Melancholy Girl

Melancholy girl,

soft, quiet, Sadness ~

she is your constant companion.

how to escape such company?

smiles erupt, laughter bubbles free

and she waits...

finger gently tapping, reminding -

she is there.

she beckons from behind the mask

friend familiar, comforting.

you are drawn to her:

in melodies & rhythms

poems & stories

crowded rooms & silent solitude.

you find her in everyday pictures:

the lone hill-top tree

the single, empty red chair

forlorn flower in last moments of bloom.

your favorite things are full of her:

soft, grey rainstorm days,

season of dying- leaves returning to earth

as vibrant colors fade, awaiting rebirth.

objects old & forgotten.

how is it you walk hand in hand with her?

does everyone cradle her heaviness?

at times I curl in around her weight &

she carries me back to places buried deep.

she holds me captive.

more often, she becomes the perfect lens ~

forcing me to pause, contemplate the moment,

see the beauty only found in her.

I have learned many things, she has taught me well.

deeply known to me ~ a gift.

I recognize her voice in others.

I help them travel her furrows,

bear her intrusion.

I think now we are tightly fitted.

there is no dividing one from the other.

I am a melancholy girl...

and that makes me happy.

Sifting Season

Heart so raw, tis aching sore
and yet I look to Thee for more.
A sifting time of all that's mine
is my request, O Lord Divine.

My soul doest tremble when I do ask
for Thee to make complete this task,
yet freedom's call is stronger still
than any path my flesh would will.

So on humble knees I beg again
for sifting season to begin.
Put to fire my weakend shell
expose to Light where darkness dwells;

Let naught remain entrenched, unfound
sift and sift till all's unbound.
Be my strength my Rod of Light,
my Truth throught out my pain-filled plight.

To know Thee is my one desire,
all else consume O Flame of Fire,
reduce my life till what remains
is full of Christ and free of shame.


As Ann so beautifully said today, " we must listen for the Lord, or the wagging tongue of the world will keep us deaf." I pray for us all as we are sifted, refined, broken... that we will listen for His still small voice of instruction, correction, encouragement, comfort, truth. He is always there, waiting to see if we are willing to be made more free. Longing to break our chains of bondage, that we may walk in true freedom in Christ. Listen to His whispers - true grace is the willingess to be made more beautiful in Him, no matter the cost.
all my love,

aimee

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings... and Why She Doesn't

I don't remember much of my childhood.
The every day living is fuzzy, clouded, absent.
There are a few snapshots I can replay, and they are clear as day, but the rest...
missing.

In place of memories- the feeling suffocates everything.
Shame.

I don't recall conversations with my mom full of wisdom, or life changing advice, though I'm sure there were many of those. But I do remember...
driving down the road when I was 11 or 12, listening to a radio discussion about sexual abuse. I turned their words over and over in my mind till finally the question forced it's way to the surface. I faced my mom and asked "Mom, did that happen to me?"

"Of course not honey, we would know."

I didn't know at the time why I was compelled to ask - I had no memory of anything, then.

But I knew the SHAME.
It was my constant companion- dictating all my thoughts, actions, beliefs - it shadowed my life, keeping me always in the dark, with the light just out of reach.
The Enemy used his weapon relentlessly until I took over the job and built my cage bar by bar - heaping up the SHAME till I was completely captive.

Faces blurry and dark - echos of a long forgotten defeated will - I didn't know I had lost my voice - pushed down long ago, pleadings suffocated - a little girl whose song was silenced. I didn't remember her. She was locked away behind layers of pain and self protection.

But GOD...

He didn't let me go.
He remembered the little girl,
now a young woman perpetuating a life of pain and shameful choices because Truth was buried deep.
But His timing was perfect, His way gentle, and He knew how to make the caged bird sing again.

I was at a coffee shop with a friend and a group of people came in and with them was an adorable, laughing little girl about five years old. I watched her play, interacting with her family as my friend went over to talk with them having realized she knew them from church. When my friend returned to our table, I commented on what a cute little girl they had. She replied,

"Yes, you would never know from looking at her that she has suffered terrible abuse."

My friend went on to explain what had happened to this precious child and deep within my soul a most uncomfortable feeling began pressing upon me. As her words fell away, emotions overwhelmed and I felt as though I was moving through a dream.


So on that very dark night, on the long drive home, Truth began washing over me, and horror settled deep as I turned to my friend and asked the gnawing question,

"do you think someone can have been abused and not remember it happening till years later?"

"yes"

There she was... little girl; raw, remembered, released - images flooded my mind and I knew my story, my truth.

