The Fire

In our little shelter for street children, I try very hard to be open to any child referred to us. I absolutely despise having to say "no" to admitting a child in need. They are there. We are here.  It seems an easy thing to open our home to the boys who have no place to go. It is what we do.

The last three children referred to our center were small boys. They were 9, 7 and 4 years old. I felt confused by this as younger children are rarely referred to us.  I assumed that this was the Lord's way of guiding our center to serve younger clientele and we welcomes the 9 and 7 year old willingly. (The 4 year old comes to us next week). These little boys are so extremely cute! They are all affectionate, cheerful little people who want to sit in your lap, be kissed goodnight, play with Legos, watch cartoons and do "little boy things".  

I saw my staff enjoying these children and, in a move that needs to happen more often than it does, reminded myself that Mercy House is NOT ABOUT ME.  The little dudes are happy here and my staff is happy.  They  bring a lot of joy and laughter to our shelter. They light up the place.

Their "issues" are nothing like the issues of the older boys we serve. They are easily managed. We haven't broken up a single fist fight or had to restrain  even one of these little ones in the heat of their anger. I was weighing the benefits of younger kids vs. older kids in my mind and finding a thousand reasons that younger street boys are the perfect kids for Mercy House.

But then, last week, I went into the street to spend time with a former client of ours who decided to go back to the "old life".  And I met his friends.  Actually, I woke his friends up to serve  them and see how they are doing in the unstable world of street life.

Our former client as we woke him up to eat lunch  

Good friend of our client 

His "tropa" - the best friends and literal "partners in crime"

And just like "that", the fire in my heart began to ROAR.  And as my eyes met theirs, I saw what true hopelessness looks like. Again.  And I felt ashamed at the same time.  I had spent too much time convincing myself that these boys are too old, too hardened and too difficult to serve.

That Mercy House should become a place for little kids.

I was prepared to do what has already been done to these young men time and time again- to turn my back because the work is daunting and the success rate is LOW once boys pass the age of 14 or so. They miss the street, and girls, and smoking, and having money. Being under authority gets tiresome to them sometimes. 

If I were not standing in the street, looking at these children, I could have justified it all. But God put a FIRE in me for these older boys.  He has given me a love for them that ONLY comes from him. It is not something anyone could manufacture.  It is as pure and true as any genuine love can be. It causes me to overlook the smell (oh, there IS a smell), and the curse words and the "tough guy" act they like to put on.  This supernatural love causes me to pray for these kids and to always remember their names, even after meeting only one time.  It makes me able to tell them apart from far away when I see them in the street and to remember what they like to eat or the small details of their lives they told me the last time we met.  It allows me to understand more Tagalog in the street than I can ever understand in a meeting. 

AND DO NOT BE DECEIVED. I AM NOT AWESOME. I AM NOT. APART FROM HIM, I AM ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. 

This fire in my bones for these budding young men was placed in me just the same way my faith in Christ was. By HIM, for HIM , through HIM.   I could no more extinguish this flame than I could snuff out my love for my own husband and children, it is there for good, I suppose. 

And they know. These boys know that I love them. They know they matter to me and, most importantly, that they matter to their Creator God. One of the first phrases I learned in Tagalog was "Jesus loves you so much".  I wanted to be sure that as I handed them their meal or their medication, they understood it came, not from some white foreigner, but from their father in Heaven who thinks they are worth feeding and loving and dying for. 

The time has come! We have a gorgeous piece of land that is free and clear. It's ours and it's waiting for a building. And INDEPENDENT LIVING CENTER for older street boys to be built on it. I have to do it. I have to do it for the boys in the photos.  I have to do it for the scores of older boys who are walking the line between street child and career criminal. I have to do it, more than anything, for the God who called us here and who put a fire in me that just will not die!   So please, please pray for Mercy House.  We don't have the staff for an independent living center. We don't have the funds to build. We aren't trained in the finer points of investing in the lives of these boys over age for adoption. All we have is a fire.

  But with the God of "two loaves and five fish", it is enough. 

    

Former client asleep on my lap as we wait for my staff

Mercy House

Who Cares?

In 2013, my family sold all our stuff in America to embark on a life in The Philippines, the country of my husband's birth.

