Category: children

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Social Distancing: Week 1 versus Week 3

Day 7 (March 20)

I’m sure many people will write about this time, but they will be peering out of their own windows at their own trees or neighbor’s houses. They’ll be hiding in their own corners of messy bedrooms, writing out of stolen silence while their partners are watching the children or joining a virtual meeting in the basement. Others will have a similar tale to mine, but we will each have our own particular stories to tell.

My kids often ask my husband and me to tell them stories at the dinner table. Yesterday I agreed and started, “Once upon a time the entire world shut down and everyone had to stay inside for weeks …” I told my three kids they’re living the story they’ll tell their children one day.

It’s strange how much can change in a matter of days. How life can reorient and upend your equilibrium like being toppled by a wave and spinning underwater. Which way is up? There is no “normal.” No one feels they have the right to complain because someone somewhere has lost a job, a business, a child, or her own life. But we’ve all lost something.

Nine days ago I was speaking to a group of 30 women in a church auditorium about practicing hospitality and cultivating community through face-to-face contact. That seems unfathomable now. I challenged them to step away from their digital lives to engage in their real-life relationships. Today, we are self-isolating and I haven’t been within three feet of anyone other than my family members and housemate for more than a week. Socializing in person is potentially lethal, while isolation leads to life. Which way is up?

Nine days ago I wouldn’t have imagined I’d be meeting with my neighbors on a video call to find out if we all have enough toilet paper and rice.

It only took a week to remind us we belong to one another, that we can’t exist without each other, that we actually needed each other all along and were often too busy to notice.

In a strange reversal of everything we once knew, we are learning to see neighbors, notice beauty, and support even strangers simply because they share our zip code. It turns out love molds itself to the most dire of circumstances. Love adapts and shape-shifts to meet our deepest needs.

But I feel small and powerless. Yesterday I re-read the end of Job where God reminds Job that he is dust and that it’s God who commands the sun to rise and the storms to thunder. Like standing by the edge of the ocean or on the rim of an inactive volcano, a helicopter buzzing like a tiny bee in a huge hive of the volcano’s crater, a world-wide pandemic reminds us how small and insignificant we really are. A pandemic reminds us how quickly our goals, plans, and hard work turn to ash.

Isolated at home, we are living in kairos time. The children astound me with their creativity as they make costumes from the recycling bin, re-create the beach indoors, or act out elaborate stories. We watch movies together and I rub their soft, chubby arms as they curl up in my lap. They must sense my unease, because they are listening more willingly and offering more hugs than usual. Chronos has lost its grip on us; every day is flooded with kairos moments.

Some scholars use the book of Esther as an example of kairos time. The queen—an Israelite in hiding—is perfectly situated to save her people when the king agrees to exterminate them. Only she can save them—if she dares. She was placed in the palace at that particular time in history “for such a time as this.”

Earlier this year, instead of seeking “my calling,” I started seeking God. Each day that I remembered, I prayed: “God, what are you calling me to do today?” And when I remember to pray that prayer, a word or phrase usually comes to mind: “Be with your family.” “Write.” “Rest.” God doesn’t often invite us to big things. Usually, our daily call seems miniscule and insignificant. Right now we are called to embrace small moments. Moments like snuggles and funny questions (last night my five year old daughter asked before bed, “Mommy, why is quick sand so quick?”), small gifts like toilet paper, coffee, and fresh produce, and even the inconveniences that challenge us to adapt, grow, and learn new things.

10 Days Later (March 30)

The worldwide death toll is now over 35,000.

Today begins our third week of isolation. Last night the president issued a stay-at-home order for the entire country until April 30th. My optimism is wavering.

Last week my husband complained that we’re busier now than before all this began. A novel way of interacting a couple weeks ago, many of us now have Zoom Call Fatigue. But we’re desperate for social interaction—even if it means laughing together from boxes on a screen and talking about what we’ll do first after this is all over.

Now, the only way to stay hopeful is to mentally slide a frame over Today and focus on one day at a time instead of an entire month (or months) of boxes in a calendar. I’ve been keeping a running mental tally of simple gifts: our backyard, hints of spring peeking out from the dead garden soil, the mysteries and hopes of Easter shrouded in clouds of fear and uncertainty. I scratch my kids’ backs as I pray for them at night, listing off our many gifts in our bedtime prayers: “God thank you for health, our home, our family, food, meeting our basic needs, spring coming, God’s love and presence with us at all times … “

A few nights ago I dreamed of hugging someone other than my family member. Seconds later, I panicked because I had touched someone. On a hike at a local open space this past weekend, I bent down to pick up a small, unopened package of fishing lures someone had dropped. “You should wipe that off before you touch it!” my seven year old son said. Before my kids’ show on Amazon Prime, the usual advertisement has been replaced by the Baby Shark song singing to kids about washing their hands.

How is this time altering our brain chemistry and our natural ways of moving in the world? And how permanent will the changes be? Will my children carry some latent fear of physical touch or proximity to people into their adulthood? As a mother, I am afraid for them.

We are spending as much time outdoors as possible. Nature is nurturing and distracting us. Homeschool looks more like Natureschool or Backyardschool. Social distancing is forcing my kids to play together. In their fantasies, my children enter a state of oblivion to the deadly Covid Monster. Last week they pretended four huge boulders at the top of the rust-colored hogbacks at a state park were the toes of a giant sleeping upside down (which was very concerning for my three year old, who kept asking me if the giant was real.) Watching children play is therapeutic for me. Perhaps it’s saving them, too.

Psalm 46 has been a constant comfort. The repetition of God being “with us” reminds us we’re not alone. Western society is always in need of the nudge to “be still and know that he is God.” Americans hate silence and being static. We’re afraid of what we’ll hear in the stillness when we can no longer numb with movement and noise. But it’s through stillness that we begin to know God. I need courage to push through the discomfort, awkwardness and boredom of isolation to enter into a greater awareness of God.

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What Two Celibate Priests Taught Me about Mothering

I devoured books on motherhood in the months when I was pregnant with my first child. That was seven years ago. Since the addition of two more children, time has accelerated, flinging schedules, old hobbies, brain cells, and predictable anythings (like reading parenting books) to the fan. So when I come across parenting advice in places I don’t expect, I’m pleasantly surprised. In this case, a priest named Henri Nouwen, and another named Father Gregory Boyle.

