What it means to be family

My parents started foster care a year ago.  Thus far, we've only had one baby boy for about six months.  Even though I was physically present for less than three weeks total with this little guy, he captured my heart.  When he left, there was a gaping hole.  My feelings of loss and overflowing tears astonished me with their frequency and intensity.  Visiting him at Thanksgiving only reminded me of the raw tenderness of his absence.

Perhaps I will feel differently if the next foster child doesn't smile at me adoringly, giggle repeatedly at my antics, or snuggle with me for a nap.

I doubt it.

This little boy became my brother.  He belonged in my family.  I loved hearing his soft babbling or even aggravated cries in the background of my phone calls home.  I loved hearing my mom speak "baby talk" with him.  I loved having my old bedroom transformed into a nursery and finding an assortment of swings, burp cloths, and rattling toys all over the house.

Even though he's gone, I still have four brothers.  He's in my family, though not physically present.  The next foster child will become my sibling, too.

Actually, I have more than four brothers.  I have millions.  Some of them are homeless, others are millionaires; some are white, others black; some live in the middle of nowhere, others live in skyscrapers.  I also have millions of sisters.  I don't know them all personally.  But, we belong together.

Russell Moore, the author of Adopted for Life, spoke on February 26, 2012, at College Church's Missions Conference.  I highly recommend listening to it.  "In God the Orphan Finds Mercy" reminds me that I belong.  We belong.  I love his point about how we evangelicals talk about "giving your life to God."  God doesn't want your life.  It's a wreck.  Instead, embrace what God gives: a new identity, a new family.  Fully known and accepted.

And welcoming others into that family.

Just Dreamin'

I wrote this when I was planning to move back to St. Louis after graduation... and ideally, move into my next door neighbor's vacant upstairs apartment.

Wednesday night, March 30, 2011

Dream big.                                         

Dream with me for a moment.  Imagine a bright fall day in St. Louis.  The leaves have started to change color, and a delightful breeze flutters down Hebert Street.  The Krumsiegs are home, no doubt about that.  The front door is wide open, and a drum set is heard from the basement.  Caleb is lovin’ his life.

Next door, the Levels sit out on their front porch, sipping ice tea.  Mr. Levels talks to whoever walks by, and Mrs. Levels fans herself lightly. 

The door to the upstairs apartment is flung open, along with all of the second floor windows.  An upbeat bluegrass tune emanates from someone at work in the apartment.  If an observer cared to check, the dumpster in the alleyway is full of decrepit furniture and various moth-eaten items.  The second floor apartment is sparklingly clean.  The mothball smell lingers slightly but is overpowered by a whiff of paint.  Standing on the tarp protecting the wood floor, a woman pushes back her blonde bangs with the back of her hand and dips her paint roller into the pan again.  Three of the four walls already display the myrtle green color, only one white wall remaining.  At the top of the staircase, a younger woman gingerly adds pieces to a mosaic enclosing the hexagonal mirror on the wall.  The young woman’s father and older brother can be heard wrestling with an unwieldy bed frame as they climb the narrow back stairs.

A call is heard from below.  The young woman turns to see an excited three-year-old with blonde pigtails and a young mom with a baby in tow at the bottom of the stairs.  The young woman greets them.  The three-year-old squeals then scrambles up the staircase.  Soon, the three-year-old animatedly helps the young woman with the mosaic.  The young mom chats with the painting woman while the two men begin assembling the bed.  Another young woman holding a platter of chips, salsa, hummus and guacamole announces her presence at the bottom of the stairs.  Her fiancé sets down his wrench next to the bed frame and hastens down to help her carry the food.  The mosaic-maker grabs an assortment of glasses for water, and everyone sits down on the floor to share the snack.  All carries on pleasantly until the three-year-old somehow manages to rush into the other room and, beckoned by her mother’s call, emerges with a mischievous smile and her hands, face, and shirt covered in a myrtle green hue.

The party breaks up, as the young mom scoops up her two children and walks them down the street to clean up at home.  The men return to the bed frame.  The engaged young woman picks up the paint roller while the blonde woman paints the edges of the walls with a small brush.  The mosaic-maker continues her art. 

