Crucifixion and Resurrection

                    ~The Valley of Vision

O LORD,

I marvel that thou shouldst become incarnate,

   be crucified, dead, and buried.

The sepulcher calls forth my adoring wonder,

    for it is empty and thou art risen;

    the four-fold gospel attests it,

    the living witnesses prove it,

   my heart's experience knows it.

Give me to die with thee that I may rise to new life,

   for I wish to be as dead and buried to sin,

       to selfishness, to the world;

           that I might be delivered from his lusts.

O Lord, there is much ill about me - crucify it,

                          much flesh within me -  mortify it.

Purge me from selfishness,

                        the fear of man,

                        the love of approbation,

                        the shame of being thought old-fashioned,

                        the desire to be cultivated or modern.

Let me reckon my old life dead because of crucifixion, 

      and never feed it as a living thing.

Grant me to stand with my dying Saviour,

                to be content to be rejected, 

                to be willing to take up unpopular truths,

                    and to hold fast despised teachings until death.

Help me to be resolute and Christ-contained.

Never let me wander from the path of obedience to thy will.

Strengthen me for the battles ahead.

Give me courage for all the trials, and grace for all the joys.

Help me to be a holy, happy person, 

        free from every wrong desire, 

               from everything contrary to thy mind.

Grant me more and more of the resurrection life:

    may it rule me, 

    may I walk in its power, and be strengthened through its influence. 

Amen

Little t... A Clarification

My last little post on Tristan was a winner, thanks for all the love friends! I think it was all the super stealth-like pictures of him. (Mark noted what he learned from that post was that "not allowed to post pictures of him" really means "not allowed to post pictures of his eyes." So I took a little liberty with the no photos rule... can you blame me?)

I wrote that post really, really quickly, like in 3.7 minutes. I want to go back and expound on the whole adoption thing. I think it came across as an announcement of sorts and may have surprised people whom we didn't tell in person. To me it wasn't so much of an announcement because it's something we've kind of figured for a while now. Our family has always been looking to adopt him, and the longer we've gone without bio-family contact the more we figured adoption was a go. What solidified that assumption was a conversation I had with his social worker saying she was going to ask the judge to terminate parental rights at the next hearing (April) instead of waiting and asking in October . . . thus moving up the adoption to "fast-track" status. Like I said before, many things can happen that would slow down and/or stop that from happening, like attorneys stalling for more time, or his tribe showing up again (though his social worker doesn't expect them to at this point). I guess what I'm saying is the adoption is not a done deal, just heading that way. Believe me, when we get that adoption date at "Happy Court" we'll be waving banners and shouting it from rooftops.

Alrighty, I think that sums it up. Everything else was right on, especially the size of my belly.

Little t

THIS BOY!!!!!

Because of legal stuff with Tristan not exactly being "ours" I'm not allowed to post pictures or videos of him online. This is a challenging rule for me to follow! Especially when I see LOADS of other people posting pics of their little darlings like it's their job, and I can't one up them with my outrageously ADORABLE baby boy. It's humbling really. :)

Little t (not to be confused with T, or Tman, which has rightfully belonged to Troy for 4.5 years), is growing perfectly. He is a happy, content, easy-peasy, sweet boy -almost all of the time, but nobody is perfect, right? When done correctly, he falls asleep in about 37 seconds. It's a thing of beauty. (Should I not post this picture? I'm I going to get CPS called on me due to the amount of loose blankets in his crib? Yikes!!)

He is eating like a champ. He sits, rolls, grabs, rocks on his knees and is seconds away from crawling. And he laughs. Does this boy laugh! Everyone is smitten with him, it's hard not to be, he's dreamy. 

We've been given the green light to adopt him, have I mentioned that?? Of course there is still time for anything and everything to happen that would cancel that decision, but as of right now he is being placed on the "fast-track" - which means it'll still be about 6-8 months... maybe longer. But it's fantastic to know we're headed in the right direction. 

The older four LOVE their little brother! They all dote on him like nobody's business. "SPACE!" I howl at them as they smother him with hugs and kisses and tickles. I think it's safe to say he will never feel unloved, at least not by this crew.