That life was to be  committed to serving children in orphanages who have visual impairments or blindness.
We had an organization of sorts, that committed to helping us raise our support. We had some money of our own to help us get started and we had a good working knowledge of the country's orphanage system as we had already adopted from The Philippines four times prior to our "big move".
But we were not prepared.
We were not prepared for the ministry God had already expertly carved out for us. And it was not with visually-impaired children.  It was the most unlikely, under-served, cast-aside group  that we have since come to love with all of our beings.

STREET BOYS

We were led into this ministry in the most unusual way.  Every Saturday, we would drive to the orphanages where we were already serving a child or two, pick up the children and bring them to our home for a day of classes that included academic tutoring, Bible study, a healthy meal, art and physical education.  Many Saturdays, after the long drive, we would stop at McDonald's for a treat after the last child was dropped back off at his orphanage. At McDonald's, we noticed many dirty, loud, seemingly "high" boys in the parking lot begging or helping to park cars (guiding them and expecting a few pesos in return).  One day, my husband invited three of them inside for lunch. One was a much older boy living as a girl. He was wearing very short shorts, a little bit of makeup and jewelry clearly intended for a female. He was with two younger boys.  Not only did we invite them in, we talked to them about their lives. We asked where they slept and how they made the money they needed to buy food.  They were very open with us. Shockingly open.
Open enough to break my heart in a million pieces and make me wish I had a shelter to invite them into on the spot.

That was very naive thinking on my part. I now know you can't just walk around inviting children off the street to come and live in a shelter but, at that time, I just felt a fire light in my heart for these boys. And that fire didn't die. It only grew as we passed more and more street children and began to really NOTICE them. It exploded in me as we visited a government shelter that rounds up these children periodically. We started to look for them everywhere we went.  We began to talk to them. Buy their lunch. Ask about their hopes and dreams for the future. Ask what they wanted to be when they grew up.
The saddest revelation of all . . . not one of the children we asked could come up with a single thing he wanted to BE.
Ask any American child what he wants to be when he grows up. You will get answers like "a doctor", "an astronaut" or "a ballerina".  They have a dreams. Goals.
Ask a Filipino street child and you get stared at like you have three heads!
Who has time to think about what he wants to BE with a first-grade education and what-will-I-eat-today on the brain?

Now, ask that same child how much he can cash in a kilo of scrap metal or plastic for and you'll have a conversation! Ask him which restaurants give out their leftovers at the end of the day and, watch him brighten up!
For us, that was  just unacceptable. For us as parents, as Believers in Jesus Christ and simply as human beings, the life these boys were living was not okay.
So, we contacted our local Department Of Social Welfare and Development to find out what we needed to do in order to open our own shelter for street children. We contacted our initial sending organization and shared our passion with them for these street boys and were informed we'd need to part ways. And it was with much stress and some fear that Mercy House was born.

One of the biggest discouragements as we set off to reach these boys came from a well-meaning friend who is very wise in terms of fund raising. We knew we would have to raise our own funds as we no longer had a sending organization. This friend said to us "it's easy to fund raise if you have babies and girls in your care. People love to donate to babies and girls. But older boys? It's going to be an uphill battle."

I believed her.

She has experience in this arena.  I felt like we were doomed but, as long as our own initial funds held up, maybe we could help a few street boys turn their lives around, expose them to the gospel and do a little "good" before we had to go back to the US, tails between our legs, and start our lives over.

 Because WHO CARES about street boys? They are dirty, rude, spend their days bugging local vendors, sniffing solvent from plastic bottles to get high, committing theft and vandalism, peeing in public, cursing at each other loudly while patrons try to enter and exit stores and restaurants.
They have often been put into government shelters (from which they run away at first opportunity), been involved in sexual crimes - either as victims or perpetrators, and been rejected again and again by their families and then by the public that surrounds them. There is a nickname for them here that translates to "fog boys" because they just hang around pointlessly.
They are an annoyance here as you can't stop at a stop light without some of them washing your car windows and expecting payment, whether you wanted your windows washed or not.

So, WHO CARES about boys like this? They aren't little anymore. They should take responsibility for their own choices!  Maybe they LIKE living on the street!
Who cares?  God cares.  He loves these boys. He made them for a purpose. He gave them life and has a plan for them.   They may not be tiny, helpless babies but they are just children in so many ways.
When we bring them into our center, we get to see, up close and personal, how they shift from "thug" to "child" in a very short time.

