Releasing You To The World

I've been dreading this since a week after I found out I was pregnant with you (that first week I was still in denial/terrified that you were actually in there). Today we went to your preschool orientation and met all your wonderful teachers and new classmates.

Next week, you walk out of this safe, impenetrable fortress I have been creating for you since the day you were born. See, I've been building a space where you only come in contact with the people I choose for you.  People I have trusted because I have watched them handle me with care, and so know they would only do the same for you. People who love you, will protect you, will fight for you.

But, now it's time to start tearing down some of the highest bricks of our fortress and releasing you to experience little pieces of the world as you begin preschool. You will now come in contact with people I have never met-- people I had no choice in choosing for you. You will begin to build relationships on your own. You will find people who your personality and interests click with or people who you just enjoy being around. You will make decisions all on your own and I won't be there for you to ask my permission. You will also learn things from a teacher who is not me.

What I'm trying to say is, I'm letting you meet the world and experience it at an arms distance length away from me--and a little part of me is dying inside.

Jace, bud. These last 2 years and 9 months I've been doing the best I can to love you and teach you good things to equip you for life. Now, I have to give you some space to try to put it all together and apply it to the real world. I have to let you start becoming your own you-- away from me.

Whenever I look at you, I know I've done something great with my life--so as much as I wish I could hoard you to myself, the best and most vulnerable thing I can do for the world is share you with it. It scares me more than most anything I've ever done because the world is not always kind (I saw that boy stomping on your foot today. Took everything in me not to grab you and run for the hills). My love for you comes from the deepest depths of who I am and I want nothing more than for this world to be careful with this fragile part of my heart that I'm letting run wild and free.

In turn, I expect you to treat the other kids this way, too. Behind every one of your classmates is a mama with the same hopes for their baby as mine. So, you must take care of each other.

I know you're going to preschool to learn numbers and letters and color pictures and hear stories. But, school is also a training ground for life, so make it count. The world needs more people using the full potential of their gifts --so, don't waste a drop. Use them all. If you're pouring those gifts out on others--they will never run dry. I want you to use that heart of compassion toward your teachers and classmates. Even if there is someone who you don't understand--you owe them respect and care. Be generous. Share. If anyone is left out, bring them in. Be the bridge in a gap of friends. Be a peacemaker and an encourager. Be bold and brave. Meet the world with kindness and sincerity. 

And always, always remember. Your dad and I are here to lasso the moon for you. Forever and always, you can come to us for anything.

Ok, Jace bud. Deep breath.

Now, go and change the world.

Seek Justice, Love Mercy, Walk Humbly with Your God.

 

 

 

 

In a World of Hurt



(Image made by my awesome friend, Jenni Claar!)

It's been a heavy couple weeks in my soul.

From innocent children being brutally killed in Iraq, to the suicide of Robin Williams, and the mayhem in Ferguson, Missouri, it's impossible to not feel the heaviness that spans across distances, countries, and cultures and settles itself into our hearts. I find I become so  burdened for those in the midst of tragedy that I retreat inward and grieve for the injustice I see in our fragile humanity. It seems like we are living in a world of hurt and there's not much I can practically do aside from signing petitions and mumbling heavy prayers.

When I tuck my babies in to sleep, or watch a movie with my friends or worship at my church, there's a constant humming buzzing in the background--it's what we commonly refer to as guilt. Why should I be given the freedom and luxuries I've been given? Why was I so fortunate to be born in a place where I don't have to go to bed worried that my children may have to pay the consequences of my beliefs? Why do I get to decide what to watch on Netflix tonight while some parents are deciding which of their children gets to eat dinner tonight?

Since there is no real answer, I can let my guilt swallow me whole, chew me up and spit me out worthless and hopeless. Or, I can allow an overflow of gratitude for what I do have, spur me on to change.

The world may seem too big and bleak to change. But, if we shed our guilt (or indifference, or hopelessness, or ignorance, or detachment, etc.) and step into the natural rhythms of gratitude--we will see the world for what it's actually made of--individual, beating hearts. At the core of it all, it's not just a group in the Middle East or a town in Missouri, or a demographic of low income families--it is a broken humanity filled with actual, real people who happen to be everywhere. When we see hearts instead of labels, the world gets a little smaller.

I may never get to physically help a child in Iraq, or walk someone out of their depression, or help the people of Ferguson cope with all the realities of this tragedy. But, I have been given access to a broken, hurting world. We need not look far to find a soul desperate for someone to stand up for justice, to encourage them or to care. For those people, I am responsible.

I'm encouraged to say that I have seen people moving spaces of earth to fit in pieces of heaven. A good friend is helping launch a youth center dedicated to improving academics and bolstering self image in teens who are in need of this. A woman at my church has been reaching out to people in the motels on Highway 99.  A group of moms in our area have started collecting school supplies and shoes for families who can't afford these necessities.

Our gracious, loving God sees each personal need and has invited us to participate in taking care of His most precious creation--His people--all people. We can certainly grieve, but we must also act.

Though we may not be able to single handedly rescue the world--we can be a part of influencing change or offering hope to those whose lives have intersected our own.

And I'd say, in a world of hurt

--that's a pretty great place to start.