Nothing is Hidden

“Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account.” Hebrews 4:13

When I was younger and much smaller, I was able to hide in any spot and never be found. I loved rushing to curl into a ball under my dad’s blanket when he would get up from his recliner to get a drink. I would be as still as possible until he came to sit back down and find me there, giggling my little head off. I’m sure he could see me most of the time but he would always act surprised, which made me laugh even more.

These days, I’m the worst at hiding. In my mind I think I am still in my 8-year-old body.

Then I’m the first one found in the game and it hits me that I am not even close to being that small anymore.

Growing up is hard.

Sometimes, I just really want to curl up in a little ball under my dad’s blanket so he can find me, scoop me up in his big strong arms, and hold me until it’s time for bed.

It’s been a long week at the baby hospital.

So many ups and just as many downs.

You see, I’ve become extremely attached to one of the babies. As much as I have prayed to keep my heart guarded, that little 3-month-old angel has broken down every brick from the wall I built.

Monday and Tuesday were amazing days. Many of the babies were healing and making great progress with the activities we had been working on. Smiles were everywhere.

It was beautiful.

Wednesday afternoon when I was rocking “my” sweet little boy, I started to look at every little part of his tiny body; his long eyelashes, his button nose, the little bumps on his face and the pouty way his lips looked while he slept.

The innocence, the perfection.

How could someone not see your beauty? Why are you here? You are completely perfect, yet someone believed you to be a mistake.

I was broken.

Then I flashed back to the night I held Benjamin in my arms.

He was just as perfect, just as innocent.

Benjamin would only be two months older. I could have been holding him just like this, analyzing every little thing about him. But I can’t. Why am I able to do this with this baby whose mother doesn’t want him, but not to my nephew who had been wanted and prayed for more than anything?

I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. My thoughts and vision were blurred.

Every emotion that I wanted to avoid this summer was happening all at once.

I left the hospital that day with more confusion than I knew what to do with. When I got home that evening, I checked my email and found a message from one of my friends.

“Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight…”

Nothing is hidden.

Benjamin wasn’t hidden. This little boy isn’t hidden.

Both boys were created for a reason. They had been thought of before they were born and were formed in His perfect image. All of their days have been ordained and are written in God’s book, (Psalm 139: 13-16).

Neither of them were mistakes.

Neither of them had been overlooked.

Thursday at lunch, an old man came up to us and was trying tell us something. He was ragged, dirty and was missing a hand.

He was begging.

Later that afternoon, we watched him go from person to person, all who would turn their backs and act as if they didn’t notice him.

A little girl right in front of us accidentally dropped her ice cream on the ground.

We watched the old man scoop it up and eat it after she walked away.

He was not created without a purpose. He is not hidden.

One week in and I’m already overwhelmed with the grace that God has been pouring over me.

The selfishness that I have been dwelling in all week is more than enough to deserve some sort of punishment; a time-out, a night alone, something.

Instead, my Father has gently scooped me up in His arms each night and comforted me with His Truth.

My thoughts are not hidden from Him. My tears are seen and wiped away by His touch.

Every day, He blesses me with the ability to love on babies, see their smiles and feel their heartbeats. He pursues me each morning with beautiful sunrises and showers me with warm sunlight each afternoon.

He reminds me of who He is in every moment.

He is God and He is good.

Father, forgive me for doubting You. Your knowledge is beyond our understanding and Your love reaches to the ends of the Earth. When we fall, You never fail to pick us up, even when we least deserve it. Thank You, Jesus, for understanding our pain, our hurt, our tears. You suffered for us because You love us. We never have been, and never will be, hidden from Your sight. Praise You, Lord.

The Joys of Being Mom

It was day two of orientation when I was dubbed “Mom.”

I had no time to object. I couldn’t escape it.

How are you doing, Mom?

Goodnight Mamma!

Mamma Peddy, what are we doing next?

I just need a hug, Mom.