We get to watch a miracle each time a street boy comes in and begins to submit to our authority, come to us for help, let us meet his needs, TRUST us to be kind and take care of him! We are privileged to watch their disbelief and then understanding as we teach them that God loves them and that their lives can be a testimony of redemption.  That they were made with a PURPOSE.
Three years into this ministry. It still hasn't gotten "old".  We are revived with each new admission.
We are astounded every time a child, who has been his own "boss" for so long, accepts discipline and correction without running away or lashing back.   We are humbled when one of them expresses a desire to have his sins forgiven and start a new life as a follower of Jesus.

And getting to baptize a child whom we once fed on the street!!! There are few joys that compare!

We have found, underneath all the problems and poor adult choices and petty crimes, lies a precious child who longs to redeem some lost years. He wants to play with action figures, draw and paint, be tucked in at night, have his cuts and scrapes bandaged and just be a child.

So, if you live where they do, and  you see a street boy, take a minute. Talk to him. Ask him what he wants to be. Ask him why he's working instead of going to school. You will definitely be surprised at HIS surprise.

Because people usually don't. They just keep moving. It's only "fog".

More Than A Street Child

Just a week ago, we received a new client at Mercy House.  He's a lovely boy of 11 years. We fed him on the street several times and he was always polite, appreciative and pretty shy. His name is "MJ".
He drew my heart toward him once when we were doing wound care in the street. A very sick young man was being treated and, while we were treating him, he was asking us for money. MJ kicked his foot and told him in Tagalog "you don't ask people for money when they are already helping you".
And that stuck.
I could not forget that small comment.
It said more than those words I heard.
It said "I have a sense of right and wrong". 

Feeding "MJ" at McDonald's with his tropa (MJ in stripes) 

 So, imagine our reaction when we brought some American visitors to the government shelter for street kids just THREE DAYS after this McDonald's feeding and saw MJ at the shelter. He had been picked up by the city's task force that is assigned to take children off the street. When we saw each other at the shelter, he began to smile and then he hung his head in mock embarrassment, as if to say "they caught me".    We had devotion time with the children there and acted out the story of David and Goliath. MJ was chosen to play Goliath. He stood on a stool and played the part with gusto.
When it was time for Goliath to "die", he kicked his legs in the air and had a fake seizure. The children watching were in stitches.
Just a week later, we pulled into McDonald's again for visit with  the street children who congregate there and, lo and behold, MJ was in the street again. He ran from us and hid around the corner of the building. We went to him and asked why he was hiding. He said he was afraid we were going to take him back to the government shelter or that we would tell on him. We promised we wouldn't do either and brought him some lunch. I wanted to ask  him that very day to come with us and be admitted to Mercy House but my social worker was not available and I wanted to make sure we did it "right", so we said our goodbyes and  left him. My heart was heavy but I was glad he had a good lunch and some clean water to drink. 
The next week, we returned to the government shelter to have a sibling visit for one of our clients, and there was MJ AGAIN!  This time, I was determined not to say goodbye without a plan. So we counseled him on the spot about his willingness to come to us. We talked to him about going to school, having a family setting, getting off the streets for good, giving up sniffing solvent and a host of other things he would need to consider, even at just 11 years old, before he could come to Mercy House.   The biggest request we had of him is that he NOT run away from the shelter for a whole week. We made an appointment to see him a week later. When we returned seven days later. He was there. Waiting. With a big smile and saying he was READY.
So, on October 1st, we were ready too and he became a part of the Mercy House family.

Admission Day at Mercy House 

Admission Day meeting/introduction/orientation

The usual protocol for us when we receive children from the street is to admit them, help them get settled in with an orientation about the rules, an introduction to all staff and housemates and then, when we feel like they are comfortable, we start unraveling their histories, a little bit at a time to find out if there are any capable relatives around who have been looking for these children.
What we found in the case of MJ was a lot more than we bargained for.

His father is in jail. We took MJ to visit him. He loves his father and he began to cry when he saw his father from far off.  But his father will likely never be able to parent him again due to the seriousness of his charges and the time he will serve.  MJ does not want to believe this. He has built a fantasy around his father that does not include a true picture of the man.

