In response: the Parkland, FL shooting

A friend texted me today, wanting to “pick my brain” because something in the way the Parkland, Florida school shooting is being reported was bothering her.  She shared how the news reports were often referring to the shooter as “adopted” and to his parents as his “adoptive parents.”

Which he is.

Which they are.

But here’s the rub in my opinion as a mother through the blessing and miracle of adoption. (Which is what she wanted to hear, and I later felt was necessary to share with you.)

Is it possible that Nikolas Cruz struggled with his adoption?  Of course.  Many adoptees do.  Could he have had an attachment disorder, mental health or sensory issues stemming from early or in-utero trauma?  Absolutely.  Were his parents perfect?  I guarantee they were not.  But this I know…they jumped through countless legal, logistical, financial and emotional hoops to make him their son.  For better or for worse, that boy was wanted and loved.  His mother, parenting alone after the death of his father when Nikolas was just a boy, repeatedly sought help for her son.

Yes, she and his late father had adopted Nikolas.  But to consistently refer to her as his “adoptive” mother in the context of blaming how his family was formed for this act of violence is so disrespectful, so damaging to the covenant of adoption, that I had to come here to this space and speak up.

Adoption does not cause kids to murder.  Trauma does.  Trauma causes incredible, often irreversible damage to the brain of a developing child.  And Nikolas had been through major trauma during his childhood, even if you only count the death of his father when he was around five years old.  But he also lost his Mom just a few months ago! Can you fathom what was triggered in his already damaged and wounded mind? This boy had shown every sign of trouble and either no one knew what to do about it or they ignored it, thinking it would go away.  I don’t know which is the truth, but when I look at that young man in chains, head bowed, I want to weep.  Not only are seventeen innocent lives lost, but another is forever stunted.  Blame is being cast on adoption and on guns.  But, friends, think about this important fact:  He is said to have heard “voices” telling him to commit this awful act.

Now THAT I believe.

So, why don’t we start blaming the REAL enemy?  It is not adoption or guns.  It is SATAN.  And now he is using this evil act to cause harm to the very idea of adoption because he hates everything it stands for.

Adoption was GOD’s idea, not man’s.  God sought us out, fought for us, DIED for us, to change our destiny and our very NAME.  We are no longer slaves, but sons and daughters and our Father spends our entire lives trying to get that fact through our thick skulls.  Nikolas was adopted as an infant, but it appears he never fully understood that he was a SON.  His mother who, I have no doubt, spent many nights on her knees and shed countless tears for her boy, is his MOTHER.  I cannot begin to imagine her pain and grief as she fought for him.

Let’s stop letting the media frenzy dictate who and what we blame when terrible things happen.  Let’s see through the lies and stand against the enemy of our souls in Jesus’ name, refusing to let him win one more battle.  Let’s speak up for truth and refuse to let fear keep us from walking forward in obedience to our Father.  Do NOT let news reports like this make you believe adoption is going to produce troubled murderers.  There is nothing that has been done by an adopted child that has not been done by a child who was raised by loving, biological parents.  To continue to list adoption as a risk factor that should have been picked up on by the FBI is wrong and misguided.  List trauma, list grief, list mental illness or, hey, here’s an idea…

Let’s list SIN as the biggest risk factor.  Because I guarantee you, behind every murder, rape, or whatever violent crime you can imagine is the one thing no one want to talk about:

SIN.

Brokenness.

Depravity.

A life devoid of an intimate relationship with Christ.  A soul that, for many possible reasons, has closed itself off to love and connection and is lashing out in anger and rage, wanting to hurt others as they hurt.  A young adult deceived by Satan and choosing to cooperate with evil instead of surrendering to Jesus and allowing His blood to cleanse him of all unrighteousness.  I pray for Nikolas, just as I pray for all of the families who walk the deep waters of grief in the aftermath of the shooting.  I pray that, somehow, Nikolas can find the peace of Christ and live the rest of his life knowing his imprisonment will someday end and that the families of the lost students can find forgiveness so that they are not imprisoned, themselves, by hate.  And I pray for his remaining family.  His mother may or may not have been a good mom.  I really have no idea.  But I assure you, if she could see what he has done, her heart would be broken.

Oh Lord Jesus, come quickly.

A New Home

As you may know, I have been packing in preparation for our move in a few weeks.  Because we are downsizing (Yay!) I am also relentlessly, obsessively purging.  It is SO freeing, yet humbling.

I mean, why do I keep ALL THIS STUFF?

