60 typical moments with our Dad

Our daddy turns 60 years old today. In honor of him, my 3 sisters: Sherri Farias, Stephanie Eggar and KayLeigh Malpass and I offer you "60 typical moments with Ron Vodenichar."

Disclaimer: these probably will not feel typical to you, as most define typical; there's not much about our dad that's lackluster. You see, his typical is exceptional. He has masterminded and lived more beautiful moments in his sixty years than most are able or willing to do. Honestly it wasn't even difficult for us to come up with this list; limiting them became the struggle.

Who your father is and how he treats you and others remarkably shapes who you are as a person. So as most of you already know--and it will become increasingly clear as you read this post--we're the luckiest.

Here's to you Daddy. We love you so much!

1. She was 5 years old when her daddy went to his first parent teacher back to school night. It probably wouldn't have mattered to the teacher or principal, but he "dressed to impress" for his little girl, wearing her favorite blue suit.
2. She was 17 years old going to senior prom, but that wasn't too old for her daddy to show who was really Prince Charming: he surprised her with a horse and carriage to arrive in. 
3. She was 10 and playing the lead role at the local theater. She thought Daddy had packed his bags to fly across the country for parents weekend at Arizona State. Instead he showed up opening night, with her big sister by his side. 
4. She was 15 and going to her first district choir and Daddy gave her his state choir medal; she wore it on a necklace until she was 22. 
5. He was just shy of 2 when they saw his picture for the first time, that morning after Thanksgiving. And by the time we made it to the parade-- maybe an hour later-- his photo was framed and next to Grandpa on the grandstand where he announced the floats to the whole town.
   
6. She was 8 and trying to explain to her best friends that her dad always answers questions: "Me" when you ask "who's your favorite baseball player" or "who do you think the best basketball player ever was."  So to prove her point she confidently walked up to him and said "Dad. Who is your favorite baseball player?" "Roberto Clemente."
7. They were 17, 15, 14 and 9...and there were (thankless?) fancy chocolate Valentine's hearts as big as their heads on the breakfast table (again) this year. His girls knew they were treasured.
8. She turned 5 that day, the littlest fish in the big pond elementary school. She was called into the office without knowing why. She walked out with a grin bigger than the balloons and candy she held in her arms. And there was a skip in her step as she walked down the hall feeling so special and loved. 
9. They were shivering on the sidelines at the high school football game, covered in snow. He brought every single girl a hot chocolate. 
   
10. She was 16 years old when she was called down to the principal's office. In an envelope, she found keys to her sporty probe- Go SHER.
11. She was 16 years old and heading home from the Steelers' game with her daddy and boyfriend. Boyfriend needed to stop on 79 to go to the bathroom. Daddy agreed. And then daddy drove 20 yards away midstream. 
12. She was 7 sitting at the Pirate's game in "Grandpa's seats" when she caught her first foul ball.
    
13. She was 24 years old when her first over seas package arrived- they came each month for the next two years brightening her mood and making challenges of being far from home more tolerable .
14. She was 16 when she was called down to the principal's office for another yellow envelope filled with the scouting report for the day. In high school she probably got 100 notes from her daddy in yellow Butler Eagle envelopes. 
15. They were kids and adults of all ages, acquaintances and friends: surely one of the families at church or work would want his (free to them) tickets to the show at the Benedum Center, or the Steeler game, or the sold out concert. 
16. They were 6,6,2 and a newborn and missing their cousins and family something awful. So Grandpa researched and rented a beach house that they could all comfortably stay in during the summer while they were home. 
    
17. He's a 7th grade boy who has moved on into the older kid's Sunday School class, yet each week he finds himself wandering back to pay his 5th & 6th grade teacher a visit. And of course he always leaves with a tummy filled with homemade Rice Krispie treats or brownies and a heart filled with a sense of being loved.
18. She was 6 years old when he made her favorite treat to share for her first treat day at school: cinnamon and sugar snails.
    
19. She was 19 and heading back to school after Thanksgiving...she looked at her gas tank and it was "magically" full (again) and she reached knowingly into the center console and found the $20 bill. 
20. She's 5 years old, Rwandese, and never had a baby doll to play with. Since Grandpa sent Lucy 2 dolls for Christmas (along with 13 other gifts), she was able to offer her gift to our friend. Grandpa's generosity stretches. 
21. They were well into their 80's, and on July 5th and January 1st each year they expected a knock on their door and a belly full of spicy ribs for dinner.
22. She was 17 and just finished her last basketball game of her life. There were friends, boyfriend and coaches all around to comfort. But she wanted wrapped up in her daddy's arms. 
23. They are all ages and largely unknown to him, but Daddy made sure there was a way for kids with special needs to have a great playground in Butler. 
    
