into becoming an enforcer without even realizing it.  It’s like the old frog and hot water fable.  I will admit, that I have been one of those enforcers, at some points, tisking and tasking at a poor soul who did not meet the Homeschooling Mafia Code.  I have no excuse other than it just happens.  I wasn’t diligent in recognizing I have received more than my fair share of grace and mercy and therefore I needed to remember to offer it.  Surely, you can see how it happened to me, I finally had a tribe and I wanted to keep it.  But I will tell you, it’s a heavy burden.  It steals your joy and your understanding of how loving God really is…. how much He loves each and every one of us goof-ups, because He made us! 

It was not all bad, my homeschool mom experience, and I have made most of my dearest friends in that community.  It's just that we as people tend to get into these cliques and forget why we found others like us in the first place.   We look to groups to feel like we belong, to feel understood, and accepted for who we are.  I thank God for the ability to have spent all that time with my kids and I wouldn't have changed a thing...except maybe not been so worried about fitting in.  

One day, while looking around as I was nearing the end of my journey in home education, it dawned on me that God hand picked me to raise my children, just as He handpicks everyone to raise their individual children.  He did that because He knows our strengths and weaknesses and how each of our character traits and experiences will form and mold the next generation to be able to do the purpose, He intentioned for them, when He was knitting them in the womb.  Wow, let that sink in!  Yes, God loves me, a person who tries to color in the lines, and tries to please Him.   But He also loves my rowdy, raucous, irreverent pop star just as much.  It was He who gave her the vocal ability (and for the record (see what I did there haha) I wish He would have dished me up some of that) and the desire and talent to make music.  He loves her, plain and simple, despite her failings, just as He loves each and every one of us. 

It occurred to me that for the most part, I think we all are doing the best we can.  We are all trying to raise fairly well-adjusted kids, who are independent and kind and who can make a difference in the world.  We must remember that our children are not trophies to our success.  They are individuals created in the image of God and they are His trophies to shine and burnish or to let tarnish and to display where He sees fit.   I think that homeschoolers, and other Christians also try to do as Jesus asks, “to go and make disciples of all nations.”  The problem lies in our method of doing so.  Why is it that Christians, and most homeschoolers find it necessary to brow beat others into submission? Jesus did not make his twelve disciples in that manner.  He did not brow beat, manipulate, or bend them into submission.  He introduced Himself and then made the offer to follow Him.  I say, that’s all He expects of us.  We are to explain and proclaim the Gospel, while the Holy Spirit transforms and claims the willing hearts.

The trouble comes from that disease of FOWOT.  We start worrying about how we look, how many souls we saved, do we attend enough bible classes and God is saying SO WHAT!  The reason is because when you are on the road to making disciples and your compass heading is influenced by FOWOT and pride, and that pesky need to control, then you are going to swing wide to the right and the left and knock others out of their lane.  They have a purpose and a destination as well, based on His indwelling.  However, If we keep love and compassion as our compass heading, we stay in our own lane and God can do His magic to us and through us.  

When living under FOWOT, we will never find contentment, fulfillment, and we will never reach our God given potential because we are living under fear and not living in faith.  If we live under FOWOT, we are long on orders and judgement and short on mercy and grace.  The Creator is Mercy and Grace, so let fear go and let faith grow.   Other people do not know the mandate God has built into each of our imperfect hearts, and why we are the way we are, and why we have the families we have, or why things happen the way they do.  But know in confidence God knows and He loves you, just the way you are.  There is no need to try and impress Him.  He already is, He looked at you and said “it is good!”  and moved on to the next one.     

Perhaps if we decided to ask “how can I enrich your life and what can I do for you?” to each person we meet in our day, be it family, friends, or strangers rather than “what can you do for me?” maybe we all would feel loved and respected, and not on the fringe and disenfranchised.  Maybe the need for “like-minded” groups would become obsolete because we would all be like-minded, in that we would celebrate each other’s gifts and talents and quirks and marvel at them as a holy creation created by a Holy Creator, rather than something that needs to be changed and twisted and conformed to some unwritten code. 

So, armed with my new mantra:  FOWOT, SO WHAT!  I say, “sing on my rowdy pop star and play it again!”  Then I’m gonna say to you:  Miss Know it All, and Miss Holier than Thou, and all the other Misses, especially  Miss Trying to Make it Through Another Day…. hang in there!  It’s almost summer and you don’t really need to worry, because you have the most compassionate, brilliant, loving tutor at your disposal.  His name is Jesus and class is always in session, just raise your hand.