Though I’m a long-time fan of Henri Nouwen, I hadn’t read this particular book, called Reaching Out, until last year when I began researching more about hospitality, community, and living out this upside-down faith in Jesus. In it, Nouwen, who himself was childless, tells parents that children are strangers who God has brought into our homes for a time.

He writes, “It may sound strange to speak of the relationship between parents and children in terms of hospitality. But it belongs to the center of the Christian message that children are not properties to own and rule over, but gifts to cherish and care for. Our children are our most important guests, who enter into our home, ask for careful attention, stay for a while and then leave to follow their own way. Children are strangers whom we have to get to know. It takes much time and patience to make the little stranger feel at home, and it is realistic to say that parents have to learn to love their children” (81).

My children are not “little Adams (my husband) and Leslies,” they are little strangers—they are unique individuals. These tiny guests are the first tier of hospitality in my home. Do they feel welcome?

In my holier moments I’m able to remember that my children fit the definition of the “least of these” Jesus calls his followers to serve in Matthew 25. My children are the neediest humans I know. And they live under my roof (practically under my feet and in my hair on most days). Do I serve them with the same level of dignity I might serve anyone else? Do I speak to them with respect? (The answer, sadly, is usually no.) When I feed, clothe, wash, and carry these little ones, I’m feeding, clothing, washing, and carrying Christ.

The other priest who illuminated the next few steps of this messy maze of motherhood was the author of Tattoos on the Heart, a potty-mouthed priest whom I absolutely adore. His latest book, Barking to the Choir had me crying and cackling aloud on every page. What struck me most was the revolutionary way he approaches his ministry with gang members, drug dealers, and those seeking a different life at his ministry, called Homeboy Industries.

Boyle writes, “Homeboy receives people; it doesn’t rescue them. In being received rather than rescued, gang members come to find themselves at home in their own skin. Homeboy’s message is not ‘You can measure up someday.’ Rather, it is: ‘Who you are is enough’” (84). Boyle says, “When we are disappointed in each other, we least resemble God. We have a God who wonders what all the measuring is about, a God who is perplexed by our raising the bar and then raising it even higher” (27).

I was surprised that my mind immediately applied his words to my children. Am I rescuing them or receiving them? Am I disappointed in them, raising the bar to impossible heights—or accepting them for who they are, affirming my belief that they are enough? Boyle’s central message is that the greatest conduit for God’s love is tenderness towards one another. Am I tender towards the littlest guests hunkering down in my home?

For Mother’s Day this year I took each of my kids out for a date. (Last year, my greatest wish for Mother’s Day was to be alone All. Day. Long., but this year I had a change of heart.) At one point, my four-year-old daughter turned from her dandelion-seed-blowing to say, “I know I’m your favorite.” While my first thought was to panic because Am I showing favoritism?, my second thought was that I want to make it my goal to lead each of my kids to believe they are the favorite.

In the coming year, I hope my kids will feel more singled-out, adored, and received for who they are. I pray they’d know their value isn’t tied to what they do, but to who they are as beloved children of God. I know I need to believe this for myself as well: God is tender towards us, receives us, and welcomes us as strangers. We—each one of us—are God’s particular favorite.

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Infertility, Envy, & an Unexpected Ending {guest post}

By Suzanna Price | Instagram: @suzanna.price

I dreamed of having a family ever since I was a little girl, playing with Cabbage patch kids and running through the schoolyard with my sister. And I always assumed I’d have no trouble starting a family.

I married at age 23, bursting with newlywed joy over the man I’d met on a blind date. Over the next nine years, I watched my friends have babies, went to baby showers out of obligation, and finally was able to name the uneasy envy I was feeling. Wayne and I were trying to get pregnant too, with no success.

We hated hearing about anyone’s pregnancy announcement. I began to feel bitter and I hated that too. I’d been battling epilepsy since the year we were married, and I felt like the infertility was salt in a wound. Why me? Why one more burden? Why so easy for all my friends and seemingly impossible for us? My spirit was unsettled; I prayed in anger and hope at the same time.

As in so many areas of life, the Lord was calling me to step up, out of my comfort zone. There’s always adoption. But I rejected that thought; that’s something other people do; I was surely not cut out for that.

But reality was setting in: the fertility treatment wasn’t working, and the burning desire for a baby wouldn’t subside. The idea I’d been trying to squash kept popping up: What would it look like to adopt? Over many tears and gentle urging from Wayne, I finally said yes.

With the help of a Christian adoption agency, we learned the legal process and worked our way through each overwhelming step. We created a book about ourselves, an open door for a birth mom to choose us. It felt odd, like advertising ourselves. We were told it would be a two year process, an unappealing thought when we were so ready now! So we were thrilled to be chosen within two months, and it seemed like a great match.

The birth mom knew she was having a girl, so we prepared the baby’s room and were flooded with gifts and baby décor from eager friends.

I was swelling with anticipation, an excitement I hadn’t felt in years. Then two weeks before the due date, my bubble was burst.  Our adoption agent called to tell me the birth mom had changed her mind. I felt it physically first, as the wind was knocked out of me and I sank to my knees. I gasped for air and cried so hard I couldn’t speak. Those tears would go on for days.

We knew adoption came with this risk. Even after you take the baby home, there’s a window of time where the birth mom can reverse her decision. But nothing can prepare you for that.

Now I was swelling with anger, not happiness. My spirit was crushed thinking about going back to square one. We closed the door of the baby room and took a weekend in the Colorado mountains to regroup. Day after day, I cried to God and prayed for the right birth mom; I absolutely couldn’t deal with another one who changed her mind. The thought made my stomach churn. The Lord was nudging me gently and I knew He wanted me to forgive. It was the most un-natural desire at that time, so I kept praying through it.

And the roller coaster continued. About a month later, we got a call. A birth mom was in the hospital with her newborn, in crisis, realizing she had no realistic way to support her baby. She’d thought about it off and on throughout her pregnancy, we later learned, and now we were the chosen parents.

