refugees-in-quotation-marks

Um, guys? We need to talk.

Since the attacks on Paris last week, I've seen an alarming amount of talk about refugees-in-quotation-marks. How we can't let "those people" in or "they" will wreak the same kind of havoc here. In my circles, this opinion is being voiced by a minority, which is good. 

But that minority is from among those who vocally follow Jesus.

And since my blog is read mostly by friends of mine who follow Jesus, I'm going to talk to us for a minute.

Stop it.

JUST STOP.

For the love of the God who bought us at a very high price while we were still his enemies, we must stop.

Here are some Syrian refugees.

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Oh wait. Nope, that last one is my kids. My little dude's brown eyes don't look so different from the eyes of those Syrian babies. 

And seriously? The thing that separates my babies from the ones above them is geography. That's really all.

You guys. According to WorldVision there are upwards of 4 million refugies and half are kids. My math degree came from UAF, but I'm pretty sure I can work this out... two. million. children. So of the 4 million, most  are families. Like mine. And yours.

So when we talk about refugees-in-quotation-marks, the sneering implication is that "refugees" is just a cover for "terrorists." As if these babies had anything to do with the carnage in Paris. 

If we're going to follow Jesus, we need to listen to what He says.  Here is what he didn't say:

Avoid risks at all costs. Insulate yourself from the possibility of danger. If that involves turning away millions of sheep to keep out a couple hypothetical wolves, by all means, do that. (Notinmybible 38:4-5)

You know what he did say?

(And here's where you DON'T get all sidetracked by the fact that not all of these were said by Jesus while he was on Earth... They're said by God. In the Bible. Jesus is God. Settle down.)

Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy. (Matthew 5:7)

He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the foreigner residing among you, giving them food and clothing. And you are to love those who are foreigners, for you yourselves were foreigners in Egypt.  (Deuteronomy 10:18-19)

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world. (James 1:27)

The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance. (2 Peter 3:9)

The LORD watches over the foreigner and sustains the fatherless and the widow, but he frustrates the ways of the wicked. (Psalm 146:9) 

 Love your neighbor as yourself. (Mark 12:31, among others.)

[Important edit: In the interests of handling Scripture correctly, I have to note that none of these deal directly with American Christians being hospitable to Syrian refugees. The reason that I mention these scriptures is because they teach us something important about God's heart- He is FOR those who are in need and have been mistreated, both of which describe the Syrian refugees.]

These are people. Made in the image of God. They need him. As his followers, it is absolutely despicable for us to tell them, "we don't want your kind 'round here." Because your kind is our kind.

Are they all good people? Nope. None of them are. Neither am I. Do they deserve grace? Um... No. Did you get the part where it's called grace? Do they need Jesus? Absolutely. So do I.

Now, I get it. There are all kinds of very real questions here. And I'm just a mama. I don't pretend to have all the answers.

Can the US absorb 4 million refugees? Of course not. But it can absorb some.

Will there be economic consequences? Yes.

Is security an issue? Yes. Of course it is. But almost all of these people are running away, at  great peril in the fleeing, from people who are terrorizing them. 

Yes, most of them are Muslim,and the terrorists are terrorizing in the name of Islam. But the fact that they are Muslims and the terrorists are Muslims does not mean that they are terrorists. That kind of logic is ignorant crap. 

And do you realize that Jesus loves them like he loves you? That he paid just as high a price that they might come, too? How can we possibly show them his love while curling our lip at these refugees-in-quotation-marks?

We cannot claim to be followers of Jesus while outright rejecting millions of people, millions of children, who are made in his image. 

good taste

You guys.

Have you seen this quote?

Go ahead. It's long. I'll wait.

I've seen it pop up here and there lately. And I love it.

It's hugely encouraging... Much of the work I do feels a little disappointing to me. At the beginning of the year, I took inventory of the things that were life-giving to me: the things that, in a very real and basic way, are what God has wired me to do. And I've been at least a little bit intentional in making more space in my crazy life to actually do those things. But when I look at the finished product, it never quite lives up to what I'd envisioned. 

And then I am tempted to quit sometimes. I mean, not quit quit- because I really like  feeling alive and living from who I was made to be, so I always come back... eventually. But I frequently find myself kind of moving away from the creative and distracting myself in all the details of keeping my life and my home moving. I can always find somewhere to put my attention... my to-do list is months long. 

For me, this idea, the need to push through the work until reality matches the vision, is just the excuse I've been looking for to just go ahead and do my thing, even when I don't love what comes of it. Because maybe it'll get there. (Ohmygoodness, is that quote the longest possible way to say "practice makes perfect"? Maybe. Don't care. Still love it.) So I'm going to write more. Shoot more. Sing more. 

And yeah, maybe it'll stay kinda... meh. Maybe I'll always be frustrated by the difference between what I made and what I wanted to make. Maybe the words won't always come out as well as I wanted and the pictures will still fall far short of capturing the glory I was hoping for. Maybe the high notes are always going to be out of range. None of that's fully within my control. Not all small things become big things. (...to shamelessly rip off Emily Freeman. Again.) This is fine. But it will always be mediocre if I don't go ahead and do it. And while I'm putting in the time, waiting to see if I'm ever actually happy with what it is I'm making, I get to do the stuff I love. 

As I write this, it occurs to me that I worship God in my creativity. The God who created me made me in His image, which includes, among other things... wait for it... creativity. In living that out, I agree with him that the ways He created me to reflect Him are good and right. Offering that back is an act of worship. And it's the creating itself that reflects Him. Not necessarily what comes of it. Do I want to do lousy work? No. But is my best a good offering to him? Absolutely. 

