Our world is experiencing days when the vast uncertainty points, all the more, to our certainty.

When the long list of unknowns reminds us of the few things we know for sure.

When constant unrest highlights moments of peace.

When a song of unity is loud amidst the dissonant chorus.

When words like “maybe” and “possibility” and “options” and “proposals” recur so frequently that someone saying “I know” is like a shout over the crowd.

When the changes of plans and the loose way we must hold each day encourages us to cling all the more unswervingly to our hope, which will never disappoint (Hebrews 10:23).

For our family this idea of “maybe” setting a back drop for “definitely” looked like packing our bags, taking another flight across the ocean, knowing full well we had zero idea what to expect when we arrived.  And yet.  YET.  We came because we are certain of the One who guides, prepares, and makes our steps firm.  Not because we merely hope it to be true.  We have SEEN it to be true.

When we stare into the future right now we see a lot of fog, the visible road stretching only feet in front of us.  We find it filled with swirling ideas, shaky bridges to possibilities, too little information to light more than a step at a time.  We do not know how long we can stay in TZ, and we have no idea what will be next when we leave.  I’d be lying if I told you that didn’t sometimes terrify us. AND YET. 

When we look back at the road already traveled, we see that past swirly twirls and shaky bridges and dimly lit spots were some of our favorite roads traveled.  Not because we had so much fun every step, but because there was joy and celebration in doing the hard things, accompanied by the best Guide leading places we might have otherwise missed.  We’ve experienced unrest before, we’ve been tired before, we’ve struggled before. And that remembrance is important for the certainty it provides.  Even if we do not know when we will reach it, we KNOW the breath-taking view from the top will come. Again. There we will rest.

There is sometimes dissonance in our home.  Our daily tunes of grief, joy, struggle, success, aren’t always in the same key even if we are playing the same songs of experience.  Sometimes it makes me want to just PLUG UP MY EARS for a hot minute and block out all of the NOISE.  Or send some of my people to some lessons which would teach them to play in MY KEY.  But then.  There are those moments of harmony.  Not everyone on the same note, but notes that work so perfectly together.  Orchestrated by a grand Maestro.  A tiny glimpse of what full redemption will certainly be.  The harmony wouldn’t sound quite as sweet if it hadn’t been so hard to learn. On days when discord seems to reign, whether in our home or in our world, I know now to hope and listen for the moments when this harmony will be orchestrated again.

The thing about future uncertainty is: no amount of discussion can suddenly predict it.  The problem with discord created by unique perspectives is: the path toward harmony will never be found by acheiving sameness.

So why do I spend so much time trying?  Oh, of course, I’m not throwing all planning out with the proverbial bath water.  I’m not tossing away efforts toward understanding and listening.  I’m just talking about an allocation of energy.  We can try to unwind uncertainty like a cat at a ball of twine… spinning, spinning, spinning.  Or we can use those same amounts of chase to pursue groundedness right in the middle of the shagalabagala.  We can explain and re-explain our position, striving to make others hear the source of our own tune like a teacher conducting class.  Or we can use every ounce of our energy to listen and discover the holes in the tune already playing.  The rest notes which can be filled or the melodies which need an accompaniment, and maybe discover we have the very instrument to join the chorus.

Our family has chosen Psalm 34:1-3 as our school year verse this year because it comes from a chapter which has a pretty incredible prescription for energy allocation.  Psalm 34 is a reminder of what is certain.  It provides confident hope by looking back and sharing what God has already done.  It reminds us that when we humbly say “only by His power and grace, I…,” others, feeling helpless, can find the very hope and light they need in this season.

May this be an invitation.  Join me. Together, along this winding crazy road, let’s use our collective energy to seek and speak of the certainty of the Lord’s goodness.  Let’s sing out, each in our own voice, allowing Him to orchestrate harmony.  Let’s remind each other of truth- we may not know about tomorrow, but we know the greatness of the One who provided for yesterday.  And we know with certainty, He also walks ahead.  We know that in Him we find rest and strength, courage and provision.

We will lack no good thing.

Nearly 3 months ago we celebrated Pi Day: our 10^th time to set a day aside for spending time together, measuring some circles, eating some pie. 9 years ago, March 14th was the very last time I spent the day at home with only 3 kids.

By that night, our entire world flipped and it would never again look exactly the same.  Now, we celebrate Pi day each year; time set aside to remember how God sustained us.  We remember that He alone is consistent.  We remember how important it is to treasure the days we have together because we can never take an ounce of this life for granted.  We remember that He always works for our good and His glory so that others may know Him.