We then located his mother and found a homeless woman who often roams around but sometimes lives for free in a public building. She struggles with her own poor life choices and tries to care for several children who decided not to become street children as MJ did. One of them is a 14 year old girl who is extremely ill.

Mj's "big" sister. Please pray for her healing!

When my social worker sent me a brief message and photo during her counseling time with the family of MJ, my heart just broke. I immediately thought of contacting my friend, Claire Henderson, who runs a beautiful ministry to sick and dying children here in The Philippines called "Children's Recovery Unit" or "Helping Hands".  I sent Claire this photo and the diagnosis the mother was given and asked for her input. Her input was one of the most beautiful messages I have read in a long time. It was along the lines of "I will take her in our home in Baguio as well as her drug-addicted mother if she is willing".
Can you imagine???? I was simply asking for advice as this is waaaaayyyy out of our league.
So, we have made plans to transfer this mother and child to CRU for a stay where we are asking you to pray for a few things.
First, for the mother's addiction to drugs to be broken. She told us she has not used them for a time. We cautiously hope she is being honest.
Second, for this beautiful girl to be healed of her illness. If not healed, that her pain can be well managed and her quality of life drastically improved.
Third, through Mercy House and CRU, that this family would be introduced to the love of Jesus and the complete healing of heart and soul that only comes through HIM.
In our ministry,  we are aware that serving a street child is not just serving a street child. It is serving his family, helping him connect the dots of his broken life, finding every family member who has ever loved him, opening doors to hopeful reunification and, after exhausting all avenues locally, exploring the option of a brand new family.  Serving our kids involves partnership with other organizations who are strong where we are weak.  It involves being willing to drive many hours sometimes to obtain help and just trusting the Lord with the outcome.
Because MJ matters so very much. He is a beautiful boy created in the image of God.  There is a plan and a purpose for MJ.
HE IS MORE THAN A STREET CHILD.  So much more . . .

Buried Alive!

I need to share some straight talk with my blogosphere friends today about a dreamy statement I made many years ago. A statement that copious numbers of Believers and just plain old do-gooders make.  A statement of which I had no real grasp  when it was made. One with BIG ramifications:

I WANT TO START AN ORPHANAGE SOMEDAY!!!!!! 

I said those words when I was a teenager.  I said them again in college. I repeated them less-often as a young, busy mother but began to obsess on them after our first visit to The Philippines in 2005.   Finally, after much praying and selling and planning, we started our orphanage.

I love it. I love the work. I adore the children. I have a sense of purpose and usefulness that can only be described as "REAL" but the flip side of this life as Mama-to-Many is not at all like most would imagine.  Most days, I feel I am being buried alive.  And it's ok.

The kids here are wounded by terrible histories of abuse, neglect and abandonment.  They sometimes act out.  They need a LOT more attention than the average, well-nurtured child. They will do pretty much anything to get it.   But I love them. I get to kiss their scars. I get to remind them they are beautiful and valuable and accepted.  Some of them have never felt that before and when they start to believe they are worthwhile,  they almost appear to grow taller before our eyes.  And bloom.

On top of the treasured work of helping the kids heal, there is paperwork. A LOT of paperwork. I am abundantly blessed to have an amazing social worker who is more than capable of doing the bulk of the paperwork but we all have to do our part. The processing of a child for international adoption is a succinct art.  Every document must be properly executed, dated, submitted and updated. We have a strong commitment to making sure the children in our care are ready both legally and emotionally for a new family. This takes a whole"village". Professionals inside and outside Mercy House take part in the task and they take it seriously.   They have to.  It's precious human life.  There is no room for error.

Our precious social worker with some of the MH kids

And aside from the children and the paperwork, I am a wife and a mother. That didn't stop when we decided to open an orphanage.  Unlike some directors, we choose to live inside the orphanage with our own family and our Mercy House family. Why? Because we simply need to be close for the children in care to have continuity. Staff may come and go but it is our prayer that "Mommy Nikki" and "Daddy Anthony" offer a little peek at how it feels to have caring adults who stay.  Our prayer is their only move from our care is into their FOREVER families. It does not always work that way but that is always our goal.  Finding the balance between the roles of orphanage Mama, wife and mother-to-my-own is beyond challenging. Sometimes I have to put off the ones who deserve first place because there are emergencies of the melt-down kind.  Okay, not "sometimes".  "Often". I pray they understand. 

