Children. Adopted.

I got to their house yesterday, and was welcomed with shouts of "Miss Elizabeth! You're here! I drew a picture for you! It's in your bedroom!" After lots of carrying on, running around, pats on the head and laughter, we made it to 'my bedroom,' which is actually The Spare Room. I know it is the Anne in me, but I have always loved staying in Spare Rooms.

And there, on the bed, was the picture he drew for me: Me, with my name carefully and (mostly) legibly written underneath Me, and his signature below that (which is, of course, the mark of any great artiste). I admired the picture appropriately, and then observing the unique shape of 'my' arms, I asked if they were arms or wings--

"They're wings! Because you're an angel."

Thus began the most worshipful Sabbath experience of my time here yet. Those little boys (and their momma) loved on me, they invited me to play games with them, eat with them, go outside with them, mark things off their chore list with them, help them get dressed, watch God Rocks with them and more.

Children, with all of their stubborn and wily ways, are a glorious picture of the generosity of Jesus and His kingdom.

Then, this morning, I sat behind a couple in church who just adopted a newborn baby girl a couple of weeks ago. The whole time that the pastor was speaking about worshipful experiences (yes, he did), I was mesmerized by watching that couple with their baby girl. Pastor said that worshipful experiences teach us about who God is; I sat there and watched that mom and dad hold that baby, eyes filled with love, as she blinked up at them in the typical newborn shell-shocked kind of way. God, who has adopted each one of His children, holds us with hands that will not falter and gazes lovingly at us through the midst of our shell shock and fussiness. It's a rough ride, being transferred from the kingdom of darkness to the kingdom of light.

Pastor said that worshipful experiences remind us of our sinfulness in God's presence. I sat there and wondered: that baby did nothing to deserve the love of those parents. That baby girl was most likely born in adversity and adopted only through the persistence of two visionary parents. And, friend, who are we? That we should be called sons and daughters of God? Truly, our sin makes His adoption of us--His rescue of us from eternal adversity--that much more remarkable.

By this point, tears are pouring down my face. Children--who love so big and imagine so raw--invite us into the generosity of the God who is our Adoptive Father.

I knew I had to tell that couple how observing them during church had been a worshipful experience; but I almost couldn't get out the words because my spirit was (and is) so deeply moved by the fact that I am His. And He has made me His own.

What about you?

The Soloist

Last night, I watched 'The Soloist' with Roberty Downey, Jr. and Jamie Foxx. I know this movie has been out for a while, but give me a break; I am not only making up for a year and a half of seminary madness--remember I was in the middle of literal nowhere Mongolia for a couple of years before that. So, The Soloist.

The Soloist is a homeless man: Nathaniel Anthony Ayres, Jr. (Foxx). Steve Lopez (Downey) first stumbles across him near downtown Los Angeles in a plaza containing a statue of Beethoven. Nathaniel is playing a violin with only two strings; but Lopez is intrigued because Nathaniel is creating beautiful music even without the other two strings. Lopez, a columnist for the L.A. Times, starts investigating the mysterious Ayres in what becomes a search not only for Ayres' history but a painfully personal and transformative quest for Lopez.

Nathaniel Anthony Ayres, Jr., you see, went to Julliard. But he is also mentally ill; the same voices that drove him away from Julliard are the same ones that drive him away from trust, away from human companionship, away from 'stability.' Lopez realizes that his desire to 'help' Nathaniel is both noble and selfish--Nathaniel has become one of the most popular subjects of his column, after all. At one point, Nathaniel even calls Lopez his 'god' and tells Lopez that he loves him. But Lopez quickly realizes that he does not want to be the one loved; because he knows that his own imperfections will eventually let Nathaniel down. He does not want to bear the responsibility of it all.

Eventually, that very thing does happen. Lopez, in trying to 'help' Nathaniel's medical condition, enrages him so much that he threatens to kill Lopez if he ever sees him again.

But Lopez cannot forget Nathaniel; he cannot forget the way that music makes him come alive; he cannot forget the beauty that Nathaniel is capable of creating. So, in a step of extraordinary kindness, Lopez flies Nathaniel's sister to L.A., where she sees Nathaniel for the first time in many years. At their meeting, Nathaniel sees Lopez and apologizes for the ugly things he had said at their previous encounter.

