PowerPacks 2013

8,500 kids in Minneapolis and St. Paul, who might have had to head back to school without proper supplies, got brand spankin' new backpacks filled with pencils, notebooks, folders, etc, etc.-thanks to an urban church in their neighborhood who has been praying for them, and looking for ways to be the hands and feet of Jesus to families in need.  Our ministry provided these backpacks for 125 churches to distribute.

Some churches hosted outreaches in their parking lots, some went door to door to introduce themselves to their neighbors, and some delivered fliers to invite families to a church service and to receive a backpack.

We know that this is only the beginning of a long term relationship for many families and their local church.

And we're thankful that "He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus" Philippians 1:6.
Just ask *CW, a college student who received a backpack 5 years ago from a church in her south Minneapolis neighborhood.  With the "PowerPack" backpack came an invitation to join an after school program hosted at the church on Monday and Wednesday nights.  CW got involved, and over time learned about God's love for her, His offer of forgiveness, and she began to place her trust in Jesus.  Now she is a college student preparing to become a missionary!

In Moby Gym next week

We're over here in Colorado for the next ten days for a big Family Reunion of sorts.  We're here with co-laborers from all across the country, some thousands of us - I'll get the real stat and update that soon.  I don't mean to get overly schmaltzy, but for me this is a pale version of a sneak peek at heaven - because for the next week we get to come together to share stories of what we see God doing to rescue lives, and we get to worship together, and pray together, and sit in meetings where we strategize and dream together; this is our biennial "Staff Conference".
I keep running into people whom I've literally known for over half of my life (since I was in high school).  We're not techanically related, but serving together, with a common passion to advance the gospel, connects us in ways even closer than folks on a family tree. 
For example yesterday, I had Ruby and Sadie Lou with me to walk through the registration line for our "staff conference", and I saw a former mentor, Kevin.  I said, "Girls, this is Mr Kevin, and he taught Momma to love God's Word more than anyone else ever has..." and then my voice cracked cuz my mind was flipping through memories of all the times he led devotionals, or told stories, or went with me door to door in inner city New York sharing our faith with eager listeners.  And I remembered standing next to him in a hotel lobby in Orlando on a Tuesday morning as we watched on the tv a live shot of the second plane hitting the Twin Towers, and he and I and a few others had an emergency staff meeting to pray and talk through implications for our ministry.
And this morning at breakfast in our hotel I got to hug more co-laborers, many of whom I haven't seen in years.  We exchange pleasantries, and it's not super deep, yet we have an understanding, a common language, and a shared journey.  Throughout the week as we walk around the college campus where we're all meeting, I anticpate running into more and more friends and co-workers from the past couple decades.  We'll be sure to grab lunch with some, or even a late night ice cream run, and we'll share deeper dreams, and more personal struggles, and we'll encourage each other, and just "get" each other.
And in that way, it's my little sneak peek at heaven.

Did you know that about a hundred years ago the German mark and the US dollar had such a shake up in the exchange rate, that the mark's value went from 4 marks per dollar, to 4.2 trillion marks per dollar within a period of five years. What?  Ok, that's an extreme example of hyperinflation, but the point is that each country's currency holds a different value.  If your pocket is full of Ugandan shillings, a $2 coke in the U.S. costs you more than it costs someone who has a pocket full of Japanese yen.
That's kinda what it's like for kids from hard places.  Certain things just cost them more.  They might be able to hang in there, and appear to be doing just fine like any typical kid, but in the end they are far more depleted.  They are operating on a different exchange rate.
Today we toured a kids play land based on a radio program our girls love: Adventures in Odyssey.  Ruby and Sadie Lou have been talking about this visit since mid-winter.  It was a great time.  The girls ran around looking at the displays, going down the big twisty slide, enjoying ice cream at "Whit's End Soda Shoppe", and exploring Narnia.  And although the boys mostly clung to our bodies, and fussed, and occasionally ventured out, we all had fun.
 
 
And yet, within five minutes of getting in the car, a couple of our kids had major meltdowns, and another (a non-napper) fell dead asleep.  No big deal, most kids react this way after big outings, right?  Maybe.  But I just have a hunch that it costs my kids a little more to keep it all together, and swim in the deep end with the rest of the crowd.
We're working on improving our exchange rate.  It doesn't happen overnight, but Germany did it, and we can too :)