11 little children of all shapes and sizes. And by little, I mean from ages 19-24.

On the 9-hour flight to London, two of them colored me a picture. How will I choose which one to stick on my fridge when I get home??

It didn’t really hit me until early this past week what all comes with being the mom.

One night we decided to play a game called Mafia. We all draw from a small deck of cards and, if you get the King, you are the mafia. We turn out the lights and the game begins. The mafia must go around and slice the throats of everyone else. The person who dies must never make a sound; simply fall to the ground and wait for someone to step on them, errr..find them. When a body is found, the lights turn on and we all guess who the mafia is. If correct, we start the game over. If wrong, those accused plus the dead person must sit out the next round. If the mafia is good, he or she will end up killing everyone. If bad, they’re out the first or second round.

Let me just say one thing: IT’S FRIKEN DARK IN ROMANIA.

We didn’t realize how dark it was until we turned off all the lights.

All of us girls screamed. Very, very loudly.

We hadn’t even started the game.

Once we did finally start, I quickly found a spot behind the couch and never moved. I knew that if I was even halfway grazed by someone or something, a death scream would escape my mouth.

Numerous terrifying rounds went by.

During the middle of about the twentieth game, hallway lights came on outside our little intern apartment. Then a knock on the door and a message was exchanged from Audi, the worker that lives here, to one of our boys.

All I know is Steph looked at me with a deer-in-the-headlights look and said, “the doors were open.”

WHAT?!

The guys left the apartment in a hurry.

THEY LEFT US DEFENSELESS.

I jump on the couch and immediately Steph was on one side and Michelle on the other. I put my arms around each one and silently prayed that the Lord would keep us from being kidnapped.

That’s when it hit me: they ran to ME, they knew I would bring them comfort and be a temporary safe place.

Holy cow. Talk about pressure.

To ease all of your nerves, what Audi meant by “the doors were open” was simply that they had been left unlocked and he wanted to show the boys how many doors needed to be locked before we went to bed.

No, the boogie man wasn’t after us like we thought.

But if he had, I would have stuck my finger in his face and chewed his little gypsy booty out!

The next morning during my quiet time, I desperately cried out to Jesus, asking for guidance and strength. I know what it’s like to have little kids look up to me, but never “kids” that are my age. Being Mom means I have twenty-two other eyeballs watching my every move, good or bad.

That’s a whole heck of a lot of pressure.

I can’t help but feel at home, though. While I love to act annoyed, it absolutely fills my heart each time they come to me with genuine concern or teasing remarks. The other day, I cooked spaghetti while everyone was in the “living room” playing cards. I smiled to myself, this is AWESOME. My little children are playing while I cook them dinner!!

Every time I think about what I want to do when I grow up, I picture myself being a mom to a million faces, big or small, black, white, purple, turquoise, or red.

I want my home to be a place where they can come to for comfort and know that they are safe.

I also want them to know what it’s like to be loved, and not just by me.

By Jesus Christ.

He is the ultimate source of protection and comfort. He redeems us from the pit and crowns us with compassion and love (Psalm 103:4).

He crowns us.

Do you understand what that means?

We are princes and princesses. We are heirs to Christ, adopted by the most amazing King anyone can dream of.

We are all worthy of love, protection, and comfort because we are His. We can go to our Father with every question or concern, knowing with full confidence that He will faithfully answer us.

The more that I learn about the Lord, the more my heart overflows with thankfulness and joy.

I am pretty sure that there will be times this summer that the pressure of being Mom will get to me, mostly because I seem to enjoy putting too much pressure on myself for some crazy reason.

But I also know that while others are looking to me for guidance, I will have Someone I can look to for an answer. When my strength and patience runs dry, I have the Ultimate Source to put a little more gas in my tank.

I just hope they never ask me to wipe their butts or ask where a baby comes from.