In the midst of all the preparations, my kids have been on break this week.  Though we homeschool four out of five of them we try to follow the breaks of our local schools so they can have lots of time with their friends who go to “brick and mortar” schools.  That means, while packing, I’ve also had time to think.  A rare commodity in recent years.

While packing and cleaning and driving loads of unneeded items to Goodwill I’ve been overwhelmed with the realization of my need, and the need of most of my friends, to simplify.  Moving creates the opportunity to do that in a big way, but what about those who are not moving?  And it’s not just about getting rid of stuff.  What about the frivolous activities that suck time from our day?  Or the mental and spiritual clutter that causes to live in a fog?  The need is great, and I believe we can better simplify life and find joy together…in community..

So, I created my new website,  A Life of Simple Joys!  I could not be more excited!  For years I have prayed for direction, wanting to develop a website that would foster community and allow me to encourage you while I am still in the process of figuring things out myself.  We need each other!  And this will be a wonderful way to accomplish that dream.

So I invite you to join me.  The blog is in it’s baby stages but I’m adding content each week (Posting every Tuesday) and dreaming big about how God will use this to encourage you and me, His beloved daughters and heiresses of the Kingdom.  You can follow A Life of Simple Joys four different ways:

1.  If you are a WordPress user just follow as usual.  Easy peasy.
2. Subscribe via email.  The link is in the sidebar of the new blog.
3. Follow on Twitter @lifesimplyjoy
4. Follow in Instagram @alifeofsimplejoys.  This will be fun as I will be posting inspiration, quotes, scripture, etc almost every day.

And please communicate with me!  Comments are so helpful and I need you to share, share, share!  I will still be here at Words from the Northwoods as the Lord leads, telling stories and sharing what God shows me as I walk through life, but A Life of Simple Joys is going to be bigger, more focused, more interactive.

Thanks, friends!

Ch-ch-ch-changes!

I really should be packing.

Just a couple of weeks ago, we took the plunge and signed a contract on a new house.  A smaller house.  Less to take care of, LOTS to get rid of.  (Yay!)  Many, many decisions to make. What to keep, what to move, when to put our house on the market and what to update before listing it.  What to sell and what to give away and how best to do all of it while the normal everyday life we live continues at breakneck speed with no sign of slowing down in sight.

I had a sudden three hours free this afternoon.  I had a choice and took it.

Here I sit.  At Chuys.  With a half-order of nachos (extra Guacamole) and a glass of water with lime next to my laptop.  There is a stack of boxes in my garage waiting to be filled, but I’m here, instead.  

I guess you could call this a sanity break.

The last few weeks have a been a whirlwind of the best kind.  The excitement of finally making the decision to move has added a dash of crazy to our normal household activity. 🙂 My sweet in-laws have been visiting from Texas and lent many a hand fixing random broken things around the house, doing dishes, folding laundry, and helping me transport kids when they have to be three different places at once and I am spinning in circles trying to figure it all out.  We have had hours of good conversation and bottles of wine, stayed up too late and eaten too much.  

We have driven out to the new house, dreamed of where we are going to put our furniture and realized just how much smaller 1300 square feet LESS of house really is in all the good ways.  I’ve longed for more minimal living, and here is my chance.  But I’ll admit, as much as I want it, the process of getting rid of so much (furniture, picture frames, knick-knacks, books, and just tons and tons of STUFF) is going to be difficult.  I know that.  

So I should be packing, but I’m not.  I’m thinking and dreaming and processing and taking this time to organize my thoughts.  My brain and my waking hours have been so filled with schedules, appointments, homeschooling, parenting and the thriving social lives of my kids that I literally have not known where, much less when, to start.  

So I’m eating nachos smothered in Guacamole and Creamy Jalapeno.  Ha! 

I remember a pastor, years ago, saying that sometimes the holiest thing you can do is take a nap.  I could not agree more and I will have to add that, today, the holiest thing I have done is sit at this table, alone, at Chuys.

I’ll start packing later.  🙂

 

When Hate was Washed Away by Love

While the media screamed “hate” the rains fell.

As our eyes took in the scenes of riots and racism and evil the people of God quietly prepared to rescue His precious ones.

Texas.

My Favorite Planner in the History of Ever

For about the past month I have been on a new journey spiritually.  Raised in the Church of Christ, I surrendered to Jesus at the age of 21 after attending a Baptist church for just a couple of months with my boyfriend…who eventually became my husband.  Over the course of our marriage we have attended various non-denominational churches and one precious Presbyterian church.

