jodie howerton

Support Beams

jodie howerton — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 11:20:37 -0800

We had the good fortune to travel to the balmy island of Kaua’i (notice the apostrophe – I’m pretty much a local now) last week. We try to get to Hawai’i (again, notice apostrophe) every February to escape the gray doldrums of living in the Pacific Northwest in the winter. Mid-January, our Southern California blood starts demanding we get it some Vitamin D. We use our companion tickets for airfare and my in-laws graciously cover the accommodations. So, the trip really is almost free, if we refrain from eating out too much while we’re on the island. Almost free paradise is my kind of paradise. We were in Kaua’i when we got the news that we can go pick up our son at the end of March. The news felt surreal, dream-like. We weren’t expecting this news until at least mid-summer. I e-mailed a few friends about the news but mostly just walked around in a daze induced by tropical landscape and shock. Toward the end of our trip, I was finally able to blog about it somewhat articulately to announce the news to the world (see previous post).

On the island of Kaua’i, there is this gigantic, abandoned old hotel right on the coast. The Coco Palms was the oldest hotel on the island and the world’s most famous Polynesian resort in the 50’s and 60’s. Elvis himself stayed there and scenes from his famous movie “Blue Hawaii” were filmed there. When Hurricane Iniki struck in September of ’92, the hotel was badly damaged and was closed down indefinitely. Repairs were deemed too expensive. Today, the windows are broken, the roof is rotting, and the lagoons in the coconut groves are now swamps of algae and moss. Left to rot, the building is totally uninhabitable but for tours. What fascinates me most about the Coco Palms, is that all the support beams are still intact. The building is still standing. The exterior is falling apart, but the skeleton of the building, without maintenance, has held it up stalwartly for the past 18 years.

There’s a point coming, I promise. Bear with me….

We returned from vacation this week and have set in motion all the plans to travel to Africa and re-organize our lives to transition into a family of 5. I’m not gonna lie, I’ve had a few meltdowns. I’m emotionally overwhelmed. I have also never felt so supported. My handy thesaurus gives these synonyms for “support”: hold up, bear up, prop up, keep up, brace, shore up, underpin, reinforce, buttress. This week, I’ve felt like the Coco Palms. My exterior is cracking and everything inside feels chaotic and unkempt. But, there are these incredible support beams holding me up, making sure I don’t collapse.

Support Beam #1: This week, one of my best friends went rogue on me and organized a fundraiser for our air travel to Africa. I say “rogue” because I would have said no if she asked me for permission. I have this character flaw of super-independence that prevents me from accepting help. Neely, being one of my best friends, knew this about me. So, she didn’t ask. She raised enough money to cover one whole plane ticket. People came out of the woodwork to purchase raffle tickets to support us.

Support Beam #2:

I literally can’t keep up with all the e-mails from people offering us air miles. People have also offered to paint, clean, make food…You people are incredible!

Support Beam #3: I can FEEL people’s prayers. In the midst of my little breakdowns, I have this amazing sense of peace, that everything is going to work out, that we are under the amazing umbrella of God’s grace. My breakdowns are just a normal part of the process…. I think. J

Support Beam #4: My friend, Daniele Ott, who is also a professional organizer, is going to help me get the house organized and ready for another kiddo. She came over last night, took a look at things, and reassured me that we could get everything done in 2 days. She’s going to hold my hand through the whole thing and whip my house into the most organized state it’s ever been in. You really should hire her. She’s a freaking genius. When she left, I felt a huge weight fall from my shoulders.

I am so humbled by these support beams that are shoring us up, keeping us stable and strong.

So, thank you everybody. Thank you so, so much.

Incredible News

jodie howerton — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 15:17:53 -0800

We have some incredible news to share. This is not your run of the mill incredible news. This is over the top, mind blowing incredible news. This is news that has sent us to the moon and back several times over the last few days. Over a year ago, I wrote a blog about our heart for adoption, about how we felt God strongly calling us to expand our family. You can read it here.

So, people, here’s our news: WE ARE GOING TO PICK UP OUR SON THE LAST WEEK OF MARCH. THAT’S FOUR WEEKS FROM NOW. We started the adoption process in October of 2009 and now, just a short 5 months later, we have a court date. If you are at all familiar with normal international adoption processes, this is really, really fast. My husband’s brother’s family waited over two years. Other friends have waited eighteen months.

