Now Live Like It
There is no passion to be found playing small—in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living.
NELSON MANDELA
Life got intense for the disciples when they followed Christ. These men were mocked, ridiculed, and stretched beyond anything they thought they could withstand. When some of His followers began to leave because it was getting too difficult—too costly—Jesus looked at His twelve and inquired, “Will you leave Me too?” (paraphrase of John 6:67).
I want to be counted with those twelve. I want to stay. I can’t give up, I won’t. Life isn’t easy. Sometimes it’s more difficult than I have energy for, but He put a desire into my heart so many years ago that my borders would be expanded. I opened my heart and gave Him permission to stretch me and deepen my impact.
I want Him more now than ever.
I have a deep desire to make a difference. My world shouldn’t involve only me. What a small world that would be if it were indeed how we were supposed to live.
I want my world to outlive me, for it to be very little about what I’ve done but rather how I’ve loved.
Our Lord continues to heal the broken hearts of our children who have painful pasts. But we must allow Him to bind our own wounds and heal us too. He knows us. He understands our struggles, and He will bless us as each of us seeks Him and puts our false self to rest.
I’ve done a horrible job with baby books, so I love when Facebook reminds me what was posted on that day, years prior. One of my favorite reminders ever was originally written on Abreham’s first day of school in the US:
Last night I went in to say good night and pray with Abreham and Ezekiel. Abreham looked at me with a big smile and said, “Daddy, tomorrow school.” I asked him if he was scared. He put his hand on his heart and patted it to show the feeling of his heart beating rapidly from being scared. “Yeah, scared.”
It struck me powerfully at that moment and again this morning how brave this boy is. Too often with older adoptive children people think that they are coming to America so things will be better. What is forgotten is that everything about their culture is ripped from them as they fly from Ethiopia to America. They may not have the luxuries we have but they have the ability to understand and communicate with people. They know the food, the smells, and cultural norms. They know where they fit and what to expect. They just know things … good or bad.
When they get to America there is no way they could possibly accurately understand what’s coming. If you have ever been to a third-world country, close your eyes and go back there. Now try to possibly think of America if all you know is that country. No way.
The smells are new, the houses huge, the schools huge, the language, the food… nothing is the same. Nothing is known. There is no safe, comforting place that you know you belong. You don’t even know your family that well.
Abreham fought to get a chance to continue his education and to see him acknowledge that he was really scared was touching. The bravery is that there was no hesitation. He was scared but that didn’t matter. He was going to walk into a school with hundreds (maybe thousands) of kids he could not speak to and sit in a classroom without knowing anyone.
I dropped him off this morning and watched him look back with a nervous smile, then he turned and walked into school. I felt like a mom dropping her little kid off at kindergarten or first grade. It was emotional. I was scared for him but so unbelievably proud of him.
He will struggle, succeed, and fail many times during this journey, but even in the little time we have known him there is no question that he will fight through it.
He is brave enough to be scared and still face forward into the unknown. We are so proud of you, Abreham.
Ben’s Facebook post from August 19, 2013
It’s fascinating how each and every time we go through a rough season (sometimes really rough), we end up stronger in the end. Ben and I lean harder on each other and on Christ. The kids form an impenetrable bond, to one another and to Ben and me.
It’s like we’ve been to battle and won, bringing the spoils of war into our family. In our case, the spoils being an abundant understanding of uncompromising love, unwavering dedication, and the fortitude to both stand firm and press on.
We refuse to let Satan win.
Some friends have asked if I want to just give up at times.
No. Not even kind of.
“You’re familiar with the old written law, ‘Love your friend,’ and its unwritten companion, ‘Hate your enemy.’ I’m challenging that. I’m telling you to love your enemies. Let them bring out the best in you, not the worst. When someone gives you a hard time, respond with the energies of prayer, for then you are working out of your true selves, your God-created selves. This is what God does. He gives his best—the sun to warm and the rain to nourish—to everyone, regardless: the good and bad, the nice and nasty. If all you do is love the lovable, do you expect a bonus? Anybody can do that. If you simply say hello to those who greet you, do you expect a medal? Any run-of-the-mill sinner does that.
