I wrote a draft

In July I got a letter from Zaida's family. They thank me for doing what I can to help their family and tell me that she is as sweet as she looks. And that she likes cucumbers.

One more way we are alike.

I wrote a letter back but never looked up the address and then went to school and then back home and then moved and then went back to school again. And now I'm here.

That is what I've done in the way of loving on that family. I found that letter tonight and shook my head and sat down with a new pen to start over.

I went back to the post I wrote about her in June where I was reminded that this time last year I was desperate to do something. God granted that opportunity in ways I didn't expect and I'm so grateful to him for it.

I sometimes thought it was too much. Too much to think about, too many problems, too much doubt, too many lessons, too much me. Other times I thought it wasn't enough. Not enough change, not enough meaningful work, not enough sacrifice, not enough of me.

I mean, c'mon God, I wanted this.

I wanted a year that looks more like hers and less like mine. (Which, I know, sounds stupid because I really had a good year.)

I don't want to just be the American woman referenced in this post (that I shortened a bit) written by Katie (the mother of 14 in Uganda) in February:

"She was eighteen years old and she had never been in love with anyone she could touch before. I mean, she had been in love with Jesus since she was little, but this was different, touchable love.
In her eyes he was perfect. He loved the Lord, not to mention he was pretty darn cute. He went to church with her and joined her on silly errands and at family dinners. He made her giggle by saying things that only she found funny. He made her heart flutter when he swept that one always-stray piece of hair out of her eyes.

They were the “perfect couple.” They were desperately in love; one lit up as the other entered the room. They could see their beautiful future together. After high school, they would go together to college, get married, work a bit, settle down and have children with his eyes and her big smile. They would grow old together, laughing at secrets and kissing each other goodnight.

And then God asked her to move to Uganda. At first it was just going to be a year. They could do a year. She would come back and they could still go to college together and all their dreams would still come true. When the Lord asked her to adopt her first children, it became a bit more complicated. She rationalized that her youngest was 7, so in 11 years, she could move back home and be with him. But her children kept getting younger and His call kept getting stronger. She would go back in 13 years, in 17 years, in 20 years. Finally she came to terms with the fact that God was just asking her to STAY. And that when He said He wanted ALL of her, He meant all. She would live in Uganda. But she held on to her love because remaining comfortable was so much easier than dealing with the hurt and the emptiness would be.

Her eyes were opened and her life was changed. She couldn’t pretend to be the same person. She couldn’t sit still in his would anymore, it made her head spin and her heart ache. And still she held on because she didn’t love him any less. She knew God could move mountains and she prayed He could change his heart. After all, such a love must have been God orchestrated.
He made her feel beautiful as she walked through life as a single mom covered in dust and spit up. He appreciated her even when everyone else forgot to say thank you. He believed in her when the rest of the world said raising eighty thousand dollars or adopting ten children was silly. Even from the other side of the world, he cheered her on and he picked her up when she just didn’t feel strong enough. His voice on the other end of the phone turned a rough day right around.

They were moving in opposite directions. They both new it, but they both refused to let go.
So she asked God for a very specific sign. For something that she thought very unlikely if not absolutely impossible. And then something devastating happened. God gave her the sign that she asked for. So she kissed him goodbye and drove away and cried so hard that she doubted she would ever breathe again. She tried not to wonder if anyone would ever love her like that again or how she would do this all alone.

And that’s when He reminded her that she wasn’t. That HE would make her feel beautiful as a single mom covered in dust and spit up. That He appreciated her even when everyone else forgot to say thank you. That He believed in her when the rest of the world thought everything she did was crazy. That He would cheer her on and pick her up when she justdidn’t feel strong enough. That His voice whispering in her ear would turn those rough days right around. That He would ALWAYS be faithful. That His love would be unconditional. That He, her ONE TRUE LOVE would never leave or forsake her and would give her heart’s desires. That He would make all things new, ever her shattered heart.

* * *

A few days ago an American woman who had spent about three days of her life in a third world country looked at me and said, “I would SO love to do what you do. I would do it in a heartbeat. Oh, I would take 14 kids in a second!” It is a good thing that I was having a graceful day, because I said, “Aw that’s nice.” But my not so graceful heart was angry. And the not so graceful voice in my head wanted to say to her, “Ok then, do it. I can have you 14 orphaned, abandoned, uncared for children tomorrow. So here is what you have to do: Quit school. Quit your job. Sell your stuff. Disobey and disappoint your parents. Break your little brother’s heart. Lose all but about a handful of friends because the rest of them think you have gone off the deep end. Break up with the love of your life. Move to a country where you know one person and none of the language. And when you are finished, I will be here waiting with your 14 children!” I wanted to ask her what was stopping her, knowing that the answer would be her comfort. I wanted to look at her and tell her that my life was full and joyful and WONDERFUL, but I also wanted to tell her to COUNT THE COST. Because my life IS full and joyful and wonderful, but it is NOT easy. My life is NOT glamorous. I do not expect it to be. I do not think that anything about carrying a cross was easy or glamorous either.