Lopez insists that he wants to be Mr. Ayres' friend; "You don't have to call me that," says Ayres.

"I should have called you that all along."

Then Lopez, in a dramatic picture of transformed and transformative grace, sticks out his hand: "Mr. Ayres, I am honored to be your friend."

Grace. It's not just a one-time, all-or-nothing deal. Grace is persistent. It hounds us, surrounds us, pursues us. And it is true that grace shines more brilliantly in the midst of failure--but it is equally true that a daily recognition and grasping of the grace offered to us in every situation will bind the cords of our personhood to the heart of the One full of grace and truth: Jesus.

So, I stand.

This past week I have been substitute teaching my dad's classes at the college. It has been draining, but also very fun and encouraging. Tuesday morning, I taught the class "Spiritual Life." Topics? Spiritual Life and the Mind and Spiritual Warfare (I find this somewhat ironic given my own journey recently, but that's a story for another time).

By the time we had break, the class was pretty fired up--and we hadn't even gotten to spiritual warfare yet. When we came back from break, we started discussing the reality of spiritual warfare and looked at Paul's matter-of-fact description of it as well as the 'armor' that God has provided for us. Our discussion/my teaching quickly became one of the more humbling experiences of my week (month... year).

I drew a stick figure person on the chalkboard and dressed him with the armor: helmet, breastplate, belt, shoes, shield and sword. I labeled each item with its association: salvation, righteousness, truth, preparation of the gospel of peace, faith and the Spirit (which is the word of God). So there was Soldier; dressed and ready to go. But then, as we continued looking at the passage they realized that all of the 'armor' was defensive in nature except the Sword (the Spirit, which is the word of God).

It was like I saw it through their eyes for the first time: the Spirit fights the battles. We are told to stand, to stand firm. We are not told to win, to fight, to be offensive or anything like it. The Spirit fights and we are protected by the armor that has been provided and given by God Himself. There is literally nothing I can do to protect myself, to have victory, to fight any battles. Period.

Even the armor that I wear is given to me; there is no room for shared triumph.

So, I stand: I stand clothed with Grace draped over me with the hands of the victory King Himself.

Sweet.

I am: hayil.

So it's no secret that the past couple of months have been rocky--not just for me, but (especially) for brothers and sisters of mine around the globe. I think of my dear sister, whose father passed away suddenly about a month ago. I think of my dear friends in Ohio, whose first year of marriage and first pregnancy has become one of the most dark "death valleys" imaginable. I think of Haiti: the suffering, devastation, hopelessness and confusion. I think of my fiancé, who is confronting a terrible economy head-on as he seeks to follow God's leading for both of us.

And I think of Naomi, and Ruth. I think of their bitter losses and their inability to protect any sort of stable future; the apparent mockery of the God who would take away their hopes for food, provision and future. But, as I've been reminded recently through Carolyn Custis James' book, "The Gospel of Ruth," these two women were also hayil.

Translated at times as "excellent" (cf. the "excellent" woman of Proverbs 31:10, ESV), in Ruth it is translated as "worthy" (ESV) or "noble" (NIV) when used in reference to Ruth in chapter 3. Boaz, however, is also described with this Hebrew adjective; and actually, this adjective has very determined overtones of strength, valor, capability and even military service. It is used regularly to describe men and yet it is not exclusive to men as is obvious by a closer inspection of Ruth and Proverbs. Woman can be--and should be--courageous: full of valor and zeal for the One who made her and the ones He has placed in her path.

Anyways, all of this reflection and all of these hard things show me that there is no time to waste in moping and pity parties; tears will come, but they should not interfere. I am not the defenseless, needy, sex object damsel-in-distress that both popular culture and yes, even Christian subculture, paint me as.

God has given me the ability to trust Him; and if I do, my 'self' will become a conduit for His strength, given to others.

God help me not to forget who You are; and who I am in You.

On a side note, all of this has rekindled my passion for writing; indeed I have an idea for a book that was actually planted last Fall by my Hebrew professor. Possible title: "The Woman of Proverbs 31, Revisited." Intrigued? I am. :)