A Tale of Two Bags

This is a tale of two bags, packed to take two little girls to overnight camp.

One bag was not a bag at all but a trunk. A trunk large enough for the little girl to fit inside herself. For 6 days at camp, this bag contained: 5 bathing suits, 7 outfits each put into an individual bag, 2 dresses, 3 extra shirts, a rain poncho, a shower caddie (containing body soap, shampoo, conditioner, toothbrush, toothpaste, a brush and two loofahs), tennis shoes, flip flops, water shoes, 2 flashlights, 2 fans, pens, 2 Mad Libs, 2 chapter books and 3 towels. This trunk was so full that in a separate bag was packed sheets, a sleeping bag, a blanket and two pillows. The mother of this child worried while she was at camp that she wouldn't have everything she needed.

The second girl's bag wasn't really a bag either, but a book bag. For 5 days at camp it held one bathing suit, a hand towel, a wash cloth, flip flops, tennis shoes, 5 tops, 3 pairs of shorts, long pants, a bar of soap, a bible, a flashlight, toothbrush, and toothpaste. This bag was so full that the little girl carried her pillow.

The first bag was lovingly packed over the course of two weeks. The little girl received many of the things in the bag brand new from grandparents in preparation for camp. The camp packing list was consulted numerous times, and a friend with a daughter already at camp was consulted to make sure everything that was needed was included.

The second bag was packed the day before camp by the little girl's sister. She didn't have the packing list until then and there was no one looking for it. Nothing in the bag was new.

The first little girl and her bag had a great time at camp. It was her first time and she attended the camp her mother grew up going to. Her brother and sister didn't go this time, but they waited at home for her and looked each day for photographs that might show what she was doing. Her mother paid $1 per email to send her a note each day while she was away and had numerous friends and family members praying that she would be OK during the nights in the dark. She wasn't homesick, but was thrilled to see her parents at the end of the week. She couldn't wait to tell them about all the fun she had and the new things she tried.


The second little girl and her bag also had a great week at camp. Although she was only 7, she had been to camp the summer before and knew what to expect. Her brother and sister came with her to camp, even though they don't all live in the same home. She had also changed homes, and guardians since the last time she came to camp and was now living in the home of a widowed elderly woman. It is unknown if any of her other family members knew she was at camp. While she didn't cry, she became anxious about leaving the last day. Sharing more stories about her home life over the past few years, biting her nails and distancing herself from her counselor. At departure, there was no hugs or excitement to see her foster mother and only a quiet goodbye to her counselor.


Jimmy and I have just returned from a week as counselors at Royal Family Kids Camp- a camp for children who have been abused, neglected or abandoned and are living in foster care. It was a beautiful and hard week. As Sarah Bess had her first week at camp earlier this summer, I was stuck by the differences in even the bags packed. To learn more about RFKC, you can go to their website here: http://royalfamilykids.org/

I have written about camp and how I came to be there in previous blogs:
Sharing the Story: Part 1
Sharing the Story: Part 2
Off to Camp for the First Time
Thoughts from Camp

The Slurp

As I boarded the plane for my flight from Raleigh to Sacramento via Denver, I was looking forward to some quiet time. The kind hard to find on a Saturday with three little ones. So I carefully scanned the plane and found the middle seat between two people already on their electronics, and claimed this the one to be my sanctuary for the next four hours. Over the next few hours, I read some of "Pray, Write, Grow." , listened to a Rob Bell RobCast on the ZimZum of marriage, and even spent some time zoning out playing Subway Surfer.

I was reveling in my quiet retreat, until the gentleman to my left ordered a cup of coffee.

I have a love/hate relationship with coffee. I love that it gives me a burst of energy in the morning, but hate that my body is addicted. I hate coffee that tastes bad, but I love it when it is just right. For me the perfect cup of coffee is organic, fair trade, preferably made with beans grown in Ethiopia, and prepared with the perfect ratio of real sugar and cream. No thank you on the 'skinny' for my coffee. And like most things in my life, Jimmy makes my perfect cup better than I can or even Starbucks.

So I know myself well enough to know coffee on an airplane will be as bad as white wine on an in country flight in China. And while it may taste bad, it will be hot, similar to the previously mentioned glass of white wine.

When faced with an extra hot cup of coffee, it seems to me there are three choices on how to drink it: blow on it, wait for it to cool on it's own or drink it anyway burning your mouth so badly that you can't eat or drink anything else without pain for days.

My flight neighbor; however, knew a fourth way, the slurp. He began to quickly and noisily slurp his coffee down, barely pausing between slurps, never setting down the cup, until the entire thing was finished.

And while my first instinct was to become slightly annoyed at the disruption, I instead became amused as I thought of how the different ways we approach drinking coffee is often how we approach God's love. And that God's love, similar to the way we like our coffee, looks different to different people. For some it feels too hot, for others they only know the 'skinny' version, and yet others seem to be relishing in the just right combination. There are also those that don't even know or recognize the smell, taste or feel of God's love.

So I began to ask myself, how do I drink God's love? Perhaps it was too much time with my thoughts on a plane, or perhaps God wanted me to take notice of that slurp. Do I blow, wait, burn or slurp when it comes to fully embracing all God has for me and the greatness of his love?

Blow
Sometimes I know that God's love is so good, but I'm not sure I can handle it. He might ask something that feels too big. His love might even involve some pain if I let that Big love in, allowing myself to be vulnerable. So I try to change God. I tell him I want his love, but first I am going to shape it, control it to be what I think I desire, not what it is.

Wait
Other times I turn from God's love leaving him to wait for me. I distance myself. I ignore his nudges and fill myself with other things and forget he is even there. "Wait", I say. "The world will quench my thirst".