In a word, what I’m saying is, Grow up. You’re kingdom subjects. Now live like it. Live out your God-created identity. Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you.”
Matthew 5:43–48 MSG
When I read books, as well as passages from the Bible, it’s typically a conversation not only between me and God but often a conversation back to myself. I suppose that’s why the margins of my Bible and all my books are chock-full of my own commentary, big scripted question marks, and multiple exclamations of “Yes!”.
“When someone gives you a hard time, respond with the energies of prayer.” (Yes!)
“If all you do is love the lovable, do you expect a bonus? Anybody can do that. If you simply say hello to those who greet you, do you expect a medal? Any run-of-the-mill sinner does that.” (Ugh. Okay, I’m listening.)
“In a word, what I’m saying is, Grow up. You’re kingdom subjects. Now live like it.” (Grow up and live like it. Oh, how I want to.)
Perhaps it’s just me that reads interactively like this, but here and now, I’m wrapping my calloused and weary fingers around this promise:
Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.
Ephesians 3:20–21 NIV
That’s big. And it’s scary.
Remember, we’re not perfect. We will stumble. And falling is inevitable. But when we’re walking closely with Christ, we have an opportunity to let it strengthen rather than define us. Let those times of missteps be fewer and further between as we learn from each of these moments and experiences. Once we know better, do better. Be better.
The painful and dramatic episodes from the hurt of our children’s past have begun to lessen in intensity and frequency. They are learning each time they come unglued. They continue growing in our love and consistency. Learning their own triggers. Figuring out what works to help them heal.
The love of Christ continues to help them, and us, become well and whole.
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name.
Psalm 147:3–4 NIV
A few years ago, Ben traveled to Washington, DC, for the Marine Corps Marathon. Up late one of the evenings he was gone, I was enjoying time by myself and control of the remote—until a bang bang bang on the front door turned my sweetly predicable Hallmark movie into what felt like a Lifetime special. Freezing, I shrunk down low into the couch, hoping and praying doing so meant the crazy person at my door couldn’t see me through the windows on either side of the entry into our home. Why, oh why, did I insist on those windows when we got our new door? It’s terrifyingly simple to see me through that glass, I thought to myself with eyes wide and full of fear.
I felt silly sitting there, my rational mind telling me it was probably one of our older boy’s friends. I thought of all the times my brother and I played tricks on our friends as teenagers. Hearing no other noise, I eventually let go of the breath I had apparently been holding, scooched my body upright, and went back to watching my movie. Ten or so minutes later, the fist on our front door pounded again.
I have what you could call a simmering and animated imagination. You know, a healthy (sometimes not so healthy) fear of what “could be.” Maybe it was our experiences in Guatemala, or police stories from my dad, or too many action movies. But I’m not going to lie, I kind of freaked. Calling Ben from my cell phone, I whispered frantically as I crouched into the deep recesses of the couch, making myself as small and unseen as possible. “Babe, what I should do?” My voice quivered in fear a little as I spoke.
Not feeling the terror that I did—nor having the overactive imagination—and being on the other side of the country, Ben had the ridiculous notion of simply opening the door to see who was out there. “Are you crazy?” I countered. “And be chopped up or something?” I hung up on him, muttering harshly, “Forget it! You can’t help me!”
Stuffing my phone into my back pocket, I scrambled upstairs and woke Abreham. I told him my story as he sat up rubbing his eyes. “It’s okay, Mommy, I come downstairs.” Grabbing Ezekiel’s lacrosse stick, we headed to the front door to investigate. He raised the stick up high over his shoulder like it was a baseball bat and was about to hit a winning home run, and whispered for me to open the door quickly while he’d swing.
As the door swung open, he stopped and lowered his so-called weapon. We looked down to the mat at the front door and there lay a pumpkin full of candy and a note that said, “You’ve been booed.”
Exhale.
