Simplifying Continued

Hey, All!

Sorry for my absence, I’ve been busy growing and birthing a human.  We welcomed little Dax Hezekiah the end of March and we are most certainly in love with him!

Toward the end of my pregnancy I had some medical issues which had me frequenting the doctors’ office upt to 4 times a week and after Dax’s arrival he had a ten day stay in the NICU.  All is well with both of us now, but as you can imagine, it did change my priorites and take its toll on the upkeep of our home.

If you remember a couple posts back I began a journey to live more simply. You can find the full story here, but the short version is I began decluttering our home as an attempt to regain some sanity, create a more welcoming space, live artisticly, and be more attentive to the needs of our community. With nine people in our family and over 50 animals on our “farm” it has not  been the easiest of tasks, but we were definitely making great strides with 42 trash bags,11 boxes, and a few large miscellanous items being donated and over 50 things being sold on ebay within a four month time frame.  I was not completely finished venturing through the house on my decluttering mission when my efforts were forced to the back burner, but I am now easing back into the process and mindset of simplifying.

To begin I trepidatiously entered the kids bathroom and set the timer for 30 minutes.

I started in the medicine cabinet that is shared by 5 of the middle children.  It contained a lot of used, somewhat damp, bars of soap that have rusted the metal shelving; I threw them all out.  Ever heard of a soap dish, Children?! Several unused hotel soaps and shampoos graced many of the shelves which left me a bit baffled since we have not stayed in a hotel in over three years. (Where did they come from?) I allowed one per kid and placed the rest in the donation box for a local homeless ministry. The bottom shelf of Sadie’s section housed a shrine to a Number 8 birthday candle that she is saving for later this year. I left it alone.

Moving onto their counters I removed a dead plant that was adorned with sporadic artificial flowers stems stuck in the dirt (memorial flowers for animals that have passed on), wads of watered down toilet paper like the kind you find on the ceiling of High School bathrooms, and under the barely used bath towels laying on the counter I discovered that one of my adorable Picasso kiddos had created an abstract masterpiece with several colors of finger nailpolish.  Dead plant was trashed, flower memorial was placed in a small decorative pot on counter, wads trashed, towels hung up, and I added finger nail polish remover to the shopping list.

Note to self: get over your fears and make a visit in the kids’ bathroom daily for sanity and health reasons!

Next up, drawers!  Here I discovered more artificial flowers, which went into the donation pile, followed by dead flowers they collected outside, grass, moss, and a realitively small rock collection that now resides in our flower bed out front.  There were more travel size toiletries from the mysterious hotel stay which went into the donation pile, toothless combs, tiny pieces of cut hair from the time Sadie gave herself bangs, and ripped up paper which became all friends with the toilet paper wads in the trashcan.

The cupboards under the sink were empty aside from some cleaner and four of my stainless steel bowls that someone snuck out of my kitchen cupboard for Lord knows what.   Since I had not missed them and didn’t realize they were gone; into the donation pile they went.

The towel cupboard beside the shower had no towels at all in it, but had become the home of 8 empty shampoo bottles!  Not sure why these kids think getting out of the shower, walking a few steps, opening a cupboard to stash empty bottles is easier than the step it takes to put it in the trash, but whatever.

I then quickly wiped down mirrors, counter top, and cupboard doors where I discovered Sadie had crafted with her chopped off hair by shellacking bits onto the knobs with clear nailpolish. Serious creativity!

I removed a magnifying mirror from the wall that was left by the previous owners.  It was mounted too high for the kids to see themselves, so I took it down and placed it in the donation bag.

Time was done!

I finished my 30 minutes with one bag of trash, a few items for donation, and a clutter free nail polish covered vanity.  Progress with a mix of disgust.