This is so fast, that we find ourselves a bit shocked, a bit incredulous. Suddenly, we’re talking in terms of weeks and not months, days not years. We’re as ready as we can be emotionally (at least we think we are). We’re not ready logistically. We need clothes and shoes for a six year old. We need to shuffle the rooms around in our house. Caleb and his new brother will trade rooms with Alex. She has a bigger room that’s better suited for two kids. We need to paint the new bedrooms. We need some new furniture. Our playroom needs to be organized. Alex and Caleb need passports. We need to book some plane tickets. WE NEED OUR PAPERWORK ON THE US SIDE TO FINISH PROCESSING.

We are shocked by the timing, but I have a feeling God isn’t. We haven’t had time to fundraise and adoption is expensive. Divine, holy, and amazing but, expensive. We thought we had 4-6 more months of waiting time to come up with some cash. Ironically enough, though, in the last few weeks before we knew how quickly we would need to travel to pick him up, God has come through in terms of random gifts and unexpected contracts. Again, God isn’t surprised.

To make things even more exciting, there’s a little thing called EASTER that’s coming in the first week of April. Mike is a pastor. Easter is like Super Bowl Sunday for clergy. He’s scheduled to speak at 5 Easter services. Count them, 5. I can see God kind of laughing in his elbow at the fact that our court date is just 3 days before Overlake’s Easter services start. It’s kind of like a divine practical joke. He’s going, “Guys, how much do you trust me?” And we’re like, “Well, OK, a lot.” Considering that this adoption wasn’t supposed to be possible, and that it happened in a nothing short of a miraculous time frame, I think it’s a safe bet to assume God already has a plan.

OK, deep breath.

So, now I’m going to go out on a limb here and articulate a big need that we have. I’m not good at asking for help. My husband would probably pen that sentence a wee bit stronger. Something more like, “Jodie NEVER asks for help. You have to hit her over the head with it, HARD, to get her to take it.” But, in all honestly, I can’t pull this one off on my own. So, friends, (gulp) here goes.

We desperately need your prayers. We are in brand new territory, here. We have prayed about this A TON and feel God is leading us with his miraculous power, we’ve done our reading, done our research and home studies but, when it comes down to it, we have never adopted a child before. Please pray that we pass our court date, for our family’s transition and our new son’s transition. He’s going to be leaving a place he’s loved and felt attached to and moving in with us. Pray for his heart, pray that he will be able to grieve as he needs to, and pray for any attachment issues that may arise.

I can’t post a photo of our son online until the adoption is legally finalized. But, I can tell you this. He’s awesome.

We are blessed. We are excited. And we are so, so thankful for your love and support.

Waiting

jodie howerton — Tue, 02 Feb 2010 14:55:01 -0800

We’ve spent the better part of the last month making copies of our birth certificates, getting physicals, being interviewed by social workers, and installing more smoke alarms. We’ve filled out questionnaires about parenting, watched hours of training on trans-racial adoption, read books on attachment, given over our 3 years of tax forms, and prayed a lot. Finally, after many trips to the notary and the post office, I’m happy to report we have finally mailed off all our official adoption documents.

People keep asking me what our timeline is, when our son will be home. It’s absolutely maddening that I have to answer truthfully, “I don’t know.” The process is out of our hands and in the hands of 2 government bureaucracies. Every day when the mail truck arrives (at precisely 3:22pm) I bolt outside to get it, hoping there will be some receipt or communication that will advance us to the next step.

I have liked being busy with the paperwork. I like tasks. Collecting documents and checking things off made me feel like I had some degree of control over the speed of the process. This waiting part feels just the opposite. I feel out of control and restless. It’s like being forced to take an intermission right in the middle of the most suspenseful part of a movie. It’s like someone just hit the pause button on our life.

Now that I’m not busy with details of the process, I’m free to feel all these things I’ve shoved to the side in the name of efficiency and expedience. I’m afraid I won’t be the right kind of mother, the kind he needs. I’m grieving for the losses he has already sustained in his young life. I’m worried about our family’s transition and about his health. I’m worried about attachment and all the unique things that come with trans-racial adoption. I’m even worried about whether he will like the dog.