We laughed and rolled our eyes for getting so worked up and sat down at the kitchen table, riffling through the candy looking for chocolate, while I explained to him that being “booed” meant an anonymous friend or neighbor would leave a bucket of treats at your door with the instructions of doing it to someone else. Typically, though, I said, it’s not done so late in the night.
Motioning to the lacrosse stick, I teased him and thanked my then-fourteen-year-old for protecting me. He cracked a smile, his eyes wrinkling as the silver of his braces shone brightly.
We sat there at the same crumb-covered table where we had sat so many times before during some of our hard seasons. But on this night, we settled into our seats munching on Halloween candy while my newest son announced that he’d always protect me, that I’m his mommy and he loves me. I continue to swoon when my teenage son calls me Mommy. The disparity of our different seasons and conversations at that table did not escape me.
I leaned forward, looking deeply into his deep-brown eyes, and told him, “No, my sweet. It is Daddy’s and my job to protect you.” He knew I was talking about so much more than simply my overreacting to friends playing a trick on us. Abreham had chosen to keep his given name, but when a child is adopted from Ethiopia their middle and last names become that of the adoptive father. Abreham liked that his name had become Abreham Ben Anderson and that he had a connection to his new dad in this way. There was a deep bond forming between our hearts and his. A bond of protection and trust. A bond that says we’re in this together and he never needs to be alone again. Because this is it. We are it. We’re consistent and persistent. Our love is true, and it is not conditional. Hard days remain ahead for all of us, and yet by God’s grace still we remain. We learn to do so because Jesus has remained with Ben and me through the years. I remind not only myself of this truth, but try to remind our kids during one of their hard seasons: God remains with us all, all the time.
He holds us in His very hands and cares deeply about all we encounter through every day and in every season we find ourselves in.
“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.”
Deuteronomy 31:6 NIV
This Old Testament passage may be talking about a conversation between Moses and Joshua as the incredible old man handed the leadership reins to his successor before his own death, and yet it’s a reminder for us as well. Just to make sure we get it, it’s said again a few verses later:
“Be strong and courageous … The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.”
Deuteronomy 31:7–8 NIV
Be strong and don’t give up. Be courageous and audacious. The Lord is walking through it all with us. Always.
Our children all have different stories, Ben and I do, too. We’re all in need of different things, and even while living in the same house among the same loving family, we go through differing seasons: one of us may be feeling particularly wounded at the same moment another may cheerfully stand on a mountaintop. We’ve learned through the years that one emotion often flows into another, peace can quickly turn to worry, and uncertainty can flow back to confidence and hope. Because we all have such different stories, the kids know we have separate expectations for each of them. If they ever ask why one can do something the other cannot, we state simply, “because God used different cookie cutters for each of you. You’re not the same exact cookie.”
I say the same to you: your sister may struggle differently than you ever have, your best friend may not totally understand why a certain aspect of life trips you up the way it does. God created us as unique individuals and desired us to live in community with one another so that we can learn from each other and support one another. We cannot compare our suffering with someone else’s suffering because all we know is what we’re living. Similarly, we are not called to inspect others’ fruit or to produce others’ fruit. Our stories are unique and even the hard valleys have purpose.
He holds us in His very hands and cares deeply about all we encounter through every day and in every season we find ourselves in.
For example, Abreham worked at a car wash last summer. It wasn’t particularly close to our house and he had yet to get his driver’s license so he took the light-rail each day. While walking under the overpass that led to where he’d buy his ticket and hop on the train, he’d often see a homeless man. Day after day, he’d smile and say hello as he passed the man. One morning though, Abreham was struck with the realization that this man had a story, and, just like the rest of us, he needed hope and community. Stopping to have a conversation with him, my teenage son wanted to know the narrative that was this man’s life. According to the man, he struggled with family issues and since he was relatively new to our country, he didn’t have a community or anyone to go to. This man came into our country legally, but no one wanted to hire a dirty homeless man who didn’t speak English well. The Lord spoke to my son’s heart that day and urged him to buy the hungry man breakfast at the nearby McDonald’s as well as a ticket for the light-rail. Why the train ticket? Because Abreham was determined to get him a job at the car wash. And you know what? He did. And it wasn’t the only time our oldest son did something like this. Abreham didn’t work at that car wash for more than a few months, yet when he’d hear of someone who couldn’t find a job, he’d tell them to come by and tell his boss that he was the one who sent them. He did the same thing for a friend’s sixty-five-year-old mother who came over from Ethiopia and also hardly spoke any English. He knew fluency wasn’t a prerequisite to wash a car. He dove into these people’s stories, knowing each was different, and because he listened to the Lord’s prompting, he helped change the narrative in their lives.
