Are fatherless boys the enemy?

In light of recent school shootings, certain categories of children are getting negative attention — namely boys, fatherless boys, adopted boys, and homeschooled boys.

Perhaps it is time to share how proud I am of my oldest child, now a young man of 18 years, who is still homeschooled and has been fatherless his whole life.

This week, my homeschooled, high-school junior put in over 40 hours at work. His managers know he is reliable and willing to take extra shifts when someone calls in sick or quits without notice.

Additionally, in spite of painful flat feet and severely pronated ankles (including the unique pain associated with the 3 braces he wears to mitigate those issues), my son literally stood in the gap at work.

Even with all that comes in such a busy week, he protected his Tuesday night youth group time. Plus, with one more year of high school left, my oldest son has kept up with his Bible study, his junior-year school work, his chores at home, and he still engages with his younger sibs when he gets home from work (even though he’s exhausted).

My fatherless, homeschooled son isn’t perfect, but this treasured gift from God is becoming a man of God with a servant’s heart because Jesus is shepherding him through the wise counsel more experienced mamas share with me and through men from church who also stand in the gap. Just this week, our beloved youth pastor agreed to pick him up from work to do their discipleship time on a different day to accommodate my son’s work schedule.

My fatherless son isn’t the only servant-hearted one in our home. He has a younger brother and four younger sisters — all of whom are in various stages of growing and learning. All of them homeschooled and all of them with their faces pointed toward Jesus.

Yesterday, my almost-15-year-old son cleaned up a huge coffee spill his Grampa made in the kitchen without being asked and he did it with a cheerful heart. He also clipped Grampa’s too-long nails and didn’t cringe. He takes on extra chores when asked without whining that it isn’t his job. And each week, in addition to school work, he prepares for his discipleship time with a young man from our church who is in the Air Force. Nick picks him up, takes him for coffee, they open their Bibles at Dutch Bros, and then Nick leads by example.

My fatherless daughters are still young, but my 9-year-old daughter shaves Grampa’s neck and head once a week and serves him 50 other ways every week.

My 10-year-old daughter single-handedly potty-trained her twin sisters 2 years ago and takes care of their wild ethnic hair like a pro every day — if their hair is done, it is because she did it.

Time will tell if my children continue to point their faces toward Jesus and follow Him with their whole hearts, but hope abounds for my fatherless, homeschooled children because they have a relentless Savior who loves them, forgives them, knows what they need, and makes a way for them in the wilderness. (Isaiah 43:16-19)

And my friends, that same Savior — Jesus the promised Messiah who is coming again soon — stands ready to do the same for every other boy and girl in America, homeschooled or not, fatherless or not, as well as every other person on this earth.

Nah, the school shooting problem isn’t about guns (we know there are plenty of other weapons being used to kill others).

It isn’t about “unsocialized” homeschoolers (such a joke).

It isn’t about being a boy (though our society is doing its level best to sissify our young men and confuse them about their gender’s role in the family).

It isn’t about boys being fatherless because there are plenty of sound role models who can influence our young men today — in the schools, in the Bible-teaching churches, and in homeschool groups across America.

It isn’t about boys seeing the society they are inheriting as completely divesting itself of responsibilities, honor, duty, loyalty, and sacrifice. (Although, this divestiture is happening at an alarming rate as we push the older generations into adult-orphanages and nod at them as we drive by, or support abortions of tiny humans while trying to save endangered species with more gusto than we are willing to exert for the unborn).

And it isn’t even about violent video games (though I hate them and wish people would stop tossing their hard-earned money at those companies that could care less if all that video gaming scrambles the user’s brain).

Nope.

Those are not the reasons for school shootings.

Our enemy is God’s enemy, Satan and the reason for an increase in school shootings and other lawlessness is that we have turned our faces away from Jesus as a society. We don’t expect Jesus to come again. We don’t want Him to be our Savior. We think we can save ourselves through good works and brute force.

My son, his siblings, and many, many other amazing young men and women (whom I know personally) know they need Jesus and turn their faces and hearts toward Him daily. That, my friends, is where it starts.

Seeds of Faith

“A father of the fatherless and a judge for the widows, Is God in His holy habitation.” Psalm 68:5

Jesus said, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father but through Me.” John 14:6

Copyright © 2018 Deborah Rice, PeaPodFamilyPress

Giving thanks for the Not-So-Amazing Events

After all, it is Thanksgiving Season here in the United States.  Many people take this time to declare gratitude for the goodness in their own lives.

