A Hug From Jesus

Every now and then I encounter one of those inspirational moments of life that reminds me that God's love is so tangible that I feel like a kid on Christmas morning...waiting to unwrap more presents because I'm sure that Santa is real and I'm absolutely positive that I will not be disappointed. For even if my heart's desire wasn't under the tree from Santa, I knew my mom and dad would always come through.

Case in point: Christmas 1988. Nine years old. Desperately wanting "Patty PlayPal," a talking doll that looked so real that one may still suffer from nightmares. I had to have her. Present after present went by. No Patty. But I knew that my hope wouldn't disappoint me. I listened as my mother said, "Well, she was just really expensive Cristi. I hope you aren't disappointed."

"That's okay," I said, lying through my fake Christmas grin. I knew that my mother pulled this every year. However, I never knew if perhaps one year she'd actually be telling the truth.

Last gift. Hidden way behind the tree (I'm guessing my mom put it out while I wasn't looking...otherwise I would have guessed its contents already). Ripping off the paper, I squealed in pure joy over my new Pal, Patty, complete with hot pink legwarmers and matching sweatband, blonde curls that would make Brittany jealous, and a little tape recorder thingy where all the magic happened, that posed as her lunchbox. I took her out of the box, held her in my arms, and ran to my mom and dad, reassuring them that they were the greatest parents in the world...at least until next week when I deseprately wanted something else.

This morning I unwrapped a different kind of gift. It was hidden in the heart of my neighbor. She is the mother of sweet Philip (see below) and a widow who spent the last month in jail over something rather ridiculous in my opinion. I was walking back from a brisk run to the bus stop, arms flailing in hopes that the bus driver would see me. Elias had run not far behind me to get on the twinkie and head to school. My neighbor caught up with me and asked me to bum five bucks, reassuring me that she'd pay me back tonight.

"I don't have any cash," I said. True as day. Didn't have a dollar to speak of in the way of cash. "Sorry."

"That's alright," She said, "not a big deal..."

I knew she probably really needed a pack of cigarettes. And I felt bad because I'm shamelessly addicted to Coke or Diet Coke (depending on the month, week, or day) and so I know what it's like to NEED something. This is the part where you legalists say that it's good I didn't have the money. As if my not having money is going to make her quit smoking.

A few minutes later, after Ezra, my 19 month-old, brought me my shoes and stood pounding on the door to go outside, I decided we would go on a walk. I walked about 20 feet to my neighbor's house and rang the doorbell.

"Did you need cigarettes?" I asked.

"Yah," She said, smiling.

"Well, I'm going for a walk and I could get you some with my card. What kind do you need?"

"Marlboro Lights in the box."

"Well, you can walk with me if you want," I offered.

She quickly grabbed her shoes and met me on the street.

On our walk we talked a lot about her life, her boyfriend, her time in jail, as well as the commonalities we shared as mothers. We discussed her cable company, her deceased husband, our sons' school, teachers, toddlers, teenagers, and sweet tea. Chit chat. That's all it was.

Then she happened to ask me about Italy. And I happened to have the opportunity to share with her "the Gospel" (for those of you to whom that sounds cliche' and you wonder what in the world I'm talking about, please bare with me) through sharing about what we will be doing in Italy, as well as what "church" in an unconventional and contextualized way looks like (AKA, your living room, a bar, a coffee shop, on the beach, etc.). At that point, she had a lot of questions, mainly about my statement "raising support." I explained to her how in the Bible, the churches sent out missionaries and supported them financially. "Since we believe the Bible is truth and we believe God is sending us to Italy, we are asking people to support us." I explained our $1/day challenge and how that if we could get 100 people to do this, that would be $3000/month and we would be very close to reaching our support goal.

We continued to chit chat. Keziah jumped on the trampoline. Ezra buried his feet in the sandbox. I scooped some sand up and poured it into a bowl, pretending to make cookies per Keziah's request. My neighbor lit up a cigarette. I sipped on what was left of my 32 ounce concoction of Coke and Diet Coke.