Of all the churches we have attended, some of my sweetest memories have been of my first experience with Liturgy in the Presbyterian church which we attended in Pennsylvania.

The Tangible In-between

Pulling up to the window of the local coffee shop I was greeted by the big smile of a tall, scruffily bearded young man who was training a new employee.  I handed him my card and he looked away for a second, then looked right at me with suddenly sad eyes.

“You look just like my mom.  

Waiting Well

You have probably read the story.  Jesus feeds the four thousand in Matthew 15.  From seven loaves and a few fish, a great crowd is miraculously filled with seven baskets of leftovers, well, left over.

But have you ever thought about the last one to be fed?  

Striving.

We are a people who avoid quiet.  Surrounded by distraction, we refuse to put away the noisemakers.  At least, I do.  Every device I could want is at my fingertips, offering information and entertainment along with education and spiritual encouragement.  I wander aimlessly between them all without an end goal in mind.  The screens glow invitingly as little red drops of blood appear, the tiny numbers reminding me of unread messages, unchecked notifications and, more often than not, unwasted time.

I remember the year before my first child was born.  I remember the house being so quiet, feeling so sad and empty in my longing to be a mother.  We didn’t have cable TV or cell phones, yet, and the house was usually clean: laundry put away, dishes done, bed made.  I wasn’t a neat freak but I didn’t panic if someone showed up at my door unexpectedly.  I cooked and visited face-to-face with friends and enjoyed deep, unhurried conversations.   I remember feeling so close, yet so far, from being a mother as we waited to be chosen by a brave and selfless young woman and confiding to my husband, through tears, that I was just so tired of our house being quiet.

I can’t help but wonder, if my impending motherhood were happening today, would I have that same problem?

The recent years have found me longing again, but this time it is different.  Now, I long for quiet.  Not in the absence of children but in the absence of haste.  Hundreds of emails to be deleted, most of which will remain unread.  Invitations to this or that online group/party/sale that demand a reply.  Reminders that I have not responded, paid that bill, or kept up with the latest information or update being emailed about the upcoming events to which I am committed and, darn, I missed the attachment because I didn’t scroll all the way down. I was in a hurry and just trying to make that drop of blood on my screen disappear.  Too many televisions allow us to be in too many different rooms, board games are left untouched. Netflix binges suck hours of our lives away and I am sad.  There is noise everywhere…from speakers and screens and headphones and my own weak mind being too easily distracted and then frustrated by the feeling of just not having enough time to get it all done.

I struggle to have what I long for.  Quiet.

But the book of Isaiah says, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”  (Chapter 30, verse 15)  This was spoken to a people who had been gifted the Sabbath, a gift that we as followers of Christ are offered each and every day.  (Hebrews 4:9-10)  A Sabbath rest for the people of God.  Doesn’t that sound lovely? Freeing?  What does that look like today, in a world screaming, “Check me, read me now, watch me all weekend?”

“Quick, take a picture and post it!  See how many likes you get!”

“Oh, yes, that one needs to be shared.  What a great idea!  It would be a shame to keep that word of wisdom, political opinion, recipe or parenting tip to yourself.”

Is there anything wrong with any of these things in and of themselves?  No, of course not. But when I struggle to find five minutes with Jesus, when I groan as my alarm sounds because I wasted an hour of sleep to read just one more post, then something is very wrong.  In my self-created haste I become weak.  Weak-minded, weak-bodied, weak-willed.  I set my alarm later and later and hit snooze one more time.  I fail to plan meals, leaving us in the unhealthy habit of eating out too many nights each week because of the busyness of sports and dance.  My Bible lays unread on the table next to the sofa because I flipped on Fox News before opening it last night and never actually read the words right in front of me.

Words of life drowned out by reports of death.  How ironic.

In quietness in trust shall be my strength?  What is God trying to teach me?   Here I sit, on my beloved front porch so aware of the singing birds and the bright sunlight filtered down through the tall trees after a solid week of torrential rain and dark clouds.  The Knockout Roses that I planted by the road last summer are blooming.

The air is so clean and my daughter sits next to me, in her pajamas at 3:30 in the afternoon, excitedly planning our beach trip for her sixteenth birthday.  Earlier I gently removed the now-empty bird’s nest that had been built to raise three chicks to adulthood this spring, marveling along with my children at the perfect, intricate design with which the mama bird built it. 