Wealth. Comfort. Health. Family. Friends. Freedom.

As one who is rarely content to follow the crowd, I haven’t been posting daily gratitude posts on social media.  Not everyone is given the blessing of wealth, or comfort, or health, or family, or friends.

And yet, I do enjoy reflecting and digging deeper.

Hmmm… there are so many amazing events in my life for which to be thankful, how could I possibly name just one?

As a momma of six ever-so-amazing children through the blessing of foster care and adoption, this is probably what most of my friends might expect me to choose as my answer. Truly each adoption was (and is) an incredible special event.

Or even better, as a follower of Jesus, some might expect me to select as a special event the day on which I “came to Christ” – using a common phrase in evangelical circles. But there isn’t one specific date for me to cite as I reflect on the journey that ultimately brought me to surrender all. Was it when I was 6 or 7 or 8 or 13 (or every other day in between when I dutifully prayed the prayer from fear)? Was it when I was 21 and felt a surge of regret and shame?  Was it when, bit-by-bit, I realized my depravity and my separation from God?  Yep, that’s probably it, but I don’t have a date on the calendar circled.

And then just like that, I realized that The Most Special Event of my life was preceded by a series of special events more commonly regarded as Not-So-Amazing Events that spared me from Horrible Events!

Today, it is for the Not-So-Amazing Events that I give thanks. 

I’m thankful for the reputation-destroying and near-death experiences when I was hanging out with a risky crowd of people because now I am able to more compassionately come alongside of others making similar choices and because I actually survived (!!!) and lived to love on 25 babies and adopted 6 precious and ever-so-amazing children.

I’m thankful for the fear-filled naysayers who attempted to negatively influence my decision to foster, adopt, and homeschool my children as a single momma. Painful as it was to endure their criticisms, the grains of truth were (and still are) that I am weak, it is a hard road, and I’m not able to do it all. BUT when God calls us to follow Him, He equips us to do it. (Romans 8:30) So, in my weakness and inability to do any of it alone, God’s grace and mercy are put on display every day as I and my ever-changing family enjoy every step of the journey… even the hard times are sweeter when we face them together.

I’m thankful that my youthful, ignorant attraction for bad boys did not result in a marriage that would certainly have been doomed; and that, in my still-singleness, my children and I daily experience the loving care of our Great God who promises He will never leave us or forsake us and demonstrates over and over that He really is a Father to the fatherless. (Psalm 68:5)

(See more of my thoughts on being thankful for being still single in one of my earlier blog posts at: https://peapodfam.wordpress.com/2010/11/20/an-uncommon-reason-to-be-thankful/)

I’m thankful for the seemingly good guys I dated who hurt my heart by leading me on and then rejecting me for my past.  Yes, in my eagerness (read: desperation) to be married, I put much stock in their opinions of me and drew my significance from them instead of drawing from the wellspring of God’s grace.  Yet, through those pain-filled experiences God has formed within me a strength of character seasoned with His wisdom and has been used to hone His gift of discernment that is useful in guarding my family, as well as in the way He uses me to minister to others.

I’m thankful for a broken leg when I was tobogganing at 17 years old that yielded an eventual escape from a traumatic path.  The life-long limp I have is a constant reminder that God rescued me from the hands of an abuser.

Although there is nothing wrong with being thankful for wealth, comfort, health, family, and friends, the truth is that not everyone has all, or even one, of those blessings right now. 

Many during this season are filled with despair as they compare their own lives with those proclaiming their blessings.  So today, I am proclaiming my gratitude for the Not-So-Amazing Events that spared me from Horrible Events. 

It is my prayer that those who are feeling desperate right now will remember that even the most desperate times, in the hands of our Loving Savior, are ultimately transformed into Amazing Events… God is able to bring beauty from ashes. (Isaiah 61:3)

And so most of all, I am thankful that while I was still an enemy of God (living through some awful stuff), He chose me, called me, brought me to repentance, and paid for my sins with the sacrificial blood of His only Son, Jesus, and is keeping His promises to transform me (sanctify me) day by day.