Grace Before Social Services

“Grace before Social Services” has become somewhat of a motto in my house or at least in my own mind.  It probably lends more insight into the parenting of my seven, soon-to-be eight, children than I care to admit, but it’s a principle I want to exercise because I so much want others to reciprocate it.  It’s an up-to-date version of “walk a mile in another person’s shoes.”  We don’t do this enough in today’s society.  We barely walk, let alone slip on and lace up another’s kicks on our own pedicured feet.  The tendency of late, is to automatically assume the worst of others and situations.  In general, we lack grace—and grace-before-pic-2dare I say it—especially those of us who self-identify as Christians!  Ever read the comments section on a news story or on Facebook?  Then you know that what I am talking about is true—crushing.  People demanding justice, monolouging online the error of everyone’s way, and the irony of this; this behavior is the exact opposite of what we want so badly. We want people to think and desire the best for us, to conversate with us, and listen to us.  We want cheerleaders, encouragers, mentors, and realistic grace-filled friends. Grace-filled strangers would be even better.  Amen?  However, it seems that the exact opposite is happening.  Empathy has seemingly left the building and armchair activism has taken its place.

One of my friends works at a child development center.  She adores her job and all the little ones she gets to love on.  It suits her mama bear personality well.  As she was recounting various stories to me about the darndest things kids say and the crazy things they do, she told me about a little guy that shirked away from her when she reached for his arm to get him out of harm’s way.  She inquired as to what was wrong with his arm and he told her he had a really awesome tattoo and his mom removed it.  My friend asked if she could see his boo-boo and as he lifted his sleeve, she could see that his bicep was red and swollen and even looked a bit blistered.  Probing deeper, she asked how his mom removed it. He replied, “with an eraser.”

Gasp!  I am sure that as you read this you are probably grabbing your chest in horror as you imagine an angry mumbling mom with a Papermate Pink Pearl Premium eraser rubbing aggressively on a preschooler’s arm.  At least that’s where my thoughts went. I was hoping that my friend dialed the phone right then and there to Social Services.  This woman was obviously dangerous.   Concerned, she continued her Sherlock Holmes style investigation and found out the eraser was the white Magic kind, which left the little guy with a chemical burn in place of his temporary tat.

Magic Eraser!? The brakes of my pessimistic imagination came to a screeching halt and I told the lynch mob in my mind to lower the pitch forks for a hot second while I figured some stuff out, because maybe this mom was—even bigger gasp—like me. Say what you will, but this tattoo removal process suddenly made complete sense to me.  The seemingly grace-before-pic-1harmless rectangle that removes crayon from my wall would probably do an amazing job getting off those supposedly temporary symbols that taunt me with their longevity; lingering on my kid’s skin for weeks like bad perfume in a cheap motel. I am not promoting using household cleaning supplies for eradication, because chemical burns are a real thing, but if I’m being honest, I would have totally done this!  I was most likely three or four kids into life before I learned about the danger of chemical burns.  Did this make me a bad mom? No it made me a naïve one and there is a difference.

The realization that this could totally be my story, pushed me to stop and ask if they had ever suspected abuse before?  “No. Nothing.” My friend answered, “In fact, she’s really great with him and always sweet to the staff.”

She continued to tell me that she called in coworkers to examine his arm, they took pictures and prepared to call the Child Welfare Department, but first someone suggested they phone the director of the center who was on vacation.  At this point in the story I am hanging on every word and cringing, because what if the mom really did have a lapse in judgement? Was the government going to take away her boy for an unintentional mistake? The crisis was adverted when the center director after reviewing the photos and hearing the details, told them to record the information in his file and to talk with the mom to see if the stories matched.  At the end of the day, they erred on the side of grace, before making a possible life-altering phone call. When asked that evening, the mama embarrassingly shared her mistake and thankfully she left the center with her little guy to enjoy dinner together and their normal bedtime rituals.

I am not trying to downplay the possible seriousness of the matter, the potential for abuse is a reality, and there is definitely a time to phone our friends at Social Services. What I am suggesting is that before we call assuming the worst of someone, before we write an outline for our standards on how to be better humans, could we speak in love with individuals, entertaining the thought that there might be more to the story?  Could we slip our foot into the shoe of another for a moment and consider the process that led up to the now?

Eugene Petersen’s The Message phrases the words of Paul in the beginning of Galatians 6 perfectly and points to a life embracing the “Grace before Social Services” principle:

“Live creatively, friends. If someone falls into sin, forgivingly restore him, saving your critical comments for yourself. You might be needing forgiveness before the day’s out. Stoop down and reach out to those who are oppressed. Share their burdens, and so complete Christ’s law. If you think you are too good for that, you are badly deceived.”