The benefit of feeling all these heavy things is that I know how to pray. Waiting is teaching me to pray and allow God to minister to my insecurities. The praying is supplying peace. Sometimes.

I’m still going to run out to greet the mail truck in 47 minutes.

Relief or Tragedy Tourism? The Church's Response to the Quake

jodie howerton — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 14:59:35 -0800

For the past two weeks, I’ve been riveted by the stories coming out of Haiti. I’ve read stories that bring me to my knees, stories that make me shake my fist in anger, and stories that make me feel incredibly hopeful. It’s been interesting to watch different responses to the disaster. Between the Haitian government, NGO’s, foreign governments, the UN, independent churches, and missionaries in Haiti, everyone seems to have their own unique take on how to best help the Haitian people. At times, it has seemed that there is no clear leader, no clear entity ultimately in charge of the relief effort.

I think it’s crucial for us, as Christians, to evaluate the church’s response to the crisis.

In the days following the quake, the biggest needs were clearly recovery, search and rescue, and serious medical help. All the organizations mentioned above flew in almost immediately with these resources. But, the runways were clogged. Too many planes, not enough space. Our church partners with an organization called Medical Teams International. MTI immediately sent two planes filled with medical personnel and supplies to Port au Prince but, were unable to land. There was no space for them to touch down. Two planes, filled with life saving supplies and doctors, were diverted to the Dominican Republic.

Yet, on the runway, sat helicopters and planes of many non-essential personnel. Reporters. Spectators. Even some pastors from the United States. The reporters were there to break news, to show the world what was happening and, I’m sure, to boost their network’s ratings. The pastors, who possessed neither medical skill nor any knowledge of Kreole, were there to…pray? Some teams of pastors were there with their own personal film crews. Award winning film crews. Taking up precious space on the runway.

Since the quake, I’ve been following the blogs of several missionaries in Haiti, and, time and again, they’ve clearly stated that people should not journey to Haiti to “help” if they did not possess immediate, practical skills that could be used in a catastrophe. They urged people to give money to the organization of their choice and to Pray. Everyday they beg for prayer. One missionary family has a hospital in their living room. In the midst of their hectic efforts to save lives, they’ve made a few snarky comments about the reporters who never leave the airport…..

The question I’m raising is this: How should the church respond in the crucial days following a disaster? The team of pastors and their film crew did capture some very poignant images of the suffering and, using the footage in their churches, were able to raise hundreds of thousands of dollars for their own relief efforts in Haiti. Seeing images of their own pastor standing with victims next to the rubble really brought the tragedy home for people.

The other question I’m asking is : When are the church’s efforts to help really just tragedy tourism?

I’m not clear on the answer to this. I’m obviously leaning toward the conclusion that pastors should have waited to get their footage….but, on the other hand, because they struck while the crisis was still on the front page, they were able to stir the generosity of their congregation.

I’m interested in your thoughts….

Prayers for Fellow Blogger in Haiti

jodie howerton — Wed, 13 Jan 2010 12:53:30 -0800

1/15 UPDATE: Kristen and her daughter are back on US soil. They were evacuated in the middle of the night to a military base in New Jersey. They will be home by this evening.

My sister-in-law, Kristen Howerton, was in Haiti with her infant daughter and soon to be adopted son when a 7.0 earthquake struck. You know her as the author of the Mama Manifesto blog here on Conversant Life. Kristen has not updated her Conversant column but, she has been able to post to her personal blog. You can click here to read her story so far.

She has been in contact with her husband, Mark, and all three are safe. The Livesays, the American missionaries she's with are also OK. The children at the orphanage made it out of the building safely. You can read updates from the Livesays and Kristen at http://www.livesayhaiti.blogspot.com/. They are updating as often as they possibly can in the midst of power outages and general chaos.

This picture is of Karis and Keanan, her infant daughter and adoptive son, taken just hours before the earthquake.

There are no commercial flights out of Haiti until at least the 17th. Kristen doesn't have a seat until the 21st. Please join me in praying for her and all those surrounding her.

We are thankful and relieved to hear Kristen, Karis, and Keanan are OK. But, there are thousands of people who are not OK, thousands that are still buried in the rubble. Haiti is already the poorest nation in the world, with 80% of its people living below the poverty line, on $1-$2 per day. The country was desperate before yesterday's earthquake. What little they had has been demolished. There are simply not enough resources within the country to address the overwhelming devastation.