When it was time to go in, Connie gave me a hug and reassured me that I would be reimbursed for the cigarettes. Then she turned to me and said, "Oh, and I'm going to support you for $30/month."

"What????" I squealed. "Are you serious?"

"Yah," she said, "Why not? That's nothing."

"Oh my gosh! You know I wasn't asking you to support us, right? I would have never thought to ask you! Oh my gosh!!!!"

She laughed with me. "It's not a big deal," she said, grinning.

"It's not the money," I said. "It's that God always answers our prayers through the most unexpected encounters in life. We prayed for one supporter a week and this is just so awesome."

"I'll start supporting you with my next check," She said.

We said our goodbyes. More hugging. More giddy laughter from me.

Then I walked into my house and just smiled. I felt warm inside, like I had just hugged Jesus...saw his eyes, like a parent, charmed at my excitement over the gift I had just opened. I looked up and quietly whispered, "You are so good."

This may sound silly to some of you reading. You may wonder why I'm excited about $30/month. Let me tell you, God has humbled us for this very moment in time. We are thrilled over every person that partners with us, whether the gift is big or little. It's like a hug from God when someone believes in your vision enough to put money behind it. And this just so happens to be even better....because my neighbor, a woman who has experienced injustice on so many levels, is walking into a relationship with Jesus through the back door. She is like so many who we will encounter in Italy. She has a longing. A need. So much hurt. So many questions. But she is ripe. And while she is being "wooed" by her Husband Jesus, she is unknowingly ministering to us, her neighbors.

I am awaiting the next gift. I know, in this moment at least, that my Father, has good things in store. There will be a package behind the tree. And I'm trusting Him to bring it out when the time is right.




ps. I had to add this photo. sorry. it has nothing to do with this blog, but is necessary nonetheless!

The Beauty of Failing

I will let you in on a secret.

I never title anything I write until it is finished. This is very cohesive with the way I live my life.

I remember one Thanksgiving Eve, getting a phone call from my mom, talking to her in the little office of the maternity home where I worked. We were having a normal conversation, discussing plans for the following day. Somehow it took an unexpected turn and she asked me something along the lines of "Are you using birth control?"

I felt as if I was slowly being backed into a corner. If I told her the truth...that we were doing "natural family planning" (you can all let out a little laugh about now)...then I knew what was next.

No, we aren't using birth control. Yes, we are poor and no we don't know what we are doing with our lives. Yes, we have one kid whose diapers we can't afford. Yes, we live in a tiny house the size of your living room. And yes, we are very open to bringing another child into the unknown of our lives.

Of course I didn't say all of that. I replied with a simple "No, we aren't preventing a pregnancy."

It was at that point that I heard a phrase that haunts me like my seventh grade middle school picture.

"You know, if you fail to plan, you plan to fail."

And there it was. My life in a nutshell. No "outside the box" sort of synopsis. Just the black and white. Those non-colors that I so hate to live in.

I have this thought (one that paralyzes me), that this life I am living...as a wife and a mother of three...with the dreams that I have yet to attain... will one day be viewed as a life of failure. After all, I don't title the chapters of my life until after I have lived them. Chapter One: Married and Pregnant. Chapter Two: Life in Chicago. Two more kids. Lots of grace and forgiveness. Lots and lots of love. Chapter Four: Thomas is set on fire and we all come out refined. Chapter Five: Life in Transition. Lots of questions for God.

So what if I haven't planned every step? Yes, I have failed. In so many ways. But I have watched God use my failures to humble me in ways I would have never known... and in turn, I have been given the opportunity to bless others with authenticity and messiness.

My failure to plan.

And even now, as I am writing this, I am getting a phone call from a friend who is having relationship issues with her fiance'. I find it ironic because she knows that I am (always at some point) having relationship issues with my husband. But I think that's why she feels safe letting me in. Because she and her fiance have watched Thomas and I fight. They know that when the crap hits the fan, Thomas and Cristi will lend an empathetic ear.

Because they have failed.

Because we have failed.