24. He was having his 7th birthday party in New York. In January. During a blizzard. But there was no way Grandpa was going to miss it!
25. He's 29 years old, and his golf bag is always "magically" filled with new golf balls after a visit up to Butler.  
26. He was 9 years old when he officially joined the family but only 6 when cuddled up next to Grandpa on the couch- that first visit to Butler.
    

    
27. She was 21 and Daddy was meeting her boyfriend for the first time at college. When dessert came at dinner, so did a shopping bag with the second dress left behind at the store earlier. Daddy made sure the new boyfriend knew how his princess was to be treated.
    
28. It was opening day and our daddy took his daddy to the first game ever played at PNC Park. Little did he know that would be Pappy's last baseball season.
29. Their wives were passing away too young, and he sat quietly with them, golfed with them, sang with them, laughed with them, cried with them through the valleys and peaks of illness. 
30. They're only 3 and 2 but they already know that Santa Claus has nothing on Grandpa Claus (there's a FULL Santa bag for each kid...that's big enough to fit multiple grandchildren in)
    
31. They're 7,5 and 4 and fighting over the snuggle seat again. They all want to sit closest to Daddy to sing along. Don't all little girls know every single song played on the Oldies stations? 
32. She was 26 and the last to get married. Knowing how much music meant to her, he had all the grandchildren practice the Doxology and surprise her by singing it during the Blessing. 
    
33. She was 25 and newly married. She's embarrassed she has to call daddy to ask him for help: the 10 foot Christmas tree he shipped to them was too tall for their house! 9 1/2 feet did just fine. 
34. She's 8 and Grandpa was responsible (again) for the "WOW" gift. (same for all the kids and adults)
    
35. She was 10 years old and afraid, but he stood with her and taught her to be kind and hospitable at Katie's Kitchen. 
    
36. She's 18 and graduating from high school. There are parties to attend, friends, coaches and teachers to hug. But she's thinking about what Daddy wrote in her card: deep, meaningful, loving, affirming words that made her feel so full. You know, the cards that all four girls still have in their memory boxes.
    
     
37. She's 33 years old with new friends that he's never met. But they all know "Mr. Vodenichar" by name, because his overseas packages make their family's hospitality and generosity possible. He has sent at least 40 packages.  Sure he sends lots of packages and high end gifts. But don't you dare think he just buys things and ships them. He's 6 years old living across the world and Grandpa cares about the little things (that's his handwriting, every other letter red and green).(yes, this is one of the ways we cheated to try to keep it to 60...combining multiple thoughts in one)
    
    
    
38. He was 80 years old that summer--with tickets that are like gold to most of our daddy's friends--but that dream ticket for the US Open was for Pap-Pap. And boy did he enjoy it. 
39. He was turning 3 years old and heading back across the world again. So grandpa surprised him and showed up with his dream cake that he still can't stop talking about.
    
40. We're not sure how old he turned that day, but the little boy who showed up at PNC park with his mom for his birthday was so disappointed to walk up to the ticket counter and find out that the game was sold out. Our Daddy overheard that moment...and gave them his front row seats for free. 
41. She was 17 and waiting anxiously to perform the cheerleading nationals routine with her team in front of their hometown fans, yet refusing to go on until her #1 fan arrived at the gym. He walked in and she let her coach know it was okay to start. 
42. She was 57 and losing her mommy too soon, so he held her hand tight through the months, with many trips back and forth to Pittsburgh himself, offering tender support to the one he loves. 
    
43. They're 4,3,2,2 and 1 and almost always have a matching outfit to wear. Their mamas and papas practically don't need to buy clothes for these kiddos.
    
    
44. She's 21 and sitting in his dear friend's red Mustang convertible. His friend sells cars, you see. And then (with everyone else at the party already in the know), Daddy tells her it's HERS!
45. Their first little girl is getting married that day and Daddy decides to put a new ring on Mama's finger when Matt puts his on Steph's. 
    
46. He was 32 and leaving the next week to take one of Daddy's girls and 3 of his grandchildren to live across the world to follow God and pursue their dream. Daddy shook his hand, hugged him hard, looked him in the eye and spoke words of affirmation, pride and love (after telling him he'd never admit publicly how proud of him he is). 
47. They were 23 year old newlyweds receiving a call from Comcast that they were to schedule a setup for cable since a year of cable has been paid in full.
48. She was sad and emotional singing a solo at the dedication of a stain glass window in honor of her Pappy. Tears flowing down her face, she didn't make it past the first verse, so he stood up and started singing along in encouragement to help her get the words out.
    