A few hours later, the mosaic-maker sits and reads on the back porch of the Krumsieg home.  She smells barbeque ribs and glances over to see her neighbor, a renowned chef, grilling in his backyard.  She waves at him then walks over to the garden to water her budding sunflowers.  Returning to her chair, she hears the laughter of Pastor Gill and Ms. Donna, interweaving with her father’s boisterous voice and her mother’s softer comments.  Yep, God is good. 

She resumes her reading.

Solidarity

I love my dad.  No seriously, I think God gave me the best one.  Sorry to those of you who can't claim my dad as your own...

For the past two years, not a crumb of wheat nor a drop of dairy has touched my lips.  Ok, maybe a few morsels.  But, since I discovered my wheat and dairy intolerance, I eliminated them from my usual diet.  Although it did improve my health significantly, I've occasionally wondered why some of my symptoms remained.  Today, I learned that... not only does my body have problems digesting wheat and dairy, but it also has issues with soy, corn, and sugar.  According to my doctor (an applied kinesiologist), wheat, dairy, soy, corn, and sugar are the five most common food sensitivities.  (So, I'm normal?)

Why?

Wheat, dairy, soy, corn, and sugar are in virtually everything that comes in a package.  There's corn in marshmallows.  (Check your labels.  It's there.  High fructose corn syrup.)  There's also corn in my favorite brand of garlic salt. (Cornstarch.)  Perhaps the prevalence of these five foods in the typical American grocery store and the commonality of being allergic to them are both somewhat correlated to which crops the U.S. Department of Agriculture chooses to subsidize:



If the government pays you to grow those crops, then you'll invent a way to sell it!

I also don't think it's a coincidence that the majority of corn, soybeans, sugar beet, and sugar cane U.S. crops are genetically modified.  Then again, I also really enjoy conspiracy-theory documentaries about the U.S. food industry, such as Food, Inc., The Future of Food, King Corn (disclaimer: I haven't actually seen King Corn yet, but I like the trailer), or even Super Size Me.

However, we cannot blame the government for everything.  Nor should we.

So, what can I eat?

-Fruit
-Veggies
-Meat
-Eggs
-Beans
-Nuts
-Rice
-Potatoes

Delicious.  Wholesome.  Life-giving food.

When people discover that I am allergic to wheat and dairy (and now soy, corn, and sugar), they often think that I am deprived.  I'm "deprived" of foods that don't make my body feel good anyways.  So, I'm not terribly deprived.  I'm actually liberated.

Side note: I am not saying that wheat, dairy, soy, corn, or sugar are inherently bad for your body, depending on how they're processed and in what form it enters your mouth.  But there is a bit of common sense with food: the closer it resembles the way God made it, the more your body will be nourished (and not drained) by it.  Thus, a baked potato (unless it is smothered in dairy products, as we Americans like to do) will energize your body more effectively than a bag of potato chips.

Anyways... this post is getting really long, and I still haven't told you why I started writing it in the first place.

After I discovered these additional food sensitivities this afternoon, my daddy called me.  He wanted to support me in these new dietary challenges and will be forgoing wheat, dairy, corn, soy, and sugar in his diet during this week, too.  That simple statement of solidarity was more powerful and healing to me than any rant about the U.S. government or disappointment over adjusting my diet again.

My dad shows me, over and over again, who the Church is:

 ⁹ Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. ¹⁰ Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. ¹¹ Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. ¹² Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. ¹³ Share with the Lord’s people who are in need.
 Practice hospitality.
 ¹⁴ Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. ¹⁵ Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. ¹⁶ Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited.
 ¹⁷ Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone. ¹⁸ If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. ¹⁹ Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,” says the Lord. ²⁰ On the contrary:
   “If your enemy is hungry, feed him;
   if he is thirsty, give him something to drink.
In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head.”
 ²¹ Do not be overcome by evil [or food allergies], but overcome evil with good.

- Romans 12:9-21

If you skimmed that passage, go back and re-read it.  It describes the Church.  It describes you and me.  Oh, but that doesn't describe me!  No, perhaps not, but it does describe Jesus.  Though we are to reflect our Lord, we are often clouded mirrors.  Thankfully, Christ slowly removes the debris stuck to our surface, spraying the glass cleaner and scrubbing vigorously.  One day, we will look like Him.

In the meanwhile, we let Him scrub and yank away our debris.  And we begin to see Him more clearly.

Often I see Him in my dad.