For Pi Day 2020 we did more of the usual than last year, which was a good measuring stick.  We were a bit more settled in our TZ life.  We measured pancakes with chocolate chips, baked pies, played games, were together.

I’m so incredibly thankful, now, for those simple memories and pictures because this year Pi Day once again became a marker for us.  It was the last day before our world began a slow turn which eventually flipped us upside down and spat us out on the literal other side.

Short story: We left TZ, a country which had been our home for 19 months, at the end of March.  It was a terribly difficult decision.  One that I’ve had to journal over and over to keep from emotionally muddying the reasons we felt God had said “go.” It was backwards and upside down from anything we expected to do even when we came to know of Covid-19, and life changed in literally a matter of hours.

Now that we’ve travelled back to our home country, we’ve been asked a lot, “How are you doing?” Which is just an impossible question to answer.  It is like asking someone mid-jolt at the end of the roller coaster “how did you find that ride?”.  You know that jolt?  The one where you hit the final bump to slow the beast.  The one where you are startled a little, but then quickly start breathing again for the first time since the ride began?  Only somehow we got stuck for a while in the jolt- with no slow coast toward the unloading dock.   For a while it was as if our bodies hung, with only our subconscious wandering.  And sometimes still we blink slowly in an eery pause, oscillating between glancing forward and back.

Over the last two months we have begun to slowly re-intersect with life. Encouraging scriptures and words written from those we love were like slow shakes on our shoulders to help us awake, and assess, and resurface.  We’ve continued working hard with our school in TZ: RRL as interim-director, our 7 kids finishing their classes remotely, and me as ring-master of the home circus.  There has been a lot of good in this new (albeit temporary) life, even if it is a world we could never have predicted.

As we’ve found new routine, developed new expectations and worked to navigate a world that at once seems familiar and foreign, I’ve thought a lot about these verses from Isaiah 43:18-19:

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.

Toss out your expectations, your security, your identity.  Do not clench your fists around the confidence you had in your strength or routines or even relationships.

SEE, I am doing a new thing!

Blink, look around, even when stuck in the jolt of the ride- SEE.  God is here. He is doing a new thing!

Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? 

You might have missed it.  It might have seemed inconsequential at first, in its beginnings, because it was coming from deep in the ground. And you didn’t notice it before, because before you didn’t even know you needed it.  Maybe because like Manna, you didn’t even know what to call this provision.

I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.”

Why would God go to such care to make a path in the desert, in the most unlikely place.  In a place that no one wants to go ANYWAY.  And why would He dare carve the wasteland with a life-giving stream?  Why waste the water?  The good, clean, life-sustaining water?

UNLESS.  Unless the places the enemy declared a desert, God claimed for growth.  Unless the place the enemy declared a wasteland was the very place from which God decided to raise up beauty.  Unless the very places the enemy would tell us to flee are the exact places where God is saying, “HERE!!!  SEE IT HERE!  I am doing a NEW thing!”

UNLESS in the desert and the wasteland there was life worth LIVING.  And against the backdrop of wilderness, the life given would all the more loudly declare His glory!

The days after our very first Pi Day were so hard, such a blur.  It was weeks before we started to feel like we were resurfacing and even then we resurfaced to a new reality, one we weren’t sure we wanted to embrace.  But God was faithful there, in the most unexpected of places, to bring LIFE.  He indeed made a path and carved the land with streams of sustaining water.  Now those days are part of our Ebenezer story– where we can look back and say “ah, but God sustained us then.  He was faithful.  And He is the SAME now.  His very character is consistent and His loving care for us is unwavering.”

These days we are praying fervently about what the next piece of our life will look like.  We believe we will go back to TZ for the 20-21 school year, but not completely clear what that will look like. And as we find ourselves in another land of unknowns, what a gift the previous chapters of our story are.  We have different eyes to see and watch for His provision.  We know with confidence that even when He asks us trust Him in places we didn’t ask to go, when we have low visibility for what lies around the bend, He is there.  Providing what we didn’t even know to ask for.

There is a Swahili word we love: “shagalabagala,” meaning chaos or chaotic, kind of like haywire.  A very good word for 2020.  The loss of lives, the economic destruction, the unknown, the turning-upside down of plans and expectations.  Maybe especially the confrontation with the reality of systemic injustices which should be antiquated but still inflict significant harm.  SHAGALABAGALA.  In this wasteland there is anger, hurt, rebellion, injustice, death, destruction, division…and maybe that is the very place where restoring order and providing a path forward, will make His name known.  It is our opportunity, as a Church, to ask the question again “what life is here for us?  Why would he provide for us unless there is life worth living.”  We can choose to argue “who done it” or to be involved in the new life which has suddenly been provided space to cultivate.  A righteous SPRING is BLOOMING because there is nothing left to do from here but GROW anew.