Everything but the kitchen sink, and my purse

We left first thing after breakfast yesterday (Monday) morning, and about 90 minutes into the trip I burst into tears.  To use the terminology I usually reserve for my kids: I had big big emotions for a small, small problem.
We are currently finishing up Day Two of our first big road trip as a family of six.  I spent a couple days washing every last piece of summer clothing we own, and making well-planned stacks of outfits along the wall in my bedroom.  The night before the trip, I loaded everything into suitcases, and started packing the back of the mini-van like a jenga master.  On Monday morning, while Dave was double-checking every door lock and loading the kids into the car, I was in the kitchen filling sippy cups with ice water.  Then I scooted out the door, and we drove away.  Whew.  Coloring books, matchbox cars, Barbies, pillows, blankies, snacks, briefcases, swimsuits, cds, gluten free bread, you name it, I had gathered it.
But I left my purse, with my camera, my Bible, my journal, a much anticipated book, my make-up, and last-minute odds and ends - sitting on my bedroom floor.
So, I cried.  After a while, I put on my sunglasses, pulled myself together, and crawled into the back seat to help Ruby with her math workbook, and we were back in business.
We visited some friends for lunch in their Iowa small town, and the kids enjoyed playing with someone else's toys in someone else's house, and then walking around in "nature" as we call it.  Then we drove another few hours for dinner with some other friends in their small town.  Ruby enjoyed showing off her new bike riding skills on a borrowed bike, and Sadie Lou made a "new best friend".  But Joseph and Joshua were having a harder time with so many new environments in one day, and Dave and I didn't even notice until the boys each had to make it abundantly clear in their own ways.  So, we tried to make a quick but gracious exit and drive a couple more hours to our hotel in Nebraska.
The kids were tucked into bed just before 11pm.
Today we spent over 8 hours in the car, calling out liscense plates from far flung states, taking silly photos with my phone, looking for items on lists I'd scribble on the back of scrap receipts: a red barn, a silo, a dead tree, a sunflower.
In some po-dunk, one stop sign, small town in the middle of eastern Colorado, we stopped for gas and met a family of five refueling their sedan.  The dad approached Dave and asked, "Are your kids adopted?"  Dave later tells me that he resisted saying "No, why do you ask?"  When he said yes, the guy asked Dave if we did it "for spiritual reasons", and Dave said "Well, yes, we are Christians and we believe that God has called us to care for the fatherless, so I guess you could say that was a big part of our decision to adopt."  So we're standing in the 100 degree heat, and I'm making Ruby do jumping jacks to get the wiggles out before we crawl back into the van, and Dave is meeting a brother in Christ, and this guy is telling him how he and his wife have a friend serving at an orphanage in India, and they really want to adopt but don't have any idea what first steps to take.  For the next ten minutes, Dave shares some info with them, and they end by praying together in the parking lot and hugging, and exchanging business cards.  And they drive east, and we drive west.
Huh.  Go figure.  What are the chances?
And we pray with our kids, thanking God for this couple, and thanking God that He knows the children all over the world that need a family, and we ask God to provide the money for this family to bring home a son or daughter who can grow up to know and love Jesus too.
And Ruby says, "Cool. (pause)  Oh look, another dead tree to cross off our scavenger hunt list!"

"I got it!  I got it, Momma, let go!" she hollered while I ran alongside her.  For the hundredth time, I was running breathlessly with one hand clutching the bike seat, and one hand trying to compensate on the handle bar for her lack of balance.  I outweigh her by 25lbs, but it felt like balancing something twice my girth.  And now she was ordering me to step away.  And let her fall?  And let her shaky confidence shatter?  Scrape her knees and scar her pretty skin?  "Almost, Honey girl, you almost got it."  I panted.
But she wouldn't have it.  "No!  Just let go, Momma."
So I did.
And she did.
She biked her little old self down the street.
Folks, this is a big deal.  My 7 1/2 year old baby girl doesn't come by these milestones easily.
Earlier today we were practicing preK/K math, and then later I was faking patience while we puttered through basic phonics.  And she has these flashes of brilliance - she invents the most creative, and aadorable outfits, and this morning I found her huddled in the tiny linen closet where she had fashioned an art studio and was drawing a mosaic butterfly.  And on the other hand, there are countless times every day I say things I never thought I'd need to, like "Sweetie, we don't eat paper we find on the floor at Target.  Actually, we don't eat any paper, but especially not off public floors."  You know, things like that.
So, when my baby girl pulled away and rode effortlessly down the street, on her big girl bicycle, I indulged in a tearful Momma happy dance.

 All four kids have had well-checks in the past couple weeks.  They always give the kid a sticker at the end of the visit, but I really think it's the MOM that deserves the prize.  Mom is the one filling out a clipboard of paper work in the lobby while her kids argue over the giant abacus toy that's no doubt a petri dish of germs, then she's the one hushing kids and trying to break up fights without raising her voice, then she's holding the specimen cup while one kid is one the toilet and the others are unraveling the toilet paper into a heap on the floor, and she's the one who packed extra snacks and activities to endure the 60 minutes in a 10x10 room, and she's holding the kid(s) down while some stranger sticks a needle in her kid's leg(s), and she's the one trying to have an adult conversation with the doctor while the kids are playing tug-o-war with the stretchy cord of the eye/ear light thingy that's mounted to the wall.  But the kids get stickers when it's all over, and mom gets to leave with most of her dignity cause at least at a pediatric office they see lots of kids, and no one says "you've got your hands full".

 After the doc's office, it was Sadie Lou's turn for Hair Time.

 

Two pretty heads + four days+16 hours=no more braiding for another 5 weeks

Throw like a Girl

 I played softball as a kid. On my block growing up, there were four girls in the same grade - three of whom were very athletic, and then me, a very distant fourth.  My softball experience consisted of me standing at the plate praying that the pitcher would throw four balls, so I could take my base.  Then for offense, I'd stand in right field with my right arm up in the air to coax the gnats to circle my mitt rather than my face while I prayed fervently that the ball would never come flying through the air in my direction.  Once I fielded a ball by walking it to first base rather than throwing it, because I knew it had a better chance of reaching it's intended destination.  Yeah, sports aren't my strong suit.

 Ruby's in her first year of coaches-pitch baseball.  She loves it.  She loves meeting new kids, and wearing her team t-shirt, and getting a snack at the end of the game.  She loves singing to herself and making up dance moves while she's in the outfield.  I'm pretty sure it doesn't occur to her that if the ball comes in her direction, it'll be her responsibility to do something.  She doesn't put much pressure on herself :)

And the girl can hit!