And then... there's radio silence.

Today, as I was catching up on other people's blogs, I realized that mine has been... well... quiet this month.  This post will make the 4th of the month, and that's not like me.  Especially in a time when God is rockin' my world as constantly as He is these days.

So why the radio silence?

I've fallen in to the trap that is unfortunate, but probably fairly common.  I've fallen into the "I'm concerned what you will think" trap.

Worry dolls... just for fun.

Let me clarify, though... I'm not worried what you will think about me.  Clearly, the things that I don't want people to know about me, I choose not to blog about.  While this often functions as a "life journal", it's not my real journal.  You don't get to know all the deep, dark things that are non-blog-appropriate in my life.  (And yes, friends, even Inappropriate Becky knows the difference.)  This blog, NOR my Facebook page are not the places to post said-deep-dark-things.  (I can't tell you how it kills me to read things on Facebook that should not be said there... well... anywhere for that matter.)

I'm not even concerned that this blog will make you not like me.  I feel certain there are some of you who come here just to receive a little burst of happiness from reading what a train wreck I really can be.  I used to think that I was friends with the world and that no one disliked me... then along came a girl in high school who proved me wrong in that area- she couldn't stand me- and I had to face that harsh reality.  I've had those people (you know, the 2 or 3) who don't like me follow me throughout life- shoot, I could even name a couple in my life now... and I'm okay with it.  Truly.  I don't love being un-liked, but I'm okay with it.

I have realized, though, that I am enmeshed with you people... and sometimes this here blog gets misread.  In fact, in the last few weeks, I've had people quote it back to us in ways it was not intended.  I've had my own words... my own thoughts spewed back to us as almost ammunition in ways with which I am not comfortable.  Now hear me out: this is not going to become a passive aggressive venue, either.  I'm not using a public forum to call people to the carpet on their inappropriateness.  But what I am doing is letting you know how my head has handled all of this... it's shut down a bit.

So, dear reader, here's your chance.  I'm giving you an out.  I'm offering you a chance to walk away from the train wreck without watching anymore of the drama.  Unfriend me on Facebook if it helps... Hide my blog... whatever you need to do to work through your issues with me. 

As for me, I'm back in the saddle.  I'm choosing to stand firm in the person that I am becoming.  I'm choosing to ride the roller coaster with those who love me.  I'm choosing to tell you ridiculous stories about my life- like how I've been to a tattoo parlor 3 times in the last six months (yep... and no ink.)  I'm choosing to share with you how every time we attend a MAPP (Foster training) class I get more and more excited about what craziness is getting ready to descend upon our house.  I'm choosing to let you see pictures of my mess- and choosing not to care what you think of it.

Here I am- again- warts and all.

In the last 48 hours, I've been to a Children's Museum, Krispy Kreme, a shopping spree, a MAPP class, "The Smurfs" movie, a science museum, the pediatrician, and back to the movies to see "Friends with Benefits"... and did I mention a tattoo parlor (and no, Mom, I don't have a tattoo.)  There's fun stuff going on in my life, people, and I'd love to tell you about it.  There's also some hard stuff... and we're working through all of that.  I'm thankful to have people on this journey with me. 

I'll be back soon, and I hope you will, too. 

(Coming soon, adorable pictures of E from the last week.  Now, who won't want to see that post?!?!)

Silence

In 1996, my friend Allison took me on a "Retreat of Silence".  Those of you who knew me in 1996 Anyone who knows me can understand that the "silence" part was a bit of a struggle for me.  My first experience with this was on a Saturday morning when Allison drove us to Chapel Hill Bible Church where we spent 2(ish) hours in a room together (NOT TALKING!) being silent.  Praying, reading, meditating... and, did I mention NOT TALKING?!?!

I'll admit, I wasn't "good" at it.

I'll also admit it was a practice that I needed, and have added to my disciplines on an ongoing basis.

Our College Ministry has also adopted this practice, and this past Saturday we took our Second Annual trip to Pilot Mountain for such a retreat.  Last year, we arrived to beautiful clear skies and gorgeous weather.

This was where Michelle was sitting before she got attacked by vultures.  True(ish) story.

When we arrived Saturday morning, a mist of rain had followed us the whole way there.  This was my view as I started my alone time.  (Note: our only "rule" is that you leave cell phone, iPods, and other distractions behind.  You can bring with you journals, books, Bibles, whatever.)

Not quite the sunny skies of last year, but still, gorgeous.  And, oh?  What's that?  Look at those pretty little puffs of clouds off to my right...

