Monday, September 29, 2014

Week 17: Money, Money, Money, Tomorrow


I now have LIGHTS!


Other angle

In August 2013 I bought a bedspread.  Because listen, I was distraught. 
I rarely buy things that I know I won’t need for awhile. What if I change my mind or won’t need the item after all?  Also, where am I supposed to store all these things that I will supposedly need one day?
But apparently on that day in August 2013, I was struggling with the wait.  It had taken me so long to decide to buy land, and then the planning process for building seemed to be spinning me in circles and getting me nowhere.  I was trying to make decisions, but I couldn’t see anything tangible come from it.
Then one night I was browsing furniture and home décor online. I was weary of making empty decisions, and I landed on the page for bedspreads.  I am a cautious and practical person, but that night I was more than ready to be an impulsive buyer.  I will definitely need a bedspread.  I’m picking one out! …Something country and not too bright.
I found one that I loved and typed in my credit card number. 
Two weeks later, that bedspread showed up on our porch.  I got it out of the box and ran my fingers over the stitching. I loved it like it was my favorite pet.  I showed my mom.  Then I showed my nieces.  Then I showed my sister.  Then when my coworker Amy asked me how things were going with the house plans, I was happy to tell her, “Oh, I’m doing much better now that I bought my bedspread.” 
I don’t know if I can explain it or recommend it. I just know that after I had one decision in my hands and marked off the list, I felt like I could breathe easier. 
That was over a year ago, and besides 2 little paintings, that bedspread is the only thing that I have bought for my home. This is partly because I kind of freak every time I pay my bank and contractor, so I don’t feel like buying anything else.  It’s also because people have been so generous in giving me some great secondhand items, and why buy more stuff until I actually have a house to put it in? Only one thing at a time, please. Let’s not worry about tomorrow.

We celebrated Dad's birthday in Kansas last week!

Kami & Eli were proud because they helped make their Pappy's birthday cake. :)

Last week I was in Kansas visiting my sister Shari’s family.  One afternoon we watched a movie with my 6-year-old niece Kami and 4-year-old nephew Eli.  The movie was set in Egypt, and after it was over, Kami asked me to tell her a story about Egypt.  I started with Moses and the Israelites enslaved in Egypt. I told the story of how God delivered the people out of slavery, parted the Red Sea, and led them through the desert with a cloud by day and fire by night.
“And then the people were hungry because there were no grocery stores or restaurants in the desert, and they didn’t know where they would find enough food for everyone.”[1]
Kami’s eyes lit up and she yelled out, “I know what happens next! God rained down bread from heaven!”
“You’re right. God gave them bread every morning, and there was plenty for everyone.  Some people wanted to sneak piles of bread and hide them because they thought, What if God doesn’t give us bread tomorrow? What if He forgets or He just decides He doesn’t care about us anymore? Or what if He runs out of bread?  Some of these people hoarded the bread because they didn’t trust God to provide for tomorrow.  But God told them not to do this because He wanted them to trust Him.  And the bread that was hoarded ended up getting smelly with bugs overnight, so it wasn’t any good the next day.  But God kept sending bread each morning.”
Both Kami and Eli had their mouths open and eyes wide.  Kami wanted me to keep going and tell her what happened next.  Eli stopped and said he just wanted a normal story! (He prefers stories with sharks and dinosaurs and snakes.)
As I continued to tell them more about the Israelites in the desert and how God provided for them, I thought of how earlier that morning God had brought the verse Philippians 4:19 to my mind. “And my God will meet all your needs according to His glorious riches in Christ Jesus.”

Earlier that week I had received an email about an extra expense with my house.  This extra expense is on top of the extra expense that came up last week and the extra expense that came up the week before.  Boo for extra expenses.  Boo for using money that I would have used on buying furniture to pay for gravel.  Boo for using the money I wanted to spend on a plane ticket to visit a friend to pay for materials required by a new federal regulation for septic systems. Boo for things not going the way I expected.