And then there are these street boys. Children taking care of themselves. They are often hungry and always dirty when we go to see them. When I look at them, I envision them in a school uniform, well rested, doing their chores or homework inside Mercy House.  I imagine clearing out a drawer for some clothing for them and getting that first "goodnight" hug when I tuck them in. I can not sleep some nights for thinking of these kids. I have lost a lot of weight since meeting them because, when I know the faces of children who are hungry,  my own food loses it's luster. It is something that is hard to explain if you don't live it.  It hurts a lot. But not nearly as much as being 11 and having no parents protecting you must hurt. We have to do more for these boys.  It is a fire inside me.  I have always believed that if you want to change a society, reach the boys. Help them to become responsible, Godly men and to start a new heritage. I want to be a part of that for these street boys. But it takes time, money and some other priority slipping down the list a bit. Sacrifices.

The issues of handling birth families, staff problems, anyone getting sick and, of course, the fact that we just bought land and are fund raising to build a permanent structure - ALL OF THOSE and more are scoops of fresh earth that have me buried alive.

This is such hard work.
Do I want to quit? Sometimes. Do I miss my life as a happy American driving my own car to Taco Bell and strolling through Wal Mart whenever I want? For sure! Do I feel like I'm only 1/2 alive sometimes for the ache of missing my two oldest children who are in the US? Every day.

But I believe I will never leave. I assume that, someday, I will die here in The Philippines doing this work I love and helping children know their God and find their families.  I will be serving with my husband and whichever of our own children feel called to be here. I wish they all did.

So, friends. When you say "I want to start an orphanage",  I hope you are wiser than I was. I hope the sacrifices and pain don't take you by surprise.  I pray you understand what you are REALLY saying when you utter those words is "Lord, I want to be buried alive".     Because you will be.  And you might even love it.

 

Before They Are Yours

 Yesterday I woke up with a nagging sense of dread coupled with a little tinge of excitement.  The major task we were to undertake yesterday was "roaming".   Roaming is the act of taking an older child out into the community to trying and locate his birth family.  In this case, our newest resident, J (far left in this photo) along with me, my awesome social worker, my husband and our youngest son set out to  roam.  
Before we ever set foot in the car or set a destination into our GPS, I started the day with prayer, always asking the Lord to help us find the birth parents and discern HIS will for the future of this child.  Since our resident is already 11 years old, has been on the streets for two years and only remembers a very old address, we had little to go on but "go", we did.
What we encountered was not in the script but was clearly the hand of God guiding us in His sovereign goodness.
First stop was McDonald's.  Roaming can be hard on the children in our center and we want to make it a little bit of a treat so, we pulled into the McDonald's not far from where this young man used to be on the street.  Immediately, three street boys who were there directing traffic for money recognized him. They ran to him and started hugging him and asking him where he had been. We invited these three inside to have lunch with us and when they understood that we were from a ministry, they started to open up and talk about their own lives.

These boys shared their struggles and the brutal crimes they have witnessed on the street. They told us where they sleep and where they spend their days. They broke my heart but they also gave us hope. Despite the hardships they face, they are still very much children with an inexplicable innocence that you can see in their eyes.
My husband prayed with these boys and talked to them about Jesus.  He shared with them that God has a purpose and a plan for every life.  The oldest boy, age 18, was visibly clinging on to every word.
As we were finishing our visit, a lady of about 70 years came to our table. She pointed her finger at our resident, "J" and poked him on the shoulder.  She began to say LOUDLY (I suspect she is hard of hearing) that J is a thief and a drug addict.  She went on to tell us that he sniffs glue and that he is not a good boy.   We all just watched her in disbelief.   J slunk down a little in his chair and stared at the ground.
I simply said "Okay, thank you" and waited for her to leave.  She did. 
As we rose to leave, she came back repeating the same story with a little less volume.  My husband told her that this child has a new life now and those things that he did before do not matter to us.