49. They were each at their first night of overnight church camp and a little nervous about making friends and being away from home. As they laid their head down on their pillow, they felt their favorite snack hidden just perfectly for them to find underneath. Daddy knew how to make them feel safe and at home.
50. She was 7 years old and performing alongside her friends in the all-school talent show to the Rainbow Brite theme song. Her costume was custom made, a surprise, and better than anyone else's on stage.
51. He was 8 years old living in the inner-city and Daddy offered him $20 if he got good grades. Having Daddy believing in him was another helpful encouragement along the way. And his straight A's report card was cashed in that summer. 
52. They're 8, 6 and 5 (and the rest of the grandchildren too) and their mamas and papas don't need to worry about finding Halloween costumes; their dream ones always come in the mail with plenty of time to spare.
    
53. It was right before bedtime, in the wee hours of the morning, or right in the middle of the work day. Daddy's baby girl was in labor. He always made it there rain or shine, day or night with gifts, songs, and Grandpa smiles.  
    
54. They are every age from 0-37 and he's bought spin-around dresses for them all
    
    
55. He was 3 years old when Grandpa adopted yet another name, Banana Head.
56. 3 of them were in their 30's and one in her 20's when they got their annual call that their cow, pig, lamb and goat were all ready. This year Daddy bought deep freezers and hauled a trailer behind his car to deliver our family's share. 
57. She was 18 years old and more than 2,000 miles away from home when she received her first of MANY care packages. Snack and Pack tangy sauce, home made brownies, and holiday decorations were staples for this Butler girl.
58. She's got a birthday coming up. They all know the card will have one of this year's $100 Disney giftcards so that the whole family can go together. 
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
59. She was a baby and she knew how it felt to have her grandpa hold her every week; keep in mind the drive was 3 1/2 hours each way.
    

    
60. He's sixty years old and has lived a life better than most heroes in Tall Tales. Daddy, you've literally emptied yourself to show love to your family and to this world. We are so proud of and thankful for who you are. Happy, Happy, Happy Birthday!!! We love you!!!
    

    

Because He came...I didn't have to go

I would have flown across the world for 3 nights this Christmas, probably toting 7 month old Eliza along with me, to be at my grandmother's funeral. My grandma was really special to me and the closure of being at her funeral to honor her and to hear the hope of the gospel for her life and for mine would have been so good. 

No question: because of my love for my grandma the crazy trip would have been worth it.

My daddy and I have always been really close, and being there with and for him, to support him as he grieves the loss of his second mother--the same day he lost his first mother 49 years ago-- was super important to me. 

My love for my daddy absolutely meant the crazy trip would have been worth it.

I didn't even realize the choice had been passively made until Friday afternoon and I was on a run and, doing the math, I knew it was too late. The whole week had been a blur, both here and back home, and the details weren't confirmed until Wednesday...that the service was Saturday. I wasn't going to be able to go. 

If somehow it all hadn't come together in a way that felt out of my control and power, I probably would have seized the moment anyway. I would have paid over $3,000, flown across the world just in time and flown straight back to not miss out too much on time with Hunter's family who are here. I would've made that decision without batting an eye, because finances and difficult logistics aren't the way to make choices like that. My love for my grandma and my daddy means it would have been worth it.

But thank you Jesus that somehow it didn't work. 

I finished my run where I realized it was too late and I freaked out (I had already been crying the second half of the run). I told Hunter I was trying not to blame him but felt mad at him anyway. I felt so, so sad and desperate. I looked at flights even though I knew it was impossible. I started desperately brainstorming what I could do to try to "be there" in a meaningful way (like sending flowers or a thoughtful gift somehow?) 

But there was something about my desperation and anxiety that stopped me. I have come to know this feeling. What I felt was different than only sadness or only disappointment, there was fear. There was shame. 

And those things run deeply in me.

By God's grace I took a deep breath and I stopped and in the middle of my anxiety and sadness I sent a text to some best friends around the world telling them of my sadness and fear, and one wrote back that night:

"questions I would ask you in person over wine and a couch:

How might Jesus be trying to show you more of Him while you are so far away? Why is it so hard in the midst of your family story?..."

All advent long I've been asking Jesus to help me to see Him and to help me to wait on His salvation. And if I'd had it my way I would've missed him completely. I think I would've thought I saw Him as I got to spend time with my whole family, got to snuggle my niece Harmony on her first Christmas, got to tell daddy with my physical presence that he means that much to me. I would have loved each any every one of those moments, but He wanted me to see His love for me.