Seeds of Faith
“For while we were still helpless, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will hardly die for a righteous man; though perhaps for the good man someone would dare even to die. But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Much more then, having now been justified by His blood, we shall be saved from the wrath of God through Him.” Romans 5:6-9

“A father of the fatherless and a judge for the widows, Is God in His holy habitation.” Psalm 68:5

“To grant those who mourn in Zion, Giving them a garland instead of ashes, The oil of gladness instead of mourning, The mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting. So they will be called oaks of righteousness, The planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified.” Isaiah 61:3

“And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose. For those whom He foreknew, He also predestined to become conformed to the image of His Son, so that He would be the firstborn among many brethren; and these whom He predestined, He also called; and these whom He called, He also justified; and these whom He justified, He also glorified. What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who is against us?” Romans 8:29-31

Copyright © 2014 Deborah Rice, PeaPodFamilyPress

God NEVER ‘shows up’ . . .

Growing up, I had five strong desires: to be a wife and a mom, to have twins (after all, they run in my family), to homeschool my children, and to have an orphanage.

My plan:  College. Married by age 27. Babies shortly thereafter (total of 12 children, including twins). Homeschooling. Orphanage.

Back in the 1960s, young girls’ aspirations to be a wife and mom were common.  Unfortunately for my generation, it was a decade when our society started to contend with an emerging movement that sought to stamp out traditional girlhood plans.

My dream to have an orphanage was planted within me in that same decade at the age of 7. I awoke from a Sunday-afternoon nap remembering a literal dream so vivid and detailed that it is forever etched in my memory.  There was a forest clearing with multiple teepees scattered about and children of various colors running around playing hide-and-seek among the teepees.  From that day forward, it was settled in my mind. I shared the dream with my mom.  I had no idea the significance of each detail.

One day, as a pre-teen girl, I told my big sister (older by 8 years) that I wanted to be a wife and a mom and have supper on the table when my husband came home.  We were standing in the hallway of our home and she shook me by the shoulders as she declared, “You don’t have to be a wife and mom. You can be more than that.” Shortly thereafter, she moved out to follow her own long-held dream to become a nurse.

Bam. The first seeds of doubt were sown.

In my early teen years, I  bought a record entitled I Am Woman by Helen Reddy and played that dumb thing over and over. My dreams took more hits.

In my late teens, I spent 4 months in Costa Rica on a study-service trimester through my college.  I secured a volunteer role at an orphanage and the dream of caring for the orphan was revived, in spite of all the doubts that assailed it.

Just before leaving Costa Rica, I wrote in my journal, “I now know what God wants me to do with the rest of my life.” I closed the book, packed it in my suitcase, and headed back to the States.

More time passed. I doubted who I was, what I wanted, and my value to anyone. I allowed myself to walk further away from God, my faith, my family, and my dreams.

The decade of my 20s is a blur of rebellion against God and His plan of salvation through Jesus’ sinless life, death, and resurrection. I doubted His sovereignty and rejected any choice that resembled stability and a good-girl image. I was on a detailed mission to torpedo my life and to prove to God that I knew I was destined for hell.

By the grace and mercy of the same God at whom I’d shaken my fist repeatedly for 10 years, I lived through my 20s. Even so, surviving came with a high price… leaving significant emotional scars and well-guarded secrets.

During the decade of my 30s, I completed my undergraduate and graduate degrees and constructed a professional career that yielded a lucrative, corporate fast-track lifestyle that was 100% dissatisfying.

I timidly entered a time of soul searching. I reached out to the God of my youth. In some ways, this decade was filled with a new kind of fast-track masquerading as a slow boat to China. Fast because I felt as if I could barely keep up with God as He led me down paths of confession, repentance, and surrender, and slow because I didn’t know where we were going!

While packing for a move from one part of the state to another, I discovered the box containing my Costa Rica journal. Thumbing through it brought a wave of fond memories, but I was unprepared to read my closing remark about my time volunteering at the orphanage.

Really?  “I now know what God wants me to do with the rest of my life.”

My feelings were a jumble of contradictions. I couldn’t believe I had written those words and I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten them.

I sat on the garage floor and cried as I reflected on how far I’d run away from that dream and away from the One who had sown it within me.

Whether or not the decade was a fast track or a slow boat, I am certain God was ushering me on a path designed for purposes that seemed to be a mixed bag of clarity for me.