THAT shut her up.     And J heard  Daddy Anthony say this and the relief was clear.   

We will not define this child or any of our Mercy House children by the mistakes of their pasts.  Ever.

No Exceptions.

Then it was on to J's last remembered address!  When we pulled up to the area, he did not want to get out of the car.  He was clearly not interested in any reunion!  We assumed it might be because neighbors would recognize him and come out and tell us bad things about him. This has happened to us more than once when roaming with other children.  But this was not the reason.
We convinced him to come and show us the" house".  A woman came out and DID recognize him. But she did not tell us anything bad that he had done.  Instead, she started recounting to us the beatings she witnessed this little boy getting on a regular basis.  She kept saying "your step mother would beat you with a wooden stick" or "your step mother didn't give you food" - things that broke our hearts to hear but, at the same time, we need the true history of this child to make the best plan and deliver the best counseling to him.  The neighbor told us she  herself used to give him food and clothing but his "step mother" would not allow him to have any of it.   She would cut up the clothing and make rags to sell. She must have eaten the food herself based on her physical description. She was NOT starving. He was.
And then our little resident spoke up in a quiet voice and said "hindi step mother. Mama ko."  (not my step mother.  My real mother).
The neighbor was stunned.  She thought this child was being rejected by a step parent, which is all-too-common here, but he was being systematically abused by his biological mother. 
And now we understood more fully why he did not want to exit the car.  And why he flinched when Daddy Anthony went to touch him in a joking way. And why he flipped out and yelled when being verbally corrected for a misbehavior. And "why" a lot of things. . .
This helpful neighbor informed us that the family had moved more than a year ago to another barangay - a huge squatter area spanning more than 5 acres that is a maze of narrow dirt paths and homes on top of shacks.   The neighbors wanted to report the abuse many times but, out of fear of J's family, she did not.  We can not fault them for this.  We wish they had reported it but they are poor and voiceless.  Who would protect THEM afterward?
So we went to the huge squatter area.  J pleaded with us not to ask him to roam and we didn't. He stayed behind with Daddy Anthony while my amazing social worker, Love, and I walked hours' worth of hot, smelly streets asking for J's mother at every vendor stand and posting his picture and information on walls and posts with scotch tape and a prayer.
So far, no mother.  So we wait and we keep praying.
But what we gained from this day made every second worthwhile.  We gathered some history. We put pieces in a jumbled, messy frame and helped a very precious boy to have some background where there was so little.  We found some answers that will help us approach this beautiful child with extra caution and understanding.  We communicated to him how important his life is.  He is worth the driving and asking and hot, hot walking.  

He is accepted.  And acceptable. 

Our prayer for him is the same as for every child in our care.  We ask the Lord to take these hard beginnings and build a beautiful testimony that says to all who hear it:

OUR GOD REDEEMS 

He does. 

And He will.

The master puzzle maker, the ultimate worth-giver, the lover of His own.

It's Real, Alright

^{Ephesians 6}

¹² For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. ¹³ Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm.

Yesterday.    It was an awesome and a terrible day all rolled into one.  If I ever doubted for even a moment that spiritual warfare is

a real "thing",  I'm a full-fledged Believer now.

Yesterday made this theologically reformed, not-exactly-Pentecostal Believer want to start binding and rebuking everything in my path.

The morning started off hard and painful as I woke up at 5:30 am to find out a man our family has known and loved for fourteen years passed away after a battle with melanoma.  It was a blow. He's a husband and a father. 

Just  a few hours after this tough news arrived, my social worker came bouncing in, smiling, and informed us that our license to operate fully as a shelter/orphanage was complete and we could pick it up the next day!! We have been waiting for this license for quite some time. It allows us to admit EVERY CHILD on our waiting list right now!!!  The sun began to peek through the clouds of loss that had settled over us that morning. I considered this news quite a gift in lieu of what the morning brought.

We began to make plans for the admissions and call the referring agencies to get the documents prepared.

And then, we had to discipline one of our older sons and he decided to positively over react and try to pack a bag to "leave".  

So after more than an hour of talking, crying, praying and discussing with him and another person involved in the problem, he settled down and began to think straight. He stayed.

