Yesterday was Orphan Sunday, also known as Hope Sunday, but I like Orphan Sunday better. Orphans deserve a Sunday, indeed they deserve much more than I was obscurely given. I look at my little one and think about what if he was orphaned some how (I realize ten or so of you just jumped in your seat and said, possibly outloud, "I'd take him!"). But this is imaginary land and in it, Rory is an orphan. The estimated number of orphans is somewhere between 150 and 210 million. That's a lot to compete with. And with each day Rory ages, the less likely it is he will be taken into someone's home. How can we have possibly allowed so many children to live without a family?
I think it's easy to pass off responsibility to someone else, to say you don't have enough money or space or time. But if you're reading my blog? You have enough money to access a computer, more than a 50 square foot mud house, and plenty of time to waste on blog reading (not that I don't appreciate you!). I'm just saying, there are three self proclaimed Christians to every orphan. By these statistics alone, assuming only Christians adopt (which is vastly untrue), there should be no more orphans due to the fact that we are called to look out for the least of these, the lost and the broken and those without. Who is more lost, broken, and without, than a little orphan?
To prove this is not just another soap box, Mark and I are beginning to diligently pray about and research adoption as we save our pennies to go across the world on mission. Yes, we have a brand new baby. No, we don't have a lot of money. Yes, we are still planning on living in the dirt in some developing country. I don't know if adoption is in our near future or a little further out, but I would urge you to consider as we are considering.
This week was a weekend of reminders:
We are called to Africa, the heavy sun on red earth. We will raise Rory there with a love of drum centric music and bare feet. He will learn to speak more than just English and hear more than just words. It isn't normal and I don't pretend to imagine it is for everyone. But it is for us and what we are called to. And we are eager to follow that call to the heart of Africa and the heart of God.
The mission field is not just Africa, but here. For now, we find ourselves in a small corner of Suburbia in the Pacific Northwest and we are called to love each of these as much anyone else. Here people are poor internally rather than externally, starving spiritually rather than physically, and have deep needs that cannot be met by material gain. And as much as they pain and frustrate me, as much as I cannot stand their accumulation of wealth and complaining manner, as much as I find their stagnant consumerism and lack of desire to go into the rest of the world infuriating? I must love them. They know nothing but the life that they live and for many, that is enough. I do not know their call as they do not know mine and if I desire for them to allow me my dreams, I must allow them theirs. Loving each person where they are at, seeing them for their potential, and praying for them each and every day.
Adoption is in our future. Maybe not today or tomorrow or even next year, but it is an ever present weight upon our minds. A needed focus in our prayer lives. Somewhere there is a child (or children) we are parents to that we have not found yet. Perhaps we may not discover each other for some time, but they should still be in our hearts as we seek them out.
Rory has had an upset tummy several times this weekend and we experienced an inconsolable little boy for the first time. Not just cries, but screams and tears and so much sorrow wrapped up in the package of our sweet son. It was difficult, but we have managed. And that got me really thinking about our relationship with God. I cannot imagine having 7 billion children to hear hurting, mourning, and in pain, a lot of them all at once. Trying to comfort them with many pulling away, desiring to deal with it on their own or not wanting to recognize Your arms attempting to wrap around them. I can't fathom the time, energy, and pain spent on all of us rebellious children who refuse to see Your comfort and love as such and still You yearn for us. Never turning Your back on the difficult moments or falling apart because we won't allow You to intercede. All I want is to follow that example of parenting, to have even the smallest bit of that kind of devotion towards my little boy and future children.
These are the sweet reminders that have blessed me this weekend. Each reminder often tearful and overwhelming, but lovely and delicate all at once. I am so grateful for my amazing husband who battles a frustrated Rory 3 out of 4 mornings they spend together and still has enough love and compassion and joy to pour over onto me as I stumble over being a good wife. And that Rory is communicating what he wants and needs a little better and we know what to do when he goes into a fit. I am glad of our beautiful little house with it's donkeys and goats and gravel road and extensive property. I am blessed by our wonderful church and community, my dear friends and my flexible job, and our laid back hippie demeanor that allows us to be grateful for our "below the poverty line" life.
Quickie last thoughts: Regardless of who or what you're voting for, if you are able? There is no excuse not to vote! And, "Remember, remember the fifth of November, the gun powder treason and plot. I know of no reason the gun powder treason should ever be forgot." I am not just discussing V for Vendetta, I am discussing Guy Fawkes. Ideas live even after we are gone.
No comments:
Post a Comment