Burn
Perhaps most significantly painful are the times that I allow my perception of God to burn myself or others. I am righteously indigent, judgmental, or put God in a box where he does not belong. Just as when the coffee it too hot, I can not even taste God's true love for me in these moments.

Slurp
What if all along I was meant to slurp God's love. Not to turn away and ask God to wait, not to try to manipulate it and not to down a false version of it burning myself or others in the process.

What if God's love is so good, the only option is to slurp it? Drinking it noisily, relishing in it's goodness?

Heavenly father, I celebrate the gift of one man's slurp in my temple in the sky. May my chin drip with your love today. And may those that have never even had a taste join me in the slurp. 

Putting Jesus in the Eggs

There's no space that His love can't reach. There's no place where we can't find peace. There's no end to amazing grace. 

Crowder 

It is Easter Monday.

The way we celebrate Easter confuses me. The eggs, the bunny, the chocolate. But I have written about that before. Please know, I am not throwing stones. My kids hunted with the best of them yesterday.

In fact, Gabre and I were having some time yesterday morning before the big kids were awake. "Happy Easter, Gabre." I whispered.

This is where you are probably thinking she said, "Christ is Risen," but surprisingly she said, "Can we find the eggs now?"

"Later. Listen. This is a special day. This is a special day because Jesus loves you so much. And you know what else, He loves me too. And Daddy. And the best part, He loves everyone. So we can love everyone just like Jesus."  Profound right. I probably just changed her whole life.

You can tell I did because she said, "Maybe we should put Jesus in the eggs."

Pause for a moment and picture that Easter Egg Hunt. Hilarious, right?

Anyway...the past few years I have been reading a lot about Holy Week and how many of us are in seasons of Good Fridays, or waiting Saturdays with the promise of Easter always coming. And that is such a gift. Such a gift. But what about those that are living Easter Monday? What changes for us today because Sunday happened?

Until two days ago, I had no idea why we called the day that Jesus eats the Passover meal with his disciples before going to the garden, Maundy Thursday. Thankfully, Google did and told me this:

The English word Maundy is derived from the Latin mandatum, or commandment based on Jesus's commandment to his disciples during the last supper "A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another." John 13:34 

What if this is where we go on Easter Monday? Right back to Maundy Thursday. Easter made everything new. Everything is new. On Maundy Thursday we don't know what this means. Jesus had not yet died. There had been no resurrection. But now it is Monday and "...as I have loved you" has new meaning. It has to.

In This House

As I tucked the children into bed and we said prayers, a wave of emotions over took me. It was the final time I would kiss our children goodnight here. As a producer, I have been in get it done mode. I wasn't expecting these emotions or the flood of memories. But the children needed to process what was happening and I am thankful that they led me down this path with their questions.

"Was I nervous when I moved here from China?"

"Who will live here? Will we take our cups, bathtubs, paper, and.....? Where will you sleep at the new house?"

"Will you rub my back an extra long time tonight? Our last time here?"

And so I feel a need to write these things down. I don't ever want to forget.

In this house, Jimmy and I planed our dreams for the future. We have had more late night conversations on this screened porch than any other location in the world. We have grown as individuals and as a couple. We have fought. We have loved. We have laughed.

In this house, we brought home our first baby from the hospital. We first felt the overwhelming gift of love God gives us in a child. We have watched her grow into an 8 year girl full of life, passion and creativity.

In this house, we made the decision to adopt. We brought home a beautiful two year old boy from China and labored through the early days, weeks and months as we all celebrated and grieved. We have watched him grow into an 8 year old boy full of smiles and kindness; a peacemaker among siblings.

In this house, God told us there was a third child for our family. Through her he began to open our hearts to trust. We brought  home this gift from Ethiopia and watched as she taught us about Joy. We are amazed that our baby is now a four year old full of laughter, curiosity and presence.

In this house, a small group of people that hardly knew each other dreamed of a church where people would love well and live differently. They came together here and shared their lives.

In this house, a community of friends have surrounded us. They have welcomed us home with each of our children. They have prayed with us and for us. They have been here to paint, to build, and to repair. And now they have come to help us move. We have been blessed in this house with a family of friends that we know would (and have) dropped everything to support us.

And let's not forget...in this house, there have been some Epic parties.

Let's play a game. I will write a word, after you read it close your eyes and listen for the first 10 words that come to mind. The word is....CHURCH.

For some of you this word might bring words of comfort: holy, family, home, grace, love, peace. For many others words of pain: rejection, hate, judgement, abuse. If you are like me, there may be a mix of both.

And I think a look at the church sign, might give us part of the story. For many people who never step foot in a church, the sign might be the only thing they see representing the church. What kind of message is the church sign spreading? Is their intent to welcome or condemn. Here are a few common church sign examples:

The Funny Sign

This church wants you to think that church is hilarious. Come on in, you'll love it here they say. 

This is only funny if you were in high school in the early 90's. So I died. 

I'm not catholic, but this is funny. 

The Cool Sign

This church wants you to know they are modern, relevant and cool. 

A PSA?  

The Political Signs

Really? 

Alrighty then. 

What?!

The Hate & Hell Signs

We think the only reason you should come to church is you will burn in hell if you don't. We obviously have spent little to no time reading about Jesus. 

We actually passed this on the way to the beach once. True story. 

Oh, I do. I do feel welcome. The love is pouring out. 

So why all this sarcasm and church sign hate on a Sunday morning. I guess I want people to hear a different message about the church. One that often isn't as loud.

I believe Jesus asked us to be a church of welcome. Of Love. Of Refuge. When I read "Love your neighbor as yourself.", I think he actually means to LOVE them.

So if you have been burned by the church or people using the church to spread hate, I am sorry. My hope is you might start to see more signs like this:

I don't think this is a real sign. But maybe it should be. 

. And maybe all we need to see is this: