Fight or Flight?

Okay, I was ready to write "ALRIGHT! The gloves are coming off!" but realized there wasn't any fight going on. Besides, I like the idea of my knuckles staying somewhat intact in a conflict and don't relish dragging jigsaw-ed hands home after a scuffle. Again, however, there is no scuffle, no minor battle, and no aggression on the eastern shoreline. Everything is "okay" for the moment.

I got to thinking about this a little bit and how I've been reacting to things going on in our lives. Ebola and the toll it's taking on Western Africa, ISIS (and what they are doing to children), our government’s limp-wristed reactions to national security concerns, and obviously two little Sierra Leone-ian children who have become entrenched in our hearts. There are actually more than two over there who have made an impact on us, but we currently are looking at two specifically.

Yesterday came news of a little girl’s death in Sierra Leone. Not the first, and definitely not the last; but she was the first to touch my wife’s heart and leave us here on earth. I never got to meet her, but listening to Kristie tell me, through tears, of this child’s haunted eyes; how she tried to make her smile; how she painted her nails and talked about exquisite eyes too old to be a part of this small child. I don’t know too many details and don’t want to guess, but the impression I’ve gotten is she was mistakenly diagnosed with Ebola and ended up dying for lack of treatment.

I’ve always considered myself rather passive. I mean, my sense of humor can be a bit unexpected at times, or even unintentionally harsh (alright, sometimes it’s intentional), but I’ve never been one to start a fight (unless it was with one of my younger brothers), and certainly never been one to go looking for a fight. In fact, I hate conflict, and would be the first to step away and try to find a resource to resolve any issue I foresee.

With that in mind, however, I can look back on a few occasions where I was willing to stand up to someone or some situation if I felt the cause worthy enough; even if it threatened my physical well-being. I don’t write this with some sense of pride; there’s nothing to be proud of when allowing conflict to enter your world. But I do recognize I’m not quite the coward I always assumed I was. When I feel that someone around me is threatened, or even when I feel cornered, I am willing – indeed likely – to strike back.

It’s this need to fight, as opposed to flight, which has also gotten me into some trouble. I won’t bore you with stories, but hence to say it isn’t always comfortable doing what you think is right… especially when you realize you might have been wrong. But even when you can look back on a situation and still decide what you did was righteous (not self-righteous, mind you), the outcome sometimes is extremely painful.

This reminds me of a favorite Bible phrase I see tossed around: Jeremiah 29:11.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (NIV)

I’m no Biblical scholar - something about brain development and a lack thereof, but I digress - and I’ve heard many different opinions on what this passage means. Was it just written to the Jews at the time of their trials? Was it meant as a message to all Believers? I really don’t know, but I do find it encouraging to read; I mean, isn’t that beautiful?

“I, GOD, know what plans I have for you!!!”

YES!!! What we tend not to look at, however, is He also knows what’s in store for us. We may be willing to follow Him and do the right thing EVERY SINGLE STINKIN’ TIME, but we will also get burned, have our hearts torn, and feel some of the betrayal He has felt when we sin against Him. Our life on this earth is to serve Him, I slowly understand more fully, and His service requires that we suffer; not because He is unhappy with us, but because to serve a Holy God in a fallen world means we will sacrifice, we will cry out, we will bleed.

As usual, I started out with one point and got off track…

I guess my point is I’m realizing more and more the idea of defending the honor of what is right is not bad, but it hurts like its bad sometimes. Standing up for children in schools who are clearly neglected could cost someone their job; speaking out about the atrocities of certain cultures could get someone labelled and scorned; doing everything for “the least of these…” can get you killed. 

Is it worth it? I think so, but don't know if I'm ready to know for sure...

And... Here We Go

Wow, there have been so many things going on in this whirlwind it’s hard to sort it all out.

First off, I need to apologize to some friends. They know what has happened; indeed, we have made amends; but it’s still important to openly mention that I was wrong. I do have a tendency to under-think what I might say, and that sometimes hurts people I don’t want to hurt. I am sincerely sorry.

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I'm constantly amazed at the blessings I overlook until it's far past time for recognition. As much as I endorse the idea of praying and giving all of our troubles to God, I'm quick to pick up those same dilemmas should any new negative developments arise. Do the trials in our life somehow negate the incredible grace poured on us in just about every circumstance of life? No. But it sure as heck feels like everything positive falls away as soon as the arrows start whistling in.

The adoption process is very much like that, from what we've experienced. There are definitely the "ups and downs" (I hate cliches, but they are such an easy way to express a thought in a few words) as one would imagine, but the ups are relatively infrequent and the downs... well the downs seem to stop just short of Hell.  

What's funny is I know some of the folks reading this are nodding their head; they've been there and may even be eating the bitter grains that come with being a potential adoptive parent. I know one family, in particular who have finally crossed the threshold of adopting their son, but are still waiting on the U.S. (yes, as in UNITED STATES) Government to sign the visa. Strange; we live in such a free country, but are still so often more cautious than might be safe.

I started this post about a week ago, but was too distracted to finish it, and by the time I got back to it today, have had too much stuff happen to remember what (or why) I started writing the first time around. Needless to say, even a few minutes before starting up, again, I was on the phone with one of our senator's offices trying to dig through the mess that seems to be international adoption. I’m amazed at how helpful and compassionate people are willing to be (even if I didn’t vote for their boss).

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So… I took a deep breath and dove in.

Here’s part of the deal, now that I think about it; ANGER. Yeah, I’m an angry little dude, sometimes. Believe it or not, I’m not walking around with a chip on my shoulder waiting for someone to unwittingly knock it off, but I do see the deeper we get into the adoption process and the more willing I am to takes stands against what is obviously wrong in my little world, the easier it is for me to allow anger to control my actions. All told, I’m also coming to more of a realization that anger is not always a bad thing; I cannot let it control me or turn to hatred, but having a sense of justice and believing in that sense of justice is not, in and of itself, wrong.

As far back as I can remember I've second-guessed myself, wondering if I said too much, or, if I spoke, what the repercussions could be. Part of it is because I've been dealt some harsh blows because of my flailing tongue; I speak my “mind at that moment” and it brings down hail.

As my brother used to say, “open mouth, insert foot…”

Unfortunately, the caution I sometimes hid behind was almost as damaging. On a few occasions, if I had spoken when I ought to have spoken, things probably would have gone a little better. So, I’m basically back toward square one, trying to balance out what should be said and what should be bitten back.

Right now I’m too tired not to risk writing something else wrong on here, so I’m done…

Am I? Part II: IS HE?

"God," I said, sorting through some anger, "you're my God."

"AM I?" I heard Him say.

"Yes, you're my God."

"Then why aren't you acting like I'm your God?"

As previously mentioned, and not much elaborated on, this last week was a tough one. It ended on a high note, however, with friends coming together to show us support in our adoption process. We raised quite a bit of money, while at the same time being so INCREDIBLY GRATEFUL!

At the end of the night, exhausted and burnt-out from the week’s drama (some of which I brought on myself), I was fed up with minor attitudes I observed from some of the musicians. That, along with much of the struggle we've been dealing with as we get our emotions entrenched in kiddos in Africa, as well as a few I see on a daily basis right here, in the good ol' US of A.

As these themes continue to spin their shadowy images in my brain, I've found myself feeling a bit paranoid. Trust is something I’ve offered up cheaply for most of my life, and at times it feels like it was taken for granted and/or stolen. I trust quickly, but do not tend to be as open with someone who has betrayed said trust. Likewise, I am apt to “reading” what other people are thinking when they don’t say anything at all. Very recently, I’ve run into this tendency and it’s starting to wear on my nerves.

It has been suggested a few times, in the last week, I don’t know enough about situations I’m in the middle of. When we shared some concerning news with close friends, recently, one of them said “that’s disturbing… if it’s true…”

While I understand the sentiment, it bothers me. Why wouldn't something we say to them be true? I mean, I guess we could be led by the nose by someone else, but we aren't generally ones to jump into the leaf-pile until we know there isn't a cinder block under it. We have had enough burnt finger tips to remember the next time we get too close to the fire.