  • Live creatively, because empathy requires imagination.  To be able to identify with others and their possible motives for their actions we need to imagine what they could be feeling or thinking.  It’s grown-up imaginary play or as I prefer to call it, mind LARPing (Live Action Role Play, minus the costumes).  Whether we realize it or not we do it all the time.  For example, my son, Jace, is late getting home from work and didn’t reply to my text, it’s raining outside and I am certain he is dead in a ditch on the side of a windy back road.  In my mind, I see the police car turning in my drive, a knock on the door by a uniformed officer has me collapsing to the ground on the entry carpet between a pile of coats and boots wondering if he suffered for very long before meeting Jesus.  Here’s another one; my friend hasn’t responded to my texts and she always replies quickly.  I glue the phone to my hip waiting for the magical “you’ve got a text” chime, but meanwhile I begin a laundry list of possible offenses I could have committed, because surely that is the only reason she wouldn’t reply.   We don’t know the reality of the situation but we build off of what we know, our past experiences, or worst yet, our fears to answer the unknown. Our creativity is wasted on the negative, but what if instead we ran the situations through a positive filter.  Our thought life would dramatically change and go something like this; Jace is a responsible kid and a defensive driver I’m glad he doesn’t answer my texts when he is driving. Maybe with it raining like it is, he is helping salamanders cross the roads before they get hit by cars. Such a good kid.  My friend must have taken the homeschool lessons to the outdoors on this beautiful day or maybe she ran to the post office with that pile of packages in her office, I know she’s been putting it off.  I’ll check back in a couple hours after I get dinner ready. This way of thinking allows our creativeness to assume the best of others and ourselves.  The reality of the situation is still unknown but our imagination crafts a story framed in grace by utilizing what we know, past experiences and our hopes, not our fears and paranoia.
  • Restore others. If you believe in Christ and have been walking with him for a while you know there is nothing beyond his restorative power.  We need to speak that power over people, because restoration is encouraging.  Believe it or not most people are aware of their faults and mistakes, we don’t need to set up pie charts and board meetings to make everyone else aware.  What most don’t know is that beyond the faults and screw-ups there is a hope and a great love.  Another translation says to “gently and humbly help the person back on the right track.”  Judgment is far from humble or graceful and it’s not our job, most of us want it to be, so many of us think we are chief judge (ahem, comment trolls), but the truth is, it belongs to God alone. Ironic that most tattoo parlors get that word out about this better than churches, “Only God can judge me.”  Don’t go collecting the unemployment check yet, we still have a job; love God; love people—want for them the same stuff you want for you. Simply put; Praise God!  Encourage folks! If you don’t have anything nice to say, figure out something nice to say!
  •  Examine yourself. Maybe, just maybe it is possible that you could wind up in the same situation.  “Well, Erica,” you might be thinking, “your example of the mom was an accident, she didn’t know any better, what about people who choose to do sinful things?  I know better, that wouldn’t be me.”  To that I reply, “Oh, do you now?”  Funny how we know things are wrong, but yet we do them anyway.  My boy Paul says in Romans 7, “I don’t really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don’t do it.  Instead, I do what I hate.”  Every morning I wake up with the best intentions of being a great person and living for God and then I walk out my bedroom door.  Life comes at me and the battle with my sinful nature begins. I know it’s not right to speed, but I’m late for an appointment and I push the gas pedal a bit further than allowed.  I know I shouldn’t yell at my kids, but for the fifth time this week an entire roll of toilet paper has mysteriously found its way into the commode and one of my precious offspring has decided to repeatedly flush in an effort to help.  Maybe for some it’s bigger than plumbing induced screams, maybe it’s I know I shouldn’t take a hit of this joint or my nightly glass of wine is turning into a nightly bottle of wine, but I just need to make it through the crazy that is my life.  Or, I know that this relationship is not healthy but this guy at work seems interested in getting to know me for me and it makes me feel young and important again.  Failure and mistakes are not very far from any of us, in fact they are like mythological sirens singing to us waiting for us to follow their songs, disguising the dangerous as harmless or necessity.
  •  Stoop down, reach out, share burdens.   You might be thinking, “Ain’t nobody got time for that.”  You’re right, we don’t have time for it.  You’ve got to make time for it.  Reaching out and sharing burdens means relationship.  It’s tedious and time consuming and most times really hard work, but all good things are.  Wanting the best for someone, like really truly wanting the best for another human, means giving the best of ourselves and get this, giving the worst too.  We are not saviors, Jesus has that job. Remember ours?  Lovers.  We are called to love God and love people.  So instead of pretending we have our crap all together we need to be honest.  Share our struggles, our weaknesses, our failures because this is what makes us human.  This is what makes us relatable.  This is what makes real relationship.  When we humble ourselves and begin to let people see behind the velvet curtain of our lives, our God suddenly become more attainable and their lives might not seem so sucky after all.  People don’t need handouts they need hands out to help lift them up and then, at least for me, I want that hand to hold mine and journey with me at least for a little while.
  •  Don’t think yourself better than.  In Deuternonomy 17 Moses relays the message from God that if when they enter the Promised land and are tempted to get a king then they need to make sure that he copies for himself “this body of instruction” which were the laws of the time.  The newly selected King would need to do his copy work in the presence of the Levitical priests for accountability.  After he wrote it all down, which certainly had to be a task, that scroll had to always be with him and he was to read it daily because as Moses wrote, “this regular reading will prevent him from becoming proud and acting as if he is above his fellow citizens.”  (Deut. 17:20) I profess to know pretty much nothing about monarchial societies, but I would assume that the king of a kingdom would definitely carry some leverage and would be held in higher esteem by the people than an everyday worker.  However, in God’s plan he says the king and the peasant are equal.  In Proverbs 22:2 It says, “the rich and the poor have this in common; the lord made them both.”  Children’s author Taro Gomi puts it this way, “Everybody poops.”  God wanted to make sure that the king should not think or feel he is above everybody else, there was an equality regardless of class, assignment, or position.  People, we’re equal.