How often do we do something like this? I’ll admit … I never have to the extent Abreham has. Maybe it’s a different type of bravery that I haven’t tapped into yet, but watching my son sure has made me pay closer attention to how I can also enter into the stories of people I encounter each and every day. I remember awhile back someone telling me she struggled with all the devastation we hear about every day in the news: human trafficking, the global water crisis, children dying from hunger, domestic violence, and so many more horrible things. As she shared this struggle, she asked, “Where is God in all of this?” The other woman with us looked at her and gently said, “What if that’s why we’re here? What are you doing about it?” Gosh her comment woke me up: What am I doing about it? I can’t complain and yet do nothing.
Sometimes God walks us through the valley, or through seasons in general, to show us something. Perhaps Abreham’s short time at that car wash was just to help this man. Maybe my friend was struggling with all that she saw on the news because the Lord wanted her to wake up and take action. Our pastor recently did a series called “The Way of the Valley” and he pointed out that sometimes God takes us through this so-called lowland to show us the reality of something.20 The place of frustration, anxiety, brokenness, or hopelessness can be a place of restoration and growth if we’re willing to walk through it with Him, rather than blaming Him for the pain of it.
I can hear the Lord whisper into my heart, I will take you through and into the beauty.
I’m clinging to that promise as I type this while our family goes through something harder than we’ve gone through in a very long time. It’s a devastating loss that really makes no sense. Right at this very moment, our hearts are broken and yet through the ache, I know there is purpose for each of us—as hard as it is for me to believe it now.
What will you learn from this? How will this help you trust Me more? I hear Him whisper.
God has rescued us before … do I trust Him enough to do it again? When King David was hiding in the wilderness first from Saul, and then again decades later as his own son wanted to kill him, he knew that God was near. He knew God loved him in a profound way and expected the Lord to move. In Psalm 63 (ESV), David tells God what he “will” do seven separate times. “My lips will praise you,” “… in the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy.” and so on. David had decided that even through hard times, he will keep moving. He will keep worshipping God through devastation. He will live bravely, courageously, and with expectation. David basically said, “Because I have seen You move before in the past, I know You will move in the future.” David trusts this season will come to an end and the Lord will be with him before, during, and after it does, and His purpose will prevail. I believe the same for what our family is experiencing today.
He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.
Psalm 40:2 NIV
There was a point in my life, many years ago, that God lifted me out of the muck and out of a really hard situation. Previously always holding my ground when it came to guys, I slid down into a hole I never thought I’d fall into. It was a brief time in the grand scheme of my life, but it shook me to my very core. I let a crack form in my relationship with Jesus and Satan jumped right up and wriggled his way through that crack, making it bigger and bigger until bad decisions were made and things couldn’t be undone.
But God has most certainly used my mistakes for good, helping me now see how He orchestrated things through it. And I’ve gotten off that pedestal I didn’t realize I’d placed myself on. I didn’t think of myself as judgmental, but I see now that’s exactly what I was. To anyone I hurt along the way, I’m sorry.
Had Christ not allowed me to tumble off that silly self-made pedestal, I genuinely don’t think I would have married Ben. And now that you’ve read more about his story and our story together you’ll see how God orchestrated my friendship with Ben with such perfect timing, shortly after falling off the pedestal and realizing I saw people through such judgmental lenses. I’m so glad the Lord brought him into my life when He did because I would have previously thought Ben’s light wasn’t shimmering enough for me. He had a hard time growing up and because of long-ago made decisions, I would have snubbed any possibility of a future with him. I’m so thankful Christ doesn’t look at us through my same glasses and that He is a God of grace, forgiveness, and reconciliation.