We scrambled together what we needed to take home our baby girl, 48 hours old. We didn’t even have a car seat, so we borrowed one. I opened the door of the nursery, trembling with the fear of another rejection.

Not this time, though. The birth mom signed papers to expedite the legal process. That little girl was ours and my joy was overflowing. It was another incredible mixture of emotions, and extremely humbling to think about the tough choice that young woman made.

My daughter Rachel is 7 now. There is no way to describe the joy she has brought us. I cannot fathom any other child being ours. People tell me she looks like me, and I just smile and think, the Lord had this covered. We do stay in touch with her birth mom and visit sporadically. We explained to Rachel very early that she was adopted, that her birth mom wanted the best life possible for her. That satisfies her curiosity now, and as she matures we’ll keep talking through it.

I have seen much evidence of the Lord’s “beauty from ashes” promise over the years, but perhaps none as powerful as our adoption experience. I would go through it all again for the joy of finally becoming a mom.

About Suzanna:

Suzanna Price is a Colorado mom who loves Jesus and anything outdoors. She has a wonderful husband she met on a blind date, and they have walked together through many ups and downs including her battling years of seizures and the brain surgery that cured them. They have a seven-year-old daughter who loves reading, playing outside and camping. Follow Suzanna at her blog, on Facebook, and on Instagram.

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Eight Nativity Myths: How the West Gets It Wrong

My children tore into the Christmas boxes yesterday, leaving books, toys, ornaments, lights and wrapping paper strewn about the living room. They arranged the Fischer Price toy manger in bizarre configurations and started in on their own versions of the Christmas story. A week ago for movie night, we watched the kids’ movie, The Star (complete with Oprah, Tyler Perry and Kelly Clarkson as voice actors) on Netflix and I wondered how much of the plot to critique with my children, age six and under.

Should I tell them there wasn’t a man in armor sent to kill Mary and Joseph—or a talking donkey? Or that Jesus wasn’t born in a barn? Should I point out that while the characters in the film looked more Middle Eastern than most adaptations of the nativity (apart from the blue-eyed Mary), their speech and mannerisms were decidedly “Western”? Was it even worth pushing against a story that has morphed into a romanticized version unlike what actually happened two thousand years ago …?

Living overseas and studying culture in graduate school taught me that I often view the world through Western lenses, forming incorrect assumptions as I read the Bible. Yes, the Reformation brought the freedom to study the Bible on our own, but with that comes the mighty weight of responsibility to research the culture behind the text. We can’t just take the Bible at face value and expect to get it right.

As I researched for my book about hospitality from a cross-cultural perspective this past year, I racked up late fines for a book I checked out of the library three times (and finally bought this week). Kenneth E. Bailey spent forty years living and teaching New Testament in Egypt, Lebanon, Jerusalem and Cyprus. The book, called Jesus Through Middle Eastern Eyes peels away the lenses we’ve used to read the nativity story, confronting our assumptions with truths about Eastern culture.

He says the misinterpretations of the nativity began when an anonymous Christian wrote a “novel” two hundred years after the birth of Jesus. It’s the first fictional account suggesting that Jesus’ birth occurred the very night Mary and Joseph entered Bethlehem. Bailey describes it as “full of imaginative details.” Along with this fictional account, we’ve managed to invent plenty of myths on our own. Here are some I hope to eventually debunk for my children (and myself) as we lug out our Christmas paraphernalia year after year:

Myth 1: No Room at the Inn

Our nativity stories usually involve a dejected Joseph and Mary finally bedding down in the straw of a barn because there was no room for them in the inn. But Bailey writes that “if Luke expected his readers to think Joseph was turned away from an ‘inn’ he would have used the word pandocheion, which clearly meant a commercial inn. But in Luke 2:7 it is katalyma that is crowded …literally, a katalyma is simply ‘a place to stay’… if at the end of Luke’s Gospel, the word katalyma means a guest room attached to a private home (22:11), why would it not have the same meaning near the beginning of this Gospel?”(32, 33)

Bailey points out that most Middle Eastern homes for the past 3,000 years were made of two rooms—one a guest room, and one for the family and their animals. Joseph had likely already arranged to stay at the home of a friend (he knew Mary would be giving birth around then, so of course he would plan ahead–perhaps he’s not as inept as we imagine …). Rather than a story of rejection, the birth of Jesus was, in fact, one of grand  hospitality—a family gave up their own room to make space for the holy family.

As proof that Jesus wasn’t born in squalor, Bailey points out that in the spirit of Middle Eastern hospitality, the shepherds would have whisked Mary away to their homes had their accommodations been unacceptable for a baby. As it was, they left them there, deeming the lodging fit for royalty, and raced off to spread the incredible news.

Myth 2:  Feminine Angels

 

For whatever reason, this misinterpretation of the Christmas story really irks me. In the Bible, angels were feared. They were warriors who inspired trepidation and trembling, not cuddling and cooling. Perpetuating the myth of an anemic angel lowers the bar on God’s unnerving power. Every single angel in the Bible is described as male, and most immediately say, “Fear not”—because they were terrifying.

Myth 3: White Jesus

 

Last year, I rounded up all the toys and pictures of baby Jesus I could find in my home. Most of them revealed a Caucasian, white-looking Jesus. While every culture has depictions of a Jesus who looks like they do, it’s still important to acknowledge that Jesus was born in the Middle East, therefore he most likely had brown skin, brown eyes and dark hair.

Why does this matter? In an article for Christianity Today, author and speaker Christena Cleveland writes, “Not only is white Jesus inaccurate, he also can inhibit our ability to honor the image of God in people who aren’t white.” (While you’re at it, you should follow her on Instagram because her posts lately have been amazing.) Deifying whiteness deadens the broad brush of a God who pigmented all skin and called it “good.”

Deifying whiteness deadens the broad brush of a God who pigmented all skin and called it “good.”

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Images matter. The more we surround ourselves with images of a white Jesus, the more we begin to believe that he was white. (That said, it is very difficult to find nativity sets with a brown Jesus–the Fischer price one we have has only one brown-skinned figure–the shepherd. But I have a few options at the end of this post.)