Pretty soon I remembered my basic science that clouds like that could mean... rain.

Just before I ran for cover, I snapped this self-pic:

I made my way to a shelter fairly quickly and there I found two of my favorite people.

My "silence" wasn't that anymore... Miss E kept stage-whispering wanting more paper, wanting to know how to spell "Michael", wanting to ask if I was done praying yet.  Suddenly my "retreat" felt a lot like normal life.  This is what I deal with if she is ever awake when I am having a Quiet Time.  I'm not going to lie- my first response was that I was exasperated.  Seriously, I'd craved this time for so long... and now it's like any ol' morning.  Zeesh.  Then I remembered that one of my favorite things of leading College Ministry is that my daughter gets to live life with these students... and even in my own frustration, I needed to model for her what this morning could look like.

The rain let up and I left E with Dan (their MO on these mornings is to hike... I wasn't shirking my responsibilities, promise) and went off in search of more "quiet" areas.  I stumbled upon some lovely moments.

This bird and I hung out for quite a while.  Since we've entered this Foster process, I've been drawn to trees and birds.  There is something about both of them that captures what's going on in my heart about loving those kids we don't yet know.  So I sat and watched and listened to this little guy... praying for those children who are in the process of hurting right now.

Saturday was a perfect example to me of how God wants us to function in our current situation in life.  It's not what I'd planned (sunny days!), it's not what I thought I needed (extended time alone!), but it's what I got from the whole thing that blessed my day. 

And, bonus?  I got to experience it with some people I love a lot... even if one of them is wearing a silly ol' Dook shirt.

Don't say I never gave you anything...

I'm here to bestow on you a very, very important lesson.

Don't leave a wine bottle in the freezer.

We had some friends over for dinner last night and ran out of white wine that was chilled.  I put a very classy bottle of Two Buck Chuck in the freezer for a jump start in cooling, then was going to switch it to the fridge.

Whoops.

I forgot.

So, just now as I went to get out something for lunch, I found this bottle:

Here's the crazy part- it uncorked itself.  Yep.  Apparently Mr. Shaw did not appreciate the pressure change in my freezer.

There's your helpful hint on this Thursday afternoon.

You're welcome.

Sale! Sale! Sale! (kinda)

So, one thing I learned on my African Adventure was that things are done a little different there than here.   Timelines aren't exactly the same.  Deadlines aren't exactly the same.  Shoot, time in general isn't exactly the same...

Yep, that says 9:60.  It went up to 9:75 then rolled over.  I was a wee bit confused.

In that same fashion, my communication with my friends in Kigali has looked different than what we would normally have here in the US.  Here, we would have contracts, business models, spread sheets.  There, they have handshakes and transfers of goods on faith.

So when I got an email from my contact there on Friday saying "We need you to contact ___ in one hour.  He needs to send all the money from the sales of pens with a friend who is coming to Kigali," I wasn't surprised... yet I was a wee bit stressed.  I've been  trying to set up my website to "properly" sell these pens, brainstorming the best way to make a legit move into the world of crafts and human aid, and, well, haven't sold them all.

I only had about 1/3 of the goods sold to send to the man whose friend was going to Kigali.

Hmmm.

I'm not "bothered" by this, because I know if I a.had the website functional or b.had an open house of sorts, the pens will/would go in a heartbeat.  What does bother me is that now there is a man in Colorado who is waiting for a check from Kwishima that does not exist.

So... here is where I use the power of the interwebs.

1. If you've been thinking about making a donation to these women, now is the time to do it.

2. If you've been thinking about purchasing some pens, now is the time to do it.

3. If you'd like to "pre-order" merchandise from the next shipment (which should be here in 2 weeks!), that'd be awesome.  (I'm apparently getting more pens, some necklaces, and a few more items... which will be featured on my then-fully-functioning-website.)

4. If you'd like to donate a couple hours to sit with me and help me fix my website issues, that'd be awesome, too.

Those of you who are local, I will be having an Open House when this next shipment gets in, but we're not sure when it will arrive.  This is one of those "trust the unknown" things which causes similar chest pain to the kind I had in Africa... but I am fairly sure that came from having to eat ridiculous quantities of Slim Jims.

So, friends of Kwishima... can you help?  ALL of your money goes directly to these women.  It provides food, clothing, medicine, and care for their families.  I'd be grateful if you did... and they'd be ecstatic.