Which brings me to my point. I am not actually that angry about what that woman said, it was just an offhanded comment. But it got me to thinking… How many times to we grieve our sweet Savior’s heart because we refuse to COUNT THE COST? How many times do we choose comfort instead of the cross?
...

I wonder today if I had been one of the people listening to Jesus as He spoke in Luke 9 and 14, if Jesus would have convinced me to follow Him or if I would have walked away. I believe I would have really really wanted to say goodbye to my family. I wonder about “Christians” today. We wear Jesus on our T-shirts, we wear His cross around our neck and a bumper sticker with His name on it on our car. Have we just laid the foundation without being able to build the building? Does Jesus feel like I did when a woman I didn’t know told me she would love to do what I do but I knew that she never would? Do we claim the precious name of Jesus Christ without counting the cost? Without being willing to REALLY give it all? And does Jesus, in His infinite grace, look at us and say, “Aw, that’s nice,” but really with the furry that he flipped over the tables in the temple want to spit our lukewarm selves out of His mouth?

...

I do not claim to have the answers. I do not claim to be doing it right. I do claim to believe that the words of Jesus are absolutely true and apply to me, right now today. I want to give EVERYTHING, no matter the cost. NO MATTER THE COST. Because I believe that nothing is sacrifice in light of eternity with Christ."

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So there you have it. No, Katie isn't perfect and no, hers are not the words of God himself. But she is frustrated by some of the things that I really believe frustrate him. I just want my heart to be there, too. I want to not be terrified of the cost. But I look in the eyes of 6 wonderful family members and tremble. Not because they wouldn't be supportive of my decision to go or because they'd be mad. The opposite, really. I tremble because they love me so much they wouldn't call me crazy. They'd encourage me with sweet notes and reassuring calls like they already do.

I cry thinking about it because it really is doable. Because they're the most understanding springboard into the world God could've given me. I cry because I love the roots my parents have provided me so much that I want to selfishly disregard the wings. I want them for myself. I want the Christmases and the birthdays and the moments. I want that for them because they adore me and despite all the reasons they shouldn't, they treasure time with me. I want that for me because when I know of all the ways I'm not, they say I am adorable. As in worth adoring.

People spend their days yearning for the expression of that kind of unconditional love. The kind that differentiates between a persons value and their behavior. The kind of love that corrects an attitude without punishing a personality. The kind of which I feel the very unworthy recipient.

I tremble because I know that the reason I wouldn't want to leave is the very reason I should. Experiencing the safety of the kind of love that leads to laughter and soul-sharing and great amounts of fun and purpose-seeking and conflict resolution is the reason I should risk a little to pass it on. Having so much is the very reason I should give a little in return.

Other people come from different places or, as in the case of my siblings, come from the same background and are called to different things. I don't want that others feel less loved or less worthy because they don't share my conviction-- the truth being that we are all loved far more than any of us are worthy. So that takes care of that.

I just can't deny that I feel simultaneously pushed and pulled to somewhere new.

I know God has a hand in that. And I can honestly say ultimately I want him to have his way in my life. The steps to get there are just a little fuzzy. And I get distracted. And then I find a letter and he says, in a whisper full of all undue grace, "Sadie, you wrote a draft." I can't snap my fingers and be Katie any faster than the rookie on the football team can wriggle his nose and become Brett Favre. (please enjoy that very rare sports reference).

It is the little things, then it's the big things. Sure, my heart longs for the day that I feel I'm making some sort of dent in this world but I won't get there if my heart doesn't love God and the dents he's making here, in me, first.

Over break, with my Penneys gift card in tow, I scoured the store for a good purchase. By scoured I mean followed Mom like a duckling because we stick together for these sorts of things. When she ran off I started quacking like a lost duckling, mostly to mock my own lack of independent shopping skills. When she answered mine and Emily's call we went to check the jewelry sales.

I, being me, went right on over to the sentimental jewelry with the Oprah sayings and gandhi quotes and all. (Does anyone else have such trouble knowing where to put the "h" in his name?!) I really don't love a ring with words and I don't subscribe to Taoism, but one struck a chord with me.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.