Father, thank You so much for hand picking each one of us and bringing us into Your kingdom. Thank You for your immeasurable love, protection and comfort that satisfies us in ways that nothing, or no one, else can. God, I ask that You will place Your gentle hand over each intern and guide them as they go through the summer and this crazy little thing called life. And thank You, oh so much, for blessing me with the role of Mom. Give me wisdom when they need an answer, compassion when they are hurt, and comfort when they feel like they just can’t make it through another day. You are so good, Daddy. I just love You so!

 

 

Crushed Toes and Toppled Bags

Have you ever had one of those moments where you say to yourself, “this is one of those things that you only see in the movies”?

We definitely had that moment yesterday.

Let me explain.

There are 11 of us Americans traveling across the country, each with 3 pieces of checked luggage, a carry on, and most of us with a purse or backpack.

Basically, we have a lot of crap.

Leaving Dallas was easy peasy. We had all of our luggage checked with no problems and went through security without a question asked.

We also had 3 hours in which to do all of this.

We board the plane and settle into a long, but easy flight.

Then comes London.

We knew beforehand that we only had a little over an hour to get off the plane, go through security (yes again, because London airport is stupid) and board our next plane.

So when our plane landed, we were ready to hurry through security and get to our next gate with at LEAST thirty minutes to spare.

Boy were we wrong.

***Lights, camera, ACTION.

When we land, it takes a good twenty minutes for us to even get off the plane.

Ok so now we have fourty minutes.

No big deal, we got this. Everyone just lift your knees and pick up the pace a tad.

We finally make it to security. 30 minutes left.

“Hey security lady, we need to board a plane in 15 minutes. Can you help us through?”

*British accent** “Of course, just go to the end of the line.”

Really?? Thanks for the advice.

Everyone splits; half goes to one line, half goes to the other.

One half gets through security no problem.

The rest of us, however, not so easy.

Four bags, I repeat, FOUR of our bags got pulled aside for further checking.

Further checking means this: pulling EVERY SINGLE ITEM out of the bag, placing “questionable” things in one bin and everything else in the other, and running them both BACK through the scanner thing.

I forgot to mention, we had FOUR other people in front of us who also had to get their bags checked.

And apparently the common speed for these London security peoples is COLD MOLASSES.

I’m freaking out.

I have already been named “Mom” of the group (fitting, right?) so there was this added pressure of keeping my cool while taking care of everyone.

So I say to the lady, “Ma’am, we have to board our plane in ten minutes. Is there any way we can move our stuff up so we don’t miss it?”

Nonchalant response, “I can’t do anything for you. Go find someone with a blue vest.”

Immediately my eagle eyes start searching. I SEE THE VEST.

I run over there, explained the situation, and she calls the people at our gate to let them know we are still going through security.

I cue the team to go to the gate to wait for us and we’ll meet them there soon.

All this happens, I go back to my bag, STILL THREE BAGS IN FRONT OF MINE.

And mine is the first of our four to be checked.

MOTHER OF PEARL.

My foot starts tapping while my mind is goes back and forth between praying and wanting to go crazy on this lady.

FINALLY, they get to my bag.

One by one, she pulls each item out.

“Ma’am, our plane leaves in 7 minutes.”

No response.

Just super slow checking.

Finally, THE VEST shows back up and she moves one of our bags to another security line to be checked.

Five minutes left.

Foot tapping becomes faster, steam starts flowing out of my ears.

Philip, one of our interns, comes running to us.

“So they said the plane is leaving in two minutes and they recommend us splitting up and half taking the next flight.”

NOT ON MY WATCH. We are not splitting up!

“Ma’am, our plane is leaving, like, flying away, in two minutes. Can you please help us?”

Somehow, in one minute and thirty seconds, we get the last of the bags checked.

As soon as she said, “it’s good,” we immediately start stuffing things back in as fast as we can.

“Go! Go! Go!”

The four of us take off.

Ryan, the only guy with us, is holding carrying two ginormous bags.