You see, I could've gone back to the US with all the crazy details of it because I loved my grandma--and I did--or because I love my dad--and I do--but the real tipping point would have been because I'm not sure I'm lovable if I don't go. I need to go, because otherwise I don't know who I am. I don't know if people will love me. What will people think of me if I'm not someone who comes through no matter the cost?  

My need for people's approval and my desperate need to not let people down can make me do life contortions that would impress the most flexible acrobat. But there doesn't leave much room for a Savior, for me or for others. 

By God's grace I saw Him as soon as I read her questions in the middle of the night. And my mourning and fear turned into rejoicing. He loves me! Don't you see it, He loves me! And He rescued me! And He is with my family too! 

And I wanted everyone to see it in this way. Because if He loves me like that, then He loves you like that too.

Romans 5 and Ephesians 2 tell us that it wasn't when we got our act together that Jesus came; it was when we were still far off, still dead in our transgressions, still enemies. It is only by grace.

Because I didn't come through this time--because this time in my heart I knew that I had fallen short of what I thought made me lovable--I got to be like the undeserving shepherds in the middle of the night who heard the declaration of his coming. I got to be the little girl who needs her Daddy to rescue her not the strong one who tries to save but doesn't really have the power. 

I got to see Him come.

Can you see His commitment to helping me knowing His crazy love for me that he would set up such a brilliant scenario: quick turnaround dates, me across the ocean, Hunter's family here, comparatively crazy high cost, dependent on me baby, etc. I balk at limitations like an ocean for moments like this. But it literally felt like He made it impossible for me to get there. He set the table before my enemies and showed me how He anointed my head with oil. And my cup overflows.

And to top it all off, my family graciously found a way to FaceTime me during the service and I heard every word. It was an enormous gift to hear stories of my grandma's life, to see faces of all my loved ones as my sister Stephanie focused the camera on the communion line to see everyone go through. But the biggest gift of all was to hear the gospel. The good news that "it is by grace you have been saved,"

And the best moment?

During the middle of the service we sang the old hymn that goes:

"Come home, come home. Ye who are weary come home. Earnestly, tenderly Jesus is calling, Calling O sinner come home. Why should we tarry when Jesus is pleading, pleading for you and for me? Why should we linger and heed not his mercies, mercy for you and for me." 

And as we sang those words my dad reached for the phone and sang them to me. 

screen shot while we sang together

Surely the congregation was singing about my grandma and Jesus. But I know Jesus was moving towards me, too, inviting my weary anxious heart to receive his rest and grace. 

Northside Church, our home church, is doing an advent series called "Because He came." They've filled in the blank with some thoughts like "I can have joy", I can resist envy and so on.

Here's my contribution: Because He came... I didn't have to go. 

my grandma

If there was ever a time that crying "didn't make sense," it was when Jesus knew that He was about to raise Lazarus from the dead. But the Scriptures tell us "he wept" and that as he approached the tomb he bellowed in his sorrow. Even though he knew he was about to bring him back to life. What a Savior!

As we drove into the parking lot of church today I received a text from my daddy:

My grandma died this morning.

I barely knew my grandma (and pappy) while growing up--they lived in North Carolina and we lived in Pennsylvania. They had somewhere around 25 grandchildren so it wasn't like we had the corner market on their time when they visited, either. They had a lot of special people.

But it wasn't just their physical distance that made me know them less. The stories we heard of them were intimidating: home late for curfew meant walking up and down the stairs 100 times; another punishment was picking up clothespins around the yard with your teeth. I think of those stories with laughter and a glimmer in my eye now--knowing their great love and affection for their kids-- but growing up those stories made me nervous. 

But then I went to college in North Carolina and all that changed. They lived 45 minutes from me at Wake Forest so I had the opportunity to visit quite often. I remember the first time I went to their house for dinner; I was shocked at how yummy everything tasted--biscuits, fried chicken, mashed potatoes! I didn't realize that when my dad told me Grandma wasn't the best cook, some of that was because yummier foods were more expensive than they could manage when he was growing up. Devastatingly, my dad's mama died when he was 10 and when Pappy remarried my Grandma, together they raised 12 kids. It's tough to serve biscuits, fried chicken and creamy mashed potatoes when you're just trying to make it.