I was talking to a few of my [older] friends last week and told them that one major hope I have with finally getting into my house simply includes less surprise attacks on my bank account.  But they smiled knowingly and told me not to hold my breath, not to expect financial smooth sailing, not to think there will ever be a time when something doesn’t break or burst or burn. 
And speaking of things breaking and bursting and burning, oh my goodness, my car.   She’s 11 years old and has 187,000 miles. I’ve had this car for almost 6 years, and I think almost every mechanic in a 30-mile radius has worked on it. I may not know much about home ownership, but I do know what it’s like to have car trouble about every other month.
One example:  Last year my friend Erin and I were coming home from a little backyard concert when I remembered I needed to buy a card for the next day.  So at 10:30pm, we stopped at CVS. I bought the card, and then put my car in reverse to back out of my parking space.  I heard a noise—gave an Erin an ugh, what was that? look—and then kept going.  My car makes weird noises all the time, so I hoped that it wouldn’t be a big deal.  Then I pulled out of the parking lot, and as I turned left, my car halted to a stop in the middle of the road. Of course, without thinking it through, I immediately pushed harder on the gas pedal, and my tires squealed. The car wouldn’t move. I hung my head and glared at my steering wheel.
Erin, however, was rational as always. “Turn on your blinkers!” It was dark, and cars were coming up behind us. 
I turned on my blinkers, then sighed and rolled my eyes.  I was tired and mad that I couldn’t just go home. I was already wondering how much money it would take to fix my car.
Erin looked at me, not impressed that I wasn’t springing into action.  “Your dad or mine?! Are we going to call your dad or mine?”
I half-laughed and pulled out my phone. “It’s not your dad’s problem.”
I called my dad, and we remembered that my brother-in-law Brandon was on shift at the local fire department. As we waited for Brandon to get there, I turned to Erin and said, “Sorry you have to be here stranded on the road in my piece-of-junk car at 11 o’clock at night, but I’m glad you’re here with me.”
“Me too,” she said. (Aw, what a pal.)
Brandon was able to get to us in about 15 minutes. He saw that the problem was my tire rod, and I would need to get my car towed. Awesome. Brandon let Erin and I sit in his truck while we watched the tow truck guy (who was not prince charming like we joked he might be) get my car hooked up. Brandon helped us laugh about the incident as he drove us to Erin’s car.
Eight days later and $700 poorer, I got my car back.


Over the last few years, I have learned something about myself:  I despise car trouble.  Every time my car broke down, I would get flustered and angry and slump into the worst version of myself. I finally wondered, Why do I act like a jerk whenever I have car trouble? But now I’m wondering if my car trouble was just preparing me to not be so emotionally attached to my bank account. If I’m telling the truth here, I need to admit that sometimes I love my bank account because it means that I’ll be okay not just today, but also tomorrow.  And I can’t even type that sentence without grimacing at how wrong it is.  Even though it is natural—because I can see the numbers in my bank statement, and I can see the green dollar bills in my hand, but I can’t see God—I still cannot let myself harbor a love for my bank account. I know that no one can serve both God and money.[2] 

Honestly, it’s an answered prayer that my car is still running.  Every time I hear an unbecoming noise from my car, I pat the dashboard and pray that God will help it keep going a little longer.  I’d so like to get a nicer car that doesn’t break down every other month and preferably has air conditioning.  So when I get emails about extra expenses for my house, I also think about my car.  Boo for spending the money I was going to spend on a new-to-me car on the house that is vacuuming up any cash it can find.   

Not only do I have lights in my bathroom, but I also now have a toilet!

But’s that more than enough venting/complaining/booing.  Because guess what?
1. I have more than enough to survive. I not only ate 3 meals today, but also snacks. I had more than enough clothes to choose from when I picked out my outfit this morning.  I had more than enough shampoo in my shower and more than enough chocolate syrup on my ice cream.
2. As much as I’d like to be self-sufficient in every way possible, I’m just a girl who is dependent on her God to provide for her every need.  Every time I think I don’t need help from anyone, I get stranded on the road and have to call for help.  And every time, my God provides.
It’s a scary thing to trust God more than I trust my bank account.  It’s a scary thing to trust God with tomorrow when the bill comes in the mail today.  If you had been able to read my worried thoughts this past week, you would have seen thought bubbles of money, money, money, tomorrow.
But my niece Kami can tell you that our God is the God who rains down our daily bread from heaven.  When God’s people were in the desert thousands of years ago, God told them, “I will rain down bread from heaven for you. The people are to go out each day and gather enough for that day….  No one is to keep any of it until morning” (Exodus, 16:4, 19). The story goes on…“However, some of them paid no attention to Moses; they kept part of it until morning, but it was full of maggots and began to smell. So Moses was angry with them. [But] each morning everyone gathered as much as he needed” (Exodus 16:20-21).
So often I’m pulling my hair out like the Israelites, crying, “Ahhh, what if God doesn’t give us bread tomorrow?!!”
But my God’s mercies are new every morning.[3]  Do I really want to hoard all of His provision from today without trusting Him to rain down provision tomorrow? Guys, this is real (as you already know from life experience).  My construction manager emailed me this week to tell me that when they drilled my well, they didn’t hit water.  My dad and my brother-in-law said they have never heard of this happening.  This means they have to drill again in another spot, so I will likely have to pay double what I was planning to pay for the well.  And my mind races, money, money, money, tomorrow.
Sigh.

The same day I got the email about the well, I also read Matthew 6:25-34. Jesus told his followers, “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? …Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own” (Matthew 6:26, 34).

Today is what I can see; tomorrow is the unseen, the unknown, the uncertain. 
Tomorrow is also October.  October is move-in month.
When I got the sad-bad news about my well and started doing the math in my head, I thought, oh my, am I even going to have any cash left to buy a bed? I can live without kitchen barstools for a few months, but I’d really like to have a bed. 
Thankfully, my sister and brother-in-law have planned to give me their couches and dining table, but I didn’t yet have a bed.  With only 2 or 3 weeks left before moving in, the bed is really the only thing left that I cared about.
Then the next day I got a text from my friend Sarah. In her text, she offered me several furniture items that she’s getting rid of, and that includes a bed and a dresser.
Praise God! The Lord provides! My pretty bedspread and I now have a bed!
Just another confirmation that God’s mercies and provisions are new each morning, each tomorrow. #seeingtheunseen


This picture looks like HOME to me. :)



[1] Exodus 16:1-36
[2] Matthew 6:24
[3] Lamentations 3:23

Sunday, September 21, 2014

Week 16: Fearing, Yet Pursuing Foster Care



Drilling my well!

More work on my driveway

It’s been a good, full week.  There were big trucks at my house, drilling my well and installing my septic system and finishing my driveway and overall making my yard a muddy mess.  We had our church’s women’s retreat, and it was wonderful—I got to sit by a river and dance with friends and see God speak to the women in our group. Plus this week I also got my fingerprints done and turned in my paperwork for applying to become a licensed foster parent.
If you read my post “Week 3: Four Bedrooms,” then you might remember that my goal is to somehow use my house to help children in need.  For the last 3 and a half years, my heart has been pulled toward helping children in foster care.  In fact, I would say that I believe God has asked me to do this.  

Last Sunday at church I was with some 3rd grade boys during worship time in our children’s program, and one little guy—he didn’t look big enough to be a 3rd grader—began talking loudly and causing a disruption.  I knew this was his first time at our church.  He seemed to be angry with the other boys in his group and looked like he would start causing problems.  I put my hand on his shoulder and said, “Hi.” I glanced at his nametag. “Daniel[1], my name is Miss Mary, and I’m like the principal in here. Right now is not the time to talk, but a time to listen and sing.”
He pointed to the other boys.  “They are trying to hurt my brother.  I told them not to!”
I looked over to the other boys, both of whom I have known for a long time.  I knew these boys would never intentionally hurt another child.  “Daniel, I promise you they are not going to hurt your brother.  Your brother is safe and happy in his own group.”
He kept talking angrily, so I placed my hand gently on his back to calm him down.  I whispered to him, “Daniel, this is the last song, and then it is going to be time for us to listen to our Bible lesson.  Do you know what the Bible is?”  I asked this because I have met kids who do not know what the Bible is and thus do not know why we think it is important to listen during the lesson.
But he had a strong reaction.  “Yes, I know what the Bible is! My name comes from the Bible!”
“Yes, you’re right.”
Then he sat down next to me and leaned into my lap.  He said, “I have a respie mom. I’m with her just for the weekend.”
“Oh, you mean a respite mom?”
“Yeah, a respie mom.”
I know my friend Lisa at our church is a foster parent who cares for children on a short-term, emergency basis.  So I asked him, “Is your respite mom Lisa?”
“How did you know?”
“She’s my friend.”
It was then my turn to go to the front of the room and teach the lesson to everyone, but for a moment, I wished that I could have stayed there with Daniel.  But as I taught, I saw Daniel’s eyes wide, listening so intently.  He even raised his hand at one point and mentioned taking care of his brother again.  I figured that if he has been removed from his biological home, then there must be reasons why he feels the need to protect his little brother all the time.
His 3rd grade small group leader had brought in donuts, and Daniel seemed to love that.  When church was over, Daniel gave me a hug and said he wanted to come back next week.  I’m not sure if he’ll ever be able to come back, but I am glad that we could help him have a good day.  And more than that, I am so glad that he was able to hear that morning that God loves him.  I don’t underestimate the impact that can have on the heart of a young child.

My floor!!


My friend Lisa also told me a story about a 6-year-old boy she had in her home for a week over Easter last year.  After church, as they were getting in the car, he said to her, “Did you know that Jesus died for me?!”
I had taught the lesson that day, and it made me wonder at what even a short amount of time with a foster child could do.
One day after I heard Lisa’s story, I studied Matthew 25:31-46, and as I read it, all I could think about was foster care.  In this passage, Jesus said, “For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me…. Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”[2] I want to honor God, and I believe God cares for the children in foster care.  Now I care about them too. Even the simple act of giving a child a sandwich and a cup of juice is showing my love for God.

