vacation bible school

My four-year-old calls Vacation Bible School "BBS" which sounds too close to BB-8 for me to correct. There are some cute things that you just let go. My seven-year-old has nearly outgrown these cute things BUT I discovered recently that he doesn't know sunburn is kind of a weird singular/plural word. He pulled up his shirts sleeves while we were at Hershey Park recently and got a bright pink stripe on each arm. He told us that night he had "two sunburns." Adorbs.

So BBS. Our church hosts a huge Vacation Bible School each summer, which is awesome. It's four mornings of singing, story-telling, and shenanigans.  This year's theme is camping, "Upward Bound." We had 333 kids the first day, and 344 today. Yes, you read that right. It's a lot of kids!

There's nothing like watching God put the right people in the right position to pull off something amazing. The organizers, the teachers, the song leaders, the run-around-with-the-kids people -- everyone does what they are good at to make the whole train roll along efficiently. 

My favorite two moments of the first two days:

1. The "big kids" (4th - 6th graders) sit in the balcony. When our song leader challenged them to sing louder this morning, they really took it to heart! They were singing Victory Chant, and she started with "Hail, Jesus, you're my king!" BOY when those kids echoed, I laughed joyously out loud!  I will never be able to contain my emotions when kids are singing their hearts out. So blessed by their singing.
2. My sister is such a talented teacher. (The only reason I can type this without fear of her yelling at me for blogging about her is that she doesn't read my blog, haha!) Obviously, I've never been a 'fly on the wall' in the public school she teaches in, but I know she's stinkin' fabulous. It's the best part of my summer to watch her use her gifts for the Lord by sharing the gospel with a room full of five years olds. I wish I could say they were all rapt with attention, but the truth is, they're five. Some of them are picking their noses, a few are staring at the ceiling, one kid is tearing the plastic table cloth, and two are elbowing each other. BUT despite the distractions and wiggles, I believe God's message is getting through. Maybe not every word, but my sister walks the front of the room, using just the right voice and the right tone and the right props (Duplo blocks in this case) to share the day's story in a way that brings it to their level. I am so blessed to watch her honor the Lord with her talents.

"lonely in my own body"

**disclaimer** quotations below include colorful language

I don't know what stories Google recommends to you, but it recently recommended I read an op-ed from actress Melissa Rauch in Glamour.  So glad I did.  (If you watch Big Bang Theory, she plays Bernadette, the biologist with the super high-pitched voice.)

Anyway, the article is worth a read. It's her announcement of a current pregnancy after previously experiencing a miscarriage. Basically, there's a lot of fear and confusing emotions. And it's a very honest approach to the weirdness you feel.

Read her article here.

Best highlights of her essay:

• Ideally, the more we talk about this issue, the more we can chip away at the unnecessary stigma around it, with the end result being that those of us struggling with loss and infertility will feel less alone. Perhaps with increased overall awareness, women dealing with these extremely challenging circumstances won’t feel like they’re getting sucker punched in the uterus by well-intentioned people.

• "Miscarriage" by the way, deserves to be ranked as one of the worst, most blame-inducing medical terms ever. To me, it immediately conjures up an implication that it was the woman’s fault, like she somehow “mishandled the carrying of this baby.” F that so hard, right in its patriarchal nut-sack.

• I was constantly wishing that the feeling of being desperately lonely in my own body would dissipate.

This final one put beautiful words in place for a feeling I myself have known but been unable to describe. Very well said. Lonely in my own body. Yes, yes. That is the feeling. An awful feeling, but vividly real.

Melissa ends by pointing out to any other women who have or are experiencing prenatal loss that "you are not alone." I agree -- many of us have experienced this devastation. But I have to add my own life lesson that has only become more real to me as I re-explore these feelings of loss, working on my new book on the topic: 

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
    for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.

It isn't the understanding of other women, another baby, my family, my husband, or good medicine that keeps me from being alone. It is and always will be ONLY Jesus. Faithful Savior. 

that donkey will bite you

Kids don't listen the first time. At least, not mine. I mean, they come the first time you say, "Want a snack?" but they certainly don't hear you say, "Don't hit your brother" and file that in the permanent log. That's the thing you repeat a thousand times.