PS I wrote a book on all the things my Tutor has taught me as well as my amazing Mother.  I'm hoping to get it published soon!  Stay tuned!

Me and My Shadow

Can I just say…..”THANK GOD THE WINTER HOLIDAY SEASON IS OVER?!!!!”  I absolutely hate this time of year.  Let me clarify, I do not hate what Christmas represents:  the birth of our Lord and Savior, but I hate what it has become in our collective cultural consciousness.  I could say I hate Thanksgiving and New Year’s Eve equally, as well.  No other holidays put as much pressure or have the ability to send us into a pit of despair as much as the Winter Holiday Trinity.  At least for me, that is.

I was trying to determine why that is and I think it has to do with the fact that those holidays revolve around family and being enfolded in the warmth, love, and acceptance of those closest to us. It’s a time where we assess the success of our lives.  It’s a time where we evaluate our worthiness.  It is also a time where we may find ourselves lacking, maybe in the deepness of connection or with estrangement in our relationships.  For some reason this time of year shines a glaring spotlight on what we feel we don’t have enough of, whether it be material things or relationships.  We make lists and take inventories, in order to start over, to be better in the new year.  The air is filled with songs that evoke nostalgic feelings of love and togetherness.  The essence of those songs are nostalgic to us all, even if what they describe never happened to us individually, because they are ingrained in our culture.  The nostalgia stokes the home fires and strums the heart strings, drawing us into a longing for the warmth, love, and happiness of days gone by.  They keep us looking backward, all the while invoking the fantasy of "happily ever after".  

Our society has a hang up with "happily ever after".  We foster the idea in our little girls, especially.  To grow up and find Prince Charming and live happily ever after, as Princess in her own fairy tale.  And so too we foster it in our expectations of the holidays.  A time for miracles and family, all gathered in love and harmony.  While those ideals are all well and good, they are elusive to many.  Traditional family is almost a thing of the past.  Most families today, have experienced serious sadness and division.  Divorce is rampant.  Loss is often felt more poignantly during this time, and instead of feeling grateful for family, we end up feeling the loss more acutely and abundantly.  I don’t think I’m too far off the mark when I use the term “we”.  At this stage of my life, it is inevitable to experience loss.  Paul and I have experienced a great deal of death and loss.  We have lost my parents, his parents, the majority of my aunts and uncles, and now our son.  We are not special in that regard.  Many friends, family, and acquaintances have suffered bitter divorces, deaths, debilitating illness, or some form of loss, and they too, know grief. We all know grief in some form, because we all live in the realm of a finite human existence.   

Our last Christmas with John, 2016 (Left  to right:  Olivia, Lily, John, August)

This season took me by surprise though....how hard it was going to be.  I wasn't expecting it because this was to be the second holiday season without my son.  I thought for sure, my children, husband, and I would have come to acceptance and been on the mend by now.  Last year we were all numb, and there was no expectation for any great celebration, because John’s death was fresh and only six months old.  But here we found ourselves, on the threshold of the season of “family gatherings” and completely unsure of how to navigate.  We found ourselves in uncharted waters without our bearings.  I can say for myself, that I have been unable to be a beacon for anyone.  I told Paul, apologetically so, that it was all I could do to keep my head above the swells and that I could not carry him through this season.  He, in his stoic style, dove deeper into his life preserver of keeping busy with his new duties in the officiating world and with his job.  The kids have coped with their issues, by staying busy with their school work, jobs,  and connecting with friends.   I was quickly discovering that what should be the happiest time of year, was turning out to be a desperate time of year for me. 

Paul and I talked and decided we would spend Christmas away from home this year.  I couldn’t bear putting up the Christmas tree.  That was always John’s favorite thing to do.  He was in charge of the tree trimming, and without him and his childlike glee in doing so, I had no spark or desire to do it.  Also, Olivia would be starting her Police Academy training the first of the new year and Lily would be finishing her nursing degree next December.  We knew that both of them would likely be working next year, since crime and sickness don’t observe Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve.  We felt this was our last hurrah, so we gathered the kids and told them we were going to have our last real family vacation over the Christmas break. Paul used all his airfare points to get our plane fare and he managed to find cheap hotel rates in Key West, since peak season begins after New Year’s down there.  Everything fell into place perfectly, and I thought this was our solution to escape the storm of despair that was brewing on the holiday horizon.  How wrong I was!