“From scratch” might be terrifying.  EXCEPT. There is one who is an expert at redemption, a pro at bringing order from shagalabagala.  He is walking right beside saying “Dear one, it is springing up.  I KNOW you can’t perceive it yet.  I KNOW you don’t understand. I know you feel like you are stuck at the end of a ride you did not ask to take away from the former things.  But soon, you’ll be past this jolt. You’ll be unpaused.  You’ll be able to look and see with certainty this new thing I am doing is for your good.  And my glory.  So that they may know.”

“There WILL be life here.  Life worth living to the fullest.”

ABL

We talk a lot about TEAM at our house.  It is a model for family that one of my college professors shared from his own families’ approach to working together.  It became essential language during our “for a while” phase- when we needed another word for “family”.  It is philosophy we’ve clung to even now as we talk about taking care of each other, having privileges and responsibilities and going on mission for God.

But what if our team-work extended beyond the people living in our home or even in our generation?

Jefferson Bethke on the “Made for This” podcast with Jennie Allen said

“God’s plan A for bringing blessing into the world was a multi-generational family team on mission…Whether you are a kid or adult, married or single you are part of a story and you are part of legacy and part of a last name that goes back hundreds and hundreds of years.”

His ideas about connectedness, based on biblical truth, are definitely worth listening to, but the part that really stood out to me was that one phrase…

GENERATIONAL TEAM

I am not who I am purely because of my own experiences, my kids are not who they are purely because of the experiences in our immediate family life, AND those who come generations after us will not be who they are purely because of the way the world looks or their home looks in that age.

There are family stories told so often they are nearly woven into the fabric of our identity.  Stories of those we barely knew because their earthly journey hardly intersected our own.  Some of the stories have heroic and life altering endings, many do not- they are just told because of the way ordinary life intersected with funny anctedotes or unexpected turns.  Some of the stories have intimate details passed down carefully, some only vague memories of supposition.  And even where some stories are never told we can see evidence in the people living around us now.  The stories represent parents and grandparents, generations long before, in-laws and step-laws and by-adoption-laws.

The word “legacy” is often used to represent these stories with an idea of history.  But the idea of generational teamwork has an additional layer- an idea of working together. Right now.  The very movements I am making impacted by teammates before and impacting teammates to come.  It is an acknoweldgement that many of the opportunities I have to make a play on the field today (the mission field, career field, home-front-field) were alley-ooped by people I never met.

This eye-opening understanding solidified my belief that one of the critical blessings God is giving us in Tanzania is shared memories.  All 9 of us spent three weeks studying Swahili in Iringa, where we met a missionary man traveling around giving audio Bibles out of his truck.  Once, on that same trip, one of our kids dared us all to dunk in the frigid river…and we all participated in a family “polar bear challenge”.  This year we visited an elephant orphanage in Nairobi and ran on the beach in Zanzibar.  All 9 of us have shouted hallelujah together when the electricity comes back on, have read books together when we were stuck in traffic and have eaten icecream together, purchased from the side of the road.  Because there were so many memories on the other side of the ocean that evoked the question “was I there for that?” the certainty of “I remember, too” is invaluable.  These are the stories I know my children will tell their own.

But one of my favorite experience from the year also created awareness for our all 7 of our children that they are ALL (whether born or adopted Lewis) part of the same generational team.  This summer we traveled with RRL’s mom to Malawi to see a piece of our generational team story first-hand.

The story of a man who crossed the ocean to buy land, begin a school, and train pastors just because someone sent a letter and asked.  A man who went to a place he’d never seen, then later moved his wife and small children against the council of those who didn’t understand the mission.  He simply said “yes, I’ll go” and I believe he said “yes” because he’d been taught to by the generations before him.

This story now includes 3^rd and 4^th generations of our family living in the same area, extending the work started 60 years ago which now includes the same Bible training school, but also a maternity clinic and primary school as well as coffee growing and processing.  As we walked the property seeing new construction and coffee fields, hearing about the vision for the future, we talked about what it might have been like in the beginning.  So much has changed since the days when the land for the Namikango Mission was first purchased, but one thing has remained extraordinarily consistent: the mission to bring the gospel of Christ to those who have not yet heard.  It was amazing to see, and also incredible to be able to tell our children what a difference those decisions, of someone they never met, have impacted our lives forever.