Please consider donating to ANY of the following humanitarian relief organizations that are already on the ground there, building shelters, freeing people buried in concrete, distributing supplies, and helping counsel the grief stricken.

Heartline Ministries (This is where Kristen is, it is the orphanage they are adopting from)

World Vision (already on the ground)

Samaritan's Purse (already on the ground)

Medical Teams International (team will arrive in Haiti tomorrow)

Overlake Christian Church (We will take up an special offering on Sunday - or you can donate online and designate "Haiti" on the memo)

Red Cross (already on the ground)

UPDATE 1:37pm: Kristen has updated her personal blog. You can read her story here. Kristen is at the airport in Port au Prince trying to catch a flight. Evacuations of American citizens have begun. We are waiting to hear from her. Thank you for your continued prayers for Kristen and for the entire country.

UPDATE: 6:08pm: We received word that Kristen is at the US Embassy in Haiti, awaiting evacuation either tonight or tomorrow morning. We are relieved but, are understandably anxious to hug her in person.

Four Hamburgers

jodie howerton — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 21:54:52 -0800

(Durban, South Africa)

At first glance, the Zulu children we met on the bus en route to Ithemba Lethu’s leadership camp were just like any other seventh graders we had ever met. They boarded the bus with tremendous enthusiasm. They were full of life and noise and a certain pre-teen angst. They were excited to be with their friends, armed with bits of junk food, slightly insecure and were chatting about celebrities and rappers. If one didn’t already know that the children were from one of Durban’s poorest townships, that most lived in tin shacks, or that many were being raised by siblings just a few years older than them, it wouldn’t have been immediately obvious that these kids differed from suburban American youth.

As the weekend progressed, we began learning more details about their lives. One child’s parents had just died. Her mother died of AIDS and her father was murdered by human hands. She was now living with an aunt who didn’t want her. Several of the children were being physically abused on a regular basis. School was not a safe place for the kids because teachers hit them with pipes.

As we sat down together for meals, I began to notice that the kids were consuming food in massive quantities. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were provided at the camp and to our American team, it was typical camp food. Palatable but, far from gourmet. I ate enough to sustain me but wasn’t interested in going back for seconds. As I pushed food around my plate, the kids were inhaling every morsel of food on their plates. They went back for seconds, thirds, and fourths. They had an astounding affinity for ketchup. A 65 pound boy sitting next to me consumed four hamburgers in a row.

We were keeping the kids incredibly busy with soccer games, jump rope, swimming, late nights, and obstacle courses. “They have really worked up an appetite,” I rationalized. “They are almost teenagers, after all.”

As the weekend continued so did the pace of the eating and I began to wonder how children could possibly consume so much food without becoming ill. I mentioned the spectacle of food consumption to one of the youth workers and she replied, “When they get home, they will only have pap and sweet water. They’re eating as much as they can here because there’s little food at home.”

Her words felt like a sucker punch to the gut. The food I was turning my nose up at was an incredible, luxurious, excessive feast for the children. They were eating like mad because they didn’t know when they would get to eat again.

I’m still not sure what to do with this or about it. It’s an injustice I feel overwhelmed by and powerless to correct. All I know is that God called me to this place at this time to interact with these children. So, I interacted and I encouraged. I prayed for them and tried to love them.

In the midst of their dire circumstances, thanks to the efforts of the Ithemba Lethu team, the kids are learning to become leaders, learning to make different choices than their parents. I cannot for one second label these children as victims. The term connotates powerlessness.

And these children are not powerless.
They are survivors and heroes.

Presence

jodie howerton — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 21:01:14 -0800

I'm spending the first half of December in Durban, South Africa, leading a team of incredibly wonderful people from our church, Overlake Christian Church in Redmond, Washington, on a missions trip. After Johannesburg and Cape Town, Durban is the third largest city in South Africa with a population of 3.5 million. I was here last December, with another amazing team. After a flight cancellation, three airplanes, layovers across the globe, and 4 solid days of ministry with school age Zulu children, I'm finally sitting down to reflect, process and, well, blog.