My Grandma loved kids. She raised a dozen of 'em and then opened her own childcare center. And then at points she brought more kids home with her who needed extra love and attention. She had a marked patience and slowness with which she responded to the chaos I felt all around me. She managed to live with tenderness when life didn't offer her circumstances that would easily produce that fruit. She knew hard work. She held the loving gaze of her husband who adored her. She softened him when she was in a room and he often told me of how "she saved him." She was really, really proud of my dad and told me about it regularly. I was always a welcomed visitor in their home, whether I brought 10 of my girlfriends or showed up alone at 11 pm. My grandma always made time for me. 

Her love for me wasn't because I was special, it was because she was special. She wasn't impressed with wealth, education or fame, she was a servant of whoever walked into her home. I was the beneficiary of that love for a time, but there are many others who know her routine, whom she showered with attention, quiet space, meals, baby snuggles, and a listening ear.

My grandparents didn't live grandiose lives. Their names won't be written in history books for the things they accomplished. But they were earnest, steady, God-fearing and God-adoring, firm in their convictions, tender in their relationships, servants of all. I'm proud of who they were and I will continue to miss their presence in my life. 

The more I've studied what Jesus was like when he came, the more I've noticed and appreciated the kind of love and humility my grandparents had. And in light of advent and my grandma's death it feels appropriate to dwell on Him. **

My grandma wasn't perfect, but like Jesus she loved people whether they were shepherd-like or king-like; like Jesus she didn't demand a beautiful place to lay her head or for people to make a fuss about her, instead she served; like Jesus she consistently loved and welcomed broken people (including me); like Jesus she didn't wait for people to earn her love before she offered it--she went after the ones who would never show as much kindness to her as she showed them (including me). Like Jesus' love, you were never too poor or messed up for my grandma (maybe that's why my mom liked her so much. she's like that too). Like Jesus she welcomed little children and delighted in who they were. 

My heart is broken and my tears steady today because she is gone and because I didn't say goodbye.

This advent:

• I worship a Savior who (from a worldly perspective) irrationally wept because someone he loved died. Yes my grandma got to live many years, but that doesn't offer me consolation in light of her death. Jesus' tears comfort and compel me.
• I worship a Savior who surprised us all with his humble lifestyle; who surprised us with whom he pursued and identified, whom he served and protected. I'm thankful for a grandma who modeled that kind of love.
• I worship a Savior who paid for my sin and my shame because I did not love my grandma as I should have. I'm sorry, Pappy that I didn't love and honor her the way I should have. Please forgive me. 
• I worship a Savior who forgives her, because she, too, sinned and hurt people and wasn't a perfect mom, step-mom, grandma, friend. 
• I worship a Savior who died lonely--rejected and denied by many to whom He gave himself. My grandma was not loved by me the way she deserved but I hope she somehow felt companionship with her Savior in that loneliness or rejection. Lord forgive me.  
• I worship a Savior who promised to wipe away every tear from our eyes.

There's no other Savior for me. 

I love you grandma, I'm sorry I wasn't there to hold your hand and to whisper my and His love. I wish I had been. Give Pappy a kiss on the cheek for me and ask him to please not to wear an NC State sweatshirt to greet me one day.  

****
Here's one of the texts I try to read each advent, and one that I read this morning as I thought of Him and of them. It is from Philip Yancey's The Jesus I Never Knew:

I remember sitting one Christmas season in a beautiful auditorium in London listening to Handel’s Messiah, with a full chorus singing about the day when “the glory of the Lord shall be revealed.” I had spent the morning in museums viewing remnants of England’s glory—the crown jewels, a solid gold ruler’s mace, the Lord Mayor’s gilded carriage—and it occurred to me that just such images of wealth and power must have filled the minds of Isaiah’s contemporaries who first heard that promise. When the Jews read Isaiah’s words, no doubt they thought back with sharp nostalgia to the glory days of Solomon, when “the king made silver as common in Jerusalem as stones.”

                The Messiah who showed up, however, wore a different kind of glory, the glory of humility. “God is great’, the cry of the Moslems, is a truth which needed no supernatural being to teach men, writes Father Neville Figgis. “That God is little, that is the truth which Jesus taught man.” The God who roared, who could order armies and empires about like pawns on a chessboard, this God emerged in Palestine as a baby who could not speak or eat solid food or control his bladder, who depended on a teenager for shelter, food, and love.

                In London, looking toward the auditoriums’s royal box where the queen and her family sat, I caught glimpses of the more typical way rulers stride through the world: with bodyguards, and a trumpet fanfare, and a flourish of bright clothes and flashing jewelry. Queen Elizabeth II had recently visited the United States, and reporters delighted in spelling out the logistics involved: her four thousand pounds of luggage included two outfits for every occasion, a mourning outfit in case someone died, forty pints of plasma, and white kid leather toilet seat covers. She brought along her own hairdresser, two valets, and a host of other attendants. A brief visit of royalty to a foreign country can easily cost twenty million dollars.