This Thanksgiving, I could not be more thankful to know God, who is faithful TO ALL GENERATIONS (Psalm 100:5). Consistently.  May there be a spirit of unity amongst us as we recognize the bond we have, the team we are apart of and the mission we have the privilege to join.

As we gather around the holiday tables, may we listen and embrace the stories of older team-members and then take time to tell the stories to our children.  We have the immense privalege and extraordinary responsibility to help the next generation declare their stories, to choose what they will remember and learn from these days, to decide how they want to write their chapter and to confidently make their next kingdom move.  It is so important because we are on their team.  It’s a wide open field, let’s pass them the ball well.

ABL

The true level of mental, physical and emotional work which would be required in our first year of life in a new country came as a complete shock to us.  We knew transition would be difficult, but man-oh-man did we underestimate the energy required.  We had no way to understand the reduced functional capacity we would experience while exerting this kind of energy.  We didn’t do the math on just how many factors would impact new learning opportunities.  There is just no way to be prepared for what cultural learning ACTUALLY requires.   

For example:   

We didn’t just learn to drive on the other side of the road.  We learned to drive on the other side of the road, while watching out for cows crossing and noticing pedestrians and motorcycles to dodge WHILE being conscientious of the road signs which a policeman might pull you over for not following OR might wave you through and implore you to ignore.   

We did not just learn to hang our laundry to dry, we learned to dry clothes inside during rainy season, coax the washing machine along by filling it from the garden hose when the water pressure was low, and restart loads 103957654392048567 times when the power goes out mid-cycle. Oh, and explain to someone else working in our home how to do all of the above. 

We didn’t just learn to eat new foods.  We learned to go to the grocery store, taking a different path each time because of road work and arrive there only to adapt the meal plan because the thing that has always been there no longer exists or has tripled in price.   And should we adventure out to a restaurant, we learned to not expect the place to have the foods it offers on the menu, to not be able to go to any restaurant quickly, and to not speak aloud the restaurants which may bring tears (C-F-A).  

We didn’t just begin to learn the language of our country- Swahili- we learned a bit about the appropriate times to use our new knowledge and when to claim ignorance, to apologize kindly when you create a big mess of a misunderstanding with the little bits that you do know, and how to always greet well even when you don’t feel nzuri (fine).  

PLUS, maybe even with more difficulty, we learned to communicate with English speaking friends who either use very different English words (I’m looking at you “football match on the pitch” and “sorting the details”) or interpret what we are saying completely differently that we mean it (my “yes” meant you should do that thing.  It did not mean that I agreed with you that “yes, you should NOT do that thing”). 

We didn’t just learn to adventure to new places, we learned to expect delays for inspections, travel HOURS doing your best to avoid a toilet stop and to squat when one couldn’t be avoided, make the most out of traffic jams by having books, podcasts and snacks always available and ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS choose a narrative of “adventure,” even when expectations of what you were hoping to find on the other side are sorely disappointed. 

We learned to translate time. Swahili time begins at 6 am (7= hour 1) and a given start or arrival time is often just an approximation (sometime within the given hour).  And we learned to adjust time across the globe for facetime with friends and family in other parts of the world.  

We did not just learn how to ask for help, we learned who to ask and when to not ask because the person who affirms their ability to provide help may really have no idea what to do.  Out of kindness and a desire to help, you may just end up with a smashed van window when you lock your keys in the car.  Or thanks to directions from someone who doesn’t actually know the way, you may just end up places you have zero business being.

As we celebrated being in TZ one year together as a family, we laughed together about the many things we’ve learned and which we do so differently (brushing your teeth with clean water and remembering to turn on the hot water heater 10 minutes before you shower).   

We learned to save small bills (no one ever has change), check the luku account (electricity), go to the duka for drinking water and top up Mpesa (mobile money) on our phones.  We know now it is possible to buy icecream, tables, pillows and a fishtank while sitting in traffic (sadly, we passed up the latter).

I’m a “stay-near-home MOM” for the first time in my history of motherhood and RRL is actually already in his second vastly different role.  The kids now learn in a totally different kind of school. And we are involved in a different church than the one that has been central to our family for more than 15 years.   

Many other adjustments happened subtly in our hearts as we were far away for births of babies we’d prayed for and deaths of friends we can’t imagine the earth without, or as we saw social media posts about favorite events we were missing.  There is quite a learning required to hold people closely who are so geographically far away. 

