Today I found out my sponsored child was born the same time of year I returned to the Lord, way back in 1995, but not only that, it was the same time of year John returned to the Lord. Something we pondered while we were dating. Both John and I have a drug use past, nothing too steep, but definitely distracting to the course. I don't know why I didn't notice this until today.
Just today I pulled out the little brochure about Kenya that was sent to me, telling me about Mwelu's (my sponsored child) life, most probably. I showed Keane the pictures and he pointed to one with a bunch of kids. "Kids!" he exclaimed, how could he get to them, was what he was thinking. "Play!" was his next exclamation. I turned to the page with Mwelu's picture and he held out his power ranger, "here!" he said. He found disappointment. Mwelu didn't take it.
Disappointment comes when we expect something never promised to us, we hoped that something would happen, and it didn't, or we hope in physical impossibilities, unless God has laid them on our heart, to watch Him work and glorify Himself. If I kept holding up the piece of paper everyday and said to Keane "try today, Keane!" it would be downright cruel. Pretty soon he would wonder if I had the best intentions for him, trust would wane, probably, and then.....distance.
All Keane wants to do is play, so I send him outside to play, I don't point him to impossibilities, vague ideals, I show him what is possible now. "Go on, go play."
I play guitar, not very well, and I like to write songs. I've been doing it since the 90s....so have a lot of other people. What I know is that these are songs God gives, this is "talent" that is borrowed, and finally, they are meant for Him. If no one on earth ever hears them, that's God's thing, if my hands fall off and I never play again, that's God's thing, if I get throat cancer and become mute, praise be to God.
What's real, that's what I'm sticking to, not real ideals, what's real. I'm a tired, worn out everyday Mama, who concerns herself with the daily needs of her family. I retweet everything having to do with Ron Paul. I ponder when the yard is going to get finished, when I'm going to be able to spring clean my kitchen and if I will ever be able to plant seeds this spring?? Please Lord! I sit down on my bed in the evening and read my Bible, usually I ask God for more patience, that's the normal topic, anyway.
Every once in awhile, though, that song will fill my heart, most of them don't get written down because I'm vacuuming, changing diapers, or something random. I sing it, I sing it to the wall, the tile floors I'm mopping, but mostly the Lord. As the song goes, "Ain't no rock, gonna cry out in my place." Not polished, not backed by countless instruments I don't know the names of, usually my voice cracks (do over!), but I sing....that is all. What's glorious is no one will ever stop me, even if my mouth is shut.
Just today I pulled out the little brochure about Kenya that was sent to me, telling me about Mwelu's (my sponsored child) life, most probably. I showed Keane the pictures and he pointed to one with a bunch of kids. "Kids!" he exclaimed, how could he get to them, was what he was thinking. "Play!" was his next exclamation. I turned to the page with Mwelu's picture and he held out his power ranger, "here!" he said. He found disappointment. Mwelu didn't take it.
Disappointment comes when we expect something never promised to us, we hoped that something would happen, and it didn't, or we hope in physical impossibilities, unless God has laid them on our heart, to watch Him work and glorify Himself. If I kept holding up the piece of paper everyday and said to Keane "try today, Keane!" it would be downright cruel. Pretty soon he would wonder if I had the best intentions for him, trust would wane, probably, and then.....distance.
All Keane wants to do is play, so I send him outside to play, I don't point him to impossibilities, vague ideals, I show him what is possible now. "Go on, go play."
I play guitar, not very well, and I like to write songs. I've been doing it since the 90s....so have a lot of other people. What I know is that these are songs God gives, this is "talent" that is borrowed, and finally, they are meant for Him. If no one on earth ever hears them, that's God's thing, if my hands fall off and I never play again, that's God's thing, if I get throat cancer and become mute, praise be to God.
What's real, that's what I'm sticking to, not real ideals, what's real. I'm a tired, worn out everyday Mama, who concerns herself with the daily needs of her family. I retweet everything having to do with Ron Paul. I ponder when the yard is going to get finished, when I'm going to be able to spring clean my kitchen and if I will ever be able to plant seeds this spring?? Please Lord! I sit down on my bed in the evening and read my Bible, usually I ask God for more patience, that's the normal topic, anyway.
Every once in awhile, though, that song will fill my heart, most of them don't get written down because I'm vacuuming, changing diapers, or something random. I sing it, I sing it to the wall, the tile floors I'm mopping, but mostly the Lord. As the song goes, "Ain't no rock, gonna cry out in my place." Not polished, not backed by countless instruments I don't know the names of, usually my voice cracks (do over!), but I sing....that is all. What's glorious is no one will ever stop me, even if my mouth is shut.
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