I grew steadily in confidence that my Almighty God and Savior Jesus was and is my Shelter and Strength from before the day I was born.

One afternoon while in my early 30s, I purchased a greeting card that read, “On the day you were adopted, all the stars of the universe danced.”  I knew one day I would adopt. Purchasing the card and writing the date on the back of the card would be proof to my future children that adoption was always Plan A rather than a fall-back plan for any other reason. (Almost 10 years later to the month, I adopted my first son!)

As my 30s drew to a close, I finished up my MBA and was in training to become a foster parent.  This decision seemed to be a natural progression toward my long-held dream to have an orphanage.

When I told my mom about my plan to become a foster parent, she easily recalled the dream that I’d shared with her many years ago.  Mom was always concerned for my well being, so knowing this was a long-held dream and not just a passing fancy comforted her.  What an amazing thought that not only was my dream a gift from God to me, but also to my mom.

During my foster parent journey, I fostered 25 babies and toddlers. 

Some wee ones came and left.

Some came, left, came back, and left again.

Some babies came and stayed as God began to assemble my family.

The life of a foster parent is a treacherously amazing journey.  Doing so as a single woman means unique struggles that I mercifully couldn’t have imagined when I began the journey.  Doing so without family nearby to offer emotional and physical support means having to ask and receive help and frequently meant being turned away upon asking.  (Who knew that being a single foster parent was often akin to being a leper?)

In my 40s, I adopted two babies.  I loved being their mom and hated dropping them off at daycare.  I loved nurturing them and hated being torn between a career and the children of my heart.  I agonized over the juxtaposed roles. Year after year, I begged God to allow me to be home with my children.

Miraculously, by the time my oldest son was ready for kindergarten, I saw God open wide the door for me – a single momma – to be a stay-at-home, homeschooling momma.

God leads. I follow. Simple. –ish.

In my 50s, I adopted four more babies.  If you do the math, that means 6  babies stayed and 19 came and left. I was stunned, amazed, and filled with joy that God would grant to me one child, let alone six children!

Life as a single momma keeps teaching me that God has a plan. People often say to me that I chose to be a single mom.  Hmm… insofar as I choose to follow wherever God leads, I suppose so, but not because I choose to be single.  There’s a difference.

My last two foster placements came to us on Christmas night of 2012.  They were teeny, tiny 2 day-olds with thick black hair.

Christmas!!  What an amazing day on which to receive newborns!  The calm that descended upon our home that evening and into the coming months was nothing short of God’s divine grace being poured out over our home.  We enjoyed those sweeties with every fiber of our family, but we also held them loosely, knowing that the case plan was reunification and they would leave us someday soon.

When people asked whether I would adopt them if given the opportunity, I quickly answered with a firm ‘no’ because… well… I am single and I have adopted four children already.

As time when by and the babies’ case plan was still family reunification, the Lord reminded me that He is more than capable of saying ‘no’ – after all, He had already said ‘no’ to 19 other babies and toddlers placed with me.  What He required of me was to walk with Him step-by-step without knowing, or trying to control, the future and certainly I must stop answering people with the answer I thought they expected of me.

Heeding this correction from the Lord, whenever asked if I hoped to adopt these new babies, I answered, “We love them and I want what God wants. If He opens the door to adopt them, I will walk through that door.”  Shortly thereafter, the babies’ case plan began to unravel and it was clear that reunification with either biological parent was impossible.

Bit-by-bit, some very difficult doors opened easily and miraculously for me to adopt the babies.  I never doubted God’s ability to sustain me even though many around me audibly expressed their own doubts.

Adoption finalization
June, 2014

The babies’ adoption finalization hearing was held just before they turned 18 months old.  Over 65 friends crowded into the courtroom that day, followed by a blow-out party to celebrate what God had done.

Adoption Finalization
June, 2104

After the adoption one evening, when all my precious children were in bed and I had time to prop up my feet and reflect on the past 18 months, I was caught off guard by a flash of memory.

How could it be that in the past 18 months, I never once thought about a very specific prayer request from my youth?

That long-ago plea of my heart never entered my mind – not even once.  But on this quiet night, with my home and heart full, the Lord reminded me of a request that I had stopped praying for following my hysterectomy at 40 years old.