While our social media pictures might have looked as if we were having the time of our lives, it was not the whole truth.  And, isn’t that so often how it goes with social media?  Pictures that portray a perfectly false reality, and not necessarily with the intention to deceive, at least on my part.  For several of those close to me, knew there were struggles and those who didn’t know, could not see the cracks through the glossy, smiling pictures we posted.   Why would the world think anything less?  We stayed in a beautiful resort and ate at nice restaurants.  We went parasailing.  We held baby alligators and rode on airboats through mangrove forests.  We kayaked through the sound and saw the native flora and fauna.  We walked the quaint neighborhoods of Key West and saw sights and heard sounds that we would see nowhere else in the world.  Yet, we flowed through it all numb and dazed, as if shell shocked.  My son August, was difficult and distant.  He was surly and a wet blanket about every activity.  By Christmas Eve I had had enough of his childish antics. 

He and I were in the hotel room alone, while Paul and the girls went to pick up our pizza, and I confronted him.  I was not as compassionate or empathetic as I should have been, I realize now. And he has since apologized in his maturity and strength of character. But that evening he began to cry and told me that this was not a family vacation to him, because John was not with us.  He said It was scary to him, because he realized we would never again have a family vacation, as he knew them to be.  He said he didn't want to go on this trip, because he wanted things to feel like a normal Christmas at home.  The kind he had always known.  

It was the confession of my boy, through his gasping sobs and heart wrenching tears, that I realized the truth.  We can run, but we cannot hide.  The shadow of grief is just that, a shadow and it is sticking with us.  A shadow by nature is the dark side of light.  Light shines on an object and casts a shadow, a copy of the original. It follows and haunts and is inescapable.  I also recognized that while it is inescapable, it does not have to overpower us and it doesn't have to be a bad thing.  It can never get out in front of us, it is the past.  All we have to do is keep looking ahead.  The shadow cannot overtake us, as long as we remember its place.  It is good to acknowledge it and then keep moving on. 

Not only had I been dreading Christmas, I had also been concerned with the week after Christmas.  In years past, Paul had those two weeks off of work and the kids were all home and it was an extended family staycation.  We spent a lot of time together.  But times have changed, circumstances have changed, and the kids have grown up.  I was not interested in being home alone, while everyone was away doing their thing.  And I sure didn't want them hanging around babysitting me in pity.  I dreaded the thought of being alone at home with the ghosts of Christmas pasts.  So, in my panic to escape the pain of the holidays, I signed myself up for a yoga training class in Palm Springs, CA.  I convinced my friend to go with me, because while I can do things alone, I would rather share the experience with someone.  

We went to Palm Springs and I stretched myself, literally and figuratively.  I had fun and I learned a lot.  I met new people, made new friends, and saw new sights.  My friend and I are like Lucy and Ethel, from I Love Lucy renown, and we enjoyed creating comedy out of chaos.  But on my flight home, the same realization I had with my son in the hotel room came to me again.  I recognized that I had not escaped what I feared. For, when all the distraction is gone, I’m still in the world by myself.  I’m still alone in my grief.  I’m still finding my way to a new normal and that takes time.  The good news is that I have hope, because I'm really not alone after all. I have a shadow and it is an extension of me.  It is the experiences that have helped to grow me into the woman that God has designed me to be.  Growth does not occur without death, which is nothing more than a catalyst for change, and change is good.  It can be painful and it can be scary, but in the end it is good and serves a purpose.

In my selfish desire to escape my distress from the holiday season, I forgot that painful things live within each of us and affect us individually and in different ways.  What may seem upsetting for some…putting up a Christmas tree, celebrating with estranged family members over a meal, listening to nostalgic music, may be the healing balm to another.   I guess what I need to remember is that we all have a hard time and we all need the space to move through it in a way that feels right for each of us.  The most important thing is that we need to talk about it and acknowledge it rather than to try and run from it.  And we need to keep a spirit of gratefulness in all things.  Because great things did happen this season! 