The miracle, through all of those lessons:  

1) We all still like each other.  We have had a TON of FUN together this year even in the middle of some really rough spots. 

 and  

2) We are still very certain of the reasons we came.  We have experienced the joy of confidence as we do the very things we were called to do.  Despite barriers, obstacles and stressors the mission is still very clear: 

We came to level the playing field for the 9 of us.  This is a time, clearly defined by the ocean we crossed, in which there was ALWAYS NINE.  Our adventures (Kenya, Zanzibar, Iringa.  Beaches, running, hiking) are not just about fun together, they are about unification for HIS GLORY. 

We also came to learn more about teenagers, especially as they work together multiculturally.  Students have SO much to contribute and from which we can learn.  We must have ears and hearts to hear them as we coach sports teams, facilitate mentor groups and lead the school.   

Finally, we came so that we might return as better supporters.  We are more convinced than ever that this role of supporter is vital to helping those who were called to be “here” (wherever “here” is) be able to stay. 

There are many things about the way we speak, the places we go, the foods we eat, the people we interact with, the tasks which fill our days which are unimaginably different than they were only ONE YEAR ago.  In the midst of change, true consistency shines all the more brightly.  Our God continues to prove Himself unimaginably consistent in His faithfulness. 

We will continue to sing His praises… 

Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee
How great Thou art, how great Thou art
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee
How great Thou art, how great Thou art 

Only now, sometimes we will sing in Swahili… 

Roho yangu na ikuimbie
Jinsi Wewe ulivyo Mkuu,
Roho yangu na ikuimbie     
Jinsi Wewe ulivyo Mkuu. 

ABL 

If you want to hear more about our journey this first year, and follow along for year 2… please sign up for our newsletter: click here to subscribe.

Last week I found his birthday card, in the safe spot I placed it two months ago so I wouldn’t forget to give it to him for his birthday.

Also.

When he turned 40, 13 months ago (and one day), the kids and I wrote a list of 40 things we love about him.  And I never gave it to him.

Today, the one and only RRL is 41 years, 1 month and 1 day old.  Which seems like the perfect time to remind him of 41 reasons we love him.  (Turns out when we wrote the list I miscounted and there were actually 41 things. Which helps since he is now actually 41,)

What is truly amazing to me is nearly every single one of these still apply to him today.  With the exception of just a few which changed with our circumstances, he does every single one of these things still, even with a move to Tanzania.  Still dances with me in the kitchen.  Still makes the best pancakes.  Still snuggles, plays, fixes things.  Definitely still the one to do bandaids, wake up with sick kids and to drive (all of which might say more about Momma than Daddy but I’m thankful he fills in SO many of my gaps).

If you know him, I know you would agree- this consistency is the perfect picture of him.  Steadfast.  Constant.  Integrity.  He decides who is going to be and be-s it. Before we got engaged he decided to break a generational cycle in his family.  And did.

When he moved into a position at work he had no desire to be in, he decided to be the very best he could be at that job.  And was.  A couple of years ago he decided to be a reader.  And became one.  He’s committed to being a better husband and father each day and works hard at that growth.  He’s constantly becoming.

When I look at this list of descriptions, all are truer than true AND ALL are because he decided to be.  I’m so thankful for the forever team-mate God gave me in RRL.

RRL:

1. Makes the best pancakes.
2. Wrestles with us.
3. Plays football.
4. Brings me to school everyday. (CAL to school by himself last year)
5. Lays down with us at night.
6. Gets up early to make breakfast everyday.
7. Most of the time he’s the one that drives the car, even if he gets tired of it.
8. Usually the one to get band-aids when we are bleeding.
9. Gives us good advice.
10. Encourages us and pushes us farther instead of letting us quit.
11. Dances with me in the kitchen (ABL ?).
12. Gives us compliments.
13. Helps us when we are down or sad.
14. Notices people who are down and helps them.
15. Is passionate about helping teenagers.
16. Thinks it’s so important to help teenagers that he keeps doing it wherever he is.
17. Has Thursday nights with dude perfect.
18. Speaks truth.
19. Makes himself available and is sought out for his insights.
20. Makes learning a priority. And shares with us what he is learning.
21. Pretends with me- like when my dolls are at the dinner table.
22. Is really good at road trips.
23. Takes us all on special dates.
24. Takes us on Kindergarten trips.
25. Is always the first to wake up when kids are sick during the night.
26. Sits and comforts us.
27. Strict when he needs to be but goofy other times.
28. Makes us laugh.
29. Is a really good speller and helps us with our spelling.
30. Picks me up from gymnastics and wants to hear about what I learned.
31. Makes time to talk to each of us and reminds us we can talk to him about anything.
32. Is really good at fixing things.
33. Uses his flashlight to help me find my blanket if it’s lost at night.
34. Is protective.
35. Will be straightforward when he tells us things- very clear.
36. Prioritizes family.
37. Willing to do what God asks us to and helps us make family decisions to do that.
38. Includes us and lets us all be part of big family decisions.
39. Makes sure you have $ in our accounts to buy lunch at school.
40. Drives safely and carefully so we can all be safe in the van.
41. The best daddy in the whole entire world.