What?!  What had He done here?? How had I missed it until that moment?  From as far back as I could remember until my hysterectomy, I had asked God for twins – after all, they run in my family, remember?  The thing is, following my hysterectomy it was painfully obvious to me that this long-held dream would not come to pass.

(Are you laughing yet?  Maybe crying?  I know I did both that night.)

God had a plan.  A plan different than mine.  A plan better than mine. A plan to demonstrate that He is able to do more than we can ask or imagine. 

God granted to me my life-long request exactly 15 years after I stopped asking.

The babies I adopted in June, 2014 are twin girls who began their life with us when they were 2 days old on a quiet Christmas night.

God said yes to my childhood plea for twins!

Amazing story, right?  Well, all of my children’s stories and the specific way in which God affirmed each adoption, are amazingly miraculous.

Indeed, over the decades of my life, God has graciously demonstrated that His plan was always to forgive and redeem my sin and lead me on an amazing, treacherous, joy-filled, purposeful,  miraculous journey.

And on this journey, I’ve learned that it is impossible to live a dull, uneventful life if one walks by faith in Jesus. 

I have also learned that God never (EVER) needs a Plan B.

What others might see as impossible, God declares possible. This is one of the many ways that His majesty is put on display and amazingly it is for our ultimate good.

God’s Plan A for my life carries the mark of His grace, mercy, and sovereignty over all things.

By God’s grace, mercy, sovereign rule, and loving hand the ethnic heritages represented in my family include Irish, Latino, African, and three different Native American tribes.  My colorful family is one more piece of evidence that the dream I had when I was 7 years old was a gift from God.

I often hear people say, “God showed up.”  I shake my head in disagreement.

God never shows up. He is always here. Omnipresent. Always.

Every detail is in His hands and there is no place safer or sweeter for me and my children to be.

Seeds of Faith

“…for truly I say to you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move; and nothing will be impossible to you.”  Matthew 17:20

“Be strong and courageous, do not be afraid or tremble at them, for the LORD your God is the one who goes with you. He will not fail you or forsake you.” Deuteronomy 31:6

Copyright © 2014 Deborah Rice, PeaPodFamilyPress

Confession renders my failures powerless

The time has come to confess. Actually, I figured everyone knew and that my failures weren’t being pointed out because everyone was extending grace to me. However, recently I had an encounter with someone who relentlessly pointed out many of my failures.

So let’s not keep any secrets here, I am a failure at SO MUCH!

My bathrooms are stinky and much dirtier than I would have ever imagined I’d be willing to endure. Nearly every window screen is sun-damaged and torn. The corners of every wall have chipped paint and divots. The garage is full of clutter. The tile grout throughout this house is black (it shouldn’t be). There is clutter in every single room AND closet of this house. The more I try to sort and purge, the more behind I get in equivalent or greater areas. The refrigerator water-ice dispenser is broken, as are some of the door shelves. The doo-dad display shelves high up in these lofted ceilings have never been vacuumed in the 5 years we have lived here. A door on my sideboard broke off 3 years ago. It is still broken. The toilet seat in my master bath had some coating peel off when I used bleach on it so it has been yellowed ever since and my budget is too tight to buy a new one. (TMI?) Up until last month when a friend invested his own time, energy, and money, there were gaping holes in the laundry room wall where the doorknob busted through when a kiddo used too much force carrying in the oversized boxes from Costco. There are broken bathroom drawers where a little one decided to use the open one as a ladder.

My kids’ clothes don’t match and are rarely ironed. There’s a stationary bike in the corner daily condemning me for not making the time to ride it as my mid-section gets steadily chunkier. The windshield wiper on the back of my van was chopped off by the automatic garage door. I’m sure it can be fixed, but I don’t know how or where to go — and even if I did, the thought of doing this with 4 little girls in tow makes me cringe. The van is due for an oil change and some costly maintenance. I have over $18,000 in medical bills that cropped up in less than 3 months (and that’s WITH provider forgiveness, discounts, and negotiating).

Foster care and adoption is complicated, messy, draining, and difficult. It is also life-affirming, a blessing time and time again, and an ever-present reminder of God’s redeeming power over all our brokenness. With that said, I have a couple of daughters who still suffer from the effects of trauma at the hands of their bio mom and some days all that gets done is addressing their high needs. On those frequent days (though praise God, growing less frequent), I am in no shape to execute a meal plan so we all pile into the van and hit a drive-thru restaurant in spite of a tight budget because it is better than falling on the floor in a puddle of tears at being a failure again. Toy bags and boxes piled in front of the fireplace look like clutter, but really are used daily by my little ones and I have no clue how to contain them any better than this. The laundry that is in various stages of dirty and clean.

