Flour, oil and God's grace

"And she and Elijah and her son continued to eat from her supply of flour and oil for many days. For no matter how much they used, there was always enough left in the containers, just as the Lord had promised through Elijah." (1Kings 17:15 and 16).

I wonder what that woman felt that first time she used up the rest of her flour and oil. She thought it was her and her son's last meal and then they would die. It's hard to imagine those feelings. But then she went back to her jars, just to check one last time maybe or because she believed what Elijah said that it wouldn't run out. There was just enough to make one more loaf of bread! A miracle! Did she feel a little more hopeful this time? Maybe this would happen again? Maybe Elijah--that crazy hobo--was right? She went back again and again and there was just enough for the next loaf. Her faith must have grown. Was there a nagging thought in the back of her mind that maybe this time it'll be all gone? Maybe the oil and flour have run out and now we will starve to death.

I can't help but compare. I think the oil and flour are like God's grace. I want to store it up like I do canned goods and toilet paper and ice cream. I want to make sure I have enough. I'm so afraid I'll run out. I'm afraid that the BIG TEST is coming up and that I'll fail because I won't have any more grace. Each day I face small tests. God's grace is always there. Just enough for the next test. But maybe one day I will use it too much and the next time it just won't be there. Maybe, just maybe it'll just run out and I'll be left...graceless. I'll starve. I'll die, because I can't live without God's grace.

In times of high anxiety, times like I faced a couple weeks ago, this is my fear. Maybe I just won't be able to get through. What if I'm left alone to fight the battle? What if God's just not there? What if He's just had enough of my neediness and just won't give anymore grace? What's around the corner? Terrible sickness for me? Horrible heath issues for Max? What if that's when the grace runs out? This attitude is debilitating. But it's often what I struggle with. Not because God's grace has ever run out. Not because I've faced terribly difficult circumstances. I guess it's because Satan will use whatever he has. He uses my personality, my weaknesses. He uses my tendency to think too much about the what ifs.

Thankfully, I have ammunition. It's the Word of God. That's what I used two weeks ago when my hormones where going crazy and I was sick and Max was sick and then later Mike was sick and all the what ifs of life were filling my mind so much that I couldn't think straight. I'm so grateful for God's comforting Word. It was a battle. It wasn't a once and for all, quote-the-scripture-and-then-it's-over kind of thing. It was a moment by moment, week-long battle. I'm glad it's over for now. And His grace will be enough next time too. It's not running out any time soon (ever!)!

Raina Grace 1

About 7 months ago Mike and I heard about some needs at an orphanage nearby. There were several children abandoned at the hospital around the same time and the director needed to find foster parents. We decided to check it out even though we knew we probably couldn't do anything about it until we were finished with language study. So, we drove to the orphanage to ask questions and see what the place was like.

The director, from North America, brought a baby down to show us right away. She was a couple weeks old but about 4 weeks premature. Tiny, beautiful, healthy, strong. Abandoned at birth by her mother. Why? I guess we'll never know. The director named her Raina Grace, raina meaning queen in Tagalog (the most common language here in the Philippines). Queen of grace. Max was jealous but completely taken by her tiny little bottle of milk.

I fell in love right away, of course. We decided pretty quickly that we couldn't foster for a few months at least. I was struggling enough with one child and language school. But I dreamed and prayed about the possibilities in the future. It actually scared me to death to think of fostering. I have this gift, you know, the kind that is a gift and a curse--compassion, empathy. I put myself in other's situations. I lay my heart out there and then it gets all chopped up. I'm afraid of the chopping, the pain, the endless tears. So, I was afraid of fostering, but the idea grew and grew. It was all I could think of.

Max and I went back to the orphanage to sit with the kids and hold tiny Raina Grace. School continued. Mike's parents came for a visit. Time passed. About 2 months after we met Raina Grace I was took a pregnancy test. When I saw the positive sign my heart fell, I have to be honest. I couldn't imagine how I could even handle being pregnant, giving birth and caring for two instead of one. Much less could I imagine taking care of three, especially along with the emotional load of a foster child. But I also couldn't imagine allowing a fresh little life grow up in an orphanage where she didn't get as many cuddles and kisses and skin to skin contact that she needed. I COULD do this for her. It is POSSIBLE. By the way, the orphanage is a great one. It is run by believers and there's a lot of love and prayers holding each child up. But there simply isn't enough time to give 10 babies in one room with one helper the attention they need. So, to say the least, I was torn.

I got over the "disappointment" of the positive pregnancy test. I love babies and ever since weaning Max I have wanted another one. I just thought it would come in a different form. I even blocked out the thoughts of Raina Grace for awhile. I didn't visit the orphanage for a couple months. Finally, when I went back, I hardly recognized her.

The door is not closed for our family to foster, but I know for sure at this time, though language school is over, that I cannot do it. I am struggling too much with pregnancy (though it is an easy one) and Max to think I could give my all to Mike, Max, Mini Me AND Raina Grace right now. I hate that. It feels like a cop out to me because I realize the impact we could have on this one little life. Things could be so different for her.

I'm not sure why I'm writing this. I want Raina Grace. But I also want her to be in someone's home with someone's tender, constant care and attention. I don't want to be selfish and keep her all to myself. I'm not sure if she's in a position (paperwork wise) to be adopted yet, but if there's anyone out there who wants to start the process...she's here as well as many others like her.

Fall's Here!