Myth 4: The Timeline

In our carved wooden nativity set, shepherds, donkeys, wise men and sheep crowd around baby Jesus. Most people know about this myth, but Richards and O’Brien in Misreading Scripture with Western Eyes note that, “When the wise men arrived, they went to a house where the toddler Jesus and his parents were living (Mt. 2:11)” (144). The visitation of the wise men occurred years after the birth of Christ, not on the night of his birth. While it’s not wrong to compress the Christmas story for the sake of a play or pageant, it still bears acknowledging that events have been tampered with in our retelling.

Myth 5: The Omission of Infanticide

Image from The Advent Book.

This isn’t so much of a misconception as an omission in the story we tell our wee ones. I’m not suggesting we go into this as we light our Advent wreathes and eat cookies as a family, but like so many of our Bible stories, I think we’re in danger of desensitizing ourselves and our little ones to violence when we gloss over murder, rape, genocide, torture, and abuse in our common Sunday School Bible stories. Amazon offers a startling disclaimer for the children’s Adventure Bible: “As with any full Bible, in the context of Scripture there is frank mention of drunkenness, nudity, and sex that parents may not expect to see in a children’s edition.”

As adults, we grow so used to the familiar tales that we forget to be shocked, horrified or to even to acknowledge the sickening violence. The story of the birth of Jesus is no different, as Herod slaughtered innocent children in his rage at the coming king. Bailey says “there appears to be a conspiracy of silence which refuses to notice the massacre. Why then does Matthew include it?” (58) He suggests that “if the Gospel can flourish in a world that produces the slaughter of the innocents and the cross, the Gospel can flourish anywhere” (59). Perhaps as adults we need to meditate on the violence and allow ourselves to absorb the horror as a way of recognizing God’s presence in suffering.

Myth 6: Mary Was an Unwed Mother

Most Americans read “betrothed” and incorrectly assume it means the same thing as “engaged.” In reality, under Jewish law, Mary and Joseph traveled to Bethlehem as fully married couple who had not yet consummated their marriage. The Middle Eastern view of betrothal bears little resemblance to our conception of engagement in the West.

Myth 7: Mary and Joseph Were All Alone

My Chinese students could never understand why I wanted to be alone–because they never were. In fact, most non-Western cultures are collectivist and can’t understand the individualism of those of us in the United States and parts of Europe. Our Saudi international student said even her 12 year old sister still slept in her parents’ room, an example that holds true in many Middle Eastern cultures. Why would Mary and Joseph have been any different?

As they were traveling back to Bethlehem to register, Bailey points out that most homes would have been available to Joseph, who was of the royal lineage of David. To reject someone of that heritage would bring shame and humiliation to the community. Mary, too, had relatives in the area and had just been visiting her cousin Elizabeth not far away in the “hill country of Judea.” Bethlehem was in the center of Judea. They were not friendless in Bethlehem.

The birth in the family room of a friend’s home would have been attended by other women and midwives as tradition dictated. Far from alone, Mary and Joseph would have been surrounded by more help than they needed. (My friend, Sarah Quezada, is sharing more about what she’s calling “the Advent caravan” the next three Sundays, you can sign up for that here.)

Myth 8: The Boot-Strapping Holy Family

In America at least, many of us love the Cinderella stories of the underdog rising to power. The United States lauds those who pull themselves up by their bootstraps, forge ahead without the blessing or need of others and make something of themselves. I wonder if this love of independence and individualism has seeped into our telling and retelling of our beloved nativity story. We love the idea that an unwed family left home and made something of themselves in spite of rejection. Not needing anyone else, they gave birth alone in a barn to the audience of only animals.

But what if we changed the narrative to reflect the culture in which it was written? A culture that valued hospitality, relationship, togetherness and family? How would this alter our tale?

***

Why does all this matter? The more I learn about other cultures, the more I realize how much of my own culture I project onto my personal reading of the Bible. Understanding the nuances of stories in the Bible from the perspective of the culture in which it was written fills in the gaps of our shallow, faulty understanding.

I know there are resources out there that offer a more accurate nativity story. In our family, we use the Advent book and the Jesus Storybook Bible to share the Christmas story with our little ones, though these also fall short.

The Jesus Storybook Bible has a brown-skinned Jesus.

The Jesus Storybook Bible also has a more accurate timeline.

The Advent Book is straight from the Bible, and we open a door each night leading up to Christmas.

I want my children to peel away the heroics and white-washed Bible stories to see the God behind the myths. Mostly, I want my kids to know the many dazzling facets of God they’re missing when they settle for a Western god made in their own image.

I want my kids to know the many dazzling facets of God they’re missing when they settle for a Western god made in their own image.

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Resources:

The Story of Christmas (recommended by a friend of a friend)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Olive Wood Miniature Nativity Set (we have this one–it’s small and not for play, but nice!)

 

 

Nativity Sets from Peru (this site looks awesome–they have sets from all around the world!) This mini one from Peru is $16.99.

African American Nativity for $54.99

 

Bark Cloth Nativity Set for $29.99

 

 

 

Painted Peg Doll Nativity Set for $40 (Looks more Middle Eastern, but still has a female angel…)

 

 

Diverse Peg Doll Nativity Set for $142 (more money if you order the Dr. Who character!!!…???)

 

 

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For December, the theme on the blog is “The Other Side of Advent.” Let me know if you’re still interested in guest posting (I’m usually willing to extend deadlines)! Check submission guidelines here.

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter for Scraping Raisins Here:

Follow me on Instagram @scrapingraisins–I frequently give away books and products I love! 

I want my children to peel away the heroics and white-washed Bible stories to see the God behind the myths. #whitejesus #nativitymyth #nativitystory #advent #adventmyth #westernculture #easternculture

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Pray for the Queen Esthers in the White House

Immigration is a complicated issue, but Trump’s Zero Tolerance Policy of criminalizing those seeking asylum in our country and separating mothers from their babies plunges beneath the baseline of what constitutes as a basic human right.

Children belong with their families.

Using kids to teach a lesson, or as a “deterrent” to immigrating illegally is inhumane, base and immoral.

Two months ago, on April 19th, border patrol began enforcing a Zero Tolerance policy that criminalized seeking asylum in the United States, meaning that parents were arrested and over 2,000 children were sent to stay without their loved ones in detention facilities.