                In meek contrast, God’s visit to earth took place in an animal shelter with no attendants present and nowhere to lay the newborn king but a feed trough. Indeed, the event that divided history, and even our calendars, into two parts may have had more animal than human witnesses. A mule could have stepped on him. “How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given.
                For just an instant the sky grew luminous with angels, yet who saw that spectacle? Illiterate hirelings who watched the flocks of others, “nobodies” who failed to leave their names. Shepherds had such a randy reputation that proper Jews lumped them together with the “godless,” restricting them to the outer courtyards of the temple. Fittingly, it was they whom God selected to help celebrate the birth of one who would be known as the friend of sinners.”

dark, dark had been the midnight. but dayspring is at hand

I spent my birthday week crying. 

On more than one occasion that week I demanded that the weather act in congruence with my heaviness, my groaning. One of my best friends was visiting (twice now I’ve hosted her poorly in Rwanda, the first time with a newborn and pneumonia).  Anyway, she had purchased a card for me in advance…with a loud, glittery “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” on the front. But recognizing my aches she set it aside, found a plain grey card and told me she’d limp with me through these days and not demand that I move faster or act chipper. She wasn’t spiritually worried about me: my joy wasn’t gone: the purchased-for-me joy and hope won on the cross and "found" in an empty tomb makes room for a steadiness despite circumstances. But my joy and faith weren’t light those days, as sometimes they are. They were deep. And weighty.

One of my best friends back home lost her sister 12 years ago tomorrow. Another best friend lost her sister 4 years ago this past summer. A few people I love dearly are going through unimaginable difficulties. The world is broken, and as God’s children we groan as we await a Savior to return. Why do we stop one another from groaning and grieving as if it isn’t taught to us in Scripture? Grieving without hope—that’s a different story well worth listening to—but stopping someone from simply grieving/groaning when we live in a world that is deeply broken?

“Look at Jesus. He was perfect, right? And yet he goes around crying all the time. He is always weeping, a man of sorrows. Do you know why? Because he is perfect.”- Tim Keller

The book of Romans tells us that those who have the firstfruits of the spirit (the spirit that Jesus gave us that reminds us of the resurrection and our hope)--those people--"groan inwardly as we wait." Not people who don't know Jesus and don't know hope--the VERY people who do know him. Who have his spirit living inside them. Just let the people groan, k? 

annnnd jumping off my soapbox.

A friend sent me these words about poetry this week and they fit so well.

BY LISEL MUELLER

When I am asked   

how I began writing poems,   

I talk about the indifference of nature.   

It was soon after my mother died,   

a brilliant June day,   

everything blooming.   

I sat on a gray stone bench   

in a lovingly planted garden,   

but the day lilies were as deaf   

as the ears of drunken sleepers   

and the roses curved inward.   

Nothing was black or broken   

and not a leaf fell   

and the sun blared endless commercials   

for summer holidays.   

I sat on a gray stone bench   

ringed with the ingenue faces   

of pink and white impatiens   

and placed my grief   

in the mouth of language,   

the only thing that would grieve with me.

That’s what the past month has felt like to me. EVERYTHING should stop because of the grief in the world. (unlike what the author above says, I find good company in the Bible because Jesus will grieve with me. I don’t often write my own words, I read them from throughout Scripture. So much groaning. So much asking “how long”. Tears becoming someone’s food. A weeping Savior. I’ve learned to grieve. And I am so thankful for friends who will stand with me in it.)

Despite the heaviness I’ve tried to sing Hallelujahs every day because the Savior came and promises to restore. But I’ve sung them while most things around me looked and felt dark.

But then today came.

I took a dear friend shopping at one of my favorite co-ops in town. As a result of poverty and the cards dealt to these women, 100 women in a nearby neighborhood were unable to feed their children enough. Some waited a while. Some were forced into the "choice" more quickly. But one of the things that unite these women was that in order to feed their kids and even consider education or healthcare, they “chose” to sell their bodies for pennies. That was their daily work until a woman and then women saw them, heard their stories. Those women knew that if God noticed even a sparrow fall to the ground, how much more must He see them, value them. And these women found ways to teach these 100 women new skills. 

It has been a tremendous amount of work. And faith. But today these women sew. And make jewelry. They make beautiful things that remind me of the hope we have.