He’s a rare gem and we could not be more proud to call him ours.

Which is why just about any day is an amazing day to celebrate him…even if publicly celebrating got a little lost in the shuffle one year, one month and one day ago.

Happy Birthday (again), Babe!  We all loved you 1 year, 1 month and 1 day ago.  And we love you 397 days more now!

love, me

ABL

To whichever one of the seven of you made me doubt today (don’t worry, it was someone else’s turn yesterday)–

Mommas are superheroes. With all kinds of powers. But according to you, maybe sometimes my powers aren’t working quite right. Yesterday you told me you thought I was being “hard on you”.

Hmmm. I guess that is true. I can’t help myself. Because you see…that actually IS my superpower:

I am your mom.

And there are all kinds of weird things that happen when you are someone’s mom which you actually can control exactly none.

Like that I love when you come running for help   And I ache when you don’t.

When you try something new I’m your biggest fan- win or lose;   And when you are too scared to try, it takes everything in me not to reach out and do it for you. (Maybe sometimes just a tiny pinky push.)

When you find your strengths and are proud to use them, a surge runs through me as I see glimpses of what you’ll become.  And when your strengths are overshadowed by your self-doubts I wonder if you’ll ever know how amazing you truly are.

At moments when you trust me fully, obeying not just out of respect or fear but out of a pure unity of spirit, I think I can hand you the world.  And when you dig your heels in and struggle against me, fighting to do it your own way, I remember: someday you’ll have to choose whether you even want the world.

So if that’s being “hard on you, then: “Yep.” You are right. I am being hard on you.

But not nearly as hard as I am on myself.

Because my cape is a little ragged. And while flying was clearly the first power to go…it was shortly followed by patience. And being slow to speak. And um, well, whatever good power is the opposite of sarcasm.

I am imperfect.

I forget to ask for help.

Sometimes I don’t want to try new things.

Self-doubt threatens my God-given strengths.

And my heels get about as dug-in as any heel ever has.

That cape of mine. Well.

Some days I think I must have ordered the wrong size.

And occasionally I even question the One who thought I’d ever be able to figure out how to fasten the darned thing.

The shimmer and glitter were all lost in the first spin through the never ending laundry.

Wearing it is 0% what I always dreamed it would be.

Then there comes a day like today. As I sat in your school performance every time your eyes met mine, stage to audience, we connected. I felt the weight of it. Your smile lit up the room. You knew. I am here. I am your mom.

Same thing happens nearly every day in my super mom world. This juxtaposition of “so mean mom” being the very person you want to see most in all the world sitting and smiling up at your on stage.

Which is why…

Each evening after you are in bed, I pull what is left of my cape up off the ground (honestly, just collecting it so I don’t trip over whatever is lurking underneath). I think I should probably shake off the crumbs from dinner, iron out the creases from being sat on a hundred times that day in the most awkward positions, or shoot it with a gallon of fabreeze. I wonder if a few stitches or a trim around the edges, maybe a new patch, would help that tattered cape of mine.

Problem is: each stain, smell, tear, crease they all reminds me of you. Reminds me of us. Reminds me of home.

So each day I decide the same thing. I like it just the way it is. Partly because I need none more work. But mostly because it is mine. It fits just right. Albeit slightly cattywampus .

The tattered cape also reminds me to pray. Sometimes I’m muttering prayers acknowledging the mess I made when I locked my cape in a drawer for the afternoon. On purpose. But mostly prayers of hope. For you.

May you always know where home is. In some seasons it will be the place you securely lay your head. And in others home will be a light far in the distance.  Whichever. May you always know here, wherever I am, you are welcome. Wanted. You belong.

May you always know your smile melts me. And that I can read it in an instant, like a thousand paged novel absorbed at a glance. But sometimes I need a little help with the inferences.

May you know that my “I love you” means a million things that equal one very simple thing: I’ll never give up. I’ve promised you forever and forever I will be yours. You and me. We.