Some days I wake up wondering how in the world we are going to make it...financially, emotionally, spiritually... And then I hear my daughter say, as she crawls in bed between Thomas and I, just as the sun is revealing its first hint of day, "I love you Mama." I watch Elias as he picks up his brother after he falls or holds his sister's hand as she is descending the hill by our house. I laugh as Ezra spins around in circles waiting for someone to sing Ring Around the Rosy so he can say, "DAH" at the end and fall on his butt.

In those moments, I know this is what was meant to be.

I may not have planned it this way, but I will once again put to death the lies that tell me there is corresponding failure involved. Even when we plan, we often come up short. It's in us all being humble, admitting to our failures, that allow us to be free of the fear of the unknown.

I want to live in that freedom. I want to grow through my failures, not in spite of them.

As it turns out, my three (okay...two) "somewhat planned" pregnancies have allowed me the incredible opportunity to get to know three of my favorite people in the world. And as it turns out, we are "planning" to be done.

What may seem like failure to those around us is exactly what Jesus wants to use to humble the proud and give grace to the weak.

My Elias.

I'm sitting in the dark. Alone. Only the sounds of the dishwasher. The interstate. The noise maker in the kids' room. Quiet breathing.

I want to laugh at myself...tell myself how ridiculous I am and how I am only one of millions of mothers who have sent their son off to school this week. By himself. On a bus. To a world that I know nothing of.

Kindergarten.

Me. The mom who cooks an egg while making a phone call while writing a to-do list on a white board while dusting some crumbs off the counter. But today at 2:30 p.m. I found myself piddling around the kitchen, trying desperately to find something to do with my last hour and a half without him. I went up to his bedroom and opened up the curtains and the blinds, wanting the room to be full of light for when he would arrive. At 3:00, I found myself watching home videos of him as a toddler. I noticed his hairline and his forehead. I admired his big bright eyes. I muzed at his skinny little legs, comparing them to the chunky legs of his brother who played at my feet while I stared at the TV. I couldn't cry because there was no conscious thought on which to base my tears. Just a void. A hole in my heart. I thought of moms whose children have died. At least mine would be home in less than an hour.

This isn't permanent.

This is only Kindergarten.

But it feels like so much more. It feels like the end of a chapter in which the author has much regret. It feels unknown. It feels lonely.

I got to the bus stop fifteen minutes early. I paced the street, looking over the horizon for yellow...listening for that loud sound that is unmistakenly a school bus. Finally, I saw flashing yellow lights. My heart raced. It felt like forever before it rounded the corner to his stop. He got off the bus, smiled at me, and began running with his friend toward home. No hello. No "I missed you Mama." Nothing.

This is not atypical for Elias.

While he raced his friend home, I kept yelling at him to get over into the grass. "Slow down." "Watch out for cars." I wanted to control his every move. I was so scared something would happen to him in the few moments I was able to be a parent. And if him pleading to take the bus wasn't enough, my five year-old turned to me and said, "Why did you come to the bus stop? I can walk home by myself." Knowing that Elias is not the most senstive little guy, I muzed at how incredibly independent he is becoming and how that this is such a blessing being that he is at school for eight hours. Five days a week. Thirty-two weeks a year. Eighteen to twenty-five years of his life.

Not that I'm counting.

Sometimes it takes being away from the ones we love to realize just how deep that love runs. And with Elias, my strong-willed and stubborn boy, perhaps these days will remind me of all the wonderful things about his personality that I so often neglect to tell him...for the sake of disciplining him for manipulating his sister or for talking back to Thomas or me.

So it wasn't until this evening, while things were sounding much more normal in the house (Elias was yelling at his friend, Keziah was yelling because she was left out, Ezra was screaming for who knows what... and Thomas and I were having a heated argument), that I realized that the funk I had felt all day was valid. Our friends came for dinner and Seth said to me, "Oh, this is a hard time for moms. A lot of moms like cry all week and stuff."

Oh. So this is normal. I wish they would have mentioned it in Elias' school folder, right next to the uniform policy and lunch menu. I don't know when the funk will end. I just know that I miss that boy so much. But I also know that this is the best thing for him right now. So I'll rest...even in the midst of the yuckiness I feel about life. I truly hate change. But my soul tells me that change births beautiful newness. So I will force myself to embrace it once again.

