Happy New Year!

This Christmas has been the season of "good intentions that never actually became reality" so in that spirit, here is a re-posting of our Christmas letter for the folks whose Christmas cards are still sitting on the table in my living room waiting to be addressed.  (At this point, my guess is that they will go out sometime in mid-February:)   

*Sigh*

 Greetings from the Birmingham Family!

As of December 12^th, 2013, we are now a family of nine!  Over three years ago, we welcomed Kaiden and Keira into our home, and last week we made them a part of our forever family!

Last December we were preparing to send them back to a life of uncertainty with a birth mom who had told us that she wasn’t ready. 

This year, we are rejoicing that at least in this one case, the state laid aside their “reunification at all costs” mindset and allowed them, with the blessing of their birth mom, to remain with us.  That is our biggest, happiest news, and the greatest gift we could have imagined. 

 As I reflect over the path that led us here, it is a mosaic of the bitter and the sweet.  There were the months of waiting and wondering, the many times we started packing up the children’s things after being told they were leaving us, the struggles with the legal system, the heartbreak of their birth mom, the frustrations of working within a broken child welfare system. 

There were also beautiful awakenings in Kaiden and Keira as their hearts came alive to love, acceptance, and safety… mornings when I would find four boys peacefully constructing a Lego universe in their room while listening to Hank the Cowdog…sweet interactions between the older girls and Keira as they did her hair or read her stories…little acts of service from one child to another.  Among the struggles there were so many examples of “my life for yours” and chances to give and receive grace. 

Today is our 19^th wedding anniversary, and as I think about that day and the plans we had for our life together, it makes me smile.  We never would have believed that our family would be built this way.   

We would probably have argued the wisdom of many of the decisions we have made. We might have lived with more fear and less boldness and if so, we might have missed the blessing of facing the days with a keen awareness of our own limitations and enormous gratitude for the sufficiency of Christ.

In that spirit, I asked the children to name some of the things they are most grateful for this year, and here is a partial list:

Keira—“I’m thankful for babies, my dresses, and my toys.”

Keira (age 4) has exploded into a world of speech this year.  She is increasingly able to communicate in clear, complete sentences and has made huge strides in coordination thanks to the wonderful speech and occupational therapists we have available to us through our local school—and due to her hard work!  She is affectionate and loving and adventurous.   

Although our dear Grammi passed away last January, Keira talks about her all the time with great affection.  Last week she strolled through the kitchen with a baby doll under each arm and announced, “Tomorrow I want to go to heaven and play with God and Jesus and Grammi.”  Grammi loved dolls and Keira is a kindred spirit!

Kaiden—“I’m grateful for Tabby (our cat), brothers, bunk beds (we got quadruple bunks this year), and my Bible stick (an audio version of the Bible in a mini-mp3 player from Grandma Sally).” 

Kaiden (age 6) has a desire to accomplish big things.  He doesn’t dabble, he conquers!  So, for instance, this year when he saw his older brothers making various types of paper airplane, he spent several weeks surrounded by piles of paper, folding and folding until he mastered “the dart”.   

The same determination went toward dribbling a basketball, riding a bike, and drawing a light sabre!  

He is opening his heart to affection and forgiveness, and exhibits a peaceful spirit much more often.  He is often the first child to wake up in the morning, and enjoys trying to sneak up on me with his stuffed animals and a sleepy little grin.

Jude—“I’m grateful for that God came to save us from our sin, for creatures that I can catch and pet and color, for snow sledding, and for springtime and brothers.”

Jude (age 6) spent the entire summer in the creek.  Some mornings, just as the sun was peeking over the trees I would see him streaking across the lawn with his yellow bucket and (usually mismatched) rubber boots, wearing look of determination on his face from which no fish, cricket, or frog was safe.   

Thankfully, most of the creatures he caught survived his relentless observation, although we had to have several funerals for the rare casualties of his catch and release program:)

Isaiah (age 8)—“I’m thankful for God’s creation, for beautiful Christmas trees and how Jesus came to earth for us, and for apples and pigs-in-the-blanket.”

Isaiah’s body and mind never stop moving, even in his sleep—hence the rain of blankets, animals, books, and pillows that falls on the occupant of the bunk below him all night.   

He is full of excellent questions, accurate (if sometimes inappropriate) observations, enthusiastic ideas (and the energy necessary to implement them), and boundless good will.  