May you always know that you have a Momma and Daddy who love you. Deeply. But a Heavenly Father who is far more. Who never falters or waivers in the actions that flow from His love. You can trust Him. Implicitly.

I have prayed a million such prayers for you. To Him. I rub your head at night while silently crying out to the ONE who can count every hair- “make him yours, Lord. Give her heart clarity“

I see Him at work in you. Your growth and strength and perseverance are inexplicable. An inexplicable miracle to which I cling when I wonder if I’ll make it out of these years with more than just a tiny string of my cape left.

If that’s all there is, I hope you know that’ll be my very favorite string in all the world. Because you also are my very favorite. Even when I sometimes forget for just one tiny minute.

And that. That’s my superpower:  Being your mom.

I love you times a million.  All of you,

Momma

Two years ago today, we quit living “for a while“. 

On January 13th, 2017, we began our forever. And there was a perfect peace.

My mom asked me recently how I thought the kids felt about celebrating “adoption day.” I said, “There will be sugar. They are in.” But honestly, I still wondered. How do they feel. Do they “get it”? Do they feel loved. Do they know how hard we fought for it to be different, first.

I was so thankful, as we walked through today, talking about how we got here, to have evidence that they showed up for the party for more reasons than soda and ice-cream. Last year felt a little forced, this year conversation flowed easily through what it means to be family, how thankful we are for ours and also the family that was left behind. We watched the video of the adoption for the first time. We talked about what they felt. We bowled, laughted, ate all the junk, watched a movie. were together.  We celebrated.  A bit more than last year, it felt good and right.

Nearly as soon as he woke up, one kiddo said “Today really isn’t about just 3 of us getting ‘dopted.  It’s really about our whole family. “

And from across the room another (bonus kid) chimes in “also it’s really about God and how He helped us have a way.”

Uh. Yes. That.

We call this day our “Ebenezer” because today we remember how God carried us to that day. Through that day. And from that day. Even looking back over the last year we can see over and over again how He has carried us. We can see redemption unfolding.

The last two years have been hard. But not impossible. They’ve been full of adventure and joy and laughter. And also arguing and frustration and tears and misunderstanding. But always hope.

We continue to pray that we will steward our story well. We want to share so that more can see light prevailing out of a darkness that should have won. Where there was destruction, there is now rebuilding. Even in our mess, we want you to see a glimpse of what it means to be redeemed.

Words of this song, “My Story*”  so well say what we hope you know:

If I told you my story
You would hear hope that wouldn’t let go
If I told you my story
You would hear love that never gave up

If I told you my story
You would hear life but it wasn’t mine

If I should speak then let it be

Of the grace that is greater than all my sin

Of when justice was served and where mercy wins
Of the kindness of Jesus that draws me in

To tell you my story is to tell of Him

If I told you my story
You would hear victory over the enemy
And if told you my story
You would hear freedom that was won for me

And if I told you my story
You would hear life overcome the grave

If I should speak then let it be

Of the grace that is greater than all my sin
Of when justice was served and where mercy wins
Of the kindness of Jesus that draws me in
Oh to tell you my story is to tell of Him

This is my story this is my song

Praising my Savior all the day long

Thank you for singing with us for so many years!

Thank you for hoping with us all along the way!

We stand amazed,

ABL

for the FOREVER Team Lewis 9

These are some of my favorite family moments from 2018.  From the prayers the night we decided to “go” to traditions like cow appreciation day and valentines day, to family adventures- in each of these pictures I see a moment in which we were becoming more and more what God asked us to be.

*Publishing: © 2015 Word Music, LLC, Weave Country (ASCAP) / Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Open Hands Music (SESAC) Writers: Mike Weaver / Jason Ingram

I wore literal holes in my shoes.  And my feet have ached deeply since about October. I actually kind of love that because it makes one thing very evident…

If it had just been up to me and my own two feet, I’d never have made it to the finish line.

What began at the stroke of midnight to kick-off 2018 wasn’t ever about my own two feet.

It was about making a memory with my biggest little love.It was about grabbing a brother in the pouring rain and saying “Let’s go”

It was about uniting with a sister who has only recently become one and pushing each other to go a little farther, be a little faster, get a little stronger.

It was about setting and celebrating stepping-stone goals, small ones that marked the way, as you kept your eyes on the ultimate one that sometimes seemed so far away.

It was about remembering that running can go anywhere.

Whether in a theme park, late at night, to get from one ride to another….

or in a national park with God’s creation reminding us of our small role in a bigger world.

And then, when life took an unexpected turn, running became a really important bridge.

From our old home

to our new one.