I was able to spend a enchanting evening experiencing the childhood excitement of Christmas fun with my friend and her younger children. I spent a lovely, warm, and cozy afternoon making Christmas cookies with another friend's kids.  My daughter’s and I shared the exhilarating experience of parasailing.  My teenage son and I shared a rare intimate moment of honest vulnerability.  Our family was able to witness our youngest daughter get engaged and we are growing with the addition of a new son and his family.    Paul and I shared a wonderful dinner and laughter with our children and their significant others, one evening over the break.  I had lunch with my old friend from college days, and we spent the afternoon catching up, laughing, and picking up right where we left off.  I found that we all managed to live through the holidays with shared joy and grief and we are the better for it.

So here we are....the first week of January 2019 having already come and gone and it’s another bittersweet anniversary, because today is my late dad’s 85^th birthday.  But I have memories of him and that is a gift. I  can tell it's going to be a year of growth and  richness.  I have already learned so much this year and I think by sharing these lessons, others can benefit.  I've learned that while in my finite human existence I may lose family, I also gain family, because family is not dictated by heredity alone and does not have to be traditionally defined.  The idea of family is relative, literally.  It is those people in our lives whom we love and that love us back.  And our time with them is special all year long, not just over the holiday season.  I've learned that I'm never really alone, for I have a shadow, who at first appears to be weighing me down, but who is actually propelling me forward in newness and change.  I just need to remember to acknowledge my shadow while looking ahead, with hope, to the future.  I need to stay present and enjoy the sweet moments when they happen. And most of all, I need to remember to embrace the pain with joy and gratefulness.  For life is bittersweet, and we will never know the sweet, if we don’t taste the bitter.

drb 1/7/19

Out of Africa

I recently went to Africa for a mission trip.  It was a desire to go and serve and offer help to those in need.  A couple years ago I went to Honduras for the same reason.  God has been good to me and He calls us to serve others and so I went.   I may have accomplished some small things while there, but when I left, they were still hungry and poor.  There were still major third world problems that were not solved.  Realistically,  all I can offer in way of aid are my hands and feet, maybe a little money, and most importantly, prayer; for prayer can move mountains and console the poor in spirit.  But something clicked in Africa and upon my return, I have been reflecting about what I have seen and known in my own life. 

Zambian village women

I have observed that there is a sort of disconnect in the way we think about helping others.  More often than not, we participate in helping others as a special occasion rather than an extension of our every day.  We establish our willingness to help on merit, by deciding who is worthy, and who is deserving of our precious time and talent.  I began to wonder why we think we need to travel across the globe to help the poor and unfortunate.   I noticed how we willingly go and “live” in conditions that are less than ideal, to work and serve alongside people in need where they are.  We are more gracious, compassionate, we have a new respect and empathy because we have experienced what others are experiencing for a brief time.   Then we come home and after a couple weeks, slip back into our normal way of life, the lessons we learned still inside, but now buried by other distractions.  

 

Lusaka road vendor

I began to wonder why it seems traveling elsewhere is the way to make a difference in the world, when right here in our own backyard live millions of poor and needy?  Maybe we know too much about our own poor.  We see news story upon news story of the effects of poverty, and we think “those people” deserve their circumstance rather than thinking, “but for the grace of God there go I”.  Maybe we don’t stop to think that each poor person has a series of experiences that has molded their world view, their decision-making capabilities, their own insecurities.  Maybe we understand deep down, that the problems of poverty are too overwhelming for us to fix on our own.   Maybe as a kind of way to avoid feeling paralyzed by the size of need, we distract ourselves with judgements and rationalizations.  I have seen, more often than not, that the poor in America are held in disdain, contempt, are unseen, and ignored….and worst of all, feared. 

I have seen it first hand, I have experienced it in my own life.  I grew up with a paranoid schizophrenic father and we did not have a lot of money or normal stability.  We lived in a shabby house and we had a lot of challenges and obstacles.  My family experienced prejudice and judgement and we endured whispers and stares. I had a lot of shame as a child, and while I may not have had what most Americans would consider a wealthy existence, I can look back now and say I was very rich and I would not change a thing.  The one precious possession I had was hope.  Hope, I believe is the answer, and we all have the ability to offer it to others right where we are. 

My parents had hope, along with a deep faith in the providence of God and a quiet obedience to His will for their lives, even when His will seemed so unfair.  They gave me the richest of gifts in the way that they raised me.  They raised me with the knowledge of what was really important in this life.  My mother taught me loyalty, love, and empathy.  My father taught me faith, perseverance, and honor.  They raised me to see people for who they are, not how they look.  To treat others as you would have them treat you.  And to love others as Jesus has loved us, in our poor sickly condition, because we are all poor and sick in some way.