Come, let’s talk this over, says the LORD; no matter how deep the stain of your sins, I can take it out and make you as clean as freshly fallen snow. Even if you are stained as red as crimson, I can make you white as wool!
Isaiah 1:18 TLB
People are capable of absolutely anything. Provide a chink in the armor and the Evil One really will slither right on in.
On that incredible trip to Europe my parents took us on just after high school, we ended our time in England, where my dad spoke volumes about a Bible school up north called Capernwray, that he had wanted to attend when he was younger. Though he wanted to show it to Erik and me, we never made it outside London because we fell so head over heels for the allure of the city that spouts such magnificent museums and rich history.
Years passed and the idea of that school took root, growing to a desire so big that I had the application on the desk in my college dorm for a year. Finally tired of hearing me talk about it constantly, yet seeing the application collect dust because I was too scared to make the jump, my roommate, Lissy, filled it out for me. I was breathless when I got in, hugging her and jumping up and down. Six months later, Erik and I traveled together on a quick trip to Scotland before he dropped me at a school reminiscent of the grounds on Downton Abbey. Surrounded by nothing but rolling hills and sheep, yet regal and almost castle-like, Capernwray opened my eyes and heart to our Creator even further as I learned about Him daily and traveled around Europe with my new friends whose passports showed they were from everywhere across the globe.
One of my closest friends I met during my year away (we’ll call him Anthony) understands, too, how even those of us who love Christ dearly are capable of things we’d never, ever expected we were. His dream in life was to work for NASA. And I think he would have; he’s brilliant. Soon after returning to the US when Capernwray ended for the year, he went into the air force. And somewhere in there, a crack began to form. My dear friend is on death row now, having done unspeakable things, destroying any hope for a bright future for all individuals involved. Including his own.
The day after Ben proposed, we boarded a plane to Georgia because I was subpoenaed as a character witness in Anthony’s trial. It’s everything like it is in the movies, and nothing like it at all. Because this time it was my friend there in that front chair, behind the dark-stained oak desk. His blue eyes no longer clear but instead clouded with grief and remorse and the knowing of how devastatingly at fault he was.
But thankfully, our mistakes do not define us. They are not who we are. We can allow Christ to use them for something beautiful. It’s been over a decade since that day in court, and though I prayed for him often, I wondered what Anthony’s life was like now. A few weeks ago, I was surprised to hear the voice of his new lawyer on the other end of a call I received after dropping the kids off at school. Anthony’s new legal team was traveling to Denver to meet with me. My heart pounded so fast that I had to steady myself by leaning against Ben’s old Bronco as I stepped out of my car parked beside it.
My thoughts were racing, until they weren’t. Memories of my dear friend sped through my mind and screeched to a halt as I remembered peering into those remorseful blue eyes. I began to weep. Heart-, gut-, and soul-wrenching sobs right there in my driveway.
Since meeting with his kind lawyers, who genuinely seem to care about him this time, I now know how he is doing behind those barred doors. I know that for over eleven years, he was holed up in solitary confinement. Eleven years without human interaction, except for one hour a day when he was allowed to walk around outside. I grieve the life that could have been, and the life that is.
And yet I know that our God is capable of bringing about great transformation. If we do wrong, we will have consequences. Anthony knows this—even my youngest child understands this fact. We have all messed up in great and small ways. And not just us. Think of those we learn about in the Scriptures: Moses was a murderer. Abraham committed adultery. And King David did both. But God transformed them and He transforms us, realigning us with Himself the moment we turn our hearts to Him.
It’s true that my dear friend will spend the rest of his earthly existence in prison, but that doesn’t dampen the fact that God can still use Anthony in big, big ways. If he’s able to forgive himself and allow Christ to fill the cracks and holes that have pierced his heart, he could be used in the revival of so many lives also behind bars.