I've even added a widget so you can see how much we're raising... I'd love to blow the top off the thermometer... and rejoice.  (How to help: if you are in town, message me and I'll deliver pens to your house/pick up your donation.  If you are out of town, message me with your order- ## of pens, and I'll ship them to you.  If you'd like to make a donation, you can do that through my Paypal account using my email address.  If you don't have that, please message me and I'll get it to you!)

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Well, wouldya look at that... the world goes on without me.

Roughly 10 years ago, my friend Beth spoke words into my life that would stick with me forever.  We worked together at the church and she would often listen to me lament about not having enough volunteers/chaperones/whatever for one of my three areas of ministry.  One day as I was whining about not having someone to ___ (I have no idea what the issue of the moment was) and saying I would just go ahead and do it myself, she challenged me and said, "Becky, if you continue to jump in and do everything yourself, you're limiting God.  Do you really think that He won't send someone else to serve?  If you're doing it all the time, they are never going to step up."

Ouch.... but a good ouch.

I have continued to think of that wise counsel multiple times over the years.  No one will step up as our new Bunko Queen?  No one to answer the question in Small Group?  No one to take care of a minor detail that I am certain only I can do?  Hmmm... maybe I should step back long enough to allow someone else the chance- the blessing- of doing the thing I'm so eager just to "do" and get done with.

Along came VBS at our church.

Now, those of you who knew me back when I was a Children's Minister can attest to the fact that, well, I kinda sucked at it.  It was not in my gifting... and it wasn't done with excellence.  The one thing in that area that I did "well" was Vacation Bible School.  That, my friends, was a party.  I can do parties.  So for a few years in Chapel Hill, we knocked out some good VBSes.  We moved here in 2002 and the church where we landed didn't do a VBS.  Fine.  But I told each of the 3 people responsible for the Children's Ministry over the next 6 years that if they ever decided to do one, I was their girl.  I can do VBS.

2008 rolled around and we were given the go-ahead to put on a VBS at our church.  Unbeknown to me, my friend, Laurie (also a former Children's Minsiter) had been saying the same thing- if we ever did a VBS, she'd be "in", too.  So three of us (the current Children's Minister, Tiffany, at this point was "just" a friend... yet now is a sister) sat down together and talked about what VBS would look like in a church our size.  We prayed about how many volunteers we would need to execute such an event.  We prayed about how we would use our space.  We prayed about who would be our teachers, who would lead games, who would run... well... everything else.

June 2008- Power Lab Summer BLOCK Party happened.  (Vacation Bible School... with a twist!- became our tag line.  We didn't want to be just another VBS- our town has tons of good VBS programs, so we wanted to fill the niche of a "true" Block Party and invite our nearby neighbors to join us.)  It was a glorious, stressful 4 days.  And the idea of SBP caught in the hearts of those at our church.

Of course, the next year I was "back" to do SBP one more time.  June 2009- Crocodile Swamp.  We already had the basic tools and model to be able to execute another super SBP.  This thing was now something that not only our kids, but our volunteers looked forward to.

June 2010- High Seas Expedition.  By this year, we'd increased the number of directors from 3 the first year, 5 the second, to now 8 the third.  We'd realized that over the years we needed more hands on deck to implement the curriculum  for a church our size.  By 2010, our numbers were around 450 volunteers and 500+ kids participating.  By the end of the week we all pried our shoes off, sat down to rest, and enjoyed the favor of God and man at a job well done.

Planning for an event like this doesn't just happen a month before the week of SBP.  The previous year's experience gets debriefed, at least once, shortly after the event.  We try to learn from our mistakes and make note of our strengths.  Still fresh from the exhaustion, we spit out all we can call to mind from the week.  And we begin planning for the next one.  Then, around January, the new team is formed.  We begin meeting every other week for a while, then closer to the event we meet weekly.  This says nothing of the individual meetings a director would have with anyone in their areas of leadership.

So this January when it was time to tell Tiffany if I was going to serve again, I said "no".

Yep.

My standard line to anyone who asked was, "Three years is plenty!  It's time for a break."  But deep down, I knew that the words of Beth were alive and well in my mind.  If I continued to do this job- even though I could, even though I loved it, even though- by then- I was "good at it"... was that limiting someone else from stepping up?  Was God nudging someone else to be a director who might not do it if I always did?  Was it time for a change from the way I did things?  With all of these things in mind, I told Tiffany I would gladly serve how she needed me, but I wasn't going to be a director.  The beauty of how SBP had been run is that we'd created some fairly good self-sustaining systems and formats that would be easy for someone else to step in and run.