We can all be considered physically poor.  Our bodies are deteriorating and dying every second and all the money and material possessions cannot stop that.  The best medical care cannot change the time of your death.  It is all ordained by our Creator, who numbers our days and knits each of us in the womb; just as it says in Job 14:1-2, 5:  Mortals, born of woman, are of few days and full of trouble.  They spring up like flowers and wither away; like fleeting shadows, they do not endure.  A person’s days are determined;    You have decreed the number of his months   and have set limits he cannot exceed.  And Psalm 139:13, 16: For you created my inmost being;  You knit me together in my mother’s womb. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in Your book   before one of them came to be.

 

Zambian village children

We can all be considered spiritually needy.  We are all in different stages of growth and maturation.  We know inherently that growth can be painful.  It occurs when you no longer fit in your situation and you must enlarge your mindset.   It arises from looking beyond the immediate circumstance and out of self, developing patience and persistence.  Maturity happens when we submit to the situation and recognize that we do not have control, just the illusion of it.  It is leaning into the pain and growing from it not avoiding and running from it.  It is recognizing that there is a higher purpose and power at work and we are all part of the plan.  There is no “me”, “we” and “they” in God’s design.

Street vendor, Lusaka, Zambia

So how does all this and lessons learned in Africa translate now that I’m home and back in my life? And what is my life now anyway? I am in a place where my career as a mother is now part-time at best.  But those years of staying home and raising my kids have helped me find my new niche.  I love to drive and I have years of experience and God graciously gave me the best job in the world, second to being a stay-at-home mom.  

I am a courier and I mostly do medical deliveries to and from area hospitals.  Once in a while I deliver prescriptions from an area hospital to individual’s homes.  Sometimes I get orders to deliver in some of the more dangerous and worst areas of St Louis.  Before going to Africa when I would find myself in these neighborhoods, I would be kind of fearful and even judgmental.  These are the same neighborhoods that appear on the news; the neighborhoods of drive-by shootings, fires, ghetto homes, and gang violence.  I would have never set foot in them if I was not required. 

Before Africa, when I would make a call to one of these homes, I admit, I would knock on the door furtively look around, half afraid I will be caught in some kind of crossfire while waiting for an answer, hand off the prescription as quickly as possible and leave.  The lessons about loving people, that my parents taught me, would take a backseat to the lessons of self preservation and prejudice that the news, the movies, the books try to teach us about those who live in the impoverished areas of America.  But as I said, I have a new outlook and I decided to have the same attitude I had in the dangerous areas in Africa and Central America.  That of kindness, love, and the hope to make a difference in every life my path crosses.  I decided to ignore the foul language, the foul smells, the foul surroundings and see the individual.

 

Wellston, internet photo

I have found, that those who open the door are people like those across the globe and they are people like me.  They have been created by a Creator for a purpose and they want to be seen, they want to be loved, they have hopes, they have dreams, they have sick bodies that need care, they are on their own personal journey through this life, just as I am.   I get to bring them the medication that makes their life bearable or is healing their body and they are happy to see me.  We exchange pleasantries and for a moment we are friends and have more in common than not.  And as I drive through these torn up neighborhoods and see the hopelessness and bleakness, I realize that the poor are in every country and our poor deserve the same respect and concern that the poor in third world countries deserve.

   

North St Louis, internet photo

As I have driven in these areas, and as I have spoken with these people, who are not that different from me,  I remember in Matthew 6:3, where Jesus says,  ^“But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.”  And I begin to think what if Jesus is not just referring “the needy” that most tend to think of..those who are poor and destitute?  What if Jesus was referring to all of us.  If we are honest, we can agree we are all poor, we are all needy, we are all foul, and we are all sick in some aspect.  We may be poor in spirit, needy in time and attention, foul in attitude, sick of heart.  We are all human and share the trials of the human condition.  

Thankfully, this life is temporary and its poverty and suffering can be as such.  For when we recognize Jesus as our Savior we have a hope for a future, knowing this life is not the end, but the beginning.  We know from John 3:16-17, that "God so loved the world that he gave His only son, that whoever believes will have eternal life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him".

So rather than separating our everyday life from our mission trip life, what if we just lived missional and saw everyone as people in need.  I am not diminishing the fact that there are millions of physically and financially poor people in Africa, in America, in the world; and there are major problems that are difficult to solve.  We have millions of dollars in government programs and organizations trying to fix those very needs.   But what if we started in our own hearts and took Jesus’ advice?   