For the sake of my firstborn.

My Elias.

July Update: Church Planting in Torino, Italy

Greetings Dear Friends!

The year mark has officially passed and we can finally say that we are on our way to Italy in less than a year. This is both exciting and scary, as we want to be present here in Indianapolis with family and friends and yet be consistently looking toward this time next year when we will be setting up our lives in a foreign country.

On the HOMEFRONT
Thomas was recently offered a position of PRN Chaplain for Community Hospital's Hospice division! This is a huge answer to prayer for us in accord with Thomas using his gifts as well as an answer to prayer in regard to our financial needs. He'll still be working in Behavioral Health as well. In the meantime, Elias starts all-day Kindergarten and I'm going to be finishing up my work with the precious boy I've been working with for the past six months. He and his family have taught me so much. I have been blessed by Shelly, his mother, in ways she will never know. Another huge blessing is that my sister and her family of five (that will soon be growing-she's pregnant and they are adopting!) recently returned from their five-year stay in China. She and her husband will be working with Campus Crusade in Bloomington, Indiana. It has been so fun watching our kids play together.

TORINO, ITALY
Recently we received an update from Donna, a friend of ours who is with Team One to Genova, Italy, a city about two hours from Torino. She wrote about a woman who came to see her because she had heard about "The Americans" in Genova. She shared with Donna how three years ago she had a vision that a group of Americans would be coming. She has since been praying for her city, as there are very few believers. It is exciting to us that this woman received this vision and that it has come to pass. We know God is at work in Torino and we fully attend to come alongside that work when our team arrives. We want to facilitate a reproducing church!

Would you take a minute to check out the this link-it's a very short video that better explains the vision of Avant and its missionaries
The commitment of our team is three to five years. We are currently raising support to be on the field this time next year. Our budget includes our housing, insurance, ministry expenses (we will have some sort of meeting place for the Italians and we have to raise these funds as a team), and overhead costs. We have around $6000 left to raise a month. WHY SO MUCH???? Because it's Italy and because the dollar is diminishing and price of EVERYTHING (besides fruits and vegetables I hear!) is HIGH!


Thank You for reading our updates! Please feel free to contact us via email (tandcmcewen@yahoo.com) or by phone (773-484-5733)

Shalom,
Thomas and Cristi

Please check out this blog... and pray!

I recently discovered a very life-changing blog that has caused me to spend much time in prayer and in tears for this family. The blogger is a phenomenal writer and if you journey with her through her story (as she tells about the loss of her daughter, as well as the loss of nicol and greg sponberg's son), you will be forever changed. She is beautifully broken. the blog site is the first on my list, but for the sake of repeating myself, it's www.audreycaroline.blogspot.com

God. Bless. You.

After reading Curious George and saying interrupted prayers, I lay between Elias and Keziah tonight in my plush queen-sized bed. Elias began saying, "Well, God bless you, Mama." I sort of laughed, not having heard this phrase in this context before. I asked him what made him say this out of the blue. He went on to tell me that the man off the interstate with the sign reading, "Hungry, Homeless, Jobless," whom he made me go to McDonald's to buy a double cheeseburger for this afternoon, had said this to him when Elias handed him the red and yellow bag of processed meat product.

So then Keziah began shouting "God bless you" at Elias, which began a "God bless you" shouting match, in which I took part and began saying, "God bless America," only because I have for the past few years found this statement rather humorous, it being taken out of global context and all.

Then Elias asked me what the phrase meant. When I broke it down into five year-old terms, it went something like, "You're saying to someone that you hope God's best for them." Okay, if I were a five year-old I'd still be confused with that answer, but it seemed to satisfy a tired Elias, so he turned his head into the pillow and fell asleep. Keziah, hyper from the medication that is treating her cellulitis (from a spider bite, mind you), continued on in her own little world, peeking her head into the living room every now and then, trying to convince us that she was scared, bored, thirsty, or sick.