Like our heavenly Father, the Japanese understand there is beauty in the restoration of brokenness. Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery. By infusing fractured and damaged sections with gold, silver, or platinum, it treats the breakage and repair as an exquisite element of its history. Rather than trying to hide the fragments with super glue, they don’t disguise it, but instead make it stronger and more dazzling than it was before the damage had been done.
As for me, God has used my errors to see people with deeper love and further-reaching compassion. He has established an incredible marriage of two people who strive for the brilliance of snow.
The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep, loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.
Elisabeth Kübler-Ross21
Allow the errors and struggles in your life to strengthen you. Allow Christ’s love to surround you when you derail. Allow His exciting plan to shine through. Let your heart shimmer with Christ’s Kintsugi.
Exciting doesn’t mean easy. I’ve mentioned before that His callings don’t typically translate to simple and painless.
What exciting does mean is astonishing, breathtaking, and compelling.
Don’t be scared that He will send you to Africa, ask you to sign up for the PTA, form relationships with folks struggling with abuse, or whatever that “thing” is that fills you with panic or dread. God’s passion for your life will become your passion for your life if you truly release it all to Him. And that’s one of the ways you know it’s of Him: when His vision and your passions align. He made each one of us with talents and gifts and capabilities. He did that for a reason. Sometimes it just takes a while to figure out what those reasons are.
As a child, I felt defeated because I didn’t think I was good at anything. My heart ached thinking I didn’t have a single thing I excelled at. I was okay at several things, but never felt I had a single gift. In school, it was all about academics, sports, and music.
I wasn’t competitive, and I wasn’t an athlete. I could sing, but was more the backup type than the real star of the show. The only two awards I ever received while growing up were a first-place ribbon in hula hooping (I know, impressive) and a certificate in class for “Most Creative Dresser” (I’m not sure that was completely a compliment—I think that’s what they give to the girl who doesn’t glow success on anything).
In high school I really struggled to get good grades. I had boyfriends through the years who were, let’s say, a bit lacking on the whole words of affirmation thing, and since that’s one of my primary love languages, I took what they had to say (and didn’t say) to heart. It wasn’t until college that I realized I actually was smart, and even though I had to work a lot harder than some, it was possible to get onto the dean’s list. And so I did.
It wasn’t until my adult years that I came to see what my God-given gifts are and how He wants to use them. It’s sad, really, that it’s taken this many years to open my eyes to so many things I was born to love. I stuffed them away, thinking because they didn’t have anything to do with academics, sports, or music, they weren’t worthwhile at all.
But now I see that the “Most Creative Dresser” award was a precursor to my love of creating in general. I love fashion, interior design, and making things pretty. There’s nothing wrong with pretty, and with it, I have realized the gift of hospitality had been given to me. Through the years God has used my passion to embolden women in ways that it’s become almost a ministry. Building them up, making them feel beautiful both inside and out. He has helped create a home that is inviting for both my family and for others. He has brought opportunity upon opportunity to be used in blessing other women by helping them make their spaces filled with their personalities and beauty as well.
My love of fashion, cooking, graphic design, Jesus, families, women, and words has fused together into a blog, a mission field, and a lifestyle.
Your gifts will not be wasted. Your loves and passions will be established and encouraged.
Had I not given my story to God on that particular day as I sat overlooking the Space Needle, I doubt I’d be so fulfilled. I wouldn’t know my best story is the one He writes. Oh, what I would have missed! The children who wouldn’t be mine! The husband who loves me so well would likely not be by my side! This book would be blank, and I never would have understood the real reason of my being on this earth.
Your gifts will not be wasted. Your loves and passions will be established and encouraged.
Adoption may never be part of your story. Africa may seem as far away as it does today. That’s our story. Yours is special and unique and perfect for you.
Allow yourself to be interrupted by Christ. Because there’s such beauty in it.
I used to think you had to be special for God to use you, but now I know you simply need to say yes.
Bob Goff22