Meanwhile, a younger child of ours who is almost always kind to everyone was caught being downright mean to someone younger.  We have not seen this side of said child. It did not bode well for him.  The hammer fell . . . AGAIN. 

Thereafter, our social worker decided to type a form and her typewriter began to smoke and then, with a POP and a flash of light, simply blew up.

I did the only thing any normal woman would do in the face of such blatant "murphy's law" situations. 

I took a long, hot shower.

And I thought about the events of the day.   And I began to have such significant doubts about EVERYTHING that I scared

myself.  

I wrestled with this calling.  If my own children are going to act like absolute goobers at the drop of a hat, what business did I have bringing even MORE kids into the mix?  Who do I think I am?  Superwoman?  If I can't "manage" the five in my direct care right now . . . . Oh, so THIS is why certain denominations don't endorse missionaries with teenagers.  Yeah. I get it now. . . It's all been one grand delusion designed to copy some of my favorite heroes of the Christian faith but I am NO Amy Carmichael and my husband is no

David Platt. . . so what ARE we doing out here while the whole thing falls down around our ears?  Amateurs!  And the gall to bring my sons  BACK to their country or origin AND try to raise them in an orphanage?  I've cheated the very children I vowed to help heal.  

So in that vein, the internal battle raged

My tears mixed with the  water that we can shower in but dare not drink.  I had to cry as quietly as possible because there is absolutely no privacy in this echo-chamber of a home.   

Just when I had imagined   what our NEW life would look like back in America, close to my biological children once more,  I was reminded of Ephesians 6: 12-13.   

SO THIS IS WHAT SPIRITUAL WARFARE FEELS LIKE!

It's real.

It's hard.

I don't particularly care for it. 

But I know what to DO about it.  Two things are commanded in Ephesians 6.  I am to stand firm and I am to put on the whole armor of God.     If I had a dollar for every sermon I've heard on the "Whole Armor of God",  I'd be building us a new orphanage tomorrow.

And oh, how THANKFUL I am for that litany of sermons.   What I heard while sitting comfortably in my seat at church, probably holding a cup of coffee and scrolling through my Bible app, came in pretty darn handy in my shower in this developing country with my little gaggle of orphans walking home from school at any minute.

So it was then and there I knew.   We're standing firm.  We're staying.  I am not going to let my mind play around with leaving The Philippines everytime we have a hard day.  That's not fair to anyone.  Least of all, the kids in our care.   That's like getting married but keeping the divorce papers signed and in the top drawer "just in case . .. ".      

STAND FIRM

As far as putting on the whole armor,  I decided to start with the Sword of the Spirit.  I went to the Word. I read about the life of David.  Spent some time in prayer.  Asked for wisdom.  Poured out my heart.   And He really is so faithful and an ever-present help in times of trouble. He is everything His word says He is. 

Do any of you remember that gospel group from years ago called "Cloud Eight"?  They had a song called "If I Know God"

I  am such a music lover but of all songs to come to mind, this one is most obscure.  I haven't heard it or thought about it since the 90s, I'll bet.  It doesn't even have the most pristine theology, truth be told.   But the chorus says:

If I know God, He'll find a way to bless me

It's just like Him to turn things around.

He'll take a bad situation and work it for my good.

That's how life goes, if I know God.

And those words, coupled with  the sweetness of the scripture I had been reading and the communion of just talking to Him created such peace and clarity in me, that  any  doubts I had, ceased.   Especially any doubt I may have been harboring about the reality of spiritual warfare and the need to recognize it and do what the Bible says to do in the face  of it.

The temptation to run to facebook

                                      or the phone

                                      or my journal

                                      or even my husband

                                                       was overwhelming.   But God asked us to stand firm and to come to Him in the face of such battles. 

I am SO GLAD I did this time.   Spiritual warfare is so real, my friends.  But so is the one who can win every battle for us.    He warned us it was coming and He taught us how to confront it.  What a good and loving Father He is.

     

       

     

 

p.s. our orphanage/shelter  "Mercy House" has been nominated to win a $10,000 grant from a company called Kind Snacks. Please consider copying the link below to vote for us. It's free and winning would be a HUGE blessing to the kids in our care.
Thank you!!!
http://causes.kindsnacks.com/cause/mercy-house-of-the-philippines-street-children-and-orphan-rescue/