Grace before Social Service. This motto, isn’t for chumps and it can’t be done alone.  We need others to encourage us when life gets tough, to help us up when the world beats us down, and share stories so that we know we are not alone.  Most of all we need God to help us live creatively and love well, because this is hard stuff and it stretches us outside the safe boundaries of our comfort zone.  It also knocks us off the pedestal we have unintentionally, or maybe even intentionally, found ourselves upon.  Jesus tells us in Matthew 7:1- 2 that if we don’t judge others, we won’t be judged.  However, if we choose to not heed the warning and start dispensing our arbitrary opinions, well then we need to be prepared, because the standard we use in judging others is the same standard which we will be judged by.  Together we can do this.  We can extend one another grace before assuming the worst of each other and in doing so can avoid causing additional harm.  We’ve got to love, it’s that simple.

Here’s some additional encouragement:

Galatians 6:2-3 Share each other’s burdens, and in this way obey the law of Christ. If you think you are too important to help someone, you are only fooling yourself. You are not that important.

1 Corinthians 10:24 Don’t be concerned for your own good but for the good of others.

Galatians 5:14 For the whole law can be summed up in this one command:  “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

1 Peter 3:8 Finally, all of you should be of one mind. Sympathize with each other. Love each other as brothers and sisters. Be tenderhearted, and keep a humble attitude

Choosing a Word

I’ve chosen a word for my new year.

I’ve never done that before, but I know scores of others have selected a word instead of making a New Year’s resolution to keep them focused and headed in a direction they wish to go and want God to take them. Mine came before 2017 even hit, it started late in November, when twinkle lights started to appear on trees in the neighborhood windows.

I tend to be a bit more reflective during the Christmas season, perhaps bordering on melancholy, and this year was especially so. I was overwhelmed with the thought of buying my kids more stuff and them receiving more stuff from family members when my living room and their bedrooms already lay in shambles. I was questioning all things Christmas and trying to figure out how all our traditions and decorations really fit into our belief of honoring a Savior who came and is coming again. Even in my struggle, I allowed the kids to decorate the house for Christmas and because of my holiday funk, I did not withhold certain sentimental decorations I had protected from tiny hands in the past. Within the first week several of them were broken and I buried them beneath used coffee filters and paper plates. At first I shed some tears at their internment, but then as more snowmen and Christmas mice gathered into the plastic bag graveyard I didn’t care—I actually wanted to dump it all in there. I wanted to sweep furniture tops of holiday cheer and rip paper snowflakes off of walls and just be done with all of it except for a simple lit tree. I didn’t do it. I felt torn between simplicity and emotional guilt. I kept the decorations on practically every flat surface of my home so the children could enjoy holiday whimsy, but soon hallelujah angels and joyful shepherds from years gone by were heading to their final destination of a landfill.