The front yard is a disaster. When we moved in, it was beautiful. The HOA is NOT happy. I am a failure at maintaining (financially and physically) the landscape in this home.

This harsh encounter that I had doesn’t define me. I know that. But in the moments when so many of my failures are being laid bare and there isn’t a husband to stand beside me to physically comfort me or anyone to cheer me on in the moments that follow, my knees buckle.

With all of that said, this isn’t about being single or married, or about being perfect or imperfect. This isn’t a subtle way to plead for affirmations either. Furthermore, as much as I’d like this to be a pre-emptive measure in order to avoid harsh criticism in the future (and yes, secretly I wish it would), I know there will always be critical people and within their criticisms there will often be grains of truth.

What this is, as I said earlier, is a confession that I do not have it all together — and I never will. I had less failures when I was without a family. I had so much more time to clean ovens, bathrooms, and closets!

Even so, I would choose family all over again. Knowing what I know now and the harsh criticisms I’ve received, I would still choose each and every one of my children and their neediness all over again. Yes, I could put them in school so I have more time to clean, get my hair done, and go for coffee with friends. And by the way, my children do have chores and cleaning the bathrooms and floors and their rooms and doing yard work are all part of their duties. It is just that there is a gap between training and perfection. . . a very long gap. And in some of these areas, I fail to effectively train them. (I obviously have NO idea how to maintain a complicated, needy landscape.) I’ve learned to accept that.

Additionally, I know that many of my friends have the same ‘secrets’ — dirty bathrooms, moldy showers, laundry piles, and so forth. So what this is, or can be, is a vehicle to help some of you feeling the press of guilt and shame about being a failure to look to Jesus for your comfort. Without a husband to shelter me, all I have is Christ. AND THAT, my friends, is all I need.

I am a sinner. I am a failure. But because I have accepted the free gift of eternal life through the sacrificial blood of Jesus and His resurrection, I am seen by God as His daughter. BAM! End of story. So even when a brother or sister in Christ withholds grace from me, God does not. This truth doesn’t always keep my knees from buckling (especially when blindsided), but it does lift me up from there once I remember it!

Psalm 40:2 says this about our Good and Great God, “He brought me up out of the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay, And He set my feet upon a rock making my footsteps firm.”

Yah, baby!

Copyright © 2014 Deborah Rice, PeaPodFamilyPress

No excuses, just keep it together, momma.

REALITY: Two errands this morning before lunch (with wee tribe in tow) . . . it shoulda been simple. I’ve gotten them pretty well trained, right? Well, ‘in-training’ necessarily means NOT COMPLETE . . . especially when Weak Mommy makes an appearance.

The BAD NEWS: As I got ready to pay, I could NOT find my wallet. Standing at the cashier, emptying my overly cluttered purse into another bag, a few of my kiddos noticed their somewhat frantic and distracted Weak Mommy (still a dysregulating experience for two of my sweet lambs) and they went for my ‘mental jugular’ by whining, asking for every impulse item on display, picking on each other, demanding food, and basically performing the one-act play: HOW TO FAST-TRACK MOMMY TO THE LOONEY BIN.

The stranger behind me had a look. What was it? I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it was something close to disgust, or judgment, or maybe impatience.

I am sure I’ve worn that face before, too.

Even so, I chose not to make excuses. I just stayed on task. It’s no one else’s business anyway. I won’t dishonor my children that way or inadvertently teach them to make excuses for poor behavior.

Besides, I knew GOD knew my kiddos were still in training. I knew GOD knew where my wallet was. I knew GOD wasn’t going to abandon me right there as I teetered on the edge of sobbing. I knew right then that our plans for the day had to change. I wrote a check (totally forgot about that option because it’s been so long since I’ve written one). Then, we got outta there!