Our mission here is to support a local organization called Ithemba Lethu. Ithemba Lethu means "I have a Destiny" in Zulu. In truth, the wonderful staff of IL could survive without our help. We are not here to save the day in typical American, independent cowboy fashion. Quite simply, after seeing the incredibe way they are changing the world, we begged them to let us participate, to literally ride their coattails. We wanted to get in on what they are already doing and thankfully, they said they could use us.

Ithemba Lethu works in the public schools in the townships, educating school children (beginning in grade 5) about the risks of HIV/AIDS and about each child's immeasurable value to God. They believe you can't do one without the other. The kids have grown up in poverty with little to eat and little to hope for. They do not actually know their infinite worth to God when they start the program.

42% of pregnant mothers in Cato Manor are HIV positive. Forty-two percent. This means that 42% of infants are at risk of contracting the virus in -utero or during birth. If the children living in Cato Manor do not contract the disease in infancy, there is a very large chance they will contract it later in life. The townships in South Africa have one of the highest rates of child rape in the world. These children are in danger every day, all the time, of contracting the disease that has spread like wildfire in their midst. The children know all about HIV/AIDS. They see it everyday, lurking in the shacks of their makeshift community. They have lost parents, aunts,uncles, friends to the disease.

We went away to camp with 140 school age leaders from the local township schools and the incredible Ithemba Lethu staff youth workers. The kids spoke Zulu and a little English and the Americans spoke English and absolutely no Zulu. The goal of the weekend was to hang out with the kids, teach them that they matter, and introduce them to the love of Jesus. We had all kinds of plans. Crafts, beads, balls, jump ropes.... But, when it came down to it, we ended up sitting around a lot, trying to break through the language barrier. We sat with them during meal times, we sat with them during activities. We sat at the piano, teaching them basic notes. We sat and smiled. We had a few significant conversations and we cheered like insane fans during their outside competitions. We walked with them on the beach and showed them how to make bracelets. Then, we sat with them some more. By nature, I'm a task master. I like having to-do lists and outlines. I began to wonder what we were accomplishing. Admittedly, I'm not very good at sitting, resting or just being present.

It just seems terribly inefficient.

Turns out, the sitting around was the best possible gift we could have given these kids. Our very presence, our unrelenting efforts to sit next to them and turn jump ropes for them communicated the very thing we had hoped. That they matter, that they are worth the time of a few crazy Americans. And that God loves them. We gave them the gift of presence. We showed up and stayed. Much like God shows up and stays with all of us. Presence is not something one can quantify or measure. You cannot represent it through statistics or pie charts.

We'd appreciate your prayers as we head off to another camp today.

I can't wait to spend some quality time just sitting around.

Baby Steps

jodie howerton — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 22:25:17 -0800

I love-hate the old 90's film, "What About Bob." Every time I watch it, I laugh out loud, mostly in a nervous, really uncomfortable, I'm-not-sure-what-else-to-do, kind of way. The character,"Bob," is horrifically neurotic. He has OCD to the nth degree. He won't touch anything without cleaning it and his fears and hang-ups outnumber even the most terrified cartoon character. His only salvation, his only pathway through the bog of his own psychosis, is a pop psychologist who has penned a trite self-help book called "Baby Steps." Bob, like a desperate leech, latches on to the concept and begins to see improvement. He can suddenly take elevators by taking one baby step at a time. He can walk out of his living room because all he has to do is take one step, and then another step. Bob's obsession with the book leads to more uncomfortable, neurotic humor and the audience can chuckle because the scenario is just too absurd to be real. WE are not that crazy. WE obviously have better boundaries. We don't need to take baby steps. Right? RIGHT????

This week, I am identifying with Bob on a whole new level. I'm not about to stalk anyone, don't worry. But, as of late, I have wondered if Bob-like neurosis was in my immediate future. We have made some huge, gargantuan life decisions that initially sent me into a spiral of pure bona fide nuttiness. In an economy that isn't any one's friend, we have decided to embark on two separate but, strangely connected adventures. First, we are pursuing an international adoption that we aren't at liberty to discuss in detail but, is likely going to cost a whole heck of a lot of money, and second, we are going to seriously increase our giving to our church, which is completely, literally committed to making a dent in global injustice in the next 3 years... I'm not writing about this to brag. I'm not writing about this so I can gain some kind of saintly favor from God.