 He has a very tender heart and this year has exhibited a real desire to learn what is right and do it, and he is quick to apologize when he needs to.  His love of food continues unabated, and he would bake a cake every day if I let him:)

Elijah—“I am thankful for the fact that God paid for my sin on the cross, for family to support each other during hard times, and for books.”

Elijah (age 11) is a complex mixture of kindness and strength--like his father!  He loves to do manly things and he has high expectations for himself and others.   

God is teaching him about patience and life is teaching him how to handle the frustrations of living with a bunch of people who don’t always share his vision of how things should be!   

We are so proud of the growth and maturity he has developed over the past year in his roles as son, brother, teammate, and student. 

 

Christina—“I am thankful for my new little brother and sis, for our church family, and for God’s protection in my life.”

Christina (age 15) is the sparkler in our home.  She has a gift for making things fun—even picking up toys and folding laundry is more enjoyable when she is in charge.   

She is carrying a very full sophomore workload through the Classical Conversations Challenge program, in addition to earning a spot in the Grand Rapids Youth Symphony (on viola), and being a huge help with her younger siblings.  

 She has developed an interest in photography, putting together a lovely gallery in our upstairs hallway.  She also has a knack for furniture restoration, and this summer she re-did a cricket rocker from Goodwill with chalk paint and coordinating upholstery!

Rebekah—“I’m thankful for the adoption of Kaiden and Keira, for parents who lead me in the ways I should go, and for a God who is faithful even when I am not.”

Rebekah (age 18) is now a college freshman, studying music therapy.  She lives here at home and either drives herself to class or commutes with Jamey.  His office is right by the college, so she is able to hang out there between classes, which is nice for both of them.   

Somehow she also manages to help our little ones with their school, tutor Latin, teach harp lessons, take on harp gigs and volunteer work, and babysit.  Most importantly, she is a woman of faith and strength and compassion and peace.  We are so grateful for the spirit she brings to our home!

As for Jamey and me…we could fill another letter with the things we are grateful for…our “new” children (and our old ones:), Jamey’s job, the freedom to homeschool, the growth that happens in hard times, the comfort of good friends and family, our church home, and most of all, the invitation that all of us have to be adopted into the family of God.

Our family all wore matching shirts to our adoption hearing (except Jamey who came from work:).  They said “ADOPTED” across the front, and here’s why--

This whole adoption experience has given me a new appreciation for what it means to be able to approach God not as a fearful and distant ruler in the sky, but as an Abba Father—a loving Daddy.  We all come as orphans to this hard place.  We don’t understand love or mercy or grace. 

 Sometimes we lash out at the hand that is reaching for us.  Sometimes in our fear and disbelief we trample on the heart that offers us a home. 

But God loved us so much, that He was willing to endure every sacrifice—even up to a cruel death in our stead—so that we might have a place in his family.  We can all be adopted!

We hope this letter finds you happy and well and enjoying the delights of the season.  As always, we extend a hearty welcome to any and all who might want to plan a visit to the Birmingham Bed and Breakfast.  (Motto:  “Not very quiet, but never dull”:)

Merry Christmas from the Birminghams!

May the beauty of God’s adoption story be the heart of your Christmas!

 ^“But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!” So you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God.”  --Galatians 4:4-7

 

Football, Labor, Death, and Christmas

The Auburn/Alabama game a week ago Saturday contained not only the most amazing final minutes of football I have ever seen, but it has also given me a lot to think about this week. 

In case you missed it, Alabama went into this game as favored contenders for the BCS Championship.  They were one of three teams with perfect seasons, and based on the strength of their schedule, ranked as the top team in the country.  

All they had to do was play up to their usual standards for the next two weeks, and they would be looking at a trip to the ultimate game in college football.   

A chance at fame and glory!  So close they could smell it!

I will spare you the details, but let's just say that instead of wrapping it up, they were handed a dramatic defeat by their perennial rivals, the Auburn Tigers.    

You really should take a minute and watch the final play on You Tube.

More importantly, watch the faces of the Alabama players as they realize what has happened, because in them you will get a glimpse of what loss does to the human soul.  

It is heartbreak, infused with dismay and disbelief, mixed with incredulity, sprinkled with pain and anger, and then served on a bed of regret. 

So hard to watch.

When you really think about it, loss makes up a vast portion of our lives.

We worry about it when it isn't there, build frantic hedges against it when it threatens, and pick up the pieces in sorrow after it strikes.

It's why we buy insurance and why we work out.  

It is in the embarrassment we feel over not meeting expectations and the pressure we feel when we exceed them.  

It is why there is a market for sunscreen and fish oil and Doctor Oz. 

