On Life-Changing Moments

"Don't think for a moment that because you're in the palace 

you will escape when all other Jews are killed.

If you keep quiet at a time like this, deliverance and relief 

for the Jews will arise from some other place, 

but you and your relatives will die.

Who knows if perhaps you were made queen

for just such a time as this?"    

Esther 4:13-14

Life is full of moments, of decisions that will change our lives.  Movies convince us they are easy to spot, like that magical first kiss when you realize you have found the one who completes your heart.  I wouldn't know about that.  The word that comes to mind when I think of my first kiss with the man who became my husband is awkward.  Two 18 year olds tentatively looking out opposite windows of an old Buick, wanting to move forward and yet terrified of messing it up somehow.  And yet, for all the fear, there is an underlying certainty.  This is it...this is what comes next.  There was fear when I held that pregnancy test in my hand one early Saturday morning, there was fear as I considered turning in my notice and becoming a full-time at home mother.  But there was also a sense of rightness.  And as we became licensed foster parents, fear was never far away, wondering what the future would hold for us all.  But we did it, we kept completing the steps, because we knew, in some inexplicable way, we knew it was the right thing for us, for just such a time as this.

A year ago, I had a conversation that once again marked a life change for me.  I didn't know it at the time, as it was shrouded in that familiar cover of fear.  See, I was talking to my pastor's wife, a pastor in her own right if we're being totally honest.  I was telling her about a women's conference I had heard about, a conference that we could host in our very own town, in our very own church!  For once, I wouldn't have to miss out on something new and exciting, because it would be right down the street.  And she listened and she nodded, and she said yes, we could host this conference.  But only if I did the work.  Her life was entering a big transition, and she wouldn't be able to do any of the preparation.  So if I wanted to have the event, I needed to make it happen.  In about 6 weeks.  With no experience in planning such an event.  With no confidence in myself as a leader, as someone who could put her name on something and accept full responsibility for the outcome.  The fear was bountiful, but so was the belief that I had to try.  If not me, then who?  If not now, then when?

IF: Local February 2014

On the advice of my pastor's wife (again, she is just as much a pastor herself, I should really drop the wife part), I gathered a team, just a few women who also said yes with little information but with a great desire to be part of it.  There wasn't time for advertising, for decorations, for all that I would have liked to do.  I was worried that no one would come; I was worried that many would come.  I had  to admit often that I just didn't know.  I didn't know what to expect, I didn't know how it would turn out, I didn't know if I was getting it all wrong.  But I followed through, and the weekend came, and...women showed up!  Women I'd never met had heard about it online or through word of mouth.  The live stream worked.  The speakers were powerful, the message clear.  We are all like Esther, in our places, in our communities, in the lives of others for just such a time as this.  It's scary to leave that comfortable seat, that well-situated status quo.  After all, no one would blame me for not opening my home to traumatized children.  No one would ever know the burdensome secrets that I carried.  No one, not even myself, would be aware of wasted potential as I sat quietly, week after week, year after year, letting others lead.  When the time has come for me, over and over, I have only been able to see it all clearly in retrospect.  The moments are a jumble of emotions, of deliberation.

This past week, I experienced two clear moments.  The first came on Wednesday, as I was in the midst of getting the children off to school and meeting with my Bible study ladies.  A phone call, in many ways so similar to that one we received three years ago.  Another baby, in need of a home.  It could change our lives again, the way Michael changed everything.  And yet, amidst the deliberations, the hurried texts between my husband and I, one thing was lacking.  That sense of rightness and certainty.  The fear was there, only in a new form.  What if we say no?  Are we the only ones who can help this baby?  What if we say no?  Will we be missing out?  Will another opportunity come, one that better fits our situation, our family schedule?  Is this our last chance?  We decided to decline.  We passed on the opportunity that didn't feel quite right, and prayed that it would be right for someone else.  Then Thursday came.  I met with a group of women, all gathered by that same pastor's wife.  You see, the conference is coming again in just 8 weeks.  I am hosting again this year, with much more confidence and excitement than last time, because I've seen what God can do through me, with all that I lack, that He can more than make up for it.  And these other women, they are hosting too.  Five of them came to my church for that weekend, and when they left, they vowed to be a part of it next time.  Not to just sit in the seats, but to open the doors.  Instead of just one conference in a small church in Northeast Ohio, this February there will be several.  Our whole state is lit up with locations offering the same opportunity to many more women.