So today I took my friend to buy some Christmas presents for people who support their family's work in Rwanda. She happened to need 250 of something. I waited while she picked out 250 “sparrow” ornaments to give as gifts this Christmas. You know, Christmas, the day we celebrate that the Savior really did come. A Savior whose life, death and resurrection means He really will make everything the way it was meant to me. And as I waited I listened to the women worship. I listened to them pray. And laugh. Their beautiful and hopeful--but sometimes with a song more like a bellow--voices were already speaking life to my achy spirit.

And then, as I walked up the steep steps to leave their property, I heard the announcement in Kinyarwanda (the language here). The woman who helped us with the purchase told them how many we bought. How many of their beautiful items made with dignity and skill we selected. How many of their beautiful items we purchased that would mean food in bellies, kids in school—all without having to sell their beautiful bodies that God fearfully and wonderfully made.

And they screamed. They shouted Hallelujahs and sang out their joy to the One who saw them.

Dearest friends who grieve. I don’t know which day today is for you—is it a day where you wish you could command nature to obey your aches and pour out rain on the world? There is room for your groans. They are not too much. 

Or is it a day when you’re seeing or hearing reminders that He really did come?

Today I heard a RESOUNDING hallelujah from women who’ve groaned and waited. And I felt Jesus' promise and hope of resurrection. I felt the promise of Jess.  I love you friend.

2 “Write down the revelation

    and make it plain on tablets
    so that a herald[b] may run with it.
3 For the revelation awaits an appointed time;
    it speaks of the end
    and will not prove false.
Though it linger, wait for it;
    it[c] will certainly come
    and will not delay. (Habakkuk 2)

Eliza Iranzi Thompson: What's in a name...

For those who have yet to hear, on Sunday, May 18th at 6:35 p.m. we welcomed Eliza Iranzi Thompson into the world. Her birth, which I hope to write about at some point, was a gift and incredible experience. We can't say enough great things about our midwife Jocelyn Jelsma, who made us feel medically and emotionally safe and secure in our home in Rwanda while we prepared for and as we birthed our fourth child into the world. We're so thankful for her and to the Lord.

We chose not to find out gender and I was so exhausted after pushing the baby out that I just held her for about five minutes before Hunter finally convinced me to hold her up to see if she was a boy/girl. My dear friend Tiffany caught the moment on camera:

Yes, it was a water birth. In our home. Guys it was amaaaaaazing. Until transition it felt like a spa treatment with candles, white lights all around, soft music, people bringing me drinks and offering me anything and everything. Those were my famous last words though..."this is kind of embarrassing, this feels almost like I'm at the spa"... on one of the next contractions my water broke and transition began. Spa treatment over. 

But this post isn't the birth story; it is the story of her name: Eliza Iranzi. Naming each of our children has felt like a big responsibility. There are lots of ways people name their kids, one of them not better than another (okay I know someone who named their kid 7. not seven. 7. I guess I do think some ways are better than others). "Our way" has been to pray for vision for their lives and give them names that reflect that. Names that are prayers and hopes we have for their future. The kind of people we hope, pray and will intentionally seek to shape them to be (though of course the Lord is the One who will give them their identity, their "name", purpose, gifts...we feel like God has also given parents a role in speaking life and vision into children, naming being one of many opportunities to do that.)

Lucy means "bringer of light" and she knows it. She proudly tells people what her name means. We want her to be the type of person that brings general joy and light into the world, and specifically the light and hope of the gospel. Lucy Pevensie is one of the children in the Chronicles of Narnia series. Lucy can see Aslan (God) in difficult/scary situations even when others cannot. And she points Him out to others to follow and learns to bravely follow Him even if others don't. We pray that for our little girl.

Isaiah means "Salvation is from God." Adoption is a beautiful part of a broken story. I feel so sad about the brokenness in the world that leads to adoption even as I celebrate our own family's dearly treasured son through adoption. But even in his name we wanted it to be clear that our salvation, his salvation--all of our salvation is from God. His name's meaning has even been a part of Eliza's story already, which I'll mention below. We also love and respect the Old Testament prophet, Isaiah, who wrote hard, bold and beautiful truths from God whether people listened to him or not. Whether he was hated for it or not. He had a strong voice to speak for the LORD and many of my favorite passages come from his records of what the LORD spoke to him. We pray our son will listen to God and always speak His truth, whether that makes him likeable or not.