What if our right hand did not know what our left had was doing and we started “doing” in our life with all those that come in and out of our life whether they be family, friends, acquaintances or strangers?  What if what 2 Timothy 1:3-7 says, "...God our Savior, who wants all people to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth.  For there is one God and one mediator between God and mankind, the man Christ Jesus, who gave himself as a ransom for all people." is truth?   And if Jesus gave himself as a ransom for ALL people, then shouldn't we give compassion, love, and respect to ALL people as well?

If you think about it, we are all “those people” to someone.  People make judgements based on a whole list of things.  The way we talk, dress, where we live, the kind of car we drive, how attractive or unattractive we are.  So instead of judgements, we just offered our hands and hearts to those around us, not based on whether we determined they deserved it, but because they are created by a Creator that loves them as much as He loves you and me.  

What would happen if we treated everyone:  rich, poor, black, white, man, woman, child with love and respect first?  What if we acted as we do when we go into the far reaches of the world to share our love and offer hope.  What if we shared our love here?  What if we took the extra minute to really look at people and see them for who they are, a human being with hopes and dreams and fears?  What if we tried to encourage their hopes and dreams and alleviate their fears?  

It can start with just a quick silent prayer, that God might bless them and protect them through their day. And then a simple acknowledgement.  I challenge you to smile at every stranger and say “hi” or “have a good day”.  I will venture to guess that 9 out of 10 will smile back and offer the same.  And for a second we will have bridged the gap and touched another human for the good and that is a start. 

 

Zambian compound children

When we start to really see others as people like us, then change happens. Because once you see, you cannot unsee. And once you see, you understand need. And once you understand need, you can offer hope. If we all looked around us and offered our time and gifts where we are, maybe the whole world would change for the better. Maybe each act of kindness, each offer of help, each extension of love would send hope through the world like a pebble sends ripples through a still pond. I’d like to hope so anyway.

The Miraculous Story of a Boy Named Juan Carlos

Saturday was the one year anniversary of my boy's homegoing.  It has been a whirlwind of a year, hard to believe that much time has passed.  I miss him every day and I have held it together pretty well, I think.  We all have.  Our faith in God and our confident knowledge that he is with Jesus, living his real life has to be the reason for this.  For it is illogical to think that time should move on and people should be going about their everyday lives as if all was normal, when John's earthly life is over, and our lives will never be the same.  I would be lying if I didn't admit that it's been hard the past few months.  I guess the shock is wearing off.  His shoes are still right by the back door.  The clean clothes he had set on his desk in our sun room are still sitting there.  He put them there after a workout and I guess had planned to wear them after a shower.  Who knows why they were there, since he was spending the night at his friend's house the day before his accident. 

That would have been something I would have noticed and yelled at him about.  He was always leaving his stuff laying around and I was always telling him to put things away. Of course, the first time I noticed them I cried.  The next time I noticed them I was mad and then I decided I would not move them...ever.  But sometimes, when no one else is home, I do yell..."JOHN, WHY ARE YOUR CLOTHES LAYING AROUND IN THE SUNROOM????  FOR THE 500th TIME, QUIT LEAVING YOUR STUFF LAYING ALL OVER THE HOUSE."   I wait for him to come into the room with his sheepish grin and the silly way he would fiddle with his fingers when he was "in hot water" about something and say, "oh sorry Mom".  But he never comes and I know he never will.  

I've had so many people sending prayers and kind words to me this week and I started thinking about how it all began.  It is a truly miraculous story...one completely designed by God.  The details make that perfectly clear, because as they say...God is in the details.  So in memory of my dear son....Here is the miraculous adoption story of our boy, Juan Carlos Crisostomos Ramos Brandt.  I’ve included some back story because I think it lends to proof of God’s hand in every desire we have…which I believe He instills in us, some even from childhood.

As a young girl I always thought I would have 4 children.  It was a nice sounding number.  I wanted a big family, because growing up I only had a brother and I always wanted more siblings.  My brother and I are adopted, biological siblings and both adopted at birth…that’s a story for another time!  Somewhere in my late teens and early 20's, my desire for children faded.  My husband and I both decided we didn’t want any children.  We were going to travel the world and be the fun Aunt and Uncle.  A couple years into our marriage, we bought a house in a new subdivision and met a couple with two little girls.  We became fast friends and we loved those girls as if they were our own, and we thought we could have kids if they were like Anne Marie and Casey. 