We were at a petting zoo recently with my family. The kids were feeding this sweet old donkey (through a fence) -- kernels of corn right out of their hands. Excitement! But then the corn ran out. A youthful member of our party put his hand back through the fence. I cautioned him, "Buddy, don't put your hand through the fence anymore, the donkey will think you have food and bite you." Then I walked on. From behind me, I heard my sister say, "Honey, did you hear that? Don't put your hand in there, or the donkey will bite you." Moments later, she came to join me. I turned, exasperated, when I heard my other sister saying, "Don't put your hand through the fence or the donkey will bite you!" A moment later, I heard screams, shrieks, and panic that you'd expect from a four-year-old child who'd just had his hand bitten by a donkey.

Sigh.

It's hard to find compassion in those moments. (Somewhere, a really good mom would offer to kiss it, but that's pretty much making out with a donkey... so I vote no.)

Sarcasm aside, though, what are the things God repeats to me? I'm his child. And I'm the worst: petulant, ungrateful, disobedient, forgetful. And yet He patiently repeats Himself to me.

Here's what He's saying to me lately:

Do. Not. Be. Afraid.

The Bible says it 70 times, apparently. And yet, I'm afraid. I really am. I'm afraid because somehow, despite a perfect track record, I worry that God won't come through for me.  

We go to court again on Tuesday. And I'm afraid. The unknown is scary, but the future is already known (planned, ordained) by the One who loves us most.

So I guess He'll go on repeating it to me: Kelley, do not be afraid.

I'll hear Him saying "do not be afraid" when friends text me that they're praying for us. 

I'll hear Him saying "do not be afraid" when I kiss my boy goodnight. 

I'll hear Him saying "do not be afraid" when a song comes on Word-FM at just the right moment. 

I'll hear Him saying "do not be afraid" when I pray and there isn't a still, small voice or even a wind, an earthquake, or a fire... But there is a weird feeling when I'm able to swallow, and my palms are dry, and my heart is beating a normal cadence and I do close my eyes and drift to sleep. Because at that moment, the donkey didn't bite me.

choosing good memories

I know a woman who has nothing good whatsoever to say about her young children. Her grown children are great -- she's so proud of how they turned out! But I've never heard her say anything but negatives about their growing up years. It's like she looks back thirty years and sees nothing but messes, tantrums, and bad behavior.

Her attitude makes me really sad. This is a hard time of life. It's busy, sweaty, stinky, and heartbreaking. There are a lot of losses and only a few wins. It's easy to look back at the day and sum it up:

• five syrupy fingers on my front window

• one skinned knee

• twelve time-outs

• three swats

• one lost dessert

• three million suds splashed all over the bathroom

• one early bedtime

But that same day could also be re-told:

• six pancakes

• one blanket fort

• one long bike ride

• one picnic

• thirteen books read

• one healthy dinner

• one clean son to bed

You have to make the choice--which memories do you focus on? It's about more than today. I do not want to turn into that poor woman who looks at her grown children and only sees successful adults. I want to look back and fondly see peanut butter up their cheeks and a milk mustache.  I'm gonna be a grandma who smiles and says "he reminds me of his daddy" when I'm wistful, not one who glares "he reminds me of his daddy" when scornfully shushing for age-inappropriate silence and stillness.

I don't want to get so wrapped up in their (normal) sinful, child-like behavior issues that I can't also remember the times we laughed and smiled. Because, truly, even on a day with a long list of wrongs, there are a lot of rights.

in God's country

We're living in no man's land right now. The judge's decision that our son is to move away from us -- his foster family for these first 29 months of his life -- was made, but the change has yet to be implemented.

So here is this huge change, but then there is really no change at all. The "ultimatums" were cast and ignored; the promise of an out-of-character future was enough to seal the deal.

But now, three weeks later, we're still here.

There's no timeline, no calendar, just a never ending "soon."

Or not soon. I mean, how soon is soon? Soon in some industries is moments, minutes. Soon in the foster care system seems to be anytime between now and when a child turns 18.  Can there be a "stat"? Can there be a "hot off the press"? Can there be an "overnight"? 

Soon.

Well, here's what I do know: I know that I'm still mama. I know that I don't know what's coming. I know that I don't know what my own future holds any more than I know what the future holds for each of my sons. So I rest and I wait. And I hide my frustrations with the well-intentioned comments from people who don't know what else to say. Because I don't know what to say, and I get annoyed at my thoughts.

Here in no man's land, it seems to be a bad as the desert.  I'm still wandering, I'm still tired, I'm still hot with emotion, I'm still uncomfortable. I know what's coming, now, though, so I have the sad anticipation of what is soon to come.

Soon.

The good news is that desert, no-man's-land, or wherever else this journey takes me, I am still In God's Country.

The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it,
    the world, and all who live in it.

Psalm 24:1.

I remain confident of this

This.