Steph has her two bags and a pillow. She yells out, “I can’t find my passport!”

I scream, “I’ve got it! Keep going!!”

We tackle through crowds, turn the corner and see an escalator.

Full of people.

NOOOOOOOOOOO.

Steph plows through everyone, no problem. Ryan pauses, the man in front of him says, “You got it.”

Like Moses parting the Red Sea, everyone on the escalator parts to one side and gives us pity stares as we run past them.

Pretty sure we said, “Scuze me, sorry, we’re so sorry, excuse us, sorry about your toe” about a thousand times.

We get to the bottom of the escalator, turn the corner and pick up the pace.

Little did I realize, I was rolling my bag behind me on its front end, not even using the wheels.

Sorry about your display stand, London.

FINALLY we see our people at the gate.

“We’re coming! It’s us! Wait, please!”

It was so beautiful, I’m pretty sure a tear was shed.

WE MADE IT.

They scan us in and we make our journey down the hall and onto our plane.

Ahh. Sweet relief, right?

Wrong.

We were getting the worst stares ever.

Stupid Americans. You disgust me with your loud and obnoxious ways.

We try our hardest to quickly stuff our bags in the overhead bins, but since we were the very last to board, our pickings were slim.

Bless her heart, a mom and her little girl were sitting on a row alone. She shyly looks around, picks up her daughter and with broken English says, “You guys can sit here.”

Bless you, lady. And your child. And your family. And whatever else you need blessings over.

Ok NOW we can relax.

3 hours later, we make it to Bucharest.

This is where we have to make sure we collect our 33 bags that we checked back in Dallas.

Each weighs around 50 pounds.

To our surprise, we find them all.

PRAISE YOU JESUS.

Now, time to find carts!

Last summer, we found ten. Perfect amount!

This year? Only two.

TWO STINKING CARTS that are only supposed to hold about 3 bags.

Again, MOTHER OF PEARL.

Ok, guys. We can do this. Carter, start stacking. Girls, take as many as you can handle.

We slowly start making our way out of the baggage claim. The boys and three of the girls are way ahead and making perfect progress.

Steph, Laura, Michelle, and I, however, not so much.

Steph is pushing the cart with about 11 or 12 bags on it. Michelle is awkwardly holding and pulling about 3 bags, a backpack and a pillow. Laura and I are trying to push two bags each that aren’t quite cooperating.

We walk through the automatic doors that opens us to an audience of about 200 Romanians waiting for their visitors.

Doors open, Steph walks through, starts to turn and SLIIIIIIIIIDE.

ALL of the bags on her cart take a plunge to the left.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME??

Our audience lets out an “oh” in response.

Steph looks at me in panic and we immediately start piling them back on.

Where are the guys?? We need them! This is so embarrassing!

No boys in sight.

No one even offers to help.

Don’t mind us, Romanians. We’re just being your classic Americans and making fools of ourselves.

We finally get all of the bags loaded back onto the cart and on our way to the vans.

We see our people.

The guys come over to help.

FINALLY we are relieved of our burdens.

After about two more toppled carts, we finally get the vans loaded.

PRAISE JESUS.

We plop down in the vans and let out the biggest sigh of relief.

WE MADE IT.

All eleven of us and our millions of bags.

Safe and sound in the vans.

Hallelujah, praise the Lord.

At 11:00pm, we pull into Casa Rene, unload the vans, shower, and plop down on our heavenly bunks, (or at least, heavenly when you’re running on no sleep and way too much stress).

Needless to say, our adventure to Romania was rather entertaining.

But the Lord was with us the entire way and helped us keep our cool through it all. The events that happened only helped strengthen the bond between us interns and I am confident that while this was only one event, when we reach other bumps in the road, our team will be able to make it through.

***Side note: mid-blog writing, we decide to hike up the hill to see our favorite view. Just as we are making the final turn, a swarm of bees light up and we have to run down to escape.

TRUE STORY.