Mighty to Save

This has been one amazing year for me. As I sit here on my couch, I am in utter awe of the graciousness and total faithfulness of the true and mighty God. Too many ups and downs to count. There have been times of anger and pain, times of happiness, times of joy, and times of awe. To everything there is a season, after all.

What really gets me, what brings me to my knees and makes me cry out in humble gratitude is how throughout every season He is the same. He is always my refuge, always my strength, always an ever present help in times of trouble. Even when I am slow to find my shelter under His wings they are still there...always, waiting for me. What kind of crazy love is that?

This summer the Lord sent me, plain old me, to Mumbai. I walked the streets of one of the largest red light districts in the world. I prayed with women who probably think I’m better than them, but I’m not. Praying with them is one of the most amazing privileges I’ve ever received. With that trip to Mumbai God gave me a greater desperation for Him. My thirst grew more intense and I felt Proverbs 42:1, “As the deer pants for flowing streams, so my soul pants for you, O God.”

There He was again. Actually, He never did leave. But in my foolishness I look at myself or other earthly blessings WAY too much.

One of the songs our team sang with the children we spent time with was Mighty to Save. It has sort of become my theme song for the year. Here are the lyrics (if you want to watch it, click here):

Everyone needs compassion,

Love that's never failing;

Let mercy fall on me.

Everyone needs forgiveness,

The kindness of a Savior;

The Hope of nations.

Savior, He can move the mountains,

My God is Mighty to save,

He is Mighty to save.

Forever, Author of salvation,

He rose and conquered the grave,

Jesus conquered the grave.

So take me as You find me,

All my fears and failures,

Fill my life again.

I give my life to follow

Everything I believe in,

Now I surrender.

My Savior, He can move the mountains,

My God is Mighty to save,

He is Mighty to save.

Forever, Author of salvation,

He rose and conquered the grave,

Jesus conquered the grave.

Shine your light and let the whole world see,

We're singing for the glory of the risen King... Jesus (x2)

My Savior, He can move the mountains,

My God is Mighty to save,

He is Mighty to save.

Forever, Author of salvation,

He rose and conquered the grave,

Jesus conquered the grave.

My Savior, you can move the mountains,

You are mighty to save,

You are mighty to save.

Forever, Author of Salvation,

You rose and conquered the grave,

Yes you conquered the grave

My kids like to listen to this in the car and hearing them sing this anthem at the top of their lungs is the best. When I hear it I can close my eyes and see dozens of beautiful brown arms stretched to the heavens praising God for being the God who sees them, who sanctifies them, and who shepherds them. I can see two beautiful children in the Democratic Republic of the Congo and know He can move mountains. I see beautiful baby boys and girls born after earlier tragic miscarriages and praise God that Jesus conquered the grave.

This year was far from easy, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. God brought me closer to Him by showing me a deeper need for him. He loved me day after day after day and tomorrow He will, too. That is good news.

For Oliver on his Fifth Birthday

To My Remarkable Boy

--A simple poem from your mommy

Five years ago I received the most wonderful gift of my son being born into the world. He was delivered via C-section after 36 hours of labor. I thought that was something. But the further I get from the date of his birth, the more unimpressive those hours seem. The real labor was only beginning. The labor from the Lord is sweet, however, even if a bit painful at times.

Brown-eyed boy can I see you smile?
Your grin fills my heart with pleasure.
Brown-eyed boy don't be sad,
Don't you know you are a treasure?

They put you in my arms five short years ago,
Though my body still did shake.
Brown-eyed boy mommy held you tight,
Never to stop loving or forsake.

Big and strong you have always been,
There is no denying what is clear.
Brown-eyed boy I see your heart,
The soft and keen, and the fears.

Words may not always come easy,
People you may not understand.
Brown-eyed boy don't ever let that stop you,
God is still holding your hand.

Sociable and warm, you are a gift to others,
Differences are not your concern.
Brown-eyed boy who is sometimes lonely,
You will receive that for which you yearn.

Now my son lay your head on my chest,
We will pray for these things together.
Brown-eyed boy God will hear our words,
His strength every day can weather.

Mumbai Story -- Last Glimpse

It was one of the last images in Mumbai that I don't want to forget. In my mind it plays more like a silent movie.

I watched her from the other side of the road. Me, from the relative safety of a van chauffeured by hotel staff, and her, a tiny girl navigating the city sidewalk in bare feet. Between us was a concrete barrier dividing the two directions of traffic, along with the hundreds of cars and rickshaws whizzing and beeping past. Atop the barrier was some crude metal fencing with large gaps between slats.

Immediately I was absorbed in her movements. She was small for her age, which I guessed was about five. A simple maroon dress with little white flowers hung loosely from her petite frame. In one hand she held a sandwich balanced on a white paper plate. In the other hand was a furry, brown teddy bear.

The teddy bear was surprisingly clean given its surroundings. The softness of its fur was a soothing contrast to the controlled chaos of the Mumbai city streets, and the little girl held on to it with fervency.

She waited patiently before she stepped cautiously onto the hot pavement lined with trash and debris. In her eyes she held the experience that would get her safely across traffic that any wide-eyed westerner would behold in terror.

"Where is she going?" I wondered.

I held my breath as she made her move. In a moment she had made a light dash into traffic and and at the same moment my ride moved, too. Where did she go? And then as quick as she had gone there she was again. With relief I spied her closer to me but still on the other side of the concrete barrier. It was time to cross. First she dropped her beloved teddy to the other side of the fencing by shoving it easily between one of the gaps. Then she began to maneuver herself between the slats, all while still balancing the sandwich that never shifted the slightest bit on her capable palm.

