She knew she was going to pack that pink bag long before she did. Onesies, flannel baby blankets, and long sundresses filled it quickly. At the bottom, she placed a necklace and earrings she bought on an island years ago. They were beautiful, but never felt right on her, so they sat brand new in her jewelry chest until God prompted – they belong in this bag.

She was blessed with fine pieces of fabric. Red, brown, black and white with polka dots, a little lace, inches of pink and blue ribbons, and three tiny sequins. She spent hours stitching and stuffing the doll, cutting the edges into shape with her dull, rusted out scissors. It was stifling hot in her hut and her hands were tired, but she kept working, because this handiwork meant she might eat for a day or two, maybe three or four.

She stood at the ship’s railing watching the sun set that morning. And as she stood still and let the breeze wash over her, she noticed a woman, feet away, singing songs of praise. It was just the two women, a few others passed by. It was a special moment, a special day, she knew. This island of Haiti? God brought her here today.

She woke early in the morning. Today was the day, her ship had come in. A boat, “Thank God” painted on the side, was waiting for her that morning at the dock. She held her name badge like it was gold. It was her pass, twice a month, a promise of hope for her family. It brought her to the peninsula, a fenced off place privileged few were allowed to go.

She entered the gates into the market, knowing full well that was the only place she would connect with any real bit of Haiti. Her heart once believed travels to deeper parts of Haiti would be in store for this day, but circumstances, maybe God, had her here for now. She found her special place in the market, among a row of sweet souls. A woman was there with her hand stitched doll of brown, red, and black and white polka dots. Beautiful, she thought, and her daughter agreed. The grown women beamed as cash was exchanged for a doll. She inquired about the woman’s name and took a picture to mark the occasion, for this doll and Margaret were not to be forgotten.

She arrived that morning with hope, and hope was all Margaret knew in those moments waiting at the market. Hope in the shape of a ship came twice a month, and as the first passengers walked into the market, hope glimmered a bit brighter when a mama, her daughter and son turned the corner. Hope turned to God-promises kept as the mama and daughter looked twice at the doll. The deepest part of her was moved when mama said “yes,” for so many pass right by. She smiled and beamed broad, braids hanging long, as she posed for a picture with this daughter she knew not. It was a happy moment. This mama and daughter loved the doll and the cash would feed her family. The joy in her heart leapt and all was right with the world.

She returned to the beach and sat on the chaise lounge to realize she’d forgotten that pink bag she packed at home days ago. Prompted by God, she made a second trip to the market. Upon return, her bag was emptied in seconds – the men and women were clearly in need. Had she known, she would have packed much, much more. Margaret took a dress and “need[ed]” that pink bag. But as she handed Margaret the bag, she didn’t tell her a necklace and earrings were at the bottom. It’s better a surprise, she thought. For a necklace and earrings seemed so trivial, unimportant, in light of need evidenced by instant emptying of the bag.

She noticed the woman return with a pink bag. She didn’t want to appear desperate, but she was in need. So when she saw the woman remove a long sundress from the bag, it crossed her mind she could use the fabric to make more dolls, which she could sell to feed her family. She humbly accepted the floral dress that was offered, and mustered enough courage to share she also needed that pink bag, for her load was heavy and her journey was long. 

She couldn’t get Margaret and the others from Haiti off her mind, but her ship had docked and it was time to return to the status quo of American life. In the quiet comfort of her master bedroom, she opened a black plastic bag and discovered the doll. She held the doll tenderly in her hands as a precious commodity to be treasured. She turned it and flipped it, inspecting closely the two dolls in one, and that’s when she noticed something she hadn’t  before. Although she assumed, she knew the doll was hand stitched by Margaret, she suddenly saw that doll with fresh eyes. For as she lifted the layers of the doll’s dress, she saw Margaret’s stitches. She saw each one, some short, some long, some turned, some straight. And she noticed the cuts along the edges of the doll’s dress – they were rough and they were real and some were shallow and some were deep. The bands around the doll’s arm were dissimilar – one cut straight across and the other jagged. So imperfect, yet stitched together brilliantly, beautifully. It was a treasure, a masterpiece, and she was blessed to have received this gift.

She returned to the village that evening with the day’s earnings, the floral dress, and the pink bag with the jewelry hidden in the bottom. It was hot and the air was stale in her hut, and she was familiar with the discomfort all of this caused as she settled in for a moment’s rest. She pulled out the dress and peered in the bag. Deep inside she found a treasure, that necklace and the earrings, she’d never possessed such beauty before. She smiled softly, for she knew the best gifts are sent, received, in the quiet.