So after being married almost 5 years, we had our first daughter on June 16, 1995.  I had planned to have my children 18 mos apart, because don’t you know we always think we can plan these things?!   But God had other plans.  All was on track, we became pregnant and I thought my plan was in motion, but at 4 months I had a miscarriage.  I believe that God designed our family on Earth to include Olivia, Lily, John, and August.  Only He knows why those lives needed to be placed together in a home with Paul and I as parents.  Only He knows why He needed our baby to live only 4 months in utero before going back home to Him.  His ways are higher and His purposes are a mystery on this side of Heaven.   I rallied after a few months, got pregnant again, and we had our second daughter on September 9, 1997. 

All was well, and I was loving life until about September/October of 1998.  I had this deep longing for a child.  It was almost pathological and it was all consuming.  I really didn’t understand it because we were all just fine and happy.  Paul was not really interested in any more kids and so I would try to squelch my desire for another child.  Although I loved being pregnant, I didn’t think I ever wanted to give birth again.   I was always afraid something terrible would happen to Paul when I was pregnant, and I really didn’t want to go through nine months of worry.  We had a lot of responsibilities with caring for my brain injured brother and ailing parents and the thought of doing it on my own was scary.  Plus I had been adopted and I thought I would want to give a home to a child that needed one.

A friend adopted a child from India, and I thought that was a great alternative to my situation.  So I talked my husband into going to international adoption seminars.  It was all too expensive and unrealistic for our situation.  The cost for most international adoptions was over $30,000.   Most countries wanted you to go and stay for a few weeks and we would never have gone without each other and we had no where to leave our daughters, so it seemed that door was closed.  Yet, I still wanted more children.  Then I got pregnant and had my son on March 17, 2001.  We went ‘round and ‘round on names for him.  We settled on two:  August Alexander or John August.  We finally settled on August Alexander, but I always wanted a son named John, so it was a hard decision!   

Flash forward a few years.  We were settled into a routine with 3 kids and all seemed great on the outside, but inside I was still missing a child.  I would go on Precious.org’s website and look at all the children’s pictures and pray for them.  One day, December 29, 2003, I was online and Paul was due home any minute.  I was scrolling through pics and this face appeared.  He looked like my son August and he had a look on his face that said, “Come and get me, Mom!”  I couldn’t stop looking at his face and Paul walked in and I asked him to come look.  I showed him the picture and said this is our son, we have to go get him.  He looked at me like I was a nut and said, “It’s all on you.” At the time, I was homeschooling my kids and did not want to deal with any DFS or gov’t agencies and to adopt kids you need to get a home study.  I think he thought I would not go any further, but my need to get my son was more important than my fear of being hassled by the gov’t for homeschooling. 

So the next morning I called the adoption agency.  It was located in Florida and the social worker, Sue, answered the phone.  I told her that I had seen a boy named Carlitos on Precious.org’s website and I wanted to adopt him.  She laughed and said, “well ok, first things first.  Do you have a homestudy?”  I said no.  She said, “are you in contact with an agency to have one done?”  I said no.  She said, ”well, we really don’t do adoptions quite like this.  You can’t just pick a child and get him.  You need to have a home study done and get all your paperwork done and then we will assign a child to you.  It could take at least 6 mos before we would even begin to assign a child”.  I said, “well, I understand that, but this boy Carlitos is my son and I need to get him”.  I asked her to tell me about him.  She said that he was 5 and that he would be 6 in October.  She kept calling him Juan Carlos and she said he was left in a hospital at  18 mos old because he was so sickly. She said that he had some kind of lung disease and that he was sickly and frail and had been tossed around from different homes.   I said, “ok, I can deal  with that, can we get this process going”.

She continued calling him Juan Carlos and I said, "are we talking about the same boy?" The boy I’m referring too is listed as Carlitos.  She said, "Yes, in Guatemala boys go by their middle name and are called little, so he was Carlitos, which means little Carlos, but Juan means John in English."   Then she told me he was born on October 28, 1998.  I told her I knew he was meant to be my son and she said, “well, I can’t hold him for you, but if you get to work on the paperwork, we will see what will happen”.  We finished up exchanging information and ended the conversation and I called Lutheran Family Services. 