The fear of loss can be paralyzing, keeping us from saying the things we ought to say, doing the things we ought to do, and going the places we ought to go--destroying the life we want to live.

It is the cause of our worst days and the root of our deepest fears. 

In fact, it is difficult to think of a circumstance in this life that doesn't involve loss on some level.

Even the good things are tainted.  

Have you ever watched a child sleeping, or witnessed a perfect sunrise, or stroked a tiny cheek, or gazed into the eyes of your true love and been overwhelmed with the sad realization that the beauty of that moment cannot be held?   

That bitter in the sweet is loss, tugging every good thing out of your grasp and into the hazy insubstantiality of memory.

Losing was born of the curse that pushed us from the garden--loss of innocence, loss of fellowship, loss of perfection, loss of protection from pain, sickness, sadness, and selfishness. Loss of life.

Sin is shot through with loss, but we are not abandoned!

Even in the curse is a promise:  The evil one will inflict pain for a time, but ultimately Christ will crush him.  (Genesis 3:15)

And so for now we live in loss, actually in labor the Bible says in Romans 8:22. "For we know that the whole creation groans and suffers the pains of childbirth together until now."

In NO WAY is labor the funnest part of the parenthood gig.  I think we can all agree on that.

It's the part you grit your teeth through and try to forget about as soon as you are engaged in the actual wonders of parenting.  

In the same way, because of Christ and his sacrifice, this life of loss has at its end the promise of joy unfolding into joy.  

It is the beginning of the second week of Advent, and I am soaking up the redemption story again.  How appropriate that it began with labor and pain because at its heart, the gospel has everything to do with loss.  

His loss for our gain.  

From Christ's perspective, a voluntary loss of position, honor, and power, and from our perspective, the chance to be rid of loss for good.

In Eden, we were given the necessary gift of death--a merciful end to a broken life of laboring and loss.

In Bethlehem, Jesus removed the sting and gave us the promise of His death and the only hope we have to escape our brokenness.   

This is the meaning of Christmas.  

Jesus wasn't just a cute addition to the redemption story.  He was a lightning bolt, the Lord of the Universe folded into mortal flesh.  Hope incarnate.


The "Spirit of Christmas" and all the warm fuzzies and holiday specials and family gatherings are nice, but they are the shadow, not the substance.

The trappings of the season hold out the promise of fulfillment because they speak to a need in all of us that we may not even fully understand--the burning desire to fill an empty space, to find what is lost, to heal what hurts...

...but then comes January, and a rise in depression and suicide, and unnamed sadness, and dissatisfaction that must be either confronted, denied, or distracted.  

The only way to come out of Advent truly satisfied is to come in honest.
 
Hungry.

Empty.

Needy.

If this describes you this year, then you are just where you need to be--in good company, with shepherds and kings, kneeling before a fragile infant.  

They saw past the wrapping--past appearances--and brought their hearts to Messiah--master,  judge, redeemer, creator, savior, restorer of all that has been or ever will be lost.  

"For the Son of Man came to seek and to save that which was lost" (Luke 19:10)

"I came that they might have life and have it abundantly." (John 10:10)

So when I say "Merry Christmas" I am wishing you more than warm times with people you love.

I am wishing for the dawning realization of what you have lost and what you could gain.

I am wishing for you to stand with the shepherds in the cold air of your need with the light of angels reflected in your tears.

I am wishing for you to throw off your light honors and worldly knowledge like the wise men and fix your eyes on the star.

And follow.

*******************

"Christmas is an indictment before it becomes a delight.  It will not have its intended effect until we feel desperately the need for a Savior."

--John Piper

 "Advent can only be celebrated by those whose souls give them no peace, who know that they are poor and incomplete, and who sense something of the greatness that is to come, before which they can only bow in humble timidity, waiting until He inclines Himself toward us."

--Deitrich Bonhoeffer

"When the fullness of the time had come, God sent forth His Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law of sin and death."

Galatians 4:4

Where's My "Happily Ever After"?

I had a day last week that made me consider turning in my parent card.  

I clearly don't know what I am doing with these kiddos.

After 13 years of mothering, shouldn't there be things I no longer have in my home?  

Like blatant disregard for my instructions?  Direct, habitual disobedience?  Lack of respect? Feigned ignorance of oft-repeated expectations?  Screaming fits?  Destructive indifference toward the property of others?  Calculated and coordinated mess-making?