Last night, we ended our fourth year of SBP.  We had a record number of kids.  We had loads of them accept Christ, desire to be baptized, and hear of the love of Jesus in a new way.  I was still able to be a part- I got to hang out with the people who led in the sanctuary.  And, I got to help out with the bullhorn- my favorite part.  There were moments that would have looked different if I'd been a director.  Not better, not worse, just different.  My mark would have felt more like me... and I wonder if that would have gotten in the way.  One tiny example of this was on the workday- there was a great sign up telling everyone what time their groups would be meeting.  Beautifully laid out- beautiful penmanship.  For years, I'd been asked to do the (handwritten) signs because I have neat handwriting.  Funny, though, when I wasn't there to do it, someone else who had great handwriting (but never trusted themselves with it!) was able to make a perfect sign... without my help.

Whaddaya know... the world goes on without me.

It's an arrogant place to live when we think that we have to do something or it won't happen.  That doesn't mean that we're all supposed to just sit back and wait for someone else to do things.  When you are clearly called to serve somewhere, do it.  But, it's a beautiful- FREEING- place to be when you can step back, watch the systems you helped create, the people that you love, and the event that you have passion for run all on its own... and you just get to experience it.  None of us are so important that the world will stop turning if we sit back.  In fact, the view is often much better there.

What the What

A friend at E's preschool asked me this week if I was "Back to normal" after my trip to Africa.  I laughed, then said, "Yes.... normal, but not calm."

I tend to wait for things to slow down in my our world... and they tend to never do just that.

I have finally just embraced the madness... and now I roll with it.

3 days after getting home from Africa, I got the update that the people who were graciously giving us some furniture for our soon-to-be-Foster-kids-room needed us to get it out of their house quickly.  So, not yet used to Eastern Standard Time, I hauled my self to Home Depot and bought a beautiful gallon of "Celery Ice."  I/we painted the room last week and finished the tree (cute room theme, yay!) this past weekend.  On Wednesday night with the help of some college student friends, we moved in furniture that will provide safety and security in our home for the kids God plans to send our way.

And I was thrilled with all of it.

Then I saw the crib coming up the steps.

Oh...

my...

Boof.


We have told the agency that we could take any age under 5.  That clearly means that one of those ages could be a crib-needing one.  We knew this, made arrangements, got a crib, and started figuring out where everything will go.  All of this made logical sense in my head.  Even while I was in Africa, I started praying that God would, indeed, bring us a baby.  I got to watch my new friends, the Rutledges, take care of Baby Hope and it reignited a flame in me to care for a wee one. 

In my mind, I knew we could likely "get" a baby.

Then, in my heart, I watched that crib get brought into my house.

Holy conflicting thoughts, Batman.

Instantly I remembered the pain of longing for children and not being able to conceive.  And in the same moment I instantly felt peace that we will provide a safe place for a child we have not conceived.  My heart was both thrilled and hurting in the same moment.


Seriously... a crib... in my house.  Do y'all understand how bizarre that is?!?!?

Just an update because many of you guys have asked our time table: we begin our MAPP classes in July.  We will finish those in the beginning of August (on Dan's birthday!)  We will wait, then, to go through the motions of the agency/State to see who will be joining or "normal" life here.  And, those of you who have asked for pictures of the new room... I will post them when I find the perfect pillow for the bed and feel like the room is "done."  Ha!

I have no idea what the next season of life for us will look like.  I do know this- it will be as normal as it's ever been... we're not normal, we don't claim to be... we just roll with it. 

A crib... in my house... what the what....

Wrecking My Life, Part Three

(If you haven't read Part One or Part Two, go ahead and do that now...)

So, it was clear to me that God wanted me to love these women.  And it was abundantly clear that their crafts were not only for them, but for "me", too.  I've mentioned before that those of you who know me know how much I love pens.  Seriously, it's unhealthy.  In fact, when Dan was moving boxes of pens during our last move into this house he commented, "If you had saved every dollar you spent on these pens we could have paid for a house in full years ago."  The moment Fidele mentioned a "Pen Ministry" and asked if I wanted to be involved, I almost looked around for cameras to see if I was being Punk'd.

On that Wednesday, we ran by his church for something and he asked me to come look at the pens.  I completely lost it.  They reminded me, instantly, of this:

Mary, my stepmother, made these "prayer purses" for her family and friends.  Inside the purse, she had small pieces of paper you could write your prayers on and then wear them around your neck.  For many months she wore the prayer asking God to give us a baby.  That was the same time she made my purse for me.  While Mary's beading was more intricate, it immediately came to mind when I saw the beautiful pens of these women.