It’s no secret that documentaries lead to major life changes for me, hence the reason our family has been vegetarian for over four years. A week before Christmas I watched a documentary on minimalism titled Minimalism: A Documentary About the Important Things. Something in me started to churn and I began to understand what my internal conflict was stemming from. I have always found the lifestyle of a minimalist very appealing, yet impossible. I love stuff and although I try not to shop big box stores for things other than food, I frequent thrift stores at least every other month and come home with a haul of treasures. The other reason I think becoming a minimalist is farfetched is because we are a family of ten. I can easily limit my stuff and the babes in my belly, but everyone else needs to weigh in on their belongings and they aren’t going without a fight. Regardless, I thought I could work on me and I started in my closet and I got rid of two big trash bags full which didn’t appear to make a dent. Frustrated by the lack of visible progress I felt defeated. Brynna gently reminded me that, “progress is progress, no matter how small.” Encouraged, I kept going.

I began looking for more tangible results; I moved to the bathroom counter and ruthlessly tossed lotions never used and makeup from years ago. My counter that was once covered in half empty containers, disgarded clothing and jewelry, and beauty products was now totally visable. When I walk into my bathroom, I feel the difference, I feel sane and I like it. I didn’t get rid of every decoration or every lip gloss, but I did get rid of the useless and ugly. Some might claim this not to be minimalism and honestly I don’t want to label myself something restrictive so have decided that instead of aiming for minimalism I could shoot for a more doable goal of simplifying.

Simplify.

That’s my 2017 word.

I have been taking life a drawer and a shelf at a time and pairing down what I don’t need, what I don’t think is beautiful, what doesn’t make me feel good, or that I don’t think I will realistically use. I am currently over 12 trash bags of clothing and housewares to a local mission and several eBay sales into the process of simplifying. I am working on my stuff, but letting everyone know what it is that I am doing in hopes they will jump on board. The results are becoming visible too. Some of the children are more hesitant about the shedding of items than others, but they too are making small steps. To make it more understandable I have been reading a children’s book every day with the younger kids that has a simplifying/minimalistic theme and sharing what God’s word has to say about our stuff and our hearts.

Here are the books:

The Biggest House in the World by Leo Lionni is the story of a snail who learns that bigger can be crushing. My kids are still talking about the surprise ending of the story within this story.

The Paper Bag Princess by Robert Munsch is a tale of a princess who loses her belongings, but never her wit or the desire to do what is right. The book and illustrations look a bit dated, but the lesson learned is timeless.

The Gift of Nothing by Partick McDonnell is about a cat who wants to honor his friend who has everything by giving him the gift of nothing. Simple drawings add to the charm of this short story.

More by I.C. Springman a sweet story with fantastic illustrations about a bird and his treasures.

The Quiltmaker’s Gift by Jeff Brumbeau won book of the year for a reason. This story has artwork that could draw you in for hours and the storyline is even more powerful. Having it all does not bring happiness.

Too Many Toys by David Shannon is probably most humorous for parents as it pokes fun at all the trouble we go through in trying to get our kids to part with toys. The story is a good jumping point for discussing how we acquire so much and the importance of imagination.

Next to read on our list is The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. A classic story from 1943 that skillfully shares what is really important in this life.

The Bible verses we have been discussing so far are:

Luke 12:15 “Then he (Jesus) said, ‘Beware! Guard against every kind of greed. Life is not measured by how much you own.’’

1 Timothy 6:5b-8 “…To them, a show of godliness is just a way to become wealthy. Yet true godliness with contentment is itself great wealth. After all, we brought nothing with us when we came into the world, and we can’t take anything with us when we leave it. So if we have enough food and clothing, let us be content.”

Matthew 6:19-21 “Don’t store up treasures here on earth, where moths eat them and rust destroys them and where thieves break in and steal. Store your treasures in heaven where moths and rust cannot destroy and thieves do not break in and steal. Wherever your treasure is, there the desires of your heart will also be.”

