One More Home

When reading about the fatherless, or watching a television segment about orphaned children, oftentimes statistics get thrown into the mix. The number of children in foster care, the percentage of orphans that become the victims of human trafficking, the number of children left parentless due to AIDS. Sometimes it's in the hundreds of thousands, sometimes it even reaches into the millions. It's a lot to take in. Statistics like these are meant to catch our attention, to shock our senses, or in more modern terms, "mind blown." I've used these figures myself, and I'll probably do so again because I'm trying to get whoever I'm speaking with to get the big picture of what I'm sharing. To realize the severity of the global orphan crisis. The problem with these grandiose numbers is that, while they can leave us speechless, they can also leave us feeling overwhelmed. While I want you to come alongside me in caring for the orphans, the problem appears ...

In an area outside of Port Au Prince, Haiti, there is a cluster of buildings surrounding a gravel parking area. On the outside, everything appears to be a greyish white color, as if every surface is coated with a layer of dust. This is where I came to visit the Box. The Box has four concrete walls, a roof, and a concrete floor. There are windows cut into the walls but no curtains. The Box has no running water and no toilet or bathroom to speak of. There is more than one level to the Box, but there are no beds in the sleeping area and nowhere to sit except a few wooden or concrete benches. The Box didn't have any toys or books that I could see, no bright pictures on the walls to stare at. The Box is where 40 children live. I refuse to say the Box is home to 40 children because I don't think anyone would find that it fulfills the definition of "home." It simply is a box. The barest of places. A concrete containment unit for 40 young lives. One step up from sit...

" Don’t let anyone think less of you because you are young. Be an example to all believers in what you say, in the way you live, in your love, your faith, and your purity" 1 Timothy 4:12 During a road trip to South Carolina this spring, God gave me the unexpected gift of a new friend. There's more than a few years separating our ages, but by the first rest stop, we already had the start of a never-ending inside joke, had laughed so hard we cried, and determined that for now and forever more, the world will be her oyster.  We crack each other up on a regular basis, even if someone else wouldn't find us funny. We probably laugh way too loud during our regular lunch dates over buffalo chicken nachos and wings, and have a little more fun than we should with our hashtag filled texting. We scream when we see each other, and she's always an excellent go to for a good hug.   But above all else, she's a Jesus-loving, God-following young woman who has become s...

One car has a dead battery, leaving my teenager stranded at the store.  All three males in the house come down with some sort of cold virus leaving them feverish, achy, and miserable. While pulling out of the drive, running behind for school as usual, my van has a completely flat tire.  Browsing through the mail pile I have ignored for way too long, it comes to my attention that we have some unexpected expenses that need to be paid. In less than two weeks, I'll be boarding a plane again, this time on my way back to Haiti. We'll be doing four days of medical clinics, visiting the local orphanages, and spending time with the church we partner with. I've been doing fundraising yard sales, attending team meetings, and trying to get both my mind and my heart ready to go. After all, this isn't a vacation, it's a mission trip. It isn't just about having fun with my sweet brothers and sisters, which I'm sure to do, but more importantly, this trip is abo...

I hated gym class. For those of you who saw Physical Education class on your schedule and thought "Easy A!" please note all I saw was a designated fifty minute portion of my school day that would be torture. I'm no athlete. Short of the square dancing portion of the class that was mildly entertaining, the rest of the year was carried out like a prison sentence. I do not choose to be here, fellow students, but I am forced to endure learning the rules of badminton so I may then take the tools of the trade and swing like a spaz at some tiny little plastic object, failing to make any contact as it hits the floor. So, it may seem I have lost my mind, possibly been abducted by aliens and replaced with a clone, or suffered some brain trauma that has resulted in a personality overhaul when I say, "I've become a runner." Okay, technically, at this point, I think it's more like a jog sprinter with a form that gets slightly worse as I make my way through my wor...

After working on the laundry this evening, I feel it's time to come clean, to own up to my obsession, my collection, my own personal clothing addiction...... TA-DA! ( this isn't even all of them, friends...)   T-shirts. Cottony comfort in a rainbow of colors. I love 'em. I'd wear them every day, everywhere. Some are your standard material, others are so soft and stretchy. Some are large, and some of them are extra-large because you just don't know when you're going to wake up and demand that your clothing be loose and baggy, because you just aren't in a form-fitting kind of mood, and pass the chocolate already! However, in my defense, I've purchased every single one of these for a reason. (besides the fact that I can always use another t-shirt contrary to what my husband may say, and despite the way I stuff them like sardines into my dresser drawer before applying the right amount of force to shut said drawer without any little flaps of fab...

If you've ever read my blog before today, then you may realize that not only have I made a few changes to the appearance, but I've changed the name of the blog completely. While I may still play with fonts, colors, and the background, I'm hoping to stick with the new name. One More Home During the adoption process, most families will have a fundraiser or two to try and help with the cost of bringing their little one home. We were no different, and one of the ways we have tried to raise funds was through the sale of t-shirts. I worked with my fabulously talented friend Lucy who is handy dandy at designing such things. I knew I wanted something big and bold across the front, but, what should our shirt say? I searched the internet for ideas and I finally stumbled upon the slogan, "One More Loved." It's a lovely sentiment, but I didn't like the fact that, between the lines, it could be read that this child was not loved until they reached our family. And, ...