Painting a Picture Over Reality

I've always been an idealist, a dreamer, a romantic. If I don't like the way things look around me, I create something new. I change it. It's simple.

Or at least, it was.

My method of changing things was usually to remove the discomfort from the situation, or to get over it. If I couldn't move it, I would wait until it was over, and move merrily on with my life.

But sometimes things happen in our lives that we can't wait out. They don't go away in a day, or a month, or a even a year.

Levi's behavior is awful sometimes. He's aggressive, he spits, he doesn't initiate conversation. He's hard. He's different.

There's dissatisfaction. Murmurings and whispers that things aren't as they should be. Anger and tears. But there's also joy. There's also laughter.

But I tend to ignore the bad in my life. I like to remove it from the equation, just like I do with everything else that makes me sad or angry or uncomfortable. Only, its very hard to remove.

I'll go upstairs to my room and put on headphones, playing piano for hours. I'll immerse myself in books to get away from my problems and focus on other people's for a little while. I'll go hang out with friends, trying so hard to put on my old smile, and be the person I was a year ago, but I just can't.

I'm weighed down. I'm sad. I'm tired. I feel lost. I don't know what I'm doing, or where I'm going. And the lack of direction is driving me insane.

But, more than anything, I hate to let on how much I'm struggling, how much we're struggling.

So I paint a picture of my life. Through Facebook, through pictures, through any means necessary.

It's like I've got a camera and I've taken a picture of my life, but I don't like what the picture looks like. So I simply paint over the screen. That way, it doesn't matter what truth the screen shows, I can't see it. I can only see the perfect picture that I painted.

The danger in this is not only leading others astray when it comes to the facts about the trials of adoption and special needs, but also leading myself astray. I'm so used to looking through my painted-over screen that when I put it down and see what's really going on around me, I find I'd rather look at my fake picture.

This teaches me to be discontent, and to live apart from reality. And it's not what God intends for my life or for anyone else's.

Sometimes it's hard to come out of the "flowery fields" that I live in within my mind. It's hard to give up my "Garden of Eden" hopes. But relinquishing those far-fetched, dream-world hopes might just help me to enjoy the reality God has placed me in. And learn to trust Him with it.

The Hardest Decision

Choosing not to go on a mission trip this summer was one of the hardest I've had to make in a long time.

It's impossible to fully explain my thought processes. I've been so back and forth the last few months.

In February, I finally made up my mind to go back to Carmencita's orphanage with a church in Texas. It was when they gave me a deadline for the money that I started to have doubts.

I was incredibly, overwhelmingly stressed out. How was I going to get enough money in time? But I had to stop myself: God had provided before, He would do it again. But, then, I couldn't just expect the money to land on my front porch. I'd have to work for it.

And all that planning. I knew the time that went into preparing for a missions trip.

And even the trip itself. In past years, I've felt nervous, yes, but also an unwavering joy and excitement to go. There was none of that this year. In a way, I feel like I was choosing to go simply because that's what I was supposed to do. If I didn't go on missions trip, wasn't that missions girl, then who was I?

But God spoke to me gently, and harshly to me at the same time. He told me, through His word, through prayer, and through many others in my life, that this was not the time for me to go. My spirit, my mind, and my body are all exhausted. I'm tired, and I've forgotten how to take care of myself. I'm so worn down; I'm running on an empty tank. And if there's no fuel left in me to fuel myself, I can't possibly fuel other people.

So in a quick email, with the push of a send button, I decided not to go to Peru. God and my dad quenched my thoughts of guilt. I had been walking a mission field in my own home for the past year, waking up daily to show Jesus' unconditional love to the people it was hardest to show it to: Levi and Evan, and the rest of my family.

And in deciding not to go, I felt a weight lifted from me. A burden taken off my shoulders. It was one less thing I had to worry about.

My one regret, the one thing that still hurts my heart every time I think about not going to Peru this year, the one thing that still makes me genuinely, horribly upset about it is Carmencita.

I still miss her just as much as I missed her the day I got back last summer. And the thought of not seeing her this year, by my own choice, is heartwrenching. Thoughts of guilt and betrayal flash through my mind. Does she think I don't care about her? Does she think I don't want to see her, that I don't want to take care of her?

But all I can really do is take these things to God, and pray with everything in me that even though she can't see me, she knows that I love her, that I will do everything in my power to take care of her, and that God loves her even more than I do.

And finally, when all that weight came off, I could really understand the meaning of one of my favorite verses from this past year. It was starting to make sense, to feel  right:

Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.
          - Matthew 11:28-30

Purpose

I've always been a dreamer.

I like to reach for the stars, and I'm not ashamed of it. I like to think big.

But sometimes, I think a little too big.

Do you ever wonder what God has in store for you? What plans He has for your life?

I do. I do more than I should. In fact, my dwelling on the future has left my present dull and unsatisfactory. You see, my fault lies in pride. That sin that we all struggle with, but the sin itself keeps us from admitting it to ourselves.

My pride makes me want attention. I want to be recognized. Known. But not just for anything. I don't want to be known for being the best composer in the world. I don't want to be known for writing the best books. Those would all be great, but I want a higher glory. I want to be known for doing something great for God.

My friends jokingly call me Mother "Torisa". What they don't know, though, is that she is exactly who I aspire to be. I want so badly to be known, like her, for doing incredible things to advance God's Word.

I want it more than I should, and not always for the right reasons.

And sometimes, I get so caught up in wondering what big plans God has for me and how I can prepare myself for them, that I simply get tangled.

I leave God out of the equation. I want to do big things for God, but if I can't even do little things for Him, why would He entrust me with big things?

He who is faithful in a very little thing is faithful also in much; and he who is unrighteous in a very little thing is unrighteous also in much.
            - Luke 16:10 (NASB)


I was completely forgetting about God. The one who gave me the mind to dream. Who gave me the ability to live them. My cheeks grew hot with shame as I realized I hadn't given God a second thought in all this.

I hadn't thought about what would be a big help to Him. What would bring glory to Him. All I was concerned about was what would bring glory to me.

I realized that maybe God didn't want me to be the next Katie Davis. Maybe God didn't want me to be known for freeing the special needs orphans from the oppressive system in Russia and Eastern Europe. Maybe God didn't want me to be the next Mother Teresa.

Maybe God wants me to grow up and write. Maybe God wants me to care for orphans quietly. Maybe God wants me to get married and be a mom.

Just a mom!? I think.

But I have to stop myself. I'm distorting God's view of accomplishments. To God, raising kids that are devoted to Him and follow Him may very well be just as important and just as worthy of the statement, "Well done, my good and faithful servant," as being Mother Teresa.

Who is to say that the people who are known are better or "more godly" than the people who are unknown?

Our society tells us that in order to be important and reach the "top tier" of accomplishment and approval in the world, we need to be known. We need to be famous.

Sadly, I apply this to my relationship with God as well. In order to be considered one of those "good and faithful servants" I need to accomplish some great thing or another in my lifetime.

And I forget that my purpose in this life, my only purpose, is to glorify God. Not become the next biggest thing in orphan care. Not be the next Beth Moore. Not any of that. Glorify him.

When I change a diaper.

When I'm sitting in precalculus.

When I'm laying my head on my pillow at night.

When I'm texting someone.

In whatever I do, I glorify God. And that, not any earthly accomplishment, is what will make me a "good and faithful servant."