Love Has No Bounds and Needs No Words

"If what we call love doesn't take us beyond ourselves, it is not really love."-Oswald Chambers

For five days, we felt…saw…experienced…held…touched.  Electronics were not missed.  iPhones put away.  Emails found unread in the ever-present Inbox.  Community was lived out as our family served alongside 31 others from our church in a humble setting where love abounds, joy resides, and language barriers restrict words but not the overflow of the heart.  The setting was Casa Esperanza, a safe home outside of Ensenada for women and their children where they can heal, grow, live, and be.  We stepped onto the red dirt and wanted to help wherever we could, so amongst other things we painted, held babies, fixed bikes, did crafts with the children and the moms, organized rooms, and jumped in the waves with the children at the beach. But as we were leaving, our hearts began to break, and we realized how special this place with these faces is to our growth, our life, our very being as we process all we experienced.  Tears were shed, and we must remember. 

We must remember…

…when water flows from our sink to be grateful.

…to cherish what is in front of us and not take those most precious to us for granted.

…to be thankful for each meal and a new school year upon us where my children get to go to school unlike so many children around the world--(The Casa children will attend a great school too, of which they are so grateful!).

…the Body of Christ is ever-present and alive around the world.

…the richest people in the world are those who know how to love for love has no bounds and needs no words.   

My tender-hearted boy’s eyes swelled with tears as he was saying goodbye to his dear friend, and he took off his Little League championship hat that he had won and put it on the dark hair of his friend. 

With tears staining his friend’s cheeks, his friend looked up and simply said, “Gracias.”  The director approached my son and said, “Please keep praying for him.  The Lord used you this week to break through his walls; he doesn’t break down like that.  Ever.” 

Here’s the thing: my son will not forget.  Ever.  And each one of us on this team will not forget these faces.  Ever.  They have changed us from the core.  May we always let justice and praise be our embrace.

May it not just be a five day trip in the corner of our memory bank, but may we return to our lives ready to love better, deeper, bolder and kinder. 

“He has shown you, what is good and what does the Lord requires of you?  To act justly and to love mercy and walk humbly with your God.”

--Micah 6:8

Transplanted: Deep Roots, Outstretched Arms

Six years ago, my then 3-year-old ate a messy, juicy, yellow peach.  When he was done, he handed me the slimy pit, and I noticed it was beginning to open to reveal the tiny oval seed.  I peeled the pit open, found a pot, and buried the seed in the brown soil.  It began to slowly grow and after two years it was about two feet high.  We realized that for it to reach its full potential, it would have to be uprooted from its comfortable soil and transplanted to a place that would allow the roots to grow deep, and the branches to grow tall.  

Now it is a tree that stands six feet in height, and is covered with over one hundred baby peaches.  It's producing the very essence of why it exists: peaches. What good is a peach tree without peaches?  Although the pot was beautiful and good, had we kept it there, it would not be as tall or strong, and there would not be as many peaches on it.  

I'm sure if I could ask the peach tree about the process of being transplanted, it would tell me:

"It was very painful.  The roots, oh, the roots.  When you pulled me out, I had some that broke, and I had others that wouldn't let go.  It hurt and my leaves were droopy for a short time.  I still have a history with that pot, and I can see it from where I stand now.  I was comfortable.  I was safe.  But once I got to my new soil and had room to grow, I knew this is where I was supposed to be.  It didn't happen on the first day, or the first month, or even the first year.  The rain and the water had to soothe my roots' pain and sadness, and the sun had to help my arms reach towards it, but eventually my roots went deeper and my arms went higher.  Here I stand from a different perspective.  My branches are heavy with fruit, and in a short time they will be picked and eaten. Winter will come again, but there's always a promise of the Spring and my blossoms that are clothed in bright pink.  Did I tell you that they are fragrant too?  You'll want to come near to smell the blossoms.  And I'll grow taller and my roots will reach deeper, and more peaches will come.  I'm grateful for each day for that pot, but I'm even more grateful for where I stand: for taking a risk and being on this adventure where it's not safe, but growth has happened."   

Makes me think: Sometimes transplanting is not necessary, but other times it just might be.  Where in my life do I need to be transplanted to a place that will allow my roots to grow deeper and arms outstretched farther?  

Our delicious harvest!

A Week At Camp...Through Different Lenses

Camp (through the lens of my child) = A nervousness the night before the departure, and then a week full of adventure, excitement, nature, and discovering more of who God is.
Camp (through the lens of a parent) = A week full of quiet where things have amazingly stayed where they were put yet through the serenity you long for a little of life's noises and chaos that keep us moving, breathing, and alive as a piece of our heart is in the woods.  
Camp (through the lens of a sister whose brother is the camper) = One last slumber party together before five days apart, a sweet hug filled with goodbyes, and then the subsequent days of playing with dolls (where there are no bad guys) uninterrupted, staying up a little later with just Mom and Dad, watching girly movies, lots of ice cream, and missing her brother.  
Today we will drive to the base of the mountain to find, amongst the other campers, our child who will be darkened by the sun and the dirt that has found a way to cling to him.  We anticipate the stories of the giant swing and blobbing, night games, and everything else that makes camp so exciting and amazing.  And we pray that God's Truth has sunken deeper into his heart as he has learned and lived in the very nature that has a Designer, a Creator, that we can thank.  The sister's playmate will return and once again there will be good guys and bad guys, Hot Wheels will collide and make lots of noises, and he'll make her laugh as only he can.  We will gladly vacuum the crumbs and tell the child to put the bat and ball where he found them, and noise will bring us joy.  Camp...so grateful for it in so many ways.   

Salt-Water and Barnacles

I sit perched on a jagged rock, five feet above the waves that crash at my dangling feet.  The white barnacles cling to the rock, and the green sea anemones suction their bodies to the crevasse that protects them.  I watch a pelican swoop for an unsuspecting fish, hear the pounding waves all around me and the smell of salt water infuses my nose.  There is something about this massive space of sea in front of me that is so mysterious, so beautiful, so curious that I just try to soak it in.  How does the sand know where to lie?  And the waves know where to stop?  Who taught the barnacles to cling?  And the pelicans...of course they would have those long beaks, exactly what they need to hunt with for a meal.
I feel a bit like Job at the moment when God interrupts his bantering and reminds him of who placed the stars in the sky and continued to give him a little lesson of Who is so omniscient, so omnipotent, so perfect, and how small yet precious we are to Him.  
My heart echoes Job's response as I sit her:  "No plan of yours can be thwarted" (Job 42:6).