Then again, we have other mutual friends who are coming from a different tent in the same camp, and we do not bother to share our concerns with them, as they have already made up their minds about the situation and would not appreciate our shedding of light.

Can you tell I’m being a bit vague?

Honestly, I love my friends, but struggle with trusting them sometimes. Not that they’ve ever been dishonest with me (that I know of… heheh), but they also are slow to tell me what they really think.

 

In the same boat, I struggle with “my God.”

I mean, how can the all-knowing, all-powerful Lord of my life also be the God who sees what is going on in Africa and isn’t doing anything about it? Ebola is beginning to attack the small country two of our children are living in. It has almost taken an estimated two thousand lives throughout western Africa. TWO THOUSAND! Fortunately (I hate this word in this context, but…), it has not affected the orphanage that houses our kids, and hopefully it never will. But it is in their country.

And we have our hands tied attempting to get them out…! I am not, nor have I ever been an agnostic. God and I have too deep a relationship for me to honestly wonder if He exists. He has done far too much in my life, and allowed me to see glimpses, for me to walk away and decide I know more than I need to. At the same time, He knows we have our hands tied! If anyone could unbind us, it’s Him! So why doesn't He?!?

Why have we had to watch as other friends who were so determined to adopt, also, finally decided they couldn't continue the struggle... with our own American-run orphanage? Some have moved on because they knew it wasn't the "right fit," but others have begrudgingly walked away because of the people they also thought they could trust and found out otherwise. Where is God in all of this? As a Believer, I know He's right here... and that almost hurts more than wondering where He is. And it's oh-so-easy to be angry at God.

"Who is this that questions my wisdom with such ignorant words? Brace yourself,because I have some questions for you, and you must answer them. Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? Tell me, if you know so much.”

At the back of my mind… way down deep… pushed there, while my anger and frustration continues to heat, I hear Him talking to Job. Job, a man who lost his children, his wealth, his health, and was confronted by fools he believed were friends. He went through so much more than I could imagine; his wife told him to curse God and die! He didn’t do that, but he did complain. Like me…

I have to face facts where they lie. I cannot move them; I cannot rewrite them (God does know I’ve tried!); I have to accept them where they are.

I hate the phrase “you know I’m human, right?” Drives me nuts! But the truth is, I am inflicted with all of the frailties and disease instilled in me as every human being. I have less of an excuse because Jesus has opened my eyes to a Truth I cannot deny, but I still fail.

So when I hear God’s still quiet voice, again, asking…

"Who is this that questions my wisdom with such ignorant words?”

I have to respond…

“Uh, God? Those ignorant words? Yeah, that would be me…”

Am I? Part I

If you don't know me, you'll realize very quickly, from reading my posts, I'm swift on the emotional gun, while not always sure what I'm aiming at.

This last week has been incredibly difficult, though you probably wouldn't know it if you saw me. I tend to keep things in and allow them to simmer for a while. Oh, I let off steam when talking to my wife or friends, and they are usually gracious listening to my frustrations; sometimes they even correct me. Friends who are willing to correct you are dear friends, indeed; even if you feel like smacking them at the time.

The other night, a friend was finally able to produce a show she had been working on for months. The show was selflessly created for Kristie and I and our adoption process. Not only did she work so hard at getting bands to come and perform, dancers to choreograph, and food and goods to sell, but we also had many other friends come to support us and help out! I am so incredibly indebted to them. 

There were some snags along the way, of which I will not elaborate. But let me say I was disappointed in some of the musical guests who came that night. Culminating from the prior week of drama from the adoption process and work-related issues, I was completely worn out by the end of Friday night. While outside the facility, packing our van, I stopped and thought about my frustrations and prayed.

“God,” I said as a worshipful reminder, “you’re my God.”

I pray this often, as it encourages me knowing He is there with me when I’m struggling (He’s there when I’m not, too, but I struggle more often than not). Friday night, however, I heard a response… and it struck me hard.

“God, you’re my God.”

“AM I?” a still small voice spoke. I couldn’t tell you what direction it came from, but I heard it clear as my own voice (but it wasn’t my voice).

“Yes,” I replied with a sense of trepidation and mild encouragement.

“Then why don’t you act like it?”