Yet foster care is a challenge, and even this week, I have felt discouraged and naïve.  But I still want to follow through with this goal.  I have read that 31% of Christians have seriously considered foster parenting, but only 3% have actually become foster parents.[3] This statistic reflects the fear we feel.

When I think about the fear of starting foster care, I think back to something that happened this summer.  This past June my sister Shari’s family came from Kansas for a 2-week visit.  Shari’s family is able to come to Indiana only once a year, so we make the most of it.  Two weeks of big meals and big clean up and big hugs and big fun. My 6 nieces and nephews played hard every minute, enjoying their precious, rare cousin time. 

Ruston & Eli's favorite summer activity

One night we invited my grandparents over for dinner so they could catch up with Shari, Royce and their kids.  After dessert, the adults sat in the living room chatting while the kids played outside.  My nephew Ruston, 5 years old, came inside and told me, “Aunt Mary, Eli is crying. It’s an emergency.”  Eli is at the age of 4 where he often cries when he gets tired, so I was not even slightly alarmed. But I could tell Ruston was worried about his cousin, so I followed him outside.
As soon as I opened the door to the porch, I could hear Eli crying, and I knew that this was a more intense cry than usual.  He had climbed up the apple tree—which is what Ruston and Eli had been doing often during these summer days—but as I got closer to the apple tree, I could see that Eli was very high up, farther than any of the kids had been.
Eli cried, “The cater…pill…ar, the cater…pill…ar.” 
Instead of safely hugging the center of the tree, he was literally out on a limb almost 20 feet above the ground.
I looked up to Eli, who was sobbing.  “Okay, baby, just keep hanging on.” I began to shake, thinking about how I could very likely witness my nephew break a bone in the next few minutes.
Through his sobs about the caterpillar, I deduced that he had chased a caterpillar to this height on the limb, but now the caterpillar is gone, and Eli has realized that he is scared and can’t get down.
I yelled toward the house, “Help! Help!” But the windows were shut, and we were too far away for anyone to hear me. I knew we had only a few minutes—or perhaps just seconds—before Eli fell.
“Ruston, hurry and go get Uncle Royce or Uncle Dave.” Someone taller.  Someone stronger to catch him. Ruston ran inside to get more help, but in the midst of their conversation, none of the adults were paying much attention to him.
I stood right underneath Eli.  “Keep hanging on, buddy.  I’m here.  Keep hanging on.”
He was hysterical now and he cried, “I…cant…I…can’t.”
“Yes, you can.  Hold on for a little longer.”  He had been crouched down on the limb, but now he let his body fall under the limb and was holding to the limb with his hands above his head.  I reached my arms up as far as I could, but there was still a gap between his feet and my fingertips.  Eli is a skinny kid, but still he probably weighs about 40 pounds, and—especially since the ground I was standing on was sloped—I didn’t know if I’d be able to catch him at the speed he would fall.  I looked back toward the house, but no one else was coming out to help.
His little fingers were slipping, and he cried, “I…gotta…let go!”
Even though I said, “No, buddy!” Eli let go and crashed on top of me.  We both fell to the ground hard.  I felt his knees on my stomach and hard apples under my back.  I sat up and was instantly relieved to see that Eli—although still crying hysterically—was okay.  No broken bones, just some bumps and bruises that would show up in a few hours.
At that time, Ruston finally came out with Dave. 
I picked Eli up and carried him into the house.  His cries finally had the other adults’ attention, and everyone began asking what happened.  I first delivered Eli into his mom’s arms (because he wouldn’t settle down any other way) and then explained the scenario.  I sat down because I was exhausted by that 5 minutes of near-accident stress.
Later that night, I walked with Ruston back to his house, and I said to him, “Russ, I’m proud of you for helping your cousin today.  You did the right thing by coming for help.”
“Hey,” he said in a Si Robertson tone, “I know an emergency when I see one.”  
I love that line. J

A few weeks ago, I was thinking back to this memory and thought about how in those moments, I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to catch Eli to keep him from breaking a bone.  That’s the same kind of doubt and fear that I have about becoming a licensed foster parent.  I know I’m not strong enough to handle everything. But when I think about children in foster care, I have decided that I’m willing to hold my arms out and even if I can't successfully catch them, I can at least try to break their fall.


My septic tank




[1] Not his real name
[3] Calloway-Hanauer, Jamie. “Mythbusting for Foster Parents.” Retrieved from Hermeneutics on September 21, 2014. http://www.christianitytoday.com/women/2014/june/mythbusting-for-foster-parents.html?paging=off