I think it was right around 5 months when Tristan started feeling like "mine". Before that I loved him, because he was tiny and smooshy, but right around 5 months he started really clinging to me. He was difficult to put to sleep at that time, unless it was me that was putting him down. Since I didn't nurse him I had never felt absolutely needed in his life, he'd be fine without me. But for about a month I was the only one who he'd fall asleep for. And while that was a little inconvenient it made me feel like the comforter and irreplaceable, like a mom. :)

So that's a little update on our sweetheart!! If you want to see the real deal, which is totally worth it, come on over!! You will also get to see my ginormous belly that decided to show up and put an end to all the "you're so small, are you sure you're pregnant?" comments. Thanks belly. :0)

Have I ever told the story of Unfortunate Joe? No? 

Please note: the following takes place pre-Mark.

Picture me, circa 2001, sitting at a coffee shop wearing black Jack Purcells, reading Jack Kerouac, listening to Jimmy Eat World, feeling super emo and super cool. I was a hipster before hipsters were hipsters.

Enter, aside from my own husband of course, the most gorgeous young man ever to step foot in a Diedrich Coffee. Also wearing black Jack Purcells, the young man walks straight over to the group I'm with, sits down across from me and gives me his favorite lyric from Bleed American.

** Swoon**

His name was Joe. 

He was a model. 

And allllll the ladies pretty much fell over themselves trying to get his attention. 

(Not me, of course, I would never do such a thing. Really I wouldn't. I have never in my life been labeled "boy crazy". Not ever.) 

SOMEHOW Joe ended up asking me out on a date. (Read: he had an extra ticket to a show, just needed a ride to get there, and since I had a car, and he was gorgeous, I agreed.) 

The fact that he "needed a ride" should've been red flag number one.

And the fact that "gorgeous" Joe was single should've been red flag number two.

But alas... off we went.

I gave it a solid three date try. I really did. And there were even some coffee "hang outs" in between dates. But the boy, for the life of him, could not carry on a conversation worth beans. He just couldn't. It was all music talk (which I was initially drawn to) and modeling details (which I mustered up my high school thespian skills in order to appear to be drawn to). Try as he might, there was simply nothing beyond his super shiny exterior. And believe me, I soooooooooo wanted him to be more than shiny. I liked walking into places with him and having all the girls immediately hate me. I basically had to tell him the truth, which I'm not even sure he comprehended, "I can only have so many conversations about Death Cab for Cutie and Calvin Klein, you know?" The end. All my girlie friends thought I was nuts. Joe... so good looking but so empty inside, it was just so, so, unfortunate. 

*Real quick, let me  dig myself out of a potential hole and say how incredibly fortunate I am to have met my extremely HOT, hunk of a husband Mark. Whose intellect, wisdom and charm have endless depth, and whose dashing good looks are only exceeded by his dreamy personality. Plus, he's a child actor, and child actor trumps model any day. Done and done.

The reason why I bring up the story of Unfortunate Joe (who is actually still called that to this day) is because he tends to come to mind when I think about a frighteningly large group of people who make up christians in Orange County. That is a HUGE blanket statement, I know. I tried to re-word it a thousand times, but the truth is it's really kind of an epidemic around here. Super shiny people on the outside, empty on the inside. There is a disconnect between the preaching of the Gospel and a receiving of the radical transformation that comes from a surrendered life to Christ. When an authentic heart change occurs, from a heart of stone to a heart of flesh, there is a new depth to life that was never there before. The beauty is not only on outside but deep, deep in the soul.

My fear is the sugar coated half-truth gospel that is being taught (some churches, not every church) is only creating surface Christians. Poster people for Christ who live a lifestyle that is completely void of any real substance. We can be so good at this too. Especially us who have grown up in Christian homes. We know exactly how a Christian should look, no? Not too unlike a model, we know how to be seen in the best lighting so our best Christian features are noticed. 

Jesus knew this type. 

"And the Lord said to him,“Now you Pharisees cleanse the outside of the cup and of the dish, but inside you are full of greed and wickedness. You fools! Did not he who made the outside make the inside also? But give as alms those things that are within, and behold, everything is clean for you.

“But woe to you Pharisees! For you tithe mint and rue and every herb, and neglect justice and the love of God. These you ought to have done, without neglecting the others." Luke 11:39-42

(I think about this a lot as we are raising our children in a Christian home... but that's another post...)

Warning to shiny Christians who have accepted a mediocre gospel, believing a summer camp invitation has secured their place with our Savior who died and rose to make our insides unfathomably more beautiful than our outsides. To assume that a raised hand and a statement of belief is the equivalent to dying to myself and making Christ the Lord of my life would be unfortunate to the nth degree. 