This makes me think of my girls. (Like usual.) They're only 17 months apart, both preschool. So they're each learning to draw, and the developmental difference that 17 months makes is pretty clear. I can see my oldest concentrating hard on drawing whatever she's drawing. She's focusing on doing it "just perfect." But I honestly don't value her attempts at perfect any more or any less than the picture that her little sister colored "all rainbowy." I can see them getting better, even when they can't. And the thing that's valuable to me is the effort they are clearly putting into creating, and the joy I see in them as they do.

So maybe it doesn't matter if I'm a little frustrated at the scribbles I make. I'll keep trying and I'll keep improving. Only God knows whether my drawing of a dog will ever look like an actual dog I have in my mind. That's not really my concern right now. The thing that's mine to do right now is simply busting out the crayons and printer paper.

So how about you? Are there areas of creativity that you dabble in, but kind of distance yourself from? Is your desire for perfection and inability to attain it keeping you from being the creative that you were made to be? Please don't let it. We need your gifts. The world isn't the same without them. 

Here's to good taste and good-enough art. 

his first birthday letter

Hey, little dude. You don't know it and you won't be able to read for a while, but every year, I try to write you a little letter. This is for you, so you can look back and see how I've loved you over the years. It's for me, because I have All The Words and sometimes there's an overflow and it all just needs to come out. And, for now, I share it, too. Because you have lots of people in lots of places who love you and sometimes it's fun for them to see this side of who you are.

So here it is. You're one now, and I get to write you your very first birthday note.

and... I can't quite think how to start. 

There's so much.

Here's the biggest idea:

You are my third baby. By the time you arrived, our family had a rhythm of its own. With J, and then somewhat with K, the family rhythm formed around who they were.

But you didn't really have that luxury. 

And you know what? 

If I had the option to special-order you from God, the most perfect possible child for our family, I could not possibly have done as well as God did. 

You fit. You fit perfectly. You are exactly the piece this home needed. You add so much joy, I can't even begin to express it. I adore you. Everyone does, actually. From your big brown eyes that are smiling all the time to your perfect, delicious little toes, you are awesome. I frequently describe you as "as laid-back and delightful as babies come" and I'm not exaggerating. This is excellent because when you were born, you had two sisters under the age of four, and sometimes their adoration looks like assault. But you just handle it. You handle it so well and so often I had to give the phenomenon its own tag. 

You are patient. 

So very, very patient. There's a lot of mom guilt that can come with having a not-first baby... there are so many needs and only one me and sometimes, it's the smallest who's going to have to wait. Because, for example, early on when all three of you needed lunch right now, I could get your sisters lunch in five minutes or less (if I was quick), but feeding you could take 45 minutes. And you needed it more, there's no question. But I could let one wait for five minutes, or I could let two wait for 45 minutes (probably disrupting your meal the whole time), so... you had to wait. As a teeny, tiny baby. And your needs aren't always last. I try to work things so you're not always getting the short end of the stick, but the fact remains... you do. A lot more often than the girls did. But do you complain? Not usually. Why? 

Your left thumb.

Oh, my goodness, do I ever love your left thumb. 

So do you. 

I know there may come a day when you and I struggle mightily against your thumb-sucking habit, but this year? It's been perfect. I can't even tell you how much I love that you've always been able to soothe yourself. I love that you let me know that you need me for a second, then you find your thumb and wait patiently (even happily!) while I try to get through whatever I have to before I can get to you. Obviously, it makes my life easier. But you know what? It makes yours better, too, and not just because you're calmer during the wait. Because, whether you self-soothed or not, I would still have to meet all the needs of all the little people, and you'd still need to wait sometimes. But instead of yelling at me and raising my stress levels while you wait, you make it easy. So when I finally get there, I'm not frustrated or anxious. Instead, I'm really, really grateful. And a grateful mom is a better mom for you. 

And speaking of anxious...

Something else that surprised me was how much you calm me down. I remember when you were weeks old. I was struggling with postpartum anxiety for the first time ever, and it was sucking all the fun out of my life, which was a bummer because I knew, even then, that my life was a pretty good one. But one morning, when I was ridiculously overstimulated and on the verge of completely freaking out, I laid a swaddle blanket on the floor. I set you on it. I grabbed some coffee and just... sat. And the toddler chaos continued around me and it was loud. But somehow... you and I? On that blanket? We were OK. I wouldn't have ever guessed that a newborn would become a calming influence, but there you were. 

"Oh! Are you trying for a boy?!?"

This is the question that people inexplicably asked through the first half of my pregnancy. And, setting aside all the things that make that one of the more awkward questions people ask (besides, perhaps, "don't you know what causes that?!?"), the answer in my own heart was "nope." I had your sisters. I knew girls. I liked girls. I was comfortable being a "girl mom." I was intimidated by the idea of figuring out a whole 'nother gender. Neither your daddy nor I were really worried about "carrying on the family name" or anything, so when the ultrasound tech told us you were a boy, we were quiet. I wasn't sure what it would look like, this whole "boy" thing. 

But then you showed up. And people still ask me, "Ooh! Aren't you glad to have a boy?!?" But now the answer is totally obvious. "I'm glad to have HIM." Everything, from your very special name to your shining eyes to your belly laugh and your easy personality... I like you. Not because we "finally got our boy," but because God gave us you. 

I love you, little mister. 

You're growing up exactly right. I'm excited to see who you become. I could go on for pages and pages about the things I want for you. (I'll condense: I want Jesus to draw your heart to himself.) But for now? My attention is pretty consumed with who you are right now and how much I love this amazing little person.