 

While Jesus was in Bethany in the home of Simon the Leper, a woman came to him with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, which she poured on his head as he was reclining at the table. When the disciples saw this, they were indignant. “Why this waste?” they asked. “This perfume could have been sold at a high price and the money given to the poor.” Aware of this, Jesus said to them, “Why are you bothering this woman? She has done a beautiful thing to me. The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me. When she poured this perfume on my body, she did it to prepare me for burial. Truly I tell you, wherever this gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.”  Matthew 26:6-13

Amy

*This is a long overdue follow-up post from our day in Haiti while on a Royal Caribbean cruise in October 2012. Click here to read my original post about our day in Haiti.

We were college sweethearts, among the first of our friends to get married.

I was just 5 days from 22. He was 24. They say youth is a predictor of divorce, of marriages doomed to fail, but I say the success of marriage has nothing to do with youth and everything to do with faith.

Because today, as we mark 15 years of marriage, it’s not been so much about romantic wedded bliss as it’s been about living out our marriage vows day after day. To have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, from this day forward, till death do us part.

15 years of to have and to hold means an arm’s around me as I lie awake worrying in the middle of silent night darkness, long embraces after exhausting and pain-filled days, hands squeezed together hard in labor and delivery rooms where the fruit of love becomes real life x3. It means you promise to lead the way, support through change, and assure “I’d love that for you and our family” when God-sized dreams are uttered in quiet moments of speaking truth.

15 years of to love and to cherish means a kiss every morning before work, no matter what. It’s dancing in the hallway when make-up runs and nipples sting from a blocked duct and a toddler dancing to the iPhone in our bed at 7 a.m. It’s committing to change for the sake of the union, making me feel like I’m the one for you, trusting through trials, and believing, really believing till death do us part is possible.

15 years of for better for worse means Mexico and Hawaii and the Caribbean and five vacations to Disney only to realize it’s been six years since we’ve had more than 24 hours alone, just the two of us. 15 years means 15 Christmases, 15 Easters, 15 birthdays, and 15 anniversaries. 15 years of opinions divided, families split, friends divorced, grandmas and grandpas passed away, and letting go of our time to give them more time.

15 years of for richer or for poorer means beautiful dresses for birthdays, apartments and houses, gazebos and decks, once-in-a-lifetime orange carpet experiences, and jobs that provide. Christmas parties with wine and cheese turn to mac and cheese with hot dogs, piled up medical bills after baby’s born, income that’s less because I’m staying home more, and decisions to live with a little less because we’re giving more.

15 years of in sickness and in health means loving and encouraging when the scale says + 5, +10, +15, waking in the middle of the night to puke-filled beds, cleaning up other kids’ puke at birthday parties, and patience when an 8:30 bedtime means it’s been a hard day at work. It’s a treadmill in the basement for you and seven years of gym membership for me, pizza rolls and potato chips, asparagus and grilled chicken, just two Oreos left in the bag and fruit for dessert tonight. It means you watch the kids while I get away for a moment because I can’t do this anymore.

15 years of from this day forward, till death do us part means we refuse to be another statistic. We’re committed, day after day, to making this work. It means we keep our eyes on the prize, which is, God willing, wrinkled hands held with wedding bands thinned, failing eyes fixed, and “I love you” uttered quietly but assuredly while one of us passes from this life to the next. And once we’ve both passed, from this day forward means our children and grandchildren live in peace, assured beyond all doubt that we’re dancing together in heaven.

Yes. That’s what 15 years looks like, that’s what 15 years believes, that’s what 15 years hopes.

Happy 15th Anniversary to my loving husband, Seth.

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues,they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.  1 Corinthians 13:1-13

Amy

 

It’s been in her a while now, this yearning to break free.

She’s spent a lifetime doing just what she should. But should brings with it a heavy weight of expectations, and when you live under a burden as heavy as that, eventually you have to get out from under. Because expectations filled with should never satisfy.

She’s always known what she should do.

That path she should take? She’s been on it.

The decision that would be most responsible, most noble? She’s right on it.

The next step that would make sense and be best for everyone? She understands it.

But at some point along the path of should, she found herself in a place that wasn’t her own. The good girl veil of obedience and doing everything she should became heavy and it was hard to see through. She knew her true life’s path was still good, likely even great, but different. And not that of others’ choosing, but of God’s choosing and her own.

She began to struggle, she sat in the pain. Hints, glimpses of another path were there, but she was so unsure.

She wrote in desperation. There must be a way to write out of this, to reason out of this, to make sense of this. She scratched and sketched in those books for years. On and off, they were her solace, her place to express things no one else understood. The questions, the unknown paths, the wanting to be free of should, she wrote it all there.

As she wrote, she birthed new lives. And with each new life came a little more clarity about how to get off this path of should. She began to make wishes and dream big dreams. In-between the pages of pain were pages birthing hope. She dreamed big, really big. The pages were free, open spaces for her to be who she wanted to be. The burdens of should had no place.

