Letting My Heart Be Broken

I don't know the blogger who writes at Sit A Spell.  But she writes about being a new missionary in Haiti and some of the experiences she & her husband have been facing.  Such as - twice in 3 days - being offered orphaned babies: "Do you want her?"  And having to say No, because in Haiti you could say Yes a thousand times, and still run into desperate children on a daily basis.  She wrote:

"While many American churches are worrying about the lighting on their stage, or fussing over the displays in their foyer, children are suffering in orphanages, groaning...aching...for someone to come redeem their lives."

The rest of the post is worth reading too. 


I've read Licia's blog for years, and respect her work in Haiti.  At her Rescue Center she has recently admitted four girls - all suffering from kwashiorkor (malnutrition).  She is asking people to pray for the girls - for their lives and their healing. 


Other missionaries/bloggers I greatly respect are the Livesays.  Recently they wrote regarding orphans:

"Whether I think about them or not - they exist. My choices are pretty straight forward. So are yours.


1. We find something we can do.


or


2. We plug our ears and close our eyes and pretend there is no problem.


Only one choice reflects the heart of our Father."


I don't have the answers.  I just know that - for me - I'm feeling suffocated by the excesses of my daily life.  How can I buy a new pair of shoes when thousands of people - people just like me - have NO shoes?  How can I choose to eat in a restaurant when thousands of people will not eat at all today.. or tomorrow.. and will literally starve to death? Over 26,000 children die each day of largely preventable causes related to their poverty.*  Surely I could do more.  I can make tiny sacrifices that would yield life for someone else.  That is what I would hope someone else would do if my sons were among the ones starving.


I'm not feeling guilty.  And I'm not failing to enjoy what I've been given.  I'm just longing for life to be more than new shoes & fancy food.  And I think it's possible.


So I pray.  I ask God to provide for the ones who suffer.. and the ones who care for them.. and to show me what my role is.  And I let my heart be broken.




*Statistic from Richard Stearns' "The Hole in Our Gospel"

Arboretum Again

Joseph came with us this time.  G had more fun with his brudah there.

Taking Chances

G is going on a field trip, so I had to complete & sign this:

What - you can't read the fine print?  Well, I promised things like:

"I recognize and acknowledge that there are certain risks of physical injury to participants in these activities, and I voluntarily agree to assume the full risk of any and all injuries, damages or loss, regardless of severity, that my minor child/ward or I may sustain as a result of said participation...."


Because, you know, a class trip to

THE PUMPKIN FARM

should only be undertaken after carefully assessing the potential risk.

Thought for Thursday

From Shane Claiborne's book, The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical:


"I decided to look a little closer at some of the rich young ruler text, which appears in Matthew, Mark, and Luke.  After Jesus' teaching that you must enter the kingdom like a little kid, a wealthy man comes up and asks Jesus what he needs to do, and Jesus tells him he lacks one little thing.  ("Lacks" is an interesting word to use, since the rich man thought he had everything.)  And what might that one thing be?  You can almost see him get excited.  Then Jesus drops the big one: "Sell everything you have and give it to the poor!"  The man's face sinks and he walks away with his riches.

I think it broke Jesus' heart to let the man walk away.  The text says that Jesus looks at him and "loves him" as he walks away.  But Jesus doesn't run after the man saying, "Hey, it's a journey, just give half," or, "Start with 10 percent."  He simply lets the man choose his wealth."

Counting!

So, G is not actually counting yet.  But the CONCEPT of counting, he seems to have grasped!

It needs to be recorded that I have read the Hungry Caterpillar book 4 quabillion times.  And I've read the (stinkin') Poky Puppy Counting Book 18 ultramillion times.  Every.single.time I have moved his finger or mine over the pictures one by one as I've modeled counting.

"One orange pumpkin sitting by the fence.  One.  Two fuzzy caterpillars resting on a leaf.  Two."  Again & again & again.

There should be some kind of prize for repetitive reading moms, don't you think?

So, last night we're doing "Seven honeybees flying fast" and

HALLELUIA!

G started moving his finger from bee to shining bee!

Way to go, G. 

I Ready

Joseph left for the school bus this morning. 

G was left, tapping on the window, asserting: "I ready Mama.  I ready."

He wants so much to be like Joseph.

Nothing Better

Somehow both of my sons were in rare form tonight.  There was an extended period of ridiculousness in my house.  In advance, I will apologize.  I know that this story will not come across in type.  But in person - we all laughed for a good 20 minutes straight, so I have to try to share that with you.

And - just so you know - please do not think this is typical for my house.  We're not the Cleavers for sure.  But the first part of tonight was awesome.

G attacked Joseph with a stuffed dog.  The dog was attempting to lick Joseph, not bite him.  So perhaps we're making progress with "Project Dogs-Are-Our-Friends."

We needed a photo of G's new jacket for Grammy, but he would not stand still.  He wanted to dance in his amazing jacket.

We laughed & laughed.

Joseph picked up a soft pencil and tossed it gently at the back of G's head.  I freaked: "Joseph!"  G picked up the pencil, tossed it at his own head, and said: "Ow! Dadesh! Ow! Dadesh!"  So Joseph is laughing harder.  And I'm trying to convey that this is not an acceptable example to be setting (while stifling my own laughter).

So Joseph had to "think it over" in time out.

He was very serious while I talked to him about "making good choices."  I'm sure G believed that those were coughs, not laughs.

Nothing fancy, but one of the best times ever.