THE GOOD NEWS: Although I was, as I said, “teetering” on the edge of sobbing and um, eh-hem, maybe even screaming, I didn’t because God’s truth from my quiet time earlier that morning was still strobing through my brain like a Lighthouse Beacon. I finally found my wallet (after looking in seven wrong places and turning those places upside down), the kids got to have Chick-fil-A for lunch instead of my less-expensive, original home-cooked plan, the errands were completed a mere 3 hours later than I’d hoped that they would be done, and the babies actually napped.

THE BEST NEWS: God’s grace and strength were abundant and on display for me and my wee tribe. He really is sufficient.

“And He has said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.’ Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.”
2 Corinthians 12:9

Copyright © 2014 Deborah Rice, PeaPodFamilyPress

Are you treasuring the treasure?

In early November 2007, I was preparing to speak at a women’s Christmas event, the theme of which was Treasuring.

While studying the Scripture passages that describe Mary’s pondering and treasuring, I asked God for some special revelation about those words because they have always felt spiritually significant.

Searching so hard for the meaning, I didn’t notice that God was already laying the groundwork, in the form of fear and despair, to show me how to know Him better through the act of treasuring.

One cool Arizona morning, my quick devotional concluded, I was busy taking on the demands of the day — dishes, homeschooling, fielding interruptions like poopy diapers and filtering the sounds that come from busy toddlers.

Just as I was about to leave my kitchen for the next item on my To Do List, not even looking for anything profound from the Lord in that moment, in a flash His presence brushed past me and lingered there in a unique way.

I was ushered into an unexpected time of worship before Him.

Sensing this moment was His time to teach me, I scooped up a treasure from Him and clutched her tightly in my arms. What unfolded before me right there in my kitchen was God’s answer to my question.

He showed me that I’ve been treasuring the treasure.

I’ve been treasuring my entitlement to the treasure.

I’ve gripped my treasures so tightly that I feared being absent from them.

Fear and Despair were blocking my heart from joyfully giving praise to HIM, my Treasure Giver.

His still small voice whispered within me, “You must treasure that I know you and have adopted you. Treasure that you were created by ME for MY purpose. Treasure the truth that ALL you have comes into your life by MY command. Treasure the comfort I give you when My call upon your life overwhelms you and brings you pain. Indeed, treasure the suffering. Treasure the promise that this world, in all its brokenness is still in MY control. Ponder that this world is NOT your Home. Treasure that I AM. Ponder the promises I have given you in My Word.”

Tears flowed freely down my cheeks and spilled onto the tiny treasure I was holding. Right then and there, the stones around my heart that prevented me from understanding began to crumble.

I’m a busy mom, but there in my kitchen Time seemed to stand still. I wept, prayed, and repented of this sin for at least the hundredth time, and turned from worshiping the treasure so that I could give my offering of tears and praise to my God. He alone is my Treasure, the One in control over all.

I should not have been surprised that God would take me through some experience that would prepare me to share with the women that Christmas season. But what I didn’t know is that he was also preparing me to release my three babies (who had been with me their whole lives) to their biological moms within the next 2 years.

When God says in Isaiah 55 that HIS ways are higher than my ways and HIS thoughts are higher than my thoughts, He means it!

Of course!  It is certain that this world brings into each of our lives some portion of suffering. God reminded me of this Truth because I am certain to suffer also.

Therefore, it is my treasure to suffer for His glory, for His Name’s sake.

Second Corinthians 4:7-11 says:

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that His life may be revealed in our mortal body.

Although these verses in 2 Corinthians aren’t about Advent, this passage is all about the hope we hold for His Coming again.

So with Fear and Despair gone (for the time being) but the pain still remaining…

I CHOOSE to treasure HIM and HIS WAYS,

I CHOOSE to look past the world’s interpretation of my pain and — I can’t believe I’m saying this — I CHOOSE to treasure the pain He allows into my life because it draws me into His presence unlike any good day ever has or ever will, save for the Good Day when Jesus returns to bring us HOME.

If God has allowed pain into your life this week, allow these truths to encourage you. We might consider ourselves under attack, but with Jesus on our side, who can be against us?

We are in good company when we consider Mary, Jesus’ mother. She knew this kind of holy suffering — the kind that yields a holy treasuring.

So, if you are covered by Jesus’ reconciling blood and you are suffering right now, may the fruit of your pain bring you into the One True God’s holy presence. May you treasure the suffering and His certain comfort.

Copyright © 2010 Deborah Rice, PeaPodFamilyPress