She wrote just as she needed, and the years added up. She didn’t write because she should, she wrote because she could.

After a while, it was hard to deny. The far-flung wishes she had scratched on pages were becoming the daydreams of her heart. In-between doing all she should, she dreamed of all she could. And it set her free, if only in her dreams.

She sought wise counsel from one who knew there was a different path to choose. And for the first time, she was freed to follow the call of could rather than the burden of should.

She followed the call, without inhibition. It was wonderful and glorious, and she felt right in this place.

But after a while, she found herself straddling two paths, the path of should and the path of could. She felt a bit desperate, stuck. She wanted to jump out of the should right into the could, but the forest was thick and dense between the two. It didn’t seem there was a way.

Quiet moments led her to pages she scratched in those books all the way back to 2000. She saw with fresh eyes God’s master plan embedded within the pain-filled pages of should. On one page, confusion and a wanting out. The next, His master plan, in detail. She knew clarity came only because she read the books in their entirety. The significance of each page would have been lessened if not read in the context of the next page, and the next, and the next.

And on that day, in the midst of her confusion and near desperation, she discovered even greater detail that helped her trust God’s master plan is in place, even when it’s hard to believe.

She found this, scratched little on one page of 30 brainstormed visions from March 2007 – No more supermom. 

It was April 2013, and she had just written this, Turning Capes Into Gowns. 

And she found this, also scratched as vision in March 2007 – Special moms.

It was April 2013, and she was about to launch a month-long Special Mamas series on her blog. Her wish became a dream come true thanks to the willing hearts of Jennifer and Tamara and Jessica and MNAutismMom and Jennifer and Lisa.

And she found this, a detail she had not recalled from conversation with one who affirmed her vision and dreams – Walk and follow the lily pads of grace. One by one God will place them for you if this is His call.

She knew she needed to trust. She must proceed with abandon towards the path of could. Because the expectations of what should be always disappoint, while the possibilities of what could be provide hope.

So she’ll make wishes, she’ll keep dreaming, and she’ll keep following the lily pads of grace. And maybe one day, she’ll discover all of the scratches and sketches came true.

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”  Jeremiah 29:11

Amy

I watched every episode of X Factor that year, 2011. A spunky, vivacious girl named Rachel Crow took the stage and stole the hearts of millions of Americans. There was something special about this girl, you could see it in a minute. She was born to perform, born to bring light to lives. She took 5th place in a competition that began with thousands, and her journey had just begun.

For Rachel found herself on tour with Big Time Rush and Cody Simpson the summer of 2012, and our family had the fortune of meeting her face to face! Rachel was kind and as lovely as could be with poise and social graces far beyond her early teenage years.

But after conversation and photographs with Rachel, my attention turned towards a familiar face standing next to the Nickelodeon representative at the door. It was Barbara, Rachel’s mom. I recognized her from X Factor clips! She stood there at the doorway quietly, unassumingly. And as I watched Barbara watch her daughter, I wondered how it would feel to see your daughter go from girl next door to childhood superstar in a year.

I knew I wanted to talk to Barbara, but Rachel was wrapping things up and the moments were fleeting. As I passed Barbara at the doorway on the way to the food line, my heart tugged to stop, but my head wasn’t courageous enough. I knew I just missed my opportunity. Rachel, her mom, and the Nickelodeon representative left to prep for the concert shortly after we returned to the table.

Watching Rachel on stage, I became even more curious about Barbara’s new reality as mom of this budding star. So when Rachel announced she was signing autographs after her performance, I knew it was my second chance to meet Barbara.

But I wasn’t alone! Thousands of teen girls flew to the back of the stadium and up the stairs to get in line for Rachel. In the middle of a seemingly insurmountable crowd, I finally made my way around to the front and asked security if I could just get through to talk to Barbara, but realized quickly that wasn’t going to happen.

So last weekend when Barbara and Rachel entered the Kids’ Choice Awards pre-party just feet in front of me, I knew I had been given yet another chance to meet Barbara!

I knew better than to think on it, so when I saw Barbara sit down at a table and Rachel head for meet and greet, I took the opportunity to approach Barbara right away.

Barbara was oh so gracious, welcoming and warm as I introduced myself as a complete stranger who was simply interested in her role as Rachel Crow’s mom. Barbara could have asked me to leave, called Rachel’s handler to get me out of her space, or had her friend send me away, but she didn’t.

At that moment, we talked mom to mom, like any two moms would chat on any ordinary day.