Matthew 16:26 “And what do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose your own soul? Is anything worth more than your soul?”

Mark 10:17-22 “As Jesus was starting out on his way to Jerusalem, a man came running up to him, knelt down, and asked, ‘Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?’ ‘Why do you call me good?’ Jesus asked. ‘Only God is truly good. But to answer your question, you know the commandments: “You must not murder. You must not commit adultery. You must not steal. You must not testify falsely. You must not cheat anyone. Honor your father and mother.”’ ‘Teacher,’ the man replied, ‘I’ve obeyed all these commandments since I was young.’ Looking at the man, Jesus felt genuine love for him. ‘There is still one thing you haven’t done,’ he told him. ‘Go and sell all your possessions and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.’ At this the man’s face fell, and he went away sad, for he had many possessions.”

I’ve been studying and meditating on these scriptures as well, trying to muster courage to part with inanimate objects that clutter my house and heart, that have sat on shelves for fear of hurting someone’s feelings or afraid that I will forget the significance of the moment associated with the memory the piece instills. Even more so, I have been analyzing my actions and activities that keep me from the important moments of investing in people and creativity—there are too many of them. Things need to change, things need to get simpler because the things life throws at us certainly aren’t going to.

2017 has me working toward my word for the year, “Simplify.” I don’t think I will meet minimalist status, but I recognize everytime I choose not to buy or bring something into the house; with each item that finds its way to the trash or goes to charity; by the paring down of unnecessary activities my life becomes a little bit simpler and my hope is that I draw closer to my family and my God.

Simplify.

Hey I would love it if you chimed in on the topic! I’ve been reading/listening to books on minimalism; The More of Less by Joshua Becker and The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo. If you know of any books, children or adult,on the subject that have impacted your walk toward simplifying let me know.  I would also love to know the Bible verses that speak most to you about simplifying.

Finding the Church

Finding the churchThe church has always been a part of my life and I truly love it.  Even before my church-planting great grandparents started hanging out in a basement with some friends to start a church called Community Fellowship in 1943, my “greats” to the nth degree went to church.  It’s what our family has done and continues to do.

Jesus lover?  Go to church.

Personally, church is something I have always enjoyed, something I felt gave me purpose, and has been a comforting routine–my touchstone.   For the past two years though, my family and I have been on the search for a church to call our own and we have yet to be successful.  When we first began to look the criteria went something like: an outward-focused congregation; thought-provoking message; seeker sensitive, yet plainly presents the gospel; David Crowder-esque worship music; within a 45-minute drive of our home. Coming from a church similar to this in California we didn’t think it would be that difficult and even though we have found a couple places that have come close to the goal list, something hasn’t felt right, not only for me but for my husband, Brian, and our kids too.  It seems that God is changing our list and it doesn’t include the aforementioned items or even a building, instead God is ironically bringing us back to the name of my great-grandfather’s church…Community Fellowship.

Months ago, Brian and I began working with a ministry that wanted to reach out to individuals being trafficked.  Living in a rural area, many don’t think that something as horrific as human trafficking could exist here, instead believing that it’s reserved for urban areas, but with major routes I-95 and Rte. 40 running through our corn fields and backyards it is more prevalent than we imagined. As we began to raise awareness of the issue I wanted to begin a hands-on ministry that would get us out on the streets to meet those involved and was given the go-ahead by ministry leadership.  After multiple interactions and ride-alongs with law enforcement, a group of men and women from different local churches who were interested in doing contact work at night in a town known for prostitution and drugs was formed.  We set out to meet the girls of the streets equipped with beautiful cosmetic bags filled with personal hygiene items, condoms and lubricant. In our naivety we imagined meeting the girls standing on the corner, we would talk, offer hope….blah, blah, blah.

First wake-up call, you can’t walk up to a stranger and ask if they are a prostitute.  Rude!   Secondly, what do you with all the people you encounter on the way to the girl on the corner? So our team of seven tucked our bags away and went out with popsicles instead and talked with everyone we met.  During these outings, which we are currently offering hot chocolate with whipped cream, we have kicked it with lots of different people on stoops and street corners; business owners, mamas, daddies, addicts, construction crews, homeless, and prostitutes.  The ministry we are working with is still focusing on helping abused and trafficked ladies, but my heart has changed and broadened to just meeting people.  All people.