It was sturdy yet soft and placed in the top of the Easter wreath on my front door, away from the winds and rain.  The babies have flown off and the nest stood empty except for one, tiny unhatched egg.  (And my front door was filthy!)  As I worked and cleaned and my kids chattered about me God spoke truth to my heart.  Little proverbs gifted to me in those quiet and long moments of wonder.  God has given us such beauty and grace in the everyday gifts of nature and family, yet I frequently allow the noise to throw a wet blanket over them and become numb.

I am weak.

How do I deal with the noise?  How do I find strength and practice this faith God has given me?  It is not going to be in throwing every device into the swimming pool and “going Amish” as I have often threatened to do.  No, it is going to be in seeking Him first.  FIRST.  It is in the discipline of rising early and putting boundaries on the noise.  It is not about self-imposed rules, but seeking relationship.  It is in forcing myself to be quiet and listen when everything in my head screams, “The laundry! The dishes!  Have you not seen the emails piling up?  Don’t you just want a little background noise?”

My goodness, no.  The constant hum of noise has numbed me. It has sucked time away that I will never be able to get back.  I need quiet, even when my flesh seeks to avoid it…especially then.

“So then, there remains a Sabbath rest for the people of God, for whoever has entered God’s rest has also rested from his works as God did from his.”

Such power in those words, such conviction to my heart.  But read on…

“Let us therefore strive to enter that rest, so that no one may fall by the same sort of disobedience.  For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.”  (Heb 4:11-13)

Resisting rest leads to disobedience.  Refusing to be still and soak in the words of our Father in Heaven leaves us weak because we fail to allow God to do Holy Spirit Surgery, convicting us of sin and revealing our weaknesses.  A life of haste and busyness results in my inability to be teachable and my tendency to fall prey to the subtle lies of the enemy.

Strive to enter that rest?  I never really understood why resting would be something we had to strive for, but now I do.  I strive for many things…knowledge, peace in my home, to teach my children well, to keep the house somewhat sanitary.  But rest?  Entering Sabbath rest requires true strength.  It is, in fact, where strength is found.

In quietness and in trust shall be your strength.  

Lord, make me strong.

 

 

 

Of Knots and Grace

Last weekend my husband and I flew out to Denver and spent two days loving on Jay and Ashley.  I don’t know what I expected, but what I experienced was more.  More love, more laughter, more tears, more glimpses of God and grace.  We landed on a sunny day and took a rental car across the flat roads leading to Denver where we found the Craig Hospital.  We met precious new friends who have been the hands and feet of Jesus for our dear old friends and walked through the hospital doors.

To holy ground.

They were making cupcakes.  Jay, seated in his wheelchair, surrounded by his four daughters and all the excitement over measuring cups and sprinkles.  Ashley, turning from a conversation and catching my eye and me fighting tears as I finally got to hug my young friend who I have just longed to mommy for the past nine weeks.

Wheelchairs of many shapes and sizes lined the far wall.  An air hockey table was in the corner.  Lots of open space, plenty of room to navigate and play around whether you walk or roll.  And laughter.

I don’t know the spiritual condition of any of the Craig staff, but I can tell you that the Lord is very present in that place.  Everything is so intentional, the goal being independence and life and finding joy again.

But boy, is that journey hard and painful.  Without going in to details, (You can read their words here if you want to know more) Jay fights for every milestone.  Nothing is easy.  Nothing is not accompanied by pain.  Yet he perseveres and fights and gains ground every single day. He laughs and cries and parents and loves and God is honored in it all.  To know the Rapleys is to see Jesus at work and realize that God is good even when we cannot make sense of our circumstances.  His love for us is fierce and He fights for us even when we fight against Him.

We all suffer.  If you have not, brace yourself because it will come.  Some of our suffering is private.  It may be within the walls of our home or in the battlefield of our minds.  It may be from outside sources, people who have determined to pick at you until you fold in defeat or from the vice-grip of trying to survive the bills coming in faster than the money.  It may be self-inflicted because of poor choices or it may be the result of what appears to be a random accident, like in Jay’s case.

He did nothing wrong.  He was just walking his dog.  Yet here he is, navigating this sudden suffering.  But in the midst of suffering the beauty emerges.

It is in the friends back home, happily packing up Jay and Ashley’s belongings to they can move into their new, wheelchair-accessible, house when Jay is discharged.  It is in the community of faith, Kristin and Mark taking on a huge supportive role and thousands of believers backing them in prayer, gifts, texts and love.  It is in Jay’s brother, Eric, who consistently encourages him and faithfully makes the drive to visit and be a support to Jay and their parents.