Completing 1009 miles on one continent.

And finishing the second 1009 on another.

Sometimes team-members ran alone

sometimes with grandparents, babysitters or friends,

Sometimes early morning sprints with the best accountability

and other times even with a hundred classmates.

One amazing weekend I ran 40 miles with a very best running buddy (and several incredible “support” runners) to celebrate our 40th birthdays.

But the best runs were when we were adventuring together…

In the rain

On the beach of Zanzibar

and in a tea farm in Nairobi.

I have tons of pictures from this year of a little line of warrior kids stretched out in front of me and/or RRL, pounding the pavement for another mile.  I can’t make the photos come alive for you, but in my mind’s eye I can hear and smell and feel so much.  I hear them shouting encouragement to each other, I can hear the whispers in the mornings going out to run before it got too hot. I can hear the voice that said, while running beside me, “I remember the first time you made me set a goal and how mad it made me.  But now I think it is one of the best things about our team.”

When I look at these pictures, I can feel the sweat pouring down, my feet throbbing and heart about to explode with pride in this little tribe’s ability to overcome.  The memories have not all been pleasant (have you ever run in the middle of a tropical summer near the equator? with a 6-year-old? or a looonng story-teller? or a hypochondriac?), but as I scroll through all of our running adventures from this year, I’m overhwhelmed with the goodness of God. That He would know what a treasure these moments would be, when reflecting on this year.

In a year during which we could have easily only focused on the upheaval and uprooting of my family, we have picture after picture of working toward something familiar and consistent and unifying.

As October began there was a faint glimer of an end in sight.  Even after running very little in May-July, as we prepared to leave the country, we still might just be able to make it.  If we worked together and ran a whole heck-of-a-lot in November and December. Which is precisely what we did.  Nearly 520 miles in those two months.  1/4 of the total in just 1/6 of the year.

Even with 9 of us running, that’s a lot- like nearly 58 miles each over 2 months including holidays, sicknesses and a dislocated toe.  A lot of math to simply emphasize what these small people did.

They put their minds on the goal.  And went for it.

And that’s why we ran this year.  Long before we knew just how much we’d need it…we ran to be reminded.  Reminded of who we are TOGETHER.

Because it isn’t true what they say about team work…we are not only as strong as our weakest member.  The sum of us is not equal to the total of 9 individuals.  Even when different team members carry different shares of weight, the sum of us is stronger, braver, more confident, more capable than any of us could be alone.

This year we set out to remember: We are a TEAM.  Running together. On a mission.

We ran a 1/2 mile each to make it to the finish line on New Year’s Eve, a short jog compared to some of the month’s 2-3 mile endeavors.  As we huddled up to pray at the finish line, our babiest boy, a 6 year-old who logged a lot of running this year, said “Dear God, THANK YOU for the energy and effort you gave us to complete this goal.”

Thank you, indeed.

And thanks to all of you, too, for following along on our 2018 journey.  What a crazy distance run it has been!

ABL

For anyone interested in the specifics: 

Our family of 9 ran 2018 collective miles this year, beginning just after midnight (central time) on January 1, 2018 and ending around 3pm (East Africa Time) December 31, 2018. Each person on the team ran miles which counted individually toward the goal. So each tally on the chart represented one person’s one mile.  (When we all ran one mile together = 9 team miles).  We kept the chart in our kitchen, both in the US and in TZ.  Each box on the chart was 10 miles, each row 100.  We each marked in a different color, but not to keep track of who ran what, just to have a visual of the sum of the parts.  Each time we finished a box of 10 we highlighted it in a single color to represent the team accomplishment.  We set small goals through the year to celebrate (monthly goals and a goal before we left the States). and we changed the highlighter color everytime we passed a small marker goal.  We had many supporters who ran some miles with us through the year, but we only counted the ground the 9 of us covered.  We “counted” a few miles that were not technically running- usually difficult hikes- but almost all were running.  We all agreed to the goal, but some people definitely were more committed to it than others through the year.  It was a good parenting exercise to learn a little bit about what motivates each of my children- shockingly, they are each different.  We ran with kids so I cannot emphasize enough that this was not all rosey and delightful, but I can also honestly say it was worth it and I’ve been very sad that it is over.  We’ve decided not to do 2019 miles and each of us have run precisely zero steps in the 6 days following the 2018 finish line. Maybe we will do it again another year, but for lots of reasons need a rest for now.  We’ve decided instead to do smaller goals we set each month. I’d love to share more if you are interested in doing something similar with your family and we’d love to hear about your team goals, too!