I refer often to the 1000 mile distance between here and home. That was one of the best decisions I've made. By far one of the scariest for me and head-scratch-worthy for my parents. Instead they put on their game faces that God granted through his peace. And it has only been by his provision that I've stayed. (It didn't always look good).

Every bit of this phase, this thousand mile journey that I've so loved was at one point a ginormous-looking step.

Sometimes it's hard to know where to start. Which step gets me to the place I want to be? The honest truth is that it's not up to me to know. Right now I just keep hearing Sadie you wrote a draft. I promise it's not just me being hard on myself. And as silly as it may seem, I really feel like the next step is to simply write the letter and send it this time

Meanwhile, I'll let Jesus be the author and perfecter of my faith (Heb. 12:2). I'll let him decide what this year will look like and if it bears any resemblance to Katie's. I just hope that by the end of it my heart resembles hers in the way she resembles him.

"Therefore strengthen the hands which hang down, and the feeble knees, and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be dislocated, but rather be healed. Pursue peace with all people, and holiness, without which no one will see the Lord." Hebrews 12:12-14

p.s.-- in writing this I've eaten way more twizzlers (courtesy of the roommates) than my "p90X" workout with Dina this morning made room for. Yes those were air quotation marks denoting sarcasm. Don't ask.

Sweet Zaida

Maybe I was just feeling particularly motherly.

It was, after all, Mother's Day.

I also know it had to do a lot with Jessica's short post reflecting on her WorldVision trip to the DR.

I felt like I was giving up my 7 babies (really full grown teenagers, but still).

I was sad about still not having a quasi-Smith to hold on and love.

I was thinking of Truett and how much love and care he'll be born into while millions of others have none to speak of.

I was thinking of meeting parentless faces in Peru and the desire I know I'll have by the end of this trip to take some home and possibly give my right arm to offer them continued care and education and a loving embrace.

I was listening to JJ Heller's "Little Things."

I was reading things like this from Mark Batterson:

"If loving God with all our heart means a heart that breaks for the things that break the heart of God, then loving God with all our sould means a sould full of wonder, a soul flooded with the glory of God, a soul awed by beauty and mystery, a soul that hallows God above all else.

Don't let what you cannot do keep you from doing what you can. Put your money where your heart is. It's not a drop in the bucket. Every act of generosity creates a righteous ripple effect that can change the course of history. It will also change your heart.

When it comes to getting, it seems like enough is never enough. And the same is true with giving. It seems like enough is never enough, so we don't give anything. Let me challenge that subconscious lie that we buy into. You'll never have enough. You'll never be enough. You'll never do enough. But don't let that keep you from giving what you have, being who you are, and doing what you can. If you make a difference in the life of one little girl, isn't that enough?

The bottom line is this: your focus determines your reality. As your perspective changes, you life will change. You might find yourself in the same circumstances. but your heart will change, along with it your motivations and expectations. If you focus on your wants, enough will never be enough. And your heart will get smaller and smaller. If you focus on the needs of others, you'll discover that you have more than enough. If you focus on the here and now, you'll try to hang on to everything you have. But if you focus on eternity, you'll give away everything you've got.

Matthew 6:21-- "Where your treasure is, there you heart will be also."

I think it's easy to talk about things like faith and obedience and compassion in abstract terms. The more abstract, the less convicting the truth is. So let me get concrete. Faith equals God-ordained risks in the face of fear. Obedience equals God-honoring decisions in the face of temptation. And compassion equals Spirit-prompted generosity in the face of greed.

Every word of scripture, with its seventy faces and 600,000 meanings, must be translated via obedience... truth must be translated in your life. YOU are among the company of translators. For better or for worse, your life is your unique translation (of the bible)."

So.

I hopped on over to World Vision.

I decided to peruse and then it hit me that I was "shopping" for faces and I cried.

I cried again when I "added" Zaida to my "cart."

I prayed that she would know now and always that she was added to God's "cart" first.

That's what I want as her sponsor. I really don't need to feel all fabulous and mushy for giving $30 a month when it is well within my means and so worthy a place for my money to be anyway. It's not a pat on my back and I am certainly not a fool enough to believe that sponsoring a child covers my compassion and generosity bases. But I have to say, it felt like an amazing start.

A three year old, convicting me to spend wisely. A smile from a wind-burned face, reminding me of what's important. Deep brown eyes that beg me to see myself in her and say to my soul that it is worth the money and the time and the hassle to get to Peru and meet more of these precious faces.