Because life is full of moments, ones that will change us forever, creating new paths that we will follow into a great unknown.  We must recall Esther, her fearful crossroads, her life or the lives of her people?  The potential loss of reputation, of position versus the potential extermination of an entire race of innocent people.  The stakes may not be as high in our modern culture...or maybe they are.  These choices we make, they have the power to change us, to touch our souls, to echo through eternity.  Most likely, we will not have books written about us, there won't be festivals celebrating our bravery each year around the world.  But our obedience to do what is right...it matters.  It matters to the child who is no longer an orphan, to the homeless man who is offered shelter, to the person whose hope is renewed by an act of kindness, to the prisoner who is set free.  So do as Esther did.  Use all that you have in the place God has given you.  Remember that He is sufficient for all that you lack.  Remember that deliverance and relief can come from anywhere, but you will miss it if stay silent.

"If God is real, then we want more than anything to live like it."  Jennie Allen, founder of IF

Calamity Days

I could blog about each hour of each day that I have spent trapped in a 1200 square foot house with four children who are only able to get along with each other for a finite amount of time, one of whom is always unhappy with what we are currently doing, one of whom will be displeased with what we are about to do, who can't even be unanimous when selecting a movie to watch (but the popcorn that accompanies it...that they can all get on board with)....and most of what I write would be negative, sure-fire birth control for the childless few who read my words.  But that's not why I blog.  (That all gets recorded in my journal.  And while we're on this topic, can someone volunteer to come over and burn them when I die?  So that my kids don't read all the angry, frustrated words I write about them every day?)  When I come to this space, I want to share how I am learning, being transformed, and I hope to always find a positive note.  It took six days of no school, sub zero temperatures, head splitting migraines to get there.

Today, we ventured out into the warming (8 degrees!) world outside our house, because we just had to not be in each others' faces for a while.  We headed to Playland, because its free, and they were finally open.  I brought a book, because, unlike at home, the kids are pretty much out of my face once we walk through the doors, and I find that when I am reading, other moms and dads are less likely to talk to me, which suits me just fine.  There we were, spread out, the kids running and climbing and yelling, me nose deep in my novel.  It lasted about 20 minutes.  Then the boys came over to me, giving me hugs, Michael kissing my leg (mostly, I think, because its right at his level, but also so he didn't have to jostle with the big boys to get to my face).  Winston said, "Now its your turn Mommy!"  Uhhh, my turn for what?  "Mommy, take off yours shoes and come down the slide with me!"  Okay, so here I am at a mommy cross roads.  On the one hand, this is my attempt at solitude and quiet (in the midst of screaming children, yes).  This is my one chance to read my book and be still, because eventually Playland will close, and we will go back to our dungeon house for several more hours of whining and fighting and general grumpiness, mostly directed at me.  Also, getting up to the top of the slide is no easy thing for a grown woman.  Especially on a busy day like today, I would have to crawl around other kids, go through tunnels of plastic that are very hard on my aging knees, all for the end result of 10 seconds crammed in a slide, getting charged up with enough static electricity to start a car.  On the other hand, my son is asking me to play with him.  My sweet four year old boy wants to amplify his fun by going down the slide with Mommy.  So I marked my place in my book, slipped off my shoes, clarified that this was only going to happen once (my aging knees, people!), and followed an extremely delighted boy up, up, up.  But that's not even the best part, making Winston's day.  When James and Michael saw me going up (or maybe they had worked this out ahead of time, letting Winston be the spokesman for the group), they came with us, so that at the top of the slide, my lap held not just one, but three boys, grinning from ear to ear, and down we went, squeals of delight (them) and groans (me).  I delivered kisses all around, then headed back to my seat.  "Again?" James asked, and as much as it kills me to say no to him EVER, I had to beg off, but thanked him for inviting me to go.

Because what I regret about the past six days is all the times I lost my temper, all the times I was short or tired or puking, and they were not my priority.  I don't regret sitting down with a pile of books and kids sprawled on every available square inch of me.  I don't regret making room under the blanket for a little body with freezing toes.  I don't regret crawling through Playland (especially when I saw another mom up there, doing the same thing).  I was struck today, swinging on the pendulum of indecision, at how short this time truly is.  I mean, how much longer will my kids actually WANT me to play with them?  How many more opportunities to I have to be their best friend?  How well can I love them today, so that future events won't make them doubt it?  And in this season of so much doubt of myself, my choices and my abilities, its nice to end the day knowing that I did something right.  And hopefully the kids remember this more than all the times I shouted, "STOP asking for more candy!  There's NO MORE CANDY!"