Their parents….There are no words to describe these precious people.  They have dropped everything for their son and his family.  They have walked away from retirement, taking on the role of parent and teacher for their four little granddaughters in order for Ashley to be by her husband’s side and for their girls’ lives to be as normal as humanly possible.  They have done this so beautifully and fight through the fatigue and grief in order to serve their family.  I can only imagine the treasure being laid up for them in Heaven at this very moment.

As I process what I saw over the weekend, I remember a conversation we had about how God is weaving a beautiful tapestry out of Jay’s story and right now we are all on the back side.  We can’t see the picture.  All we see right now is a tangled mess of knots.  It makes no sense.  But the Weaver is at work.  He is carefully and lovingly creating a picture, a huge and intricate work of art, that will be fully revealed in eternity.  He is using His people as instruments, needles and thread and the stretching loom, to construct a garment fit for a King.

Our King.

Jesus, who suffered for us and identifies with Jay’s suffering.  He walks with Jay now, today, giving him strength moment by moment and reminding him of who he is and whose he is.  He is not surprised nor shaken by Jay’s accident because He has shown over and over again that He had everything lined up, positioned perfectly, to provide for the needs of Jay and Ashley and their family.  He surrounds them with grace in the midst of the knots, promising that when He returns and makes all things new,  it will be worth it.  Nothing is wasted.   He will, one day soon, flip over the finished tapestry and, in the center, will be His masterpiece…Jesus holding Jay by the hand as they walk together into Glory.

Pray for Jay.  Pray for a miracle.  Pray for strength and joy and protection over their minds and bodies as they all work so hard to learn this new way of living.  For more specific prayer needs, you can visit their Caring Bridge site.

 

Phillippians 3:8-11  Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith— that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.

 

 

 

Unspeakable

The phone call came as I drove through town, shuffling kids to various appointments and running errands.  I struggled to focus as the words, punctuated by the quiet sobs and broken sentences of my mother-in-law, assaulted my ears and broke my heart.

It was a moment that made me long for Heaven.

How do I make sense of the news that one of the most loving, Christian men I have ever known lies in a hospital bed unable to move?  That his body is broken and he is in need of healing that can only come from God?  That his wife and girls who absolutely adore him now face weeks and months without his smile at the dinner table?  Why did God allow this?  To him, of all people?

Then the days unfold.  Updates trickle in, texts from my sweet friend giving me the privilege of knowing how to pray for her, the realization that in the midst of the unspeakable tragedy God is working, unshakable.  I remember the days before Jay had Ashley, how he was so impressed with Sam’s Lasagna and my homemade stuffing that he ate it cold, right out of the fridge…announcing that I had “outdone myself.”  The days before he was a daddy and he would come over, revving up my toddlers and ensuring bedtime would be far, far away and my kids loving every minute of their time with “Uncle Jay.”  How he stood for Jesus in every operating room, refusing to cave and lower his standards and getting the “preacher boy” award at the end of Residency.  Jay loves Jesus unashamedly, showers his family with that love, and  is now being given a new voice, a new platform, and new way to shine the light of Christ in this dark and desperate world.

Yes, we serve and unshakable God.   Because of this, the suffering my friends endure begins to make sense.  When a hospital room becomes a mission field, when the name of Jesus is lifted and spoken and prayer warriors are mobilized from all over the country and husbands are challenged to love better and daddies are moved to be more intentional because this man, from his hospital bed and in constant pain, continues to love well it makes sense.  That he can be faithful and allow God to use him in this, the darkest season of life is why he has been chosen to suffer.  The truck did not see Jay in the fog, but God did and my goodness, how He protected his life.  His body is broken, yes, but the Holy Spirit in him is alive and well and fully at work.

It has been a week today.  Today I cannot seem to stop the flow of tears as I wish with all of my heart I lived close enough to be hands and feet for Ashley, and the rest of Jay’s family.  But God has me here, on my knees, begging for healing and praising Him for what He has done so far this week.  And as I pray and trust I know that I am one of hundreds if not thousands who are doing the same.  God is an incredible mobilizer of His army and we are rising up together, carefully lowering our friend through the roof and placing him at the feet of Jesus, his savior and healer.

If you will join us in praying for Jay, go to caringbridge.org/visit/jayrapley.

For I, the LORD your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, “Fear not, I am the one who helps you.”  Isaiah 41:13