We completed our home study and the copious amounts of paperwork in 5 months.   Sue was incredulous and we decided to go visit him over Memorial Day weekend.  The way Guatemala adoptions were structured, if you visited the child before the paperwork was finalized, he would become an automatic US citizen and would not need to be readopted in the States.  Also, we wanted to meet him, because Guatemala allowed a child to be escorted and there would be no need to go back to the country for the finalizing of the paperwork.  We thought about having him escorted, so we thought it best to meet him so he wouldn’t be terrified when they brought him to us in the airport. 

We decided to take our 3 children with us, because we wanted this done as a family and we didn’t want to leave orphans if something happened to us on the way to adopt a child.  The Friday we were to leave, my oldest was still sick with a fever and sore throat.  She had been dealing with it for a couple days and I had taken her to the doctor hoping it was strep so she could get some antibiotics.  It was not strep, but a virus.  I went back and forth about leaving her home with our parents, but in the end I just couldn’t.  So the poor kid was drugged up on Motrin and went along.  She was a trooper and fortunately no one else caught the bug.  It was so important to me that we go as a family.

We spent a wonderful weekend with our boy at a Guatemalan family’s home.  There was a very warm and generous family that had a bed and breakfast set up for adoptive families.   We stayed at the home and they fed us and we basically lived with John for the weekend.  He was so cute.  He was a total clown and he was a ball of energy.  We didn’t speak Spanish and he didn’t speak English or much Spanish, for that matter. I had few people ask how we thought we could communicate with this child, so in the days before we left for Guatemala,  I wrote out a bunch of phrases that you would say, in the course of a day, as you were dealing with your child, and I translated them and kept them in a notebook.  Armed with my Spanish dictionary and notebook, I went to Guatemala prepared to explain to this boy that we were going to be his new family. 

The weekend went amazingly well and I didn’t want to let him go.  He became fast friends with the kids and they all loved him.  It was like he had always been ours.  I kept hoping and praying that they would let us take him home, but it was not to be.  We had to leave him and I cried most of the way back to the US.  We had to wait until August to get him back and so I had 3 months of the worst labor pains imaginable.  I was so worried about him and missed him and time could not move fast enough. The process was finally completed and we decided we would go back and get him, rather than having him escorted.  The whole family flew to Guatemala to pick him up and the paperwork was signed on August 29, 2004.  He was now officially Juan Carlos Brandt.

Now here are the miracles associated with this boy:

- He was born October 28, 1998.  That was the time when I was feeling so desperate and like I was missing a child.

- His name was Juan Carlos, which is John Charles in English.  If you recall, we were very close to naming our son August, John.

- I always knew I would have a son named John and I did have those 4 children that God had planted a desire for so many years ago.

- The cost of his adoption was $35,000. We had sold our house 2 years before and made a very large profit, so the cash was sitting in the bank.

-Not only did we pick him and turn the normal adoption process on its head, but from the time I saw his picture to the time we brought him home was exactly 8 months to the day.  The average international adoption time frame is 2-3 years!

-We did not speak a lick of Spanish and he didn’t speak English or much Spanish, yet we communicated just fine and within 6 mos he was speaking English.  One day, I explained that in English his name translated to John.  I asked him if he wanted us to continue to call him Juan Carlos, or if he wanted to be called John.  He said, “I want to be John, Mom”.

- Sue, the social worker made many claims throughout the process, that John was frail and sickly and had some type of lung disorder.  Not only was that untrue…he was very healthy all through his life and didn’t even need braces on his teeth.  But the testament to his healthy and robust body came a few days after his accident.  It was clear to the medical staff and to me that he was brain dead.  Because he was so young and no one wants to give up on a young life, they assumed his heart would give out and then he would be both brain dead with no heartbeat.  His heart raced for three days at over 170 beats a minute and yet it never quit.  He was a swimmer all of his life and a triathlete.  He was a strong, athletic, fit young man and never a sickly or frail boy.

I use to tell John that he was the luckiest boy in the world.  I told him that most children have God and a mom and dad that love them.  But he had three sets of loving parents.  He was loved by his mother who made a courageous decision to put him up for adoption, because she knew she could not give him the care he needed.  He was loved by God the Father, who protected him and put the desire in a family's heart to bring him home and teach him about Jesus.  And he was loved by that far off family that lived on another continent and went searching for him to bring him home.  

I wish we could have had more time together, but I'm so grateful that God picked us to love him during his time on this Earth.  See you again, my boy, until then your clothes will be right where you left them.