Like, God created you?

Let’s be friends!

As we have been out there Brian and I have seen firsthand how relationship deprived people are; to include ourselves.  It seems that loneliness spans race, socioeconomic status, age, and issue.  Our eyes have been open to see that consistency and friendship are a kingdom serving ministry in itself and it’s a ministry that many churches are overlooking.  It’s not enough to just open your doors to everyone, your demographic and impact broadens when you go out and meet everyone. Twice a month we walk up and down the streets regardless of the weather and we are recognizing faces, able to follow up on stories, praying with folks Christian and non-alike.  It’s because of these relationships that are beginning to form that I hear a whisper in my heart saying, “you’ve found her, you’ve found church.”   There on the streets a bunch of Jesus-loving redeemed sinners (that’s my friends and me) are able to encourage other believers, pray for moms with cancer, talk business with a restaurant owner, share chocolate with a group of strung-out addicts, and plan sporting events with a homeless guy.  Take away the “what we do’s” and the “what we’ve done'” labels and there is just a Community of God’s creation in Fellowship with one another.

Yup, there it is, Community Fellowship.  We are leaving the building behind; we’ve found church.

 

DISCLAIMER:

My friend Michele encouraged me to write about the journey of “church” our family is embarking on, because if God is stirring our hearts he is probably stirring others too and right now we feel alone.  She thought it would help me sort through feelings, process thoughts, and find kindred spirits.  So here it is, laying it out there looking for our tribe, hoping for input, insight, and encouragement from friends.  In short a virtual Community Fellowship which will hopefully lead to a physical one.

We have no idea what this is going to look like or where it will take our family.  It’s a little bit scary.  I am afraid of failing, of backlash, of feeling foolish, of rejection, but I am more afraid of what I will miss out on if I’m not obedient to what He calls us to do.  The rest of our crew is more than a little uncomfortable too, but they are willing and ready.  (Seriously, is there anything that could make a mama’s heart happier than teens pushing through awkward people encounters for Jesus? I didn’t think so either.)

 

Laundry Washing World Changer

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This women is an artisan in a residential program in Tennessee that provides housing, food, dental, medical, therapy, education and job training for women who have survived lives of violence, prostitution and addiction.

I think most people want to make a difference in the lives of others, but often they don’t know how.

That was me.

Wanting to make a difference in my home, in my new community, in the world, but completely unaware of how to do it.    I wanted to fulfill the commandment of Christ to make disciples in all the nations.  It was a command I had been neglecting.  I knew this command went deeper than monetary support with our sponsor child and missionary support. He was calling me to take action.  I was excited at the prospect and wanted to get messy, get loud, get moving, but I still had a husband and seven kids to care for.  That’s when I sought out Trades of Hope.

They are doing the work.  They aren’t just throwing money at the world’s problems, they are changing lives by empowering women; strengthening community by giving hope; transforming generations by breaking harmful cycles; and because of that they are making disciples in all the nations.

I thought, “Amen! I want to be a part of that!”

Thanks to Trades of Hope I can. I can actively pursue helping others, building relationships, being an advocate, making disciples, and still keep up with my children’s neverending laundry. Life changing and Laundry? Amen, again!

I am now a voice for a woman whose voice is lost across the sea, whose voice is stifled by government, pimps, and culture.  I think you will want to be her voice too and the way to get her talking is wearing her handmade goods. When someone asks you about it, you tell her story and then her voice is heard once more.

“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute. Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy.”
Proverbs 31:8-9

Here is where you can start talking on her behalf: www.mytradesofhope.com/ericaberge

Let me know if you are ready to take it further than jewelry and home decor and want to be a laundry washing world changer too, by becoming a Compassionate Entrepreneur.  I would love to have you join my team!

This woman is an artisan from a group in Uganda that feeds, educates, and encourages orphaned and vulnerable children and families in Uganda.
This woman is an artisan from a group in Uganda that feeds, educates, and encourages orphaned and vulnerable children and families in Uganda.

What Mommy Wants

The other morning I found the four youngest children huddled around the back door calling in the stray chihuahua, that continues to live with us, and our teacup poodle.