Ok, so we don't really have fall here in the Philippines. But it's one thing that I miss very much about living in the U.S. So, I try to keep it alive by doing fallish things. Last year I bought some pumpkin spice candles. This year I started out by making apple crisp. I want to share the recipe I used this time because it was particularly good and very simple. I got it from my Betty Crocker book:

Apple Crisp

• 4 medium tart apples sliced (4 cups)
• 3/4 cup packed brown sugar
• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/2 cup quick-cooking or old-fashioned oats
• 1/3 cup butter cut up in small chunks
• 1 tsp ground cinnamon
• 1/2 tsp nutmeg

1. Heat oven to 375. Grease bottom and sides of square pan 8x8x2, with butter.

2. Spread apples in pan. Mix remaining ingredients (I did it with my hands); sprinkle over apples

3. Bake about 30 minutes or until topping is golden brown and apples are tender when pierced with fork. Serve with vanilla ice cream.

There's nothing special about this recipe, but I found that I enjoyed this apple crisp more than usual. Who knows, maybe it's just my crazy pregnant self, but this recipe is GOOD.

Value

I have struggled for a long time with the concept of WHO I AM as a wife and then, more recently, as a mother. In our society we are constantly bombarded by who is valuable--what the person looks like, what they have and by what kind of work they do. Well, I am currently on year five of an identity crisis. The Bible and many people that I greatly admire tell me one thing. My society (be it in the U.S. or here in the Philippines) tells me something else. What makes me valuable?

In my struggle I have become somewhat bitter about who I am right now. My "job" looks so mundane. Even as a missionary I am sort of second rate because I don't have a ministry outside my home at this point. I'm not changing the world. I'm not affecting large groups of people. I'm here at home organizing our lives, cooking meals, washing dishes, changing diapers, wiping faces, trying to make sure I have enough time for my husband despite the time and energy I put into being a mom. And as soon as I think, "Ah hah! Here's my chance! Max is getting older. I have more energy!" we get a little surprise in the form of a positive pregnancy test (that's a different issue altogether).

So, because I'm "sacrificing" so much (you know, sacrificing the approving looks of the outside world, the pat on the back from the feminists--for lack of a better word, and that stamp "Super Mom" which actually means "Wow! You take care of your husband and children as well as working 8+ hours a day outside the home, are involved in the PTA, head up two ministries at church and have the energy to hang out with the girls one night a week!") I feel like my son and my husband "owe" it to me. Max owes it to me to be a good boy and not throw his food on the floor or act silly at nap time or throw a fit in the middle of the mall. Mike owes it to me for ALL that I do for him and for sacrificing what I "could be."

So the other afternoon, as I'm carrying laundry to the back room, still feeling a bit frustrated from my almost sabotaged attempts to get Max down for his nap, I hear that little voice inside. I feel I can safely say that voice is God's. It wasn't mine and it wasn't any evil being's. The voice said, "Take joy in what I've given you to do." It was clear, pure and exactly what I needed to hear. And it keeps coming back to me when that bitterness begins to creep in. "Take joy in what I've given you to do." I have been placing my value in what I think other people see as valuable. Therefore, I resent the "littleness" of my identity. I don't think that's how God sees me. I'm pretty sure I am exactly where He wants me and I can say with confidence with the Bible backing me that He considers me valuable. He considers my role and my identity valuable. It is what He has given me to do.

And by the way, no one owes me anything. Mike, Max and myself owe everything to Jesus Christ for dying for us and giving us a new life. I shouldn't expect something of my son or my husband because they owe it to me. They owe whatever is good and right to God, and so do I.

I'm not saying that I'm jumping around with joy as I wash dishes or walk around the block ONE MORE TIME in 85 degree heat with 90% humidity because Max wants to. BUT, I'm getting somewhere. I'm moving forward with this "identity crisis" that I've been in. Those words just keep coming back to me when I want to be resentful, "Take joy in what I've given you to do."

Little Helper

Mike and I have recently been reading up on raising children. Max is at the age (almost 2) where he can understand discipline. It has been our prayer from the beginning that he would be a worshiper of Jesus AT AN EARLY AGE.

I was reading the story of Hannah and Samuel today. It's always been a touching story to me. I read it when I was first pregnant with Max. I came across it again today, and for the first time I understood a little of what Hannah must have felt to literally hand her child over to God when he was just 3 or 4 (maybe older, who knows when the weaned children then). I cannot CANNOT imagine the pain she must have felt to say good bye to her little boy. Her first child.

But what really struck me today were these verses: "Now Samuel, though only a boy, was the Lord's helper. He wore a linen tunic just like that of a priest.... Samuel grew up in the presence of the Lord" (I Samuel 2:18, 19 and 21). Now THAT is what I want for Max...and also for Little Mini, yet to be born. How do we lead him (them) to this? What will it cost us? What pain will we feel as we realize more and more that he (and she) is GOD'S, not ours? Oh, this is a hard job! It's beautiful and amazing and full of purpose, but it's HARD!

First Entry

I've always been a journaler. I started in middle school or maybe even before. Writing clears my head. I can think when I write...or maybe it's after I write that I can then think clearly. In any case, I've wanted to blog for quite a while now, so here goes.

I'm hoping this is a place where I can be honest and transparent, where people can help me think through things without judging me too harshly if I'm out of line (like on those days I want to just vent about traffic or grocery shopping or the struggles of being a mom).

Oh, and I'm pretty dense about computers and the internet. It's like I'm 60 or something (no offense to anyone who's 60), whereas I'm actually not even 30 yet. So who knows what will come of this or what it will look like in the end.

Ha ha! I'm going to push "publish post" for the first time. Here we go!