She is fearfully and wonderfully made. (Psalm 139:14) I know that full well.

When I decided to sponsor Zaida, I figured Jessica had run out of the necklaces she was giving away to new sponsors, but I still wanted something to be a constant reminder of her in my life. I'd bought a pendant weeks earlier, but hadn't put it on a chain yet. When I bought it I thought it was cool because it had a picture of a sheep on the front and "John 10:11" written on the back. My life verse that Mom and Dad chose for my baby dedication comes from that passage, talking about how the sheep know Jesus and he knows them and they follow Him because they know His voice.

Now it would be Zaida's necklace, reminding me that we both have a Good Shepherd, concerned with both of our affairs. I decided to look at the passage again to pray over it for us both and something new jumped out at me:

^"11"I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. ¹²The hired hand is not the shepherd who owns the sheep. So when he sees the wolf coming, he abandons the sheep and runs away. Then the wolf attacks the flock and scatters it. ¹³The man runs away because he is a hired hand and cares nothing for the sheep.¹⁴"I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me— ¹⁵just as the Father knows me and I know the Father—and I lay down my life for the sheep. ¹⁶I have other sheep that are not of this sheep pen. I must bring them also. They too will listen to my voice, and there shall be one flock and one shepherd."

I'm venturing out of my own sheep pen, with a Jesus that will follow me to make sure I'm safe, who will break my legs (as was a common practice back in the day) if He has to in order to bring me rest in the company of the Shepherd's one flock.

I wore the sheep necklace the day I got to briefly meet Jessica and thank her for spurring me on to the decision to sponsor.

Turns out, though, that there were still Lisa Leonard necklaces from her giveaway. Something I didn't know until a little package arrived in the mail about a week later.

French is the language I studied in high school, when everyone said it wouldn't come in practically. Amor, of course, is French for love. But that doesn't mean anything to the Spanish-speaking Peruvians I'll visit. Given that I'm visiting Peru, it seemed ironic to me that the necklace is in french. Then I came across what Mark Batterson had to say about my life being a translation of the Bible in and of itself.

The pearl had no apparent meaning except for to make the thing look prettier. But anytime I wear pearls, I think of Matthew 7:6-- "Do not give dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and then turn and tear you to pieces." Meaning, to me, don't waste this gift of hope and the blessing of necessary means on keeping quiet or on being clumsy about sharing the Word of God. Be careful about where and how you are using your voice and your resources.

The silver and the pearl clank all of the time. A reminder of that sweet face and all that it teaches me. After all, it is all I have to know her by for now.

There are other things I know about her, per the pamphlet I got in the mail:

"Zaida lives with her parents and 1 sister. Her parents struggle to provide for the family. Her father is an agriculture worker. Despite their efforts it is difficult to meet the family's needs.

Zaida is growing up in a farming community 41 miles south of Cusco. Typical family homes are very rustic and are constructed mostly of wood with a thatched roof. The local diet is high in carbohydrates such as potatoes, beans and cereal. Temperatures reach 70 degrees and fall to lows in the 40s. The climate is cold and dry. Rough, mountainous terrain and deep valleys surround the community.

Zaida is not in school at this time. She likes to play with dolls. She helps at home by being good. She is in satisfactory health."

I know that she and I share a love for doll-playing and roles as the youngest in the family.

I know that her birthday, August 26, is Truett's due date, which I chose because I wanted a reminder of what a miracle it is that every bit of his body is growing normally and healthily. Many of the stories I follow reiterate to me that babies don't just happen. Every bit of the body and heart that is being knit together right now is the constant work of God and not guaranteed to work out the way we very badly hope and faithfully pray it to be. So when I say a prayer for Zaida, I say a prayer for Truett and for a d-day that brings us a happy, healthy, sweet baby boy to enjoy for days and years and a lifetime.

I know that she was born the year I graduated, 2007, and is the age of this phase of my life. Her growth mirrors my own as figure out this independent world.

I know that she shares a birthday with Mother Teresa, so she has quite the legacy to learn from. Also the 19th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution took effect on August 26, so that's pretty sweet.

(Yes, I am just perusing the date on Wikipedia)

Historical precedent aside, I can't wait to really get to know this little girl as she grows into her own little history maker. It was too late this go-round to Peru to organize a trip to meet her, but I'm hopeful I might get the chance to go again with the Fairview team and meet those cheeks.

Until then, I'll see her in the face of the kids I do get to meet and praise God that not one of them is "just" another face, as the kids on the front of the pamphlet have long been to me.

Not for long.