“Mom, there are big dogs out there, over by Max’s hutch.”

Panic immediately seized me as I imagined large dogs snacking on our smaller canines. This is not what I want to deal with any time, let alone first thing in the morning. I barked for the kids to grab something for me to wield while I slipped on Brynna’s flip-flops that everyone was tripping over trying to get a glimpse through the glass door. In my heart I was wishing Brian was not in the shower so that he could handle this. With a Nerf bat placed in my hand by one of the children, I proceeded out the door in sub-freezing temps wearing a wife beater and pajama pants. There were two German Shepherds who looked like they were fresh out of the police academy and a Chow who hadn’t been groomed in some time. They were circling our rabbit’s home and my presence didn’t seem to deter them. If only Brian knew what was going on and could get the pellet gun, I thought. I hadn’t grabbed it because it’s hidden in our closet and for safety reasons the pellets are housed elsewhere. I wanted it, but this situation demanded immediate action. I began yelling at the dogs waving my bat and hitting it on the ground. They were unfazed by my dramatics. I moved a bit closer demanding they move on and they began to trot off through the field. I had broken the bat during my tirade and so I walked over to the trash can and then circled in the house. I gave the “all clear” when I saw the pack moving in the distance and Keely ran out to comfort Max after such an ordeal. As soon as she reached the hutch, I saw Keely running across the yard and her face spoke of true horror.

“Max is gone! My rabbit is gone,” she screamed.

The dogs had ripped off the rat wire and abducted Max from his cage; Keely witnessed the empty aftermath. She continued to scream at the top of her lungs. Not words, just gut-wrenching wails. Never had I heard such a thing. Ryleigh began bawling and Sadie, in complete oblivion to the dismay at hand, added to the chaos of the moment by fake laughing. I ran in my room enraged and trying to explain to Brian what I was doing as I grabbed a sweatshirt and keys . I wanted to find the owners and tell them that their irresponsible pet ownership had broken hearts. I sped out of my drive and down the dirt road. Once I saw one of the German Shepherds with the lifeless body of our sweet Max dangling from his muzzle, I just wanted our bunny back. There was no way they would enjoy the spoils of this war they had waged. I sped ahead of them and jumped out of my truck. I began yelling at the threesome to “drop it” as the alfalfa farmers looked on. They had thrown rocks at the dogs as they had come close by, but the lead dog still held tightly to Max. I deepened my voice and with determination I descended on the dogs. The moment was David-and-Goliath-esque as I boldly walked forward with prayers. The dog dropped Max and I ran to grab a blanket from the back of the truck, warning them not to approach him again. I ran back and snatched up the lifeless body of my Keely’s pet. My eyes burned with hot tears as I got back in the vehicle to follow the dogs to their owner. They began to head up the road when a wild rabbit darted from a bush into the brush lining the road. I sat there for a few minutes, but their hunger was greater than my determination to have their owners witness my sorrow. I just wanted to get back and hold Keely. And that’s what I did for some time as she cried, wishing her pet was still alive. Jace buried Max that morning in the backyard and Keely and Ryleigh made “moonstones” to adorn his grave. Most of us cried throughout the day as we would remember how much Max loved being out with the chickens, or when we didn’t separate some dinner scraps for him, and again when Sadie chanted, “Max is dead!” repeatedly. I was so frustrated that I didn’t stop the horror for Max or for my kids. After calming down, I told Brian with resolve that I was buying a small gun that weekend and that this was never happening again. I didn’t want to kill anything, but I desired for every stray dog in the neighborhood to fear me and to stay away from all that was mine. I left for work that night melancholy and arrived home to a .22 caliber pellet pistol on my pillow. Ryleigh said, “Do you like your gun? We helped dad pick it out, cuz he said, ‘what Mommy wants, Mommy gets.'”

Yesterday Brynna came running in the house from being in the coop with her chickens. She breathlessly told me there was yet another German Shepherd on the property. I grabbed my gun and pellets. I placed the silver blunt bullet in the chamber, pumped the gun several times, released the safety, lined the dog up in the sight, and taking a deep breath I pulled the trigger. Even though I didn’t hit the dog, Mommy got what she wanted as the sound of the pellet whizzing through the air got him running in the opposite direction. R.I.P Max.

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