Again she disappeared but, fortunately, teddy remained within view. I watched as it bounced up and down, above and between cars. All at once innocence and simplicity, quietness and play were moving through a fast-paced world of chaotic rhythms until teddy, too, went out of sight.

For a moment they were completely gone. I wasn't hearing anyone else with me in the van or the never ending sounds of traffic because I just wanted to find the little girl and her teddy. Seeing her at the end of my teams' 12-day stay in India had brought so much to my mind. In some ways she and her teddy were the embodiment of what I had seen in Kamathipura, the red light district that claims the innocence of young girls night after endless night. Here was an innocent young girl who loved her teddy. To her teddy was more than just a toy, he was a true companion to stick with her through thick and thin. In a world full of danger, teddy was her escape to a place of safety and quiet, a place where houses have solid walls and hungry bellies are made happy and full.

There was a time when the women in Kamathipura were just little girls with teddy bear dreams. They dreamed, like most girls do, of a prince waiting to make them his bride. Sadly, their dreams became true nightmares. Beyond being trapped in a caged cell, they became trapped in the prison of their minds, unable to escape the horrors wreaked on their bodies.

Bombay Teen Challenge brings hope back to the women of Kamathipura through the love of Jesus Christ. By miracles of a compassionate Father these women no longer have to dream of their prince. They are rescued and taken to safety. In this world they are given a safe haven with clean beds and fresh clothes. In the next they receive a heavenly dwelling. The lanes they walk won't smell of sickness or rotting trash; they will be paved with gold. They will never again feel the cruelty of being used by depraved men; they will be held in the arms of their Savior.

The van began to move again and there she was. Upon the end of the barrier the little girl sat with her teddy. Beside them was the girl's mother and younger brother, probably two. The sandwich had been divided between them, each one chewing quickly and gazing in a different direction as if nothing were around at all.

Legacy

I love to go to yard sales and find treasures. This is also known as “yard saling” among those of us who do it, but I’m fairly certain the term isn’t found in Webster’s.

One recent Friday I set out with my two-year-old daughter in search of some yard sales. On this particular day we found an estate sale very close to our home. I wasn’t too sure it would be the place to find small toys like I wanted but, since it was the only one we’d seen, decided to give it a shot.

The sale had only been open 10 minutes and inside there was a huge amount of second- (or third, or fourth) hand merchandise. My little girl quickly spotted a toy kitchen with some miniature play foods on top. We filled up a miniature potato sack full of items and continued to mosey. As we browsed I was surprised at the number of toys, many of them antique figurines or high-end stuffed animals. I wondered if these were played with mainly by someone’s child or grandchild. Classic tales like Babar and The Jungle Book were being sold in their antique covers. The memories in this room hung mysteriously in the air--stories just waiting to be told over a cup of tea.

Finally in the back I spotted a wall full of baby and toddler clothing. Smocked styles that are still costly today hung on hooks and layed folded underneath. At first I wished I knew the sex of my future niece or nephew still only 12 weeks along. Perhaps I could score some deals! But then I was touched with a sadness over these pieces. These were clothes someone treasured enough to keep them safely tucked away for, judging by appearances, what could have been decades. Now they were being sold at an estate sale for a small profit to someone the original owner or wearer most likely will never meet.

Maybe this touched me because the gown I wore home from the hospital hangs today in my little girl’s bedroom. Or because the onesie my husband wore home from a hospital in Ft. Worth was also worn home by my little boy in Franklin, Tenn. But what I really considered at that moment was the ultimate emptiness in it all. It left me wondering about the legacy of the woman who kept them. Here were the clothes that were meaningful to her and for a very understandable reason. Whoever her children were, they didn’t want to keep these things...or maybe they weren’t around to take them. There were very few items in the entire sale that might have belonged to a man. Was she lonely?

I don’t know what lasting legacy this woman left for the children who wore those baby clothes. But she did leave one. It could have been good or bad. Who knows?

I do know, however, what I want my legacy to be. Do I want my children to rise up and call me blessed (Pro. 31:28)? Of course! But more than that, I want my legacy to be the gospel.

Life is full of so many ups and downs, so many mistakes and even some regrets. My family knows better than anyone how imperfect I am. That is why I want them to know better than anyone how great the Father’s love is for their mom, how even though I mess up day after day He removes my sins as far as the east is from the west (Psalm 103:12). And it is because Jesus was perfect and because of Him I don’t have to be. I’m free (Rom. 8:1). They can be, too! With all my heart that is what I want them to know most right now.

Day to day I am tempted to create a different legacy. My false idols (a clean house, a skinny body) lure me into a place of darkness that makes them seem important above all else. I must ask myself this: when I am gone and my possessions are being sold to the highest bidder, what will my legacy be? Will I be remembered for how fit I stayed?

Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord, she shall be praised. Proverbs 31:30  

Will I be remembered because I kept my home spotless? What a joke!

I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind. Ecclesiastes 1:14

God is the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End, the First and the Last (Rev. 22:15). From Him we may gain eternal life. My job as a Christian mom is to make that my legacy and to help make it the legacy of my children. Storing memories in boxes of delicate childrens clothing isn’t necessarily bad, but that shouldn’t be our true treasure -- or our legacy.

Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Matt. 6:19-21

I’m actually eager for my kids to be in realization of their sins. The sooner they know this the sooner they can see their need for a Savior. My greatest hope is that we will dance together before the Lord in celebration of His goodness. What a legacy that will be.