I'm writing about this because deciding to commit to both was really HARD. We came to the commitment by taking teensy little baby steps and by crying and negotiating with God a lot.

And then, after safely jumping from lily pad to lily pad, we just dove in headf irst, right in to the pond. Faith is, after all, being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. (Hebrews 11) I guess you could say we've done a big, joyful belly flop.

Committing to 2 very pricey endeavors on a pastor's salary is just plain scary. Scary but, exciting. Invigorating, actually. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, I know that we are risking to affect change on a global scale, that our sacrifice means something in the grand scheme of things.

So, I guess I'm writing to encourage you to do your own belly flop. You get extra points if it makes a loud smacking sound when you hit the water. :) It stings but, you know you're absolutely, undeniably alive.

No Risk, No Reward

jodie howerton — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 00:00:43 -0700

Last week, my husband jumped out of an airplane.

For a sermon illustration.

He's done lots of things for sermon illustrations. He has used real fire and real chain saws to drive a point home. He uses the verbal illustration most often. He talks about me, his kids, and his friends in sermons all the time. If you know him long enough, you will appear in the weekly sermon. It's an honor, actually. Well, most of the time. He once tattled on me to the whole congregation, claiming that I was a "cusser", a foul mouthed human being. The congregation laughed, because they all knew he was exaggerating, and I had to answer a thousand questions about the incident inthe hallways after the service. In my defense, I uttered one small word (not even a really bad one) in front of my kids and they delighted in repeating it over and over. They told daddy and a sermon illustration was born. You just can't trust kids these days. I must note here that sometimes the stories in his messages are stretched the ever most teensiest bit.

This time, though,the point he was trying to get across could not be done from the safety of a stage or from behind a pulpit. The message was too big, too risky, too important. He called me week before the stunt and I could immediately tell something important was on his mind.

"Hey babe," he said.

"Hey."

"How's your day going? Are you having a good day?"

"Yes. I am...Why do you ask?"

"Well, um...I was wondering what you'd think if I jumped out of an airplane...."

"HUH? WHAT? Wow. Well, someday I think that would be fine. Would you mind picking up some milk on your way home?"

"Friday. I want to skydive on Friday."

I was dumbfounded but, surprisingly excited for him. I felt inclined to allow him the space to experience pure- adrenaline -rush- only- supplied- by- insanity. I'm proud of the fact that we're generally a risk taking family. We deal in adventure. We do roller coasters, we hike, we do marathons and triathlons. We prize toughness. We sometimes forget to wash our hands. Skydiving was a new addition to the list but, I said I would endorse his escapade with one condition. I wanted to be there.

After all, someone would have to collect his broken bones if the chute didn't open.....

So, Friday, the kids and I traveled to the airport with Mike to watch him fling himself willingly from a perfectly good airplane. He had to sign a waiver. You know, that document that lets you know that if anything happens as a result of your OWN CHOICES, the operator of the COMPANY THAT PROVIDED THE OPPORTUNITY, is not in any way liable for anything catastrophic that may or may not happen. I shouldn't have read it. It was not what one would call GOOD FOR THE NERVES. Here are some exerpts:

"Jumping out of an airplane is a very dangerous thing to do. Please do not ever say that we told you skydiving is safe. It is not." It goes on to list the different injuries one can sustain from skydiving, "broken legs, angles, wrists or fingers," and "death from hitting the ground too hard."

He signed it, kissed me and our 2 kids and boarded the airplane. Just as he was heading out to the air strip, we spied this quote on the wall:

"Take risks not to escape life, but to prevent life from escaping." This prevented me from begging him to return immediately to the car.

The kids and I watched his plane take off, watched it disappear in the clouds, and watched a tiny white speck plummet toward the earth. I was mostly calm. At least that's what my kids would tell you. Inside I was desperately trying to quiet the crazy raving lunatic telling me that I would never see my husband in one piece again.

When the parachute deployed, we could see and hear him clearly. Relief flooded by soul. He made it down safely and I was able to breathe normally again. You can watch thevideo at the link below.

http://vimeo.com/7150174

So, why did he jump? What was the point he was trying to prove? Overlake is

heading into a huge, mind blowing vision campaign. The campaign itself is not mind blowing but, it's goals are. Goals like 1,000 slaves set free, 2,000 orphans adopted into loving families, 1,000 churches planted, 50 Community Health Centers to combat HIV/AIDS......

