Doing Something Harder

Note from Adrian: This is a guest post from my friend, Natalie, who echoes my heart 100% in almost every area of life. Natalie is a Christ-follower, a newlywed, an orphan advocate, an almost-official social worker, and a lover of all things cute and artsy. She live in St. Louis City with her curly-haired husband where she blogs and tweets about little things and big stuff.

(Want to write a guest post for Life Before the Bucket?)
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For me, living life to the fullest has meant different things at different times. But I don't think I've done it well until lately. And even now, I seem to face decisions in increasing frequency when I feel myself want to choose the less "full" choice.

I'm currently in the last month of my graduate program. In May, I will hold in my hands a Master's in Social Work. You can do a whole lot in social work. While most people think of middle aged white women coming to the door of poor families to snatch away their kids, I've learned social work also involves running youth programs, providing activities for the elderly, and advocating for or against policies.

As I search for a job, I feel myself desiring a 9a to 5p job with a cushy salary, frequent rewards, and little stress. Those social work jobs are out there. And because I have a background in journalism, those jobs are always on my mind, too. Working in front of a computer at a magazine? Sure! But I know the clear voice of a God who has been calling me to more for the past three years. I desire to work with families who have lost all respect from society. I desire to advocate for vulnerable, hurt children. I want to work in foster care.

I'm glad to be underpaid and overworked in the name of advocating for the best interests of a child. I'm glad to be called at all hours to address crises that arise when emotionally hurting kids are expected to act "normal." After all, we are called to "speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves" [Proverbs 31:8]. God has given me the faith and the resources to not only survive, but excel, at doing something harder. At speaking up. He has taken my idol of comfort and security and pushed it a bit further from my reach.

While social work is what I know I am called to do right now, I also know there will soon be a time when I am called to be a mom. I feel this most wonderful, scary, uncomfortable desire to adopt kids from hard places. Kids who have experienced great loss and whom very little may be known about. And this is okay with me.

I will not boast in my plans, but instead keep an ear out for God's. And even when I think I know His plans for my husband and me, I will continually submit them to Him. I will have constant conversations with Him. I will whisper to Him when I feel the uncomfortableness creeping in.

"Come now, you who say, 'Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit'— yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, 'If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.'” [James 4:13-15]

What is life if I don't feel uncomfortable sometimes? What is life if I don't feel stress and worry once in a while? What is life if I don't say, "if the Lord wills"?

To me, this is living life to the fullest.

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Questions: What hard things do you feel called to do? What scares you most about those hard things? What have you done lately that was uncomfortable, but worthwhile?

This guest post was part of a guest post series called "Living to the Fullest." Interested in joining in? I'm still looking for submissions! Just write up a post, or even just an idea, and e-mail it my way!

To the Fatherless

Last week, we turned in our *big* senior papers. Having finished mine about two weeks early, it wasn't anything monumental in my mind. However, what I learned from my research was enough to break my heart even further for those who are broken, for those who don't can't speak for themselves.

This is the first thing that comes to my mind when I
think of orphans.

In the Old Testament, there is a litany of passages which talk about three major people-groups which are constantly being oppressed in the Ancient Near East: widows, aliens, and orphans. Today, I want to take a look at orphans.

One of the most surprising things that I learned through my studies was about orphans. In ancient Israel, a child was considered an orphan if he had lost only his father. That's why you see many translations offering the word "orphan" as "fatherless." In fact, I found that it is nearly impossible to pinpoint a context in the Old Testament in which "orphan" refers to someone who has lost both parents.

There are many reasons for this which don't necessarily apply to our modern-day Western culture. The primary reason for this distinction deals with the way in which ancient Israel operated. If a child didn't have a father, or a woman didn't have a husband, they didn't have an identity. They didn't have property. They were among the poorest of the poor, and had no way of helping themselves.

This really seems to put a damper on the saying that "God helps those who help themselves."

Nowadays, if you don't have a father, you still have a social identity, you still have the capability of acquiring wealth and possessions, and, for the most part, you can be economically secure.

One thing that is often overlooked about the fatherless, though, is that beyond their economic security lies a much deeper need, a square hole often filled by a round peg.

The fatherless are still without a father. Biologically speaking, they lack half of their heritage. Half of who they are is a mystery. So, even though they may be secure economically, their deep-seated emotional insecurity remains a void that is rarely filled. And even though they may have an identity socially, they lack part of their identity internally.

Because our culture has so radically shifted from the culture of ancient Israel, I would also go as far to say that the same conditions apply to those who don't have a mother. If you grew up missing a parent, then this  applies to you.

What are the rest of us to do, then? The Bible seems clear on this one: provide for their needs. Those who have should help those who have not. And I know this sounds a lot like socialism, but it isn't. It is love.

Do we really need a step-by-step outline of how to "care" for these people, though? Are we so far out of touch with God's love that we've forgotten what it looks like to truly provide for someone in need?