I’m not writing this to convince anyone that Trump’s policy is a vile aggression on humanity. If you need to be convinced of that, then read this, look at these pictures, or listen to this.

I’m writing because this is all I can do from the safety of my kitchen table as my own three children watch Sesame Street in the room next to me. I feel helpless and paralyzed.

But not hopeless.

Because I believe there are Esthers in the White House. The Bible tells the story of a Jewish woman named Esther who was strategically placed in a position of power in order to speak truth at a time when her people were in danger. Her guardian encouraged her with the famous line that perhaps she was put in power “for such a time as this” (Esther 4:14).

I’m praying for those in the White House with a heart to begin listening to it.

I’m praying compassion would flood the floors of Congress and saturate every Congress member with grief, lament and renewed resolve to fight injustice.

And if not an Esther, perhaps a Daniel or Joseph? Daniel was chosen to serve the king when his people were in exile. He could have been belligerent, but used his power for the good of his people. In another book of the Bible, Joseph gains favor with the king, who takes him out of prison and positions him in leadership so he ends up helping many people (Gen. 50:20).

So along with donating to an organization raising money to reunite families, calling my representatives and writing letters (I used Resistbot for the first time today!), finding out about the protests in my area, and spreading the word as much as I can about this atrocity, I am also praying for the Esthers in the White House.

Join me in praying for these female Republican Senators (most of the Democrats are already on board with the proposed legislation, called the Keep Families Together Act):

Joni Erst (Iowa), Susan Collins (Maine), Cindy Hyde-Smith (Mississippi), Deb Fischer (Nebraska), Shelley Moore Capito (West Virginia), Lisa Murkowski (Alaska)

And for These Female Republican House Reps:

Martha Roby (Alabama), Martha McSally (Arizona), Debbie Lesko (Arizona), Mimi Walters (California), Ileana Ros-Lehtinen (Florida), Karen Handel (Georgia), Jackie Walorski (Indiana), Susan Brooks (Indiana), Lynn Jenkins (Kansas), Ann Wagner (Missouri), Vicky Hartzler (Missouri), Elise Stefanik (New York), Claudia Tenney (New York), Virginia Foxx (North Carolina), Kristi Noem (S. Dakota), Diane Black (Tennessee), Marsha Blackburn (Tennessee), Kay Granger (Texas), Mia Love (Utah), Barbara Comstock (Virginia), Jaime Herrera Beutler (Washington), Kathy McMorris Rodgers (Washington), Liz Cheney (Wyoming)

Jesus, move these women to use their influence for the good of all human beings, not just United States citizens. If they are mothers, I pray they would ache with the ache only a mother can know. I pray that ache would translate to action.

Amen.

More Resources & Action Points:

In addition to calling your representatives in Congress (and especially those who are Republicans) or sending them letters, you can call these numbers:

White House comment line: 202-456-1111

Department of Justice public comment line: 202-353-1555

The Department of Homeland Security which has oversight of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE); their comment line is 202-282-8495

If you need a script, this is what I’ve been using for my letters and phone calls:

Dear _____________,

I appreciate all you are doing for our state and country, but as a citizen I am very concerned about President Trump’s Zero Tolerance Policy concerning immigrants being separated from their own children at the border. This policy is cruel, dehumanizing, and un-American. Would you please do all you can to preserve the humanity and dignity of every person and fight against this policy and support Senator Feinstein’s Keep Families Together Act? I am a mother myself and I cannot fathom the torture of having my children torn from my arms. I used to be proud to be an American, now I simply feel ashamed. Thank you for reading this and I pray you use your influence and power for good.

Sincerely,

Leslie Verner

This article has tons of other organizations that are mobilizing to help these families.

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter Here:

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Unicorns and Rainbows: On Adoption {guest post by Sheli Massie}

By Sheli Massie | Facebook

“Being adopted is like having blank chapters in the story of your life.” – Adult Adoptee

I remember vividly the night after we had been matched with our son from Uganda. I lay awake in bed just sobbing, what I thought was a release of emotions carried these past two years of waiting. My husband kept saying over and over, but this is what we have been waiting for. This moment. As I began to process the floodgate of emotions I realized that my heart was immediately connected to his birth mother. I was imagining what her life was like or wasn’t. I was wondering what her name was, where she was, if she was alive, what a horrific and courageous decision she made to find someone to raise her child. That night imprinted a connection on my soul where answers may never come.

It’s been over six years since our youngest son joined our family and I still have so many questions of his beginning. When he came to the US he was only three, or so we think. Having a birth certificate and hospital records is a privileged expectation, not a norm. So we went by what the dentist could tell us here in the states. Home six years and just beginning to unpack his story. His beginning.

His story is his story. I can only tell you my perspective, what I have observed. I have never known what it is like to not have a family. A mother. A home. Food. Clean water. I have never been without. So I can not imagine the way he processes the abundance that is here and what was before. What I do know that when he is able to tell his story, his grief, his loss all I can do is to create a safe and healing place for it to happen. I will get it wrong. I already do. I miss cues and opportunities to enter in. Instead I rush past them and don’t recognize behaviors as something bigger. As part of his story. His undoing.

One of the greatest misconceptions that we have had to confront with his adoption is the reaction of those around us. Saying things to us, in his presence, that “he is better off here in the states. His life will be better. He is so lucky. Everything will be good for him. At least you saved one.” Yes, ALL of those things and more have been said to us.

Let me just say this, adoption is not unicorns and rainbows. It is not the happily ever after. Adoption comes with great loss and suffering. It comes with layers of unknowns and complications. And it comes with years of figuring it out together.

I was so naive when we adopted our sweet boy. I assumed that love would heal it all.

I was so naive when we adopted our sweet boy. I assumed that love would heal it all. -@sheligeoghanmas

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A real Barbie Savior complex. And then I put myself in his shoes. He has no beginning that I can remind him of. He has chapters that I am not a part of. A story that started way before this Mzungu (white person) showed up and took him from all he had ever known. He is left with a grief that is painfully deep I can not fathom.