The silver lining to the admission that these things exist in the Birmingham Haven of Peace and Quietude is that normally they occur in a somewhat staggered fashion, and by no more than three children at once. 

Most days, this fact almost makes up for the reality that I am severely outnumbered in addition to being outsmarted, outpaced, outwitted, and outmatched by the smaller residents of my home.  

My morning routine involves between 8 and 12 disciplinary sessions with varying individuals, each of which last anywhere between three seconds (infraction requiring sharp, life-saving command, no physical intervention, no Scripture reference)...

...to three minutes (sharp, life-saving command requiring physical intervention, extrication, or redirection, followed by gentle exhortation, including Scripture reference)...

...to 35 minutes (serious infraction of physical or emotional nature, requiring immediate separation of perp/perp or perp/victim, followed by careful reconstruction of crime scene, interviews with involved parties and witnesses, dispensation of appropriate discipline/sympathy, including Scripture references and prayer, concluded by emergency dispatch of search party to locate non-involved parties who have taken the opportunity to ditch their math and escape to the front yard while I was otherwise engaged).  

I have honed my skills to the point that as long as my children allow me the necessary 7.4 seconds of prayer and deep breathing that I require between each set of disciplinary actions, I can hold it together.

But last week, there was an incident where all present parties let loose at once.  And my older girls (who are helpful in these situations) were gone.  

And we had company over.  

And the company had small, sweet, impressionable children who were watching the arguing, fighting, breakage, disrespect, and disregard unfold before their eyes.  

And no matter what I did, I was not able to get it back together until the next day.  

It was a triumph of sin.  A humbling revelation of how much work is left to do in the hearts of my children--and in mine.

Thankfully, my company was very understanding.  They did not run screaming (as I was tempted to do), but instead stayed, made a commitment to pray for me, and offered me encouragement instead of judgement.

But I judged myself. And I admit to throwing a little pout up to God, attached to a reminder of all I have been trying to do over "these past three years of uncertainty."

Now that we are nearing "closure" I guess I was expecting God to move a little more in the hearts of our two youngest , who have had to live with more pain and confusion than they ought to have experienced.  

And maybe I thought He would work a little faster to fill the gaps in our older ones who have had less attention than they would like from me, less consistency than they need, and less protection from the realities of sadness, evil, anger, and injustice than I wanted them to have at their ages. 

As I thought over that day, I realized that I still come to God too often waving my time card and sporting an air of entitlement.  

"See, God?  Big stuff, here!  I took on more, worked harder, prayed longer, ran faster, and took the blows like a trooper.  Three years!  Wow!  I'm bushed!  Now you can bless me with an easy stretch.  I'll just sit here on my spiritual toboggan and wait for the downhill push."

And when a few months go by and I am still feeling besieged, I come again, but this time I feel--can I be honest?--a little irritated.

"God?  Remember that healing I prayed for?  See the massive spiritual battles we've got going on here?  I KNOW you can fix them.  It won't even be hard for you.  Here's my Giant Faith, now please meet my expectations."

And yet...

And yet, He has told me that His ways are higher than mine (Isaiah 55:9), and that far from getting to order Him up, I don't even know what I should ask for when I pray (Romans 8:26), and that even when I don't feel it, His love for me is higher than the heavens (Psalm 103:11) and His compassion is beyond measure (Psalm 51:1), and He will not leave me alone in my struggles (Hebrews 13:5).

Now is the time when I need to chuck the idea of "closure" once and for all, especially if what I mean is "the point where the ugly problems and besetting sins of myself and others are all wrapped up and put away and they never bother me again."

If that is the definition, then I'm pretty sure closure is when I'm dead, and I should probably stop asking for it.  

Adoption is a wonderful milestone, but it unfolds onto another long hard, broken, beautiful road--the path where a group of sinful, selfish people with very different backgrounds, and real needs, and big challenges work together to become the family God has planned for us to be.  

And it will be wonderful and painful and scary and sanctifying, and it is likely NOT going to be easy.

Because the best things aren't.

   

********************

Psalm 63:1-8

You, God, are my God,
    earnestly I seek you;
I thirst for you,
    my whole being longs for you,
   in a dry and parched land

     where there is no water.

                       I have seen you in the sanctuary

              and beheld your power and your glory. 

                Because your love is better than life,
                        my lips will glorify you.
                       I will praise you as long as I live,
            and in your name I will lift up my hands.
                                I will be fully satisfied 

                      as with the richest of foods;
          with singing lips my mouth will praise you.