We talked about Rachel’s adoption as an infant, and how it was to suddenly live life in the spotlight. As I shared about our experience at the concert last summer, Barbara indicated how deeply her daughter loves her fans, detailing Rachel’s going above and beyond to give her fans as much access as possible on tour. We agreed that Rachel possesses a socially effervescent personality, and Barbara was quick to add that Rachel draws energy from her fans. In an effort to protect her daughter, Barbara guards Rachel’s schedule and accompanies her everywhere. Now that Rachel is recognized by so many, Barbara divulged how they managed some privacy and peace on a recent vacation. And last, but not least, we touched on the family’s faith and how that has kept them grounded the past two years.

When Barbara’s friend got up from the table, I became keenly aware that Barbara and I had been talking much longer than I anticipated. As I began my farewells, Rachel approached. I explained to Rachel that I’d like to feature her mom on my blog. Rachel agreed with much excitement and posed for this sweet picture with her mom.

I thanked Barbara kindly, wished her and Rachel all the best, and was on my way.

Mom to mom, we had talked, and I am forever honored and blessed to have experienced this encounter with Barbara (and Rachel, of course)!

Barbara, humble, kind and wise. Rachel, vivacious, lovable, and talented beyond her years. Only God could have orchestrated a union such as this. Years before the world knew Rachel Crow, He planned the beautiful coming together of an infant and a mom, both destined for big roles, together as family.

For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will—to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves.  Ephesians 1:4-6

Amy

Rachel Crow’s website can be found at http://www.rachelcrowofficial.com/. Rachel has signed a deal with Nickelodeon to star in her own musical-comedy pilot. Rachel is also lending her voice in Rio 2, slated to release in 2014! Congratulations Rachel, and may you always remain humble and true to yourself, wherever the path may lead. Many blessings to you and your mom. 

Tuesday, October 16, 2012. Our one day in Haiti, the day that changed me forever. (Read full post here.)

It had been a long day. I was not there to sunbathe. I recognized the need, and I knew it with all my heart. God led us down a path that culminated in me scratching names on a little piece of white paper. These names, these men, the needs they had. Two of them needed clothes for their children. And although I could not see their children, could not see their homes or their circumstances, I could feel it. I knew with every fiber of my being they needed these things.

I acted, I moved, I brought my children and we provided. Not nearly enough, but we provided.

We gave.

But sitting on my heart remains one thing. One. big. regret.

I was able to provide for all of these men but one.

Antonio. He needed clothes for his two-year-old boy. I had a nine-year-old boy, and I was not courageous enough to ask fellow cruise ship passengers, random moms on the beach, if they would be willing to give the clothes off their sons’ backs for Antonio’s son. If I could turn back time, I would strip away all of my pride….and just ask. For Antonio.

The not asking has turned my world upside down. Everything looks different in light of Antonio and his unmet need. The sound of his voice, the way he asked not once but three times for clothes for his child, it will all be forever etched in my mind. And although it has haunted me, made me want to set out on a search for a future cruise passenger who can deliver a package to Antonio for me, I know this experience will ultimately be a blessing in disguise.

Since Antonio, because of Antonio, I experience life differently. Every day.

This just one example…

All it took was one foot in this magical place called the Disney store. Antonio came to mind, tears welled in my eyes. Such an unexpected place to experience memories of that day in Haiti.

Joy to the World and Hark the Herald Angels Sing played in the background.

And my eyes landed on this shiny red hat. Although Antonio’s son may never set his sights on this sparkly red hat that symbolizes youth and fun and play, I can give shelter, protection.

Although Antonio’s son may never find a pair of shiny red boots under a Christmas tree, I can give hope for a boy to keep on walking.

Although Antonio’s son may never get a cool Toy Story bowl for his goldfish crackers or a Toy Story boot cup for his juice, I can give food and drink.

Although some little girl will never experience girlish games of dress up, I can give confidence to press on with a brave and beautiful spirit, a sense of worth.

 

And although some little girl may never get to look in a mirror as glorious and as wondrous as this, I can give her the greatest gift, the greatest reflection of all. That she was made in the image of God, knit together for a very special purpose here on earth, that she is precious and beautiful in His sight.

So today my pride is stripped. I come to you on behalf of little children in poverty around the world and ask for you to take a second look, think about what extra you might give this Christmas.

Compassion International has a goal of raising $20,000 from the Christmas Gift Catalog this month. There are 2,000 Compassion Bloggers. If each site raises $100 from the Christmas Gift Catalog, the goal will be met, and thousands of children and families in poverty will be given hope this Christmas and beyond.

Today, I commit to giving through the Compassion International Christmas Gift Catalog in honor of Antonio and his son.

Will you consider giving…

$4 to protect a child from parasites?

$13 to help a malnourished child survive through emergency feeding?

$20 a Christmas gift for a mom and a baby?

$23 help build water reservoirs for children and families?

$25 to help a mom towards a safe birth?

…or more?

Give creatively, give compassionately this year at the Compassion International Christmas Gift Catalog. To help a child, a mom, a dad this Christmas.

Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. Luke 6:38

Amy