¿Ya?No¿

About twenty minutes and some days ago, I saw, from the corner of my eye, this hair. It rivaled mine in every way except pigment. I strolled on over and introduced myself. She introduced herself as Jami Armine. We've been late night texting and swapping sarcasm "like we are the oldest and dearest of friends." (Kathleen Kelly of the little bookstore.) Today she has blessed us with her heart on adopting her own version of my Sam. His name too happens to be Sam. Sam 2.0 Here is her story...

We currently have seven children. They range in age from 21 year to 7 months.  4 biological, 1 adopted, 1 almost adopted, and a wee baby foster daughter.  

Our 4-year-old son, Sam is… well, he’s a hot mess.  

Although, we are often offered congratulatory praise for our “awesomeness” for opening our home to the boy, the truth is… He saved our lives.

  

At a time when all was lost, I made a ridiculously inappropriate phone call and stammered, “We want to adopt.” 

Nine months from that day, we met Sam. 

And we laughed again. 

We smiled again.

We hoped again. 

We stopped sleeping through the night… again.  

Sam has a non-stop chatter. Oddly enough, in spite of the fact that he has been in our home since he was ten-days-old and we are Texans of German – Scottish-Norwegian descent – Sam has a little bit of a Mexico-ish dialect.  And he can’t say cheese, but he says queso perfectly. 

Ours in not to question why.  

And lately he has this thing he says, with a Hispanic quick tongue. He says it repeatedly after a question. 

“Can I have a dwink of water, Ya? No? Ya? NO? Ya? Or NO?” 

It gets to be laughable. Especially in a two-part question. 

Sam: Can I have cookies and go outside? Ya? No? Ya? NO? Ya? Or NO?

Me: You can go outside, but you can’t have cookies because it is almost time for dinner.

Sam: Ya? No?

Me: No. No, and Ya. 

Sam: Ya? No? 

Me: No. No. Ya. 

Sam: No-Ya I have cookies and go outside?  

Me: Ya, no? Wait, what?  

Inevitably, we just give him anything he asks for.  

So the other day someone asked me how we knew for sure that God was calling us to foster and adopt. I can honestly say I was self-willed in this.  It was on my heart, we wanted to rewrite our story. Stop being the “Poor Amerines” and be instead, people of joy.  

And I didn’t wait for a ya.  

I didn’t wait for a no.  

We just jumped in… head first.  

In other scenarios we have prayed and asked, or begged for clarity. And there have been other times we have used the Ya? No? tactic to quickly get our way.  And then we have someone to blame when it blows up.  You said “Ya? No? Oh wait you didn’t say ya?”

But you can’t stump God.  

Nor can you out-wit Him.  
“We aren’t called to (adopt, foster, give, donate…)” 

And sorry, that is ballarky.  Yes, we have clear and concise words from God that guide us, like our first placement, a real live human boy… that I knew wasn’t our son.  But spare yourself, and those around you the “I am not called…” Because there are a million ways to serve the least of these and we are ALL called to that. (Matthew 25:40)

And He who gives also takes away. (Job 1:21) And that hurts. We were never told it wouldn’t hurt.  

Loving hurts. 

Yet we are all called to love. (John 13:34)   

And I am momma to a quirky little Mexican boy. He makes us laugh. He teaches us daily.

Sometimes there is a clear answer and sometimes there is simply a clear risk. But the risk has been worth the pain. 

The truth is our God moves how He moves and saves how He saves. He called us each to care for the orphans and the widows. He encouraged us to give until it hurts. (Luke 9:23-25) To walk away from your possessions, let the dead bury the dead and follow Him.  (Matthew 19:21)

And this, is much easier said than done.  

I fully assume you know where I speak from… 

Ya? No?  

May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained.

 Love, Jami 

Defend the weak and the fatherless, uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed.  Psalm 82:3

Visit Jami at Sacred Ground Sticky Floors

Post and orders, remain as directed

 So, tonight I was listening to a guy named Philip De Courcy, a very Irish fellow. He's an excellent speecher, and looks not at all how I pictured him. He talked about where we get our orders. Most of us have more than one order giver in our lives. If you are married, sometimes the directives come from the spouse. If you have a toddler, you know that you find yourself taking orders now and then before you realize that tiny turkey is not the boss of you. And if you are a Christian, even if no one else knows it, you get your order from God. 