My first instinct is to propose a list of practical, applicable steps to remedying this situation, but it seems unnecessary. After all, if we, as Christians, are a people who claim to live in love, shouldn't we know how to love one another? Shouldn't we be the best at serving the fatherless or motherless? Shouldn't the love of God (which we claim to be so great and abundant) be overflowing in our lives to the point that loving these people wholeheartedly is our only alternative? 

This love, which we say comes from God, should be evident to those who need it. To those lacking emotional security, we should be a beacon of safety and security. To those who seek their identity, but can never find it because it has gone missing with their mother or father, we should be a ray of hope, illuminating the answer for them: that their identity remains, not in parents (who may leave or pass away), but in God, who never leaves or passes away.

Again, I'm resisting the urge to enumerate the practical steps of such an action, because I know that we've heard it all. We don't need anymore step-by-step guides or self-help manuals to point others to God. We only need to stop asking "How?" or "When?" or "Why?" and simply start doing.

When we stop asking and start doing, then (and only then), will these square holes stop being filled with round pegs. Then, and only then, will those without fathers or mothers find the One who fulfills what they've been seeking all along. And then, and only then, will we become those flesh and blood fathers and mothers to those people.

There are so many broken and so many hurting and devastated because one of the two (or even both) of the people who are always supposed to love them have abandoned them. Will we come to their rescue? Or will we hide behind a facade of ignorance, hoping that if we pretend long enough, the problem will simply disappear?

The need is evident. The command is simple.

Love the orphan.

Care for the fatherless.

Provide for the motherless.

And, above all else, point them toward the One who has been there all along.

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Questions: Do you know anybody who is growing up without a father or mother? What keeps you from caring for them? How do you desire to help them? What would that (practically speaking) look like for you this week?

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Use What You've Got

So the other day, we chatted about a dude named Timothy.

You don't recall that conversation? Check out this post from Monday.

Sir Tebow is a pretty popular dude - hence why I'm talking about him again.

You see, I highlighted something that T-squared said the other day, and I think that was pretty stinking important. However, there's something else he said in that same post-game interview that struck a chord with me. Something that resonated with my heart, that I can't let go of.

Here's the quote I pulled in full again, with a little different emphasis:

I’m very thankful for the platform God has given me… 

It’s special to have the platform of playing football because I have an opportunity to affect people.

I was very excited to have Bailey Knaub here at this game… Football is amazing, we love it, but the real win is being able to comfort a girl who’s gone through 73 surgeries before the game and get a chance to go hang out with her now. That’s the biggest win of the day, so they’re both exciting, but that’s what I’m even more proud of.

Monday, I focused on the last sentence of Tebow's quote. And now, since it's the last day of the work week, I want to focus on the first thing Tebow had to say in response to hearing that he was a nationwide phenomena.

Whether you like Tim Tebow as a person or as a football player, you can't deny this: he's wise beyond his years. You see, Tim Tebow understands something very important about his life. He realizes that what he has is nothing more than a stage, to be occupied and used, but eventually vacated. So he's making the most of his set time, knowing that eventually, someone else is going to steal the show.

And suddenly, a couple of days ago, I realized the same thing.

I have a platform, just like Tim Tebow. It may not be the same, but it's a stage nonetheless - eventually, I will have to bow out. And I want to be wise with the short set time that I have. I want to make it evident what I'm about and where my heart lies. And when I think about my heart, the first thing that comes to my mind is adoption.

I don't have enough time or web space to explain why I'm so passionate about this subject. That's another another topic for another blog post.

So here I am, on the stage I've been given (for now), bearing my heart's passion to you. I want to use this moment, while I have it, to issue a call to action. It may be small, but the impact of this action may be immeasurable. So here's the plea I'm issuing:

I, in the most sincere and passionate way, ask you to sign this petition. It is a small step toward a push for an extension of a tax credit which would help families fully fund adoptions beyond 2012. 

Personally, I know of several families that were able to be formed as a result of this tax credit. And I know of several more are waiting in the wings, hoping that they too will receive the funds to fully fund their own adoption.

I know that petition signing seems like a loaded thing these days, but please consider taking a moment of your time to help support this very worthy cause. 

And after you sign the petition, you better get to steppin'. After all, you, just like Tim Tebow, only have so much time left on the stage you've been given.

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Questions: What does your stage look like? What do you ultimately hope to use your stage for? 

Don't forget to subscribe to Life Before the Bucket! If you enjoyed this post, please use those fancy schmancy buttons down there to share this post with your friends and family!

photo credit: Raven3k - sxc.hu

A Longing for Fatherhood

This is a repost that is ridiculously relevant in my life right now, and I really wanted to share it with you. Enjoy!

A couple of weeks ago, I had the privilege of spending time with someone I care about very deeply.

I can't tell you her name, because it's complicated, but I can tell you about her (and I've been dying to do that).

This girl, she's about 5 years old. She's beautiful. She is usually high on energy and loves to talk. She loves playing, climbing trees, and putting together puzzles. In fact, she might even end up being smarter than me.