Micah is another Old Testament prophet whose most known verse says: "do justice, love mercy/kindness, and walk humbly with your God." (Micah 6:8). We pray Micah will be a man who will continually hear that call from God and point others to it, like his namesake. My pregnancy with him also came at a time when learning that--especially the last part "walk humbly with your God"--was something that God was teaching me, even in becoming surprisingly pregnant again when we thought we would probably pursue adoption here on out. My zeal for children having families was becoming something that made me "do justice and love mercy"...but I was not walking humbly. I was self-righteous, pushy and sometimes arrogant. And the LORD in his kindness was working that out in me.

And now our sweet Eliza Iranzi. "Iranzi" is the kinyarwanda (language here) word that means "God knows me". A big question I asked (out loud with lots of emotion) when we found out we were expecting a baby--just 2 months into living here--was "does God see/know us?" The gentle and scared accusation in my question was multifaceted. Does he see me? I've prayed and longed to live in a place like Rwanda for so long...but my thoughts about what I would do when I live there didn't really include a nursing/not sleeping well aged child. I had been humbled and kindly but firmly shepherded out of that through the past several years of the Lord's pursuit of me...but I still wondered, am I really not going to get to serve Him in the ways I feel so guttorly and emotionally called and wired? "Does he see me?"

"Does he see Hunter?" His job takes SO much out of him most days/weeks--how can we love and raise another blessing of a child starting from scratch in the midst of that?

"Does He see Lucy/Isaiah/Micah" who have already handled a huge transition where their worlds were blessed for sure...but also turned upside-down when we moved across the world? They need a lot of shepherding and care from us at this point in their lives...and now we're dividing that attention up again. Does He see/know them?

But the biggest question of all was really related to my Isaiah. Oh Jesus don't you see him? Are you sure? I cried on the phone with a dear friend with those exact words (I think) when we were sharing the news. It wasn't that I was unhappy or ungrateful for the gift of life in my womb. I was just confused and concerned. We had hoped to be able to have four kids (we thought but weren't sure) but we had hoped to be able to pursue adoption again at some point. We hadn't pictured our family being bigger than it was and continuing to have Isaiah be the only adopted one, the only one whose skin tone is so different than the rest of ours.

And I realized it that day. I think we can line up the cards for our kids. Get them most of the way there when it comes to an easy life. Yeah, yeah "salvation is from God" like his name says...but let's help em along the way. God slowly showed me that yep--Isaiah might be the only child in our family through adoption and whose skin will be so different...but if that's "his big issue" as he grows up...having 17 other kids more like him in our family wasn't going to be enough. Salvation is from God. There was an appropriate ache and prayer for Isaiah that came along with this pregnancy, but over the 9 months of pregnancy with Eliza I feel like God has confirmed that indeed He sees and knows each of us. He knows better than we do what we need and how to weave our life story together. And he is helping me to yield to him.

Iranzi: God knows me.

Eliza means "God is my oath" or "God is my vow." As I've thought and prayed about that name I've thought of all the things I've wanted to stand on as my credibility in this world...all that I've thought I can do to justify my existence in this world (as if I'm on the stand in the courtroom of this world where my oath is where I stand) and for so long it has been "if I only do enough" then I'm justified. If I love people well. If I do enough good deeds. If I'm funny enough and smart enough. If I please enough people. But as the Gospel slowly and continually pursues and changes my heart I know and believe that really it is all from God. He is my oath. I stand because of Him alone. I can't do anything to make myself lovable in his sight--I've blown it but He has provided salvation for me through Jesus and so I don't even need to try. I can do lots of things that are beautiful and pleasing to Him, but none of them are necessary and none of them are enough. There's a passage in the Old Testament where God is making his covenant with Abraham but Abraham sleeps through the whole covenant ceremony. And God is the One who doubly puts himself on the line. The covenant didn't rest on Abraham's shoulders. And nothing rests on mine. God is my oath. And He is Eliza's. We want her to know that's where she will stand firmest. Where she'll never be shaken.

Living here in Rwanda in a place that is most tempting for me to pursue the kinds of means of self-justification that keep me from allowing God to be my oath, I love that we have a child's name that will continually point me and us back to the truth of the gospel.

As she was born (and as Micah was, too) the song Rock of Ages played quietly and repeatedly in the background:

"Not the labor of my hands
can fulfill Thy laws demands
Could my zeal no respite know
Could my tears forever flow
all for sin could not atone
Thou must save and Thou alone

Nothing in my hands I bring,
Simply to Thy cross I cling
Naked Come to thee for dress
Helpless look to Thee for grace
Foul I to the fountain fly
wash me Savior or I die."

Eliza Iranzi: God is my oath and God knows me

a friend not knowing her name or the story of our pregnancy gave this to me as a gift at our baby shower. See, God does see and know me.