My advice is that you listen and obey. However, my example on the matter thought it was Opposite Day. (Why my auto correct changed the capitalization on this made up holiday, I do not know. But I often think it should be a day and I am keeping it). 

Anyhow. My example is to doubt. To second (and 3rd and 4th) guess what I think God said. Especially when I don't see anything working in what I feel is the right direction. You know what else I learned about myself?

I sometimes try to quit people before they quit me. I close up. I build a wall faster than Nehemiah if he had two good arms, and I bunker down inside where it makes me feel better if I quit first. 

I have this idea God gave me. When I was a kid, until I was well into high school, if anyone asked me how many kids I wanted, I would calmly reply, "10." I wasn't kidding. Then I met my only child husband, and plans changed. Sort of. 

As you can see by my seriously awesome pictures, I have five kids. If we are getting personal, I have three babies we don't talk about often. It's not as raw, but it still hurts. We lost three little peanuts. I never asked God why. He was ready for them, and it doesn't change the status of their parents. Those are my three babies. Even if they never lived outside of my belly. So I have eight kids. 

And about three years ago, I felt like God dropped a nugget of desire in my lap that we should consider adopting. There is more to this story, but it's not the time for that. 

I dreamt of a little boy. Since then, my husband teeters on the edge of hysteria and crazy enough to happen depending on his day. Also, he threatens sincerely to steal our friends' adopted blondie little girl. He wants to have her over for dinner. He wants to buy her presents. He cries like he is her daddy when she sings on stage or burps the alphabet. He won't admit it, but I think he secretly wants another girl. 

I say we both get our way and we add two more brewers so we can reach that magical number, 10. 

I declared it. Not like bankruptcy. Like full of faith. Like Joshua giving orders to the sun. Like Jesus yelling for Lazarus. Like my six year old hollering "CAN SOMEONE PLEASE BRING ME TOILET PAPER?!" Loudly. With strength. With conviction. I wrote about it. I prayed. Fasted. Held tight to promises. 

And three years later. Nothing. Except my unfulfilled desires. Oh, and nearly everyone I know gets to adopt. But not me. 

My heart wants to quit before this dream quits me. What if it never happens and then I just look like a fool? 

 

Philip De Courcy. He talked about the soldiers guarding the tomb of the unknown soldier in Arlington Cemetery. I'd imagine it's even more emotional than the regular cemeteries. I'd like to go there and watch the changing of the guards. Because these guys know their orders. And in the same way God is so faithful to bring reminders and keep his will heavy on our hearts, so do the guards. They are guarding the remains of soldiers from two different wars. These men couldn't have a tombstone like everyone else because we never knew their names. Just their bodies. We brought them home and put them in this tomb which is protected night and day. Always. 

The soldier walks 21 paces. Turns and pauses for 21 seconds. Then he walks back the 21 paces to his starting point. He does this repeatedly until it's time for a changing of the guard. 

When his replacement comes, after the new guy carefully inspects his weapon, he asks "what is the directive?"

The soldier says,"post and orders remain as directed." Every time. 

It's what God is saying to each of us really. Just about different things. Mel Gibson gave his own spin on this phrase in the movie The Patriot. "Stay the course." 

Remain as directed. 

Stay the course. 

Because there may be pain at night, but joy comes in the morning. And God's fulfillment. 

I am grateful for my work while I wait. I am grateful for the ways God is preparing me every day. I am grateful that my work is not as monotonous as the soldiers in Arlington Cemetery, no matter how noble that job is. 

His boundaries for me have fallen in essential places (psalms). 

Remain as directed. 

Stay the course. 

Amen. 

Constant Reminders That He is God and I am Not

Sometimes I get discouraged when I feel God lighting up a path in my life that stays dark for the people around me. I get excited. Thrilled. Anxious. Impatient. Frustrated. Because I am raising my hand, jumping up and down saying, "PICK ME! PICK ME!" But God isn't calling on me to move just yet. Not in the obvious ways anyway. This video made me cry. A lot. But in the end I feel the hope, and I feel encouraged to continue to wait on the Lord for what he will do in the ole Brewer household. I want to serve God. I want to love God. I need to love others.
   

Thanks Farmer's Wife