This girl isn't able to receive love from her parents on a regular basis. They don't have that right anymore. But she has her grandparents, and they love her well enough. They just weren't expecting to go through the parenting motions at this point in their lives.

Last time we visited this girl, we wanted to take her home with us. To let her know that she's loved. To prove to her that she has a home.

Instead (because kidnapping is frowned upon around here), we settled for having lunch with her, playing games, putting together a puzzle, and climbing trees.

I don't remember the last time I climbed a tree. And my lungs certainly don't remember either, because they were not very happy when I tried.

But it was for her. To show her that I love her. That I care. That I want to spend time with her and do the things she does and love the things she loves.

We climbed trees for what seemed like hours. She even climbed one that I told her she wouldn't be able to until she was bigger. She proved me wrong, and I was so happy for her.

Among the trees, she has a swing. And when we were done climbing, worn out and tired, she invited me to come sit by it. She told me all about how she swings, and how she has a pile of dead leaves that she collects next to the swing. She stood on the swing as it swung back and forth, telling me about how dangerous it was.

I added to her dead leaf collection that day. And though she probably doesn't remember it, that was a great (albeit silly) moment in my life.

She let me add to her life. To be part of it. To love and enjoy her company.

Someday, I hope I can do this full-time. I long to be her father. But if that day never comes, I know God is taking care of her, watching as she climbs those trees, climbing with her. I know he's there watching her swing and encouraging her to be a little more dangerous, even if it might hurt a little. I know he adds to her dead leaf collection from time to time. And I know he loves her.

I just hope that the day comes when I can join him in that.

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Questions: What were your parents like? Were they able to play with you on a regular basis? Or did you have someone else in your life that filled that role?

Don't forget to subscribe to Life Before the Bucket! If you enjoyed this post, please use those fancy schmancy buttons down there to share this post with your friends and family!

Re: Sweet Chaos

Here's a post from the summer that I think you'll truly enjoy. Leave some feedback and share it with your friends and family!

This weekend was crazy.

This weekend was awesome.

This weekend was the most fun I've had in a long time.

And this picture pretty much summarizes it:

Sweet, sweet chaos. That's the only way to describe it.

We spent the past weekend hanging out with a lot of people we had only ever met once in our lives, and a lot of other people we had never seen before. It didn't matter, though. Love was in the air. It was a different sort of love, though. A sweet, chaotic, beautiful love - one only possibly born of God.

How else can you explain this situation? 

30 people, all unrelated, gathering together...

In the name of adoption.

In the name of love.

In the name of worshiping God, who has brought us all together, regardless of geographical or biological distance.

For their children, whom they love with all of their hearts.

For their children, who may be a little tanner than the rest of us, but are the most beautiful sightin the world.

For their children, who were alone, but now have a place they can always call home and people they can always call family.

This weekend was a picturesque portrayal of God's love. It was out of control, chaotic, fussy, messy, and a little cranky at times. But there has never been a more beautiful, more sincere, more passionate love among a group of people. And it is that love which pulls my heart-strings. It'sthat love which brings me peace. It's that love that moves my heart toward adoption, toward love.

God decided in advance to adopt us into his own family by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ. This is what he wanted to do, and it gave him great pleasure. [Ephesians 1:5]

I believe this weekend gave God great pleasure. He saw his children, adopted through his Son, caring for his little ones, who they had chosen to adopt in love.

I can't wait for the day that God leads us down that same path. And it's coming soon - my heartcan feel it.

How have you experienced adoption in your life? Has it been a positive or negative experience? Do you have relatives or friends that are adopted? How has that shaped who they are? Have you ever considered adopting a child? Why or why not?

I'd love to hear from you about this (or anything else!). Just leave a comment or shoot me an e-mail!

A Longing for Fatherhood

Keurig status update: currently in Topeka, 45 minutes away. Wish they would just let me pick it up!

A couple of weeks ago, I had the privilege of spending time with someone I care about very deeply.

I can't tell you her name, because it's complicated, but I can tell you about her (and I've been dying to do that).

This girl, she's about 5 years old. She's beautiful. She is usually high on energy and loves to talk. She loves playing, climbing trees, and putting together puzzles. In fact, she might even end up being smarter than me.

This girl isn't able to receive love from her parents on a regular basis. They don't have that right anymore. But she has her grandparents, and they love her well enough. They just weren't expecting to go through the parenting motions at this point in their lives.

Last time we visited this girl, we wanted to take her home with us. To let her know that she's loved. To prove to her that she has a home.

Instead (because kidnapping is frowned upon around here), we settled for having lunch with her, playing games, putting together a puzzle, and climbing trees.

Sweet Chaos

It's definitely one of those mornings where I'll need a second cup of coffee before I begin writing.

This weekend was crazy.

This weekend was awesome.

This weekend was the most fun I've had in a long time.

And this picture pretty much summarizes it:

Sweet, sweet chaos. That's the only way to describe it.