Beginning the night that Fidele spoke beautiful words over my life, I began praying for what exactly I was to do with this ministry.  That Sunday in church, it got taken out of my hands.  (A story for another day?  I'll tell you about when Laurie and I had our own personal translator for church... and got called out in front of the whole congregation.  Nothing like going to Africa to get called out in church with your best friend.)  At the end of the service, the man translating for me said, "Now we are to the point in the service where he is giving announcements.  (Pause.)  He is saying that there is a group of people meeting here Tuesday for prayer.  (Pause.)  Now he is asking for all of the women with AIDS to stand up.  (Pause... and this one was awkward because as I looked around I thought 'we would NEVER do this in America!')  Now he is saying something about... you?  Is this right?  He is asking for you to stand up?  And he is saying that you are now in charge of their ministry?  What?  Am I hearing right?  He wants them to meet with you after the service?"

Yes, Mr. Translator, it's confusing to me, too.

Two things I'd like to point out here:  1. If you are a Pastor, this is a surefire way to get people to volunteer for something.  Call them out from the pulpit and for sure they will serve.  Or hate you, depending on if God has confirmed this for them.  (I'm the "serve" kind, btw.)  2. At the end of the service, this church of Rwandan people prayed for the visitors.  They asked for us all to come on stage and they prayed- all at once- for each of us.  I have NO idea what they said.  But I felt it... and it felt good.

After church I sat over where a few of the women were already seated.  Slowly, several more (that had already been singled out) came to join us.  While we waited for a translator, I didn't know what to do (since none of us could communicate with each other!), so I did what felt natural... I asked if I could take some pictures of them.

Eventually, the head of their group, Zilpa, and our translator, John, both arrived.  Zilpa spoke (through John) beautiful words about these ladies to me:


We are all Mamas.  We are all Sisters.  Yet some of us have a terrible affliction...

She continued to tell me about their cause, their pens, and their lives.  They each went around and told me their names and told me how many kids they had.  The woman with nine kids giggled.  The woman who had 6, but 5 had died in the genocide, made me nearly choke on my own breath.  Some of the women looked healthy, some did not.  Yet they all were sick, whether or not their bodies showed it.

They began to get excited about my partnership with them.  Just as Fidele had mentioned earlier, Zilpa reiterated that they had prayed for someone to partner with them to help them sell their goods.  When I told them I would sell whatever they had, they talked excitedly about everything they could make: baskets, magazine bead necklaces... so many more items.

For now, I came home with 3 things (but 2 of them have already been sold or claimed).  I asked them how long it took to make each item, and how much they wanted for it.  They sent me with one drum- it took them ONE WEEK to make it... they are asking $15.  I had 2 crocheted purses- it took them three DAYS to make them... they are asking $10.  And the pens... the beautiful pens....

These pens take them one whole day to make.  One day.  And they are asking FIVE DOLLARS for them.  For an entire day's work, they want FIVE DOLLARS.  That money will pay for their supplies, put food on their tables, pay for their children's school fees, and give them the medication they need.  All for five dollars.

It was like a punch in my gut when I realized how far $5 could get them.

I don't bat an eye when my Starbucks order is that much... or my daughter's Happy Meal... or a magazine... or a movie ticket (I actually get excited when it's that cheap!)... I drop $5 here and there with barely a thought... and it's enough to pay for an entire day's work for women who need it far more than I.

I packed up all the things I would be bringing home and embraced these women.  Earlier as we spoke, John referred to them as "Hopeless."  (Again, something we wouldn't do in America...)  But seeing their smiles at the thought of people in America buying their pens (etc.), I felt like they had a little bit of hope.

I'm in the beginning stages of figuring out my partnership with these women... the women of Kwishima (Rejoice).  I'm working on setting up webpages, accounts, etc.  But for now, I have some cool pens for $5 if you are interested.  You can message me, or you can "like" the Kwishima page on Facebook.  As I get more items from them, I'll post about having them available.  Start planning now on doing all of your holiday shopping through me!  I promise not to give you guilt trips while we are together about "Are you sure you want that Frappacino?  Do you realize that could help a woman in Kigali?"... because that's not what this is about for you- or me.  But I do promise to remind you of these women occasionally... together, we are a force for good.

We can give them more than our money, we can give them hope.

 Zilpa, far left, with me and some of the 37 women who make up Kwishima

For though I am far from you, my heart is with you.

And I rejoice that you are living as you should and that your faith in Christ is strong.

Colossians 2:5