We're asking our congregation to give of themselves in a way that many of them never have. We're asking them to take this risk with us and give of their time and resources in sacrificial, radical ways, even in the midst of this crazy repressive recession. We're asking them to trust God.

These things, my friends, are why I let my husband jump out of an airplane.

Holding Hands in Public

jodie howerton — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 09:31:30 -0700

Today I dropped my 9 –year-old daughter off at the Jr. high bus stop.

Our school district offers violin lessons for 4^th graders at the local Jr. high before school. 4^th graders are to ride the bus with the Jr. High kids, take their lesson, and re-board the bus, which drops them off at their proper elementary school. Because I’m really very afraid of Junior High kids (I spent a year teaching 7^th grade Spanish), I debated whether or not to just drive her to the school myself, sparing her the bus experience. She’s so tiny and sweet, I rationalized. Those kids will eat her alive. Plus, how will she be able to find the music room when she gets there? I mentioned this plan to Alex and, horrified, she replied, “Mom. There. Is. No. Way. You can’t drop me off.” She wanted to do this herself. She assured me that she’d sit near the bus driver and that if she couldn’t find the music room, she’d find a teacher and ask for help.

Plus, she didn’t want to be seen with her mother holding her hand at the Jr. High. I can be overbearing that way. You know, trying to hold her hand in public.

I reluctantly agreed to let her ride the bus.

Alex has been looking forward to the start of violin lessons for weeks. She’s been “practicing” with her half size violin and bow and trying to figure out how to properly tune it. Mike and I have politely listened to the squawks and squeaks of the tiny instrument, playing the part of the rapturous audience because of the delighted face Alex wears when she plays it. Well, I played the part. I think Mike really was rapturous. His love of our kids is big and unabashed. He loves them like crazy and is their chief cheerleader. He’s permanently proud of them.

I have learned to take ibuprofen before the concert of scratchy strings and loud whistling begins.

I woke Alex up early this morning and she stumbled out of bed with unusual compliance. She usually loathes the morning time. Today, however, she was excited. She carefully chose her outfit, took a shower, and asked me to blow dry her hair. She fussed over which shoes to wear and insisted her glasses were crooked. I fixed the apparently crooked glasses and watched Alex continue to bustle around the house as if she’d had one too many cups of coffee.

“She’s nervous,” I pointed out the obvious to my husband.

“Yeah, “ he replied, “Don’t worry. I’ll walk her to the bus.”

Alex must have overheard this exchange because when I went upstairs to check on her progress, she whispered,

“Mom, I don’t want Daddy to walk me to the bus.”

“Why not, honey?” I asked, surprised.

“I don’t know,” she fumbled and then looked at the floor.

Remembering her desire to not be seen holding my hand at the Jr. High, I could see her imagining Mike bestowing his big, unabashed love on her at the bus stop in front of the older kids.

“Oh, I said. “OK. How about if I drive you down and you can get out of the car when the bus comes?”

“OK, thanks Mom,” she answered with a sigh of relief.

I broke the news to Mike that his little baby girl didn’t want him to walk her down. It hurt his feelings. When I gently told him that she wanted me to take her, his shoulders fell and his face took on a pained expression.

Alex and I rushed out the door and drove to the bus stop. When the bus came, she flew out of the car and called out “Hi!” to the Jr. High kids in the most innocent voice I’ve ever heard. She threw me a grin and waved wildly as she boldly boarded the yellow school bus.

I came home and sat down on the couch next to Mike, remembering the days when I didn’t want my own parents to hold my hand in public. I tried to comfort him. I tried to explain that, in a way, Alex’s desire to go it alone on the bus is proof that we’re raising her well. The love we provide, the boisterous, full, crazy love Mike provides on a regular basis has helped create a strong foundation of self-confidence. She wasn’t rejecting us or being rude, she was testing out her independence. She wanted to see if she could get on that bus without her cheerleaders and their boisterous hugs.

He understood but, I think he still felt sad.

Tonight, when there are no Jr. Highers looking, I’m going to hold her hand tight. And Mike’s going to make a big fuss over her violin playing. Then, we’re going to hug her repeatedly.

She might be a little embarrassed but, that’s just the kind of parents we are.