We have this tradition in our family that we had been doing for years. The four older children knew that on their birthday I would share their birth story with them again at the dinner table. Each year I would tell their unique beginning. Their prologue. Until the year he asked what was his story. He asked me to tell him when he was “in my belly” in Africa. He would look across the table and yearn to hear how I had loved him every moment I carried him. He wanted to be more alike than different. For a while I admit I just played along. Not giving details but saying how I loved him from before I saw his face. I thought I was doing the right thing. Trying to build connection. But what I was really doing was making it easier on myself. What he needed was the truth. He needed to hear his story.

He will ask randomly about his mother. Who she is. Where she is. What her name is. If she ever calls. I give him all I know from just knowing him. “She is a strong and courageous woman. She is beautiful and brave because you are sweet boy. She loved you more than she loved herself because she chose to give to you life no matter the consequence. You are Ugandan, one of the most amazing countries I have ever seen and you will always be connected to a power greater than any of us can even imagine. “

Part of adoption is dying to self. Dying to false expectations and belief systems.

Part of adoption is dying to self. Dying to false expectations and belief systems. –@sheligeoghanmas

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You are bringing a child into your home that has undergone significant trauma, yes even as an infant. Loss and trauma are two of the biggest factors of the process that I feel gets passed over too quickly. Unless we are willing to knowingly enter into the lifetime of unpacking and hard work of healing we really should rethink adoption not as a calling but a commitment to holding space for painful trauma work.

Sweet boy is triggered by things every day and he will be for the rest of his life. It is something that we have come to accept. Behaviors that others may see as acting out or abnormal we just see as a breakthrough. That he feels safe enough to let that emotion surface or be explored. His world is not better because he was adopted and is not with his birth mom. His life is complicated and hard. He carries grief and unwritten chapters around as a daily reminder. As his second parents all we can do is create space for him to feel it all.

About Sheli:

Sheli Massie is a story keeper, seeker of justice, healing and hope in a broken world. She believes in longer tables, unlocked doors and living a barefoot life. She and her husband live outside of Chicago with their five children and one grandlove. You can find her over on Instagram @shelimassie_, Redbud Writers, Twitter, and  her website.

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GIVEAWAY OF ADOPTED!

For our last week of posts on foster care, adoption and children, I’m giving away a free copy of Kelley’s book, Adopted. It was one of my favorite reads last year and it was awarded the Christianity Today: 2018 Award of Merit Christian Living/Discipleship. Sign up for my newsletter by midnight (MT) on Thursday, May 31st and be entered to win a free copy! And/or tag up to four friends on my Instagram post about this book and I’ll enter you up to four times per friend you tag! Sorry, no bots and only U.S. residents!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

This month on Scraping Raisins, we’re talking about adoption, foster care and children. If you’re interested in guest posting about this theme, shoot me an email at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com. The theme for June is “Create,” so you can also be thinking ahead for that. Be sure to check back or follow me on social media so you don’t miss the fabulous guest posters I have lined up this month!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

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A Full House {guest post}

By Amanda Tingle Taylor | Twitter

I always thought my home would be full of children. I knew that I wanted children from an early age. I was always the “mom” in my friend groups, making sure that everyone was taken care of. I had my daughter at an early age and I was excited for what the future would hold. Circumstances changed for me and I found myself divorced with a baby. I knew my plan had changed, yet I still held out hope that I would have a large family full of children.

Many years later I fell in love again, got married and started making plans to grow our family. Better late than never seemed to be a fitting plan! Yet, time was no friend to me; as the years flowed past us our family didn’t grow. Abandoning my dream of having many children wasn’t an option. That lead to testing and fertility doctors. There were kits and creams, a surgery, and a tremendous amount of praying. Nothing changed, nothing happened; our family did not grow.

When reality set in that our family would not be growing the way that I thought it would, we started looking at other options. We agreed that we were not willing to spend a small fortune on something that might never happen with doing IVF. We moved next to adoption as an option. My heart wasn’t there. I again looked at the costs; financially, emotionally, and relationally and found that I couldn’t find a way to reconcile my brain and my heart. I started to worry that our family was done.

Secretly I had been looking on websites that provided photos of children waiting in foster care for adoption. Every time I clicked on a photo or opened the website I felt that little pull in my heart. I felt a hand gently pressing into my back urging me to keep moving in that direction. The more I looked the more I realized that there was such a huge need that I had been blind to. It wasn’t adoption that was most needed. It was loving and caring foster homes. The number of foster children in need was staggering.

That was twenty months ago. Since then we have had seven beautiful children in our home. I have been mom to them all. The ones who could talk have called me mommy. Each time a scared little face looks up at me for the first time I remember that I always wanted a home full of children. I have that now. Six of them have gone on to other families or back home to their parents. I still pray for each and every one of them at night. Sitting on my coffee table I have a photo album with photos, birthdates, and notes about each child.

The other child; the one that hasn’t left our home since she came to us twenty months ago – she is my daughter through and through. At this point we have been asked if we would adopt her if that became an option. YES! A thousand times over we said yes. She is graduating from Pre-k soon and planning to celebrate another birthday with us. We’ve been able to share two Christmas’s with her and have established new traditions with her. We are her parents. And as I tuck her in at night I know that will never change. No matter if she is with us for twenty more days or twenty more years. She IS my daughter.

When it’s quiet and I am up all alone, I look around my house and smile contently. I finally have a home full of children. It doesn’t look the way that I always imagined that it would. People often don’t understand why we would put ourselves through the pain of saying goodbye over and over to the little faces that call us mommy and daddy. The need is so great but they only see the hard parts.

They can’t understand that even when a child has to leave my home it doesn’t make them any less my children. I have loved them, sheltered them, cared for them, cleaned them up and fixed their ‘boo boo’s’. I may never be able to explain it fully to others, but as I pick up toys and put away clothes at night, I know why. I still see a home full of children even though they may have moved on. Each child has taken a piece of me with them. More importantly, I have a heart full of children; my children and I will always have them there.

About Amanda:

Amanda is an art teacher by day and by night a writer, foster care advocate and avid DIYer. Her passion for helping others and her desire to reach the lost and hurting come through in her artwork, writing and relationships. She shares her home in Georgia with her husband, daughters, foster children and a menagerie of animals. You can find her sharing real life and real struggles on her website A Joyous Mess. Follow her on Facebook, Twitter, and/or Instagram!