                     On my bed I remember you;
     I think of you through the watches of the night.
                             Because you are my help,
               I sing in the shadow of your wings.
                                I cling to you;
                    your right hand upholds me.

Everywhere is Evidence of Love

God has been outdoing himself lately with the scenery during my recent running excursions.  Here are a couple examples.






Now multiply those images by 250 and you will have a taste of what I really saw.  My phone is simply too puny and my technological impairments too great to capture the splendor.  

Sorry.

There was, however, one evening that outdid them all.  It was two weeks ago on one of those breathtaking autumn days that are almost worth the price of winter.  

The color on the trees was at its peak.  The sky was churning with silver and gold clouds.  Leaves were swirling around my feet, and the wind at my back made me feel fast. 

Fifty-four degrees.  Almost twilight.  Perfect!

I pushed up and around two tight bends in the trail and...

...suddenly I was standing at the top of a brilliant, tree-rimmed ridge.  The sky was towering and dark all around me, gray clouds folding over one another like waves, except for five brilliant fingers of light that punched through to flood a distant hill in glory.  

And right above me, a blue patch of sky and a warm light on my face. 

But the thing that made me catch my breath in wonder was the realization that this fleeting moment was all for me.  

An incredible extravagance of beauty was here and my eyes were the only ones with the privilege of taking it in.

Ever.

Call it arrogance.  Call it naivete.  Call it sentimental pish posh, but I have gathered moments like these since my childhood, stopping in mid stride whenever they come upon me, stretching out my senses to capture every drop of wonder from the scene, and then folding the memory inside my mind like a fragile treasure. 

In those moments of sacred beauty I have been drawn to praise, and in that praise, I have felt the presence of a God who delights to give good gifts to His children.  

Is it too much to think that He planned that moment (and so many others) for me in order to turn my heart toward joy?  In order to remind me that I not only know, but am known?  

In the swirl of confusion, chaos, pain, and disappointment down here, God is still singing love songs to us via the marvels and majesty He has flung to every corner of the universe.  

My only regret is that worry and distraction have kept me from seeing His hand as often as I should.

How can I be so intent on getting the "next thing" done that I fail to marvel over the exquisite curve of my little boy's cheek or the way the sun glints off my daughter's hair?  

How can I take for granted the comfortable delights of my relationship with Jamey?  

What of the hundreds of intricately designed and delicately tinted flowers that budded, bloomed, and died in the gardens outside my doors as I rushed past them all summer? 

How about the view from my front window?  

It quickened my heart when I first saw it seven years ago--a rolling green lawn framed by gardens and trees, a meandering creek under a weeping willow, a wildflower field, and beyond that, a peaceful mosaic of fields and fences, ancient oaks and old barns.

Lovely!  But now it has to be transformed by a new frost or a pink sunrise or a fresh snow to get my attention.

I guess what I am saying to God is both "Thank You" and "I'm sorry".

Thank You for showing me Your great love in moments big and small.  Thank You for helping me to see them, and please help me to see them more and to love You more.

That said, I'm sorry for missing so many of the gifts You have sent, and for growing immune to the wonder in the gifts I once cherished.  I long for the day that my craving for what is fresh and novel will not blind me to the treasures I already have around me.

Most of all, I pray that my heart would grow ever closer to Yours--that I would know you better, and rest in the wonder of being known--and that my mouth would be increasingly full of Your praises, of which You are eminently worthy!  

************************

It is written in the colors of a thousand autumn twilights

Painted in the eyes of a child

 Spoken as forgiveness by an honest open hand
It's the friend who will walk the extra mile

It's the giving where there is not enough
There is everywhere the evidence of love

Open your eyes
And look upon the handiwork of God
Open your soul
And feel the breath of glory all around

For everywhere there's evidence of love

It's living in the rich earth, waving in the wind
It's music that moves us to believe
And dying in a small town, knowing where true life begins
It's hope beyond what we can see

It's the mercy when tears are not enough
There is everywhere
The evidence of love

Open your eyes
And look upon the handiwork of God
Open your soul
And feel the breath of glory all around

For everywhere there's evidence of love

A simple crucifix hanging on the wall
Everywhere, there's evidence of love

--Lyrics to "Evidence of Love" by First Call
 

**********************

 Psalm 148:1-4   

Praise the Lord.

Praise the Lord from the heavens;
    praise him in the heights above. 

 Praise him, all his angels;
    praise him, all his heavenly hosts.
 Praise him, sun and moon;
    praise him, all you shining stars.
 Praise him, you highest heavens
    and you waters above the skies!