"I have been crucified with Christ and it is no longer I who live but Christ who lives in me. And the life I live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave himself for me." Galatians 2:20

"And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires." Galatians 5:24

"...seeing that you have put off the old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge after the image of  its creator."  Colossians 3:9 & 10

That's my kind of model. 

It's been a month since I've written, so you know. . . that feels wrong. Here are some pics to fill in the gaps, and I hope to write, actually write, really soon. 

She turned 6. SIX I TELL YOU!

And she turned 3. THREEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

                                     

And that about sums it up.


More later, I promise. :)

Poop Talk

"I feel weighted down by the ugly of this world" my exact quote to a friend yesterday. I am tempted beyond belief to wallow in this. So today I will write about poop. Because nothing is funnier when you're feeling crappy than to talk about, well, crap.

Tristan is 5 months old and poops on the toilet about 94.4% of the time. He's done this for over two months now. It's really quite nice as I hardly change a dirty diaper. When we were in Big Bear it was great because we had to keep all the trash and take it to the "designated dumpsters" in town, and stinky diapers would've really been a bummer to hang onto for a week. Just the other day his babysitter asked if he ever poops because she'd never changed a dirty diaper, pretty cool eh?

 I didn't read a book or listen to a podcast or hear of some hippie clan doing this and set out to potty train my 3 month old. It just kind of happened. I wasn't even going to mention it on a blog because it's really not that important, but, like I said, today just needed some mindless chatter to lighted the load. Seemed fitting to talk about how Tristan does just that. (Get it, lighten the load??)

Just about anyone can tell when a baby is pooping. And "most" kids are pretty regular in their movements. Pretty early on I noticed Tristan was a morning guy (but not always). When he was three months old I'd be holding him and he'd tighten up, or I'd see him in the swing making funny faces, and say, "Oh he's pooping". Then it dawned on me one day that if I knew it was happening why not save myself a diaper and hold him on the toilet. So that's what I did, and I nearly fell over in shock when it worked.

If I put him on and he doesn't have to go he gets really fidgety and tries to wiggle out of my hands. But if I sit him down (always holding him, obviously) and he does have to go he'll sit still and look at his toes. It takes about as much time as it takes to change a diaper so it's not a time saving thing. I like that it saves diapers, it saves my nose from the incredible stink his little body can produce, and it saves his bum from rashes and just being uncomfortable.

If he doesn't go, I don't fuss about it. If he stops doing this, I won't be upset. If this leads to him being potty trained at a super early age I will do the craziest happy dance ever because in just 5 more months I'll have a whole other set of buns to wipe.

So there you go, a nice little distraction from the ugly, no? You're welcome.

Please Pray NOW

I want to write fun things... Like about being pregnant for the fifth time and how that just might turn into the biggest bundle of blessing ever. I want to write about Big Bear and the awesome memories. About Christmas and how Mark wasn't sick. About Ben turning eight and how he's now one year closer to the age of 35 - his true age. I want to write Part 2 of Working Mom. And I want to write about life and all it's wonderful bliss and glory.

But I can't.

All I can think about is Tori Linda.

 I know I'm not her best friend, but I'm a best friend of her big sister. I'm not the one she calls when she has a secret or a new song to share, in fact I don't think she's ever called me. But I remember the day she was born. She probably doesn't know the name of my kids, and I don't know the name of her dog, but I know the significance of her name, and the name of her favorite basketball team and what music she listens to on Spotify.

And I know the God who fearfully and wonderfully made her. And she knows him too. So that makes her a bit more than my best friend's little sister, it makes her my sister too.

Praying for Tori has given me a new understanding of praying without ceasing. She is on my mind, on my tongue, on my breath constantly. My dear T family... Tim, Tami, Timmy (doubt he goes by Timmy anymore) Taylore, Tawny, Tysen and the fiery red-headed Tori... You are bathed in prayer. There are no words, really, that even hint at the depth of love for your family by a thousand people. But as great as our love is, as deeply as we (think we) feel the pain and the fear, our God loves more greatly, and feels even deeper.

So we cling to hope.

And we offer whatever can, knowing it's almost silly, but we can't just sit here and do nothing.

Praying is not nothing.

So please pray with me, please.

Pray for a miracle. For no infections. For decreased swelling. For movement, especially on her right side. For her to wake up. For a miracle.

Read their family's blog for updates and prayer requests by clicking here.