GIVEAWAY OF ADOPTED!

For our last week of posts on foster care, adoption and children, I’m giving away a free copy of Kelley’s book, Adopted. It was one of my favorite reads last year and it was awarded the Christianity Today: 2018 Award of Merit Christian Living/Discipleship. Sign up for my newsletter by midnight (MT) on Thursday, May 31st and be entered to win a free copy! And/or tag up to four friends on my Instagram post about this book and I’ll enter you up to four times per friend you tag! Sorry, no bots and only U.S. residents!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

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This month on Scraping Raisins, we’re talking about adoption, foster care and children. If you’re interested in guest posting about this theme, shoot me an email at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com. The theme for June is “Create,” so you can also be thinking ahead for that. Be sure to check back or follow me on social media so you don’t miss the fabulous guest posters I have lined up this month!

 

*This post includes Amazon affiliate links.

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There Has to Be More Than This {guest post}

By Lisa Russell

There has to be more than this.

That’s what was ruminating in our hearts and conversations. In the perspective of our Christian culture, we had “arrived.” We were happily married, had started a family, had a dog and a house just shy of a white picket fence. We had a church community, were in Bible studies and serving in ministry. So why the holy discontentment?

Looking at our week, we were with our Christian friends in our Christian community doing Christian things nearly every night, yet we couldn’t shake the feeling that we were full … too full.

I call it Spiritual Gluttony.

We were filling up so much without an outlet for overflow, which left us lethargic, stagnant and, well … bloated.

There has to be more than this.

We started praying and the Lord quickly responded with a question: “If you had the perspective of being a missionary in your own town, how would your life look different?”

At the time, I was an event planner doing an event for a local non-profit raising funds for abused and neglected children in our community. When they put statistics up about children in our very own community, I broke. Our community? Our city in beautiful Colorado that has been on the top places in the country to live? We have the resources, and yet there are children who don’t have a safe haven.

I was shocked to see that there are children even suffering from malnourishment. These kids are in our own backyard–would we be willing to invite them in and care for them for a while? We were already the neighborhood hub for kids–most of whom didn’t have involved parents, who were starving for attention and a fruit snack from our pantry. What if we took it to another level and became foster parents?

Every step of the journey to become certified foster parents involved excitement, hope, fear, anxiousness and self-doubt. And yet every step felt like removing a brick from a dam, unleashing the flowing water built up over time.

The foster care training felt like church–learning how perfect love casts out all fear, actually being the hands and feet of Jesus, loving on the orphan, the “great commission.” Then, one day walking out of a grocery store, I got a call from our case worker. I thought she was calling to let us know our certification went through as we just finished our home study, but she called to ask if we would be willing to take a newborn baby boy just 16 days old. Two hours later, our first foster son entered into our home and immediately into our hearts.

You would have thought he came from my very own womb. I fell in love with this little bundle like he was my own. What I didn’t expect was to fall in love with his family.

There was even more than this.

Even more than taking in a foster child, was taking in a larger family: his aunt, who was emergency care after he was removed from the home, the grandma who was desperate to see her newborn grandson, the extended family that was concerned, and even the biological mom who was entangled with addiction.

Our eyes were opening to see the need in our community that was hidden by masks of prosperity. Driving into our city from the interstate, there was a new strip of trendy restaurants and shops systematically placed in front of a trailer park. We can’t have people seeing a trailer park when they enter into the #1 city to live.

Our eyes were also being opened to the unseen– the evil that claws its way through families by speaking lies of despair and hopelessness. Our hearts were being broken for these families that have had a name spoken over them that they believe to be true.

Unwanted.

Unloved.

Our foster son’s grandma told me she is a pariah–an outcast in this society with little hope a door would be cracked open enough to get back in.

We tend to dehumanize these families. By no means am I giving a free pass or condoning their actions as perpetrators, but we gain no ground to healing and restoration if we don’t start seeing them and hearing their own stories. More often, these bio-parents are suffering from their own trauma, abuse, neglect, mental illness, poverty and injustice. I had a bio-mom tell me once that her mom was the one who taught her to shoot heroin. When that is your model and your norm, it’s more than difficult to cut the generational root of sin and addiction.

It’s a broken system because we are broken people living out generations of brokenness.

The longer we got into fostering, the more I heard and felt that the system is broken. I don’t know how we can have a healthy system with broken people on this side of heaven. The truth is, there are a lot of people who are just doing the best they can- from the caseworkers, to the bio families, to the foster parents and the children that suffer the consequences the most. I do know a good place to start is having eyes to see the humans in front of you, being willing to listen to their stories and have hope for them when they aren’t able to access it themselves.

I do know a good place to start is having eyes to see the humans in front of you, being willing to listen to their stories and have hope for them when they aren’t able to access it themselves.–Lisa Russell

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There is more than this.

There is more than this life–this futile effort to piece together the broken parts of people and our larger communities. It results in a painful glory, through the painful process of diving into the messy, stagnant waters, removing the bricks of the dam, the water will flow once again and produce life and fruit to the land. We have to hold tight to the “more than this” hope.

There is more than this.

About Lisa:

Lisa Russell and her family fostered for 5 years for Larimer County Child Protective Services. She is now focusing on Lisa Russell Ministries as a Counselor, Spiritual Mentor and Speaker.

 

GIVEAWAY OF FINDING HOME!

We’re doing a giveaway of the e-version of this book of essays by various writers about what it’s like to raise or be a Third Culture Kid (TCK). To enter, simply sign up for my newsletter AND Rachel’s newsletter before this Friday, May 26th, midnight (MT) and we’ll draw a name after that and email the winner!

 

 

 

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This month on Scraping Raisins, we’re talking about adoption, foster care and children. If you’re interested in guest posting about this theme, shoot me an email at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com. The theme for June is “Create,” so you can also be thinking ahead for that. Be sure to check back or follow me on social media so you don’t miss the fabulous guest posters I have lined up this month!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

*This post includes Amazon affiliate links.