Shame struggled for it's power and position, and fought violently as it's grip began to crumble - emotions warred inside, but I was determined to take His hand and walk out into the light - where shame had no dominion, where healing could begin, and Truth would not be silenced.

The hardest moment came - when returning home - facing my husband - I had to form the words, breaking open the shame that was my prison, finding freedom for the first time in the telling of my story.

This journey has been difficult - this breaking free - this living free.

I often find myself back inside the cage, Shame hemming me in. But my voice has grown stronger, He has returned my song to me, and I remember it well. So I continue the telling, and I sing again - because of Him.

My Jesus has overcome all - every ugly thing in this world has been defeated.

Freedom is mine -

But I must choose to walk in it's liberty.
I must choose to sing it's melody'
I must exchange the lies for it's Truth.

And remember, it was bought at great cost.




"You turned my wailing into dancing;
You removed my sackcloth and clothed
me with joy, that my heart may sing to
You and not be silent." Psalm 30:11-12
*beloved necklace... reminder of rescue, redemption, & freedom -
lisa leonard designs www.lisaleonardonline.com


*for the ones in my life, who have also found freedom in Him: "B","L","G",&"A"

The God of All People

The heat was almost overwhelming, the air - still, close, with new and pungent scents drifting across my face -

Clothes stuck to my back and dust made tracks between my toes. Small, brown hands reached for me, tugging at my hair, pressing my skin, not to hurt, but only to explore that which they had never seen.

I hardly noticed all the things which should make for my discomfort because I was here, the place I had dreamt of since I was young - a land foreign, strange, beautiful.

I looked around me at the sea of dark, shinning faces - their ebony skin soft, lovely, warm, and I felt home.

It was here in this distant place, full of vivid, brilliant colors, I found Him... God of All People.

In a small village church with dirt floors - He made Himself real to me.

As voices deep and melodious lifted high with new and naked rhythms, free and unafraid - joy unrestrained, praise, and pure worship rang loud, harmonious with words I did not understand - I realized they were singing to Him, about Him, for Him.

I did not know their song, but He did. For He was their God too. He is the God of all: on earth, in heaven, color, language, country, heritage - He knows His own. He know me... as I am, broken in spirit, humbled.

I found myself overcome with the magnitude of His love for us all and I began to sing... surrendered with them - praise to Him in their language. I knew not what the words meant save one...

Yesu
Yesu
Yesu
Jesus.

The only word that mattered, because it transcended.

The Name that drew us all together - made us family - made this jungle- home.



We're connected, across the vast oceans, immense continents, diverse cultures, irregular languages, various skin colors. We are family... adopted by Him, through Him, because of Him.

I think we forget, in this land of excess, and comfort, where we argue in our churches which is more holy - traditional hymns or praise and worship music, where we feel perhaps we matter more because of our wealth, education, or tradition - that to our God - The God of All People - worshiping Him with dirt between toes and hands beating drums in tribal rhythm, a worship without pretense or restraint is accepted with equal love because...
He is the Messiah of every tribe and nation.
He bled for them as well.

We must remember our brothers and sisters throughout this world... they are not strangers, for we have the same Father - the same Saviour.

I had gone to this place to minister to them...
teach them beneath the trees of His love for them, and of the Life His Word brings.
But there, as voices floated high, I was humbled. I understood. I was the one who had been taught. In this wild and savage land He made them my teacher. He had shown me the breadth of His love, and the Truth of His Kingship. We all belong to Him.

He is our God...

The God of All People.

Yesu
Yesu
Yesu
Jesus.




(photos: visions of Ghana... my heart longs for you - 3/03)

Winter Comes

Winter comes hard
this year
the dying is deep.
her cold creeps, seeps,
in - through out - between
surrounding
exposing
suffocating
self.
the dying is swift.
the dying is slow.
The battle for Son
never ceases.

I could succumb to winter's
numbing blanket
stay buried, insulated from change-
from pain
or allow sudden chill to
regenerate life
spark a quiet ember,
a seed of growth.

I'll linger in her
silent algor
As He strips me bare,
tilling my heart,
transforming my soul
for
spring.





"Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit." John 12:24

Love bears all things... even this

My daughter pushes Her away - laughing, giggling, teasing, refusing to be held, respond to "I love you", or give a goodbye hug. At first I think she's playing, just being silly - and then as it continues, I realize - she's in pain. My daughter's false joviality her only way to cope with feelings she does not understand.

She plays back with my daughter trying to coax a farewell and I try to find Her eyes over my daughter's head - willing Her to understand. The denial of a goodbye hug isn't because she doesn't want to be held by Her, but because she doesn't want to let Her go.