Nonetheless, I have pondered tonight this phrase. I wrote an aquaintence who very recently lost her baby to SIDS and titled my email "praying for you." I thought to myself how incredibly cliche' that sounded, but honestly and truly, I had nothing else to sum up my words to her...words that without the backing of Jesus' promise of restoring all that the locusts had eaten, would be empty and shallow. I carefully typed each word, trying desperately to let her know that I was grieving with her over the loss of her boy. Even then, I felt so foolish. Who am I to write this woman who I barely know and "let her know" that "I'm praying for her." Then again, it struck me how the Spirit knows what to pray and how when we come to Him with the burdens of our brothers and sisters, He gives us the words, the utterances, the tears, the sorrow, in order to go even deeper in prayer for that person. Once we begin praying specifically for someone God lays on our hearts, I believe there is a soul connection between us and that person. We pray for her, we fast for her, we cry for her. And for the first time, we understand what Jesus meant when he said to mourn with those who mourn.

There is beauty in our emotions. Most of the time, I abhor my emotions, as they many times send me on a roller coaster ride of high and low negativity. But today I am rejoicing in them, as I feel an ounce of the pain in that mother, a speckle of brokenness in that beggar, and an abundance of love toward my children. So when I say "God bless you" tonight, please know that if you are reading this, I mean it. God. Bless. You.

"I Think She's Dead"

“I think she’s dead,” stated Elias bluntly and apathetically.

We found her little body all chewed up today. Her breathing had slowed and I knew she was nearing the end. The male who swam next to her I could tell had no remorse. He’d been after her since day one. I knew it on Thursday, the day after we got them, and a wave of guilt came over me as I watched “Rhino” (the name given her by Keziah, my three year-old) as her body tried desperately to come up from the sideways position that it was now defaulted to, as it lay at the top of the glass bowl, the bowl that was home to her for only five days. Until now.

Now she lay in a separate glass, as the vicious male swam happily in his own feces in the bowl. I thought she should at least spend her last minutes without the fear of all of her remaining fins being torn off by Mr. “Shard,” a name prophetically given by Elias on Wednesday when we bought him at Petsmart in Bloomington where the fish man told us you can put a male and female beta in the same bowl. Total nonsense obviously. My friend Laurie told me the same thing happened to her female. The fish people at Walmart said the same thing.

Keziah was a bit devastated, that is until she found out we would go out that very minute and buy her a new fishy. As we all discussed the state of Rhino, she kept telling us to stop talking about it. I guess denial is the first stage of grief. She never hit the other stages because within an hour she was standing in front of the endless fish tanks at Meijer with her little red balloon, waving it in front of the fish, watching as they scattered in every direction. “I want this one,” she said, pointing to the huge orange fish in the first tank. We talked her into the ones on sale four for five. We ended up with five or six odd fish, including one of those sucker ones, a water filter, and some decorative background paraphernalia. Thomas tried to sneak a little fish castle in, but I talked him out of it at the cash register, due to the fact that the fish bowl is tiny and he already bought ancient Roman ruins last week at Petsmart, home of ill-informed fish man. Of course Keziah asked about it when we got home. I played it off and her three year-old mind quickly switched over to playing dress-up.

I should mention that Rhino hung on for a while. Before we left for Meijer, I sang to her and told her to swim to the light. By the time we were home tonight she was totally gone. I haven’t asked what happened to Shard yet. But I know for sure if he hasn’t been flushed already, that he’ll spend the rest of his life alone. After we found Rhino nearly dead, Elias wanted to kill him with a knife. I questioned if this wasn’t a sign of something deeper, considering I remember that commercial for a psych hospital when I was little stating all the signs to watch out for in your disturbed child, including “harms animals.” But then it came to me that I kind of wanted to kill Shard too, just not with a knife. So then we went into the whole conversation of having grace on Shard, even though he was a viscous murderer and a potential serial killer.

Our house is still now, with our little bowl resting quietly on the top shelf of the bookshelf near the fireplace. The filter is bubbling and a whole slew of fish are swimming happily. If it weren’t for Rhino’s death, they would never know this bowl, complete with ocean landscape behind it. Sleep well new fishies. Shard is gone (although I still don’t know how “gone”) and you are free!