There Has to Be More Than This: On Foster Care {guest post}: "Our eyes were opening to see the need in our community that was hidden by masks of prosperity." #fostercare #nationalfostercaremonth #fostercareawareness #fosterparenting #fostermom #fostermother #fostersystem

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What I Wish a Friend Would Have Told Me Over Coffee about Foster Care {guest post}

By Katie Finklea | Instagram

Foster Care is the hardest thing my husband and I ever walked into. Foster Care is also the most honoring thing that my husband and I ever walked into.

In honor of National Foster Care awareness month, I wanted to share some ideas and thoughts I wish would had resonated with me before taking our first of 11 foster care placements.

These are some top principles I would share with you over coffee. I hope you find them transparent, startling, eye-opening and encouraging.

1. It is not nearly as scary as I thought.

When we got our first phone call for a placement, my heart was pounding, and I started scrubbing things in my house that I had never had a desire to scrub in my life. I was searching for control and I was scared. Scared that we would fail and scared that this kid would be terrible and make us not want to foster again. I was scared for my 2 ½ year old and 11 month old and what they would experience. I was just plain scared.

Then he came to the door with the transportation worker. That blond hair and those big brown eyes instantly melted the fear away. He was simply a kid. A kid who liked mac n cheese, and soccer balls, and bubble baths, and hated bed time.

Did he have trauma? Yes. Were there some odd things we came across that we didn’t anticipate? Yes. But it wasn’t scary. HE wasn’t scary.

2. The church as a whole has no clue how to support foster parents.

Two years ago, before I became a foster parent, I ran into a friend who I hadn’t seen in weeks. “How are you?” I asked. She had just started fostering a sibling group of three kids about two months earlier. Tears formed in her eyes and she began to weep.

“You are the first person in weeks to ask how I have been,” she said. I was stunned–partially because this woman was clearly struggling and isolated, but even more so because this woman was an active member of her church and led Bible studies. She was plugged into her church community and it was no secret to anyone she was fostering.

Has anyone brought you a meal or asked to watch the kids to give you a break?”

“No,” she said. “But plenty of people tell me they are praying for me.”

Are you surprised to hear that this family no longer fosters? Fifty percent of families stop fostering after the first year due to lack of support and burn out. Many times the burn out has nothing to do with the children they are bringing in their home, but simply to do with dealing with the broken foster care system, and little support from their community and church.

Unfortunately this is the norm. The body of Christ has a responsibility to be the village to foster families. Not everyone is called to be on the front line, but everyone can do something and rally around a family for the long term.

Not everyone is called to be on the front line, but everyone can do something and rally around a family for the long term.

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Mentor the child, offer babysitting, bring a meal, get background-checked according to your state requirements and offer that family respite for a weekend. [Visit Katie’s post about more ideas on how the church can support families who are fostering children.]

3. The goal of foster care is reunification, not adoption.

The ultimate goal of fostering is reunification. When a new foster family enters into foster care with the initial thought of adoption, they need to adjust their thoughts and reconsider foster care all together.

This is hard, and I struggle with this as well, but adoption is not the goal. Family preservation is the goal. Not family preservation at all costs, but we need to hope that the biological family can get the help they need to stand up and parent their child. We as foster parents give their child a safe and loving home while the family gets the help they need. That shows Christ’s redemption all over. That is the goal of foster care.

Of course family preservation is not always feasible and when it is not, there is a beauty in that adoption. But beauty never comes without a deep place of darkness for the biological family and the child.

So many times the biological family loves the child more than society can understand, but they simply don’t have the skill set to raise the child. The skill set isn’t there because that biological parent was a former foster child and never experienced normalcy. Then cycle continues and they lose full custody of their child. It is heartbreaking for them and also for the child to digest later in life.

So there is beauty in adoption, but there is a need for homes to truly be foster parents, and pray and cheer these bio parents on in hopes that reunification can happen.

4. The impact is immense.

This may seem obvious, but the ripple effects of offering a stable home to a child can be even more impactful than ever believed. Did you know that up to 80% of those who are sex trafficked come from children who are in the foster system?

According to Case.Org, studies show that 60% to 80% of child sex trafficking victims recovered by the FBI are from foster care or group homes. “Victims are trained to call sex traffickers “daddies” and themselves “wifey” – a perverted reflection of the family unit that these children are seeking. These children long for a family … even if it means being subjected to extreme violence and abuse.”

Gaining awareness and helping sex trafficking victims is vital, but instead of focusing on pulling them out of the river, we must focus on never letting them step foot in the river in the first place. Stable foster homes are one of the major antidotes for curing human trafficking.

Is foster care for everyone? No. But if you have been on the fence about opening your door to a vulnerable child, I encourage you to grab onto that thought and take the first step in going to an info session. The forever impact of loving bravely could be larger than you ever could imagine.

Check out a recent podcast, Mommin’ Ain’t Easy, interviewing Katie!

About Katie:

Katie is the founder of Loving Well Living Well, an adoption/foster care advocacy platform geared toward educating believers in their role in orphan care. She is also a foster mom, adoptive mom, biological mom and passionate for orphan care and promoting the Church’s role in meeting the needs of vulnerable children. Katie has also worked with birth mothers pre and post placement. Follow Katie on Instagram and Facebook.

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I have three books to giveaway this month, so keep an eye out for them! This week, I’m giving away a copy of Long Days of Small Things: Motherhood as Spiritual Discipline. You can read my review here, but it’s a fabulous book to buy for moms of young children who need a breath of fresh air. Sign up for my newsletter by this Friday at midnight (MT) and I’ll send you a copy! Already signed up? Then like the Instagram post I put up on 5/8 and tag up to four friends in the comments section (I’ll enter your name once per friend you tag)! Sorry, only U.S. residents and no bots allowed. 😉

It would make a fabulous mother’s day gift for a mom in the trenches!

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This month on Scraping Raisins, we’re talking about adoption, foster care and children. If you’re interested in guest posting about this theme, shoot me an email at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com. The theme for June is “Create,” so you can also be thinking ahead for that, too. Be sure to check back or follow me on social media so you don’t miss the fabulous guest posters I have lined up this month!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

**This post includes Amazon Affiliate links

What I Wish a Friend Would Have Told Me Over Coffee about Foster Care {guest post}

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