"She's upset" I tell Her. My heart is gripped tight by pain so singular I think I might be crushed. I witness my daughter and her First Mother struggle to find peace, to find their place with one another and I do not belong here.

This is it... the moment feared most I think by many parents who have adopted. To be an intruder in their child's life. To bear witness to The connection they do not share with the child of their heart. And yet, my pain does hardly compare with that of my daughter and the woman before me. Theirs is the deepest of sorrows, shared alone by them, each bearing a different wound intertwined by the most difficult of decisions.

My eyes burn with tears as I watch Her so patiently, lovingly, with understanding, bend low and whisper words of life to my sweet, precious, girl. Love spills over, knocking down false bravado, and wee one decides to risk pain, and choose relationship over self-preservation - she hugs Her back and says "I love you too".

My eyes find Hers again, our cheeks wet with emotions only Love can bear. I am in awe of Her. To face this fear, the fear of rejection, to be vulnerable to deepest wounding - The strength of this girl, barely a woman, who gave life to my daughter, her daughter - I will never know this kind of strength.


What motivates us to open ourselves up to pain most feared?

Love.

Love for a golden haired girl, with soft, long, ringlets; eyes of green-gold; a giggle like silver bells; and a heart overflowing with grace for all. She is our motivation. What we - her First mother, and Last mother, believe to be best for her.

We will bear this now and whenever necessary in hopes for healing to come sooner for her in the future, knowing she will have access to answers from all she may need to question.


I am so thankful for Her. My daughter's First mother. For I know when deepest wounding surfaces for my daughter, She will be there, to help in any way She can.

Many people ask us how we can possibly have an open adoption. Why we chose this, and continue to pursue a relationship with our children's First families. Open adoption for us is only possible through the power of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, Who through His own wounding has adopted each and every one that accepts Him.
We choose open adoption every day - because we believe it's what is best for our children. They have a right to a relationship with the ones who chose to give them life. They have a right to experience love from any person willing to bestow it on them. We could never withhold love for our children or from our children. We know everyone is not called to have an open adoption - but we are. And we thank God every day for allowing us to be a part of such a tremendous blessing.

Open Adoption is not comfortable. But we were never called to comfort were we?

We are called to love - unselfishly, without restraint, without consideration for what it may cost.

My daughter will know Love.

Our love, and that of her First mother.

She will know the Love of a Savior that gave all for her.

She will know a love beyond all measure - a Love that believes all things, hopes all things, a Love that bears all things - even this.




Ann asked us to blog today about listening to God ~

My word for this next year is the same as it has been for the last five, it is the word that has enabled me to live the above story, it also happens to be the same as Ann's...

"Yes"

"Yes Lord", that is my answer to everything asked of me, even those things that seem impossible.

My husband and I decided years ago, at the start of our adoption process that our response would always be positive, always willing, always yes, concerning our adoptions and other matters of life. We would leave the responsibility of opening and closing doors up to Him.

Some days, the only thing in me saying "yes" is my mouth... every other part of my being is pulling back, trying to hide, trying to protect, trying to reject - trying to control.
But I remember the commitment I made and so I return to the one. small. word.

"Yes"

So many things distract from truly listening to God. Not just hearing Him, but listening to Him - His heart on an issue.

For me, the best solution has been to surrender fear and follow His lead with a simple nod of the head, and a willing heart. For I cannot see the plans laid out before me, I do not possess the sovereignty required to always make the right decision, but I know if I place my life and that of my family completely in His hands, "Trust the Lord with all my heart, and lean not on my own understanding, and in all my ways acknowledge Him, He will make my paths straight."
He will tell us when to say "no" - but first our answer must be "Yes."
To His ways, His time, His plan, His work, and His Love.
Without this decision 5yrs ago - this "yes" plan, we may never have adopted one child, let alone three.

Saying "Yes" first, has allowed me the freedom to truly hear God's heart on a matter, rather than wrestling with my decision on what's best. For God's plan is always best - even if the ultimate answer is no, not now, or never - I can have peace in knowing I was willing.

I pray that for this year and all those to follow, I will continue to listen to God, to the Still Small Voice, and even in the face of impossibility, I will surrender self and say -

"Yes."

Sweet Reminder

"What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Creator calls a butterfly."









Remember, sweet friends, the beauty that awaits all who surrender to Him.


"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!" 2 Cor.5:17


claiming His promise,
aimee

*pic taken at our beautiful zoo on day out w/ our girls - monarch migration