Chapter 30: In Which I do a little foot stomping and fist shaking

I am angry.  I am sad.  I am confused.  I feel hopeless, used, empty.  crushed.  Let it be known, this will not be a happy post.  But also know, I will not feel as sad when I finish this as you might think I am.  Writing makes me feel better.  It is cathartic.  I need to organize my thoughts.  My head is spinning in a million different ways and I just need to find my focus again.  I have a pretty good idea of where that focus will be in the end.  But first- I need to hack some proverbial jungle leaves with a machete and then I'll feel better about where I end up.

On Wednesday our caseworker came over for her monthly check-in.  This time she came with her supervisor- something new and different.  Maybe, I thought, something positive is happening.  As always, I air my grievances about how visits with Brenda are going.  I tell her how I think she would make an amazing grandmother-type figure in his life, I truly don't think she's capable of keeping up with a toddler.  The supervisor offers some tangible advice about what her plan of action is: to make sure that the doctor will be honest with his recommendation on her medical form she still needs to get, or she will try to intervene.  Awesome.  Someone on my side finally.  The caseworker tells the supervisor how Brenda has gotten her house approved, but nothing else on her certification-to-do-list.  No classes, fingerprints, medical form, etc.  The supervisor asks why not?  We both shrug our shoulders.

The supervisor looks at me, "Well- as you know, we always consider family first."

"Well, here's the thing," the caseworker chimes in..."The grandfather has said that if the aunt won't get him, that he will adopt him."

WHAT?!?!

"Why didn't they just get him when he was born then?"  the supervisor asks.

"Two babies was too much for them to handle with them both working." she says. "But next year, the grandmother is retiring."

WHAT!?!?

I am Alice falling down the rabbit hole.  I always knew that Brenda was "Plan A."  But I never never NEVER imagined I was "PLAN C."  There was hope when I was Plan B. One thing fell through and Josiah was a part of OUR forever family.  Why did no one tell us this until now?

I feel lied to and deceived.  What do I look like?  Someone who will "babysit" your grandchild for you until you decided that it is convenient for you to take him back?!?!

Of course my mind races back to the bonding evaluation.  What if he is too bonded to us?  Then my imagination takes me to the court room where the judge says, "I am ruling in favor of the foster parents instead of the child's biological grandparents who already have his biological brother."  That sounds ridiculous.  I think about our foster child Nino who was 18 months when we got him, who maybe cried for a day before he was absolutely fine with us and didn't even ask for his mom.  I think about my nephew Jesse who stayed with his foster mom until he was two and a half and now doesn't even remember her name or recognize pictures of her.

I can't imagine I will be anything in Josiah's future, at best a distant foggy memory of feeling safe and happy and loved.  Yes, of course they have told us we will still have contact.  But do I even want contact with him, seeing how happy he is without me?  Or worse, seeing how unhappy he is living in a home that isn't mine?

I should be happy he's loved by so many people.  I should be grateful that the problem is that too many people want him.  I should be happy he might live with his "real" brother.  But what about Molly?  He's more of a brother to her than to his biological brother.  What have I done to my poor daughter?  It wasn't her choice to lose her brother.  I did this to her.

I am planning my lengthy plea to Josiah's family, where I'm on my knees sobbing that they don't take my son away from me.

But he's not my son.  He never was.  At least not by name, anyway.  I have no claim over him whatsoever.  I just don't understand why God would put him in my life and make me think I had an actual chance to keep him.  This was a life I chose for myself though.  I knew there was a chance of this happening.  And knowing what I do now, I still would have chosen to take him into our home in a heartbeat, no questions asked.  I love that boy.  And I love being his mama.  And I love what he has made me family because he's in it.

Lately I've been listening to my Bible on CD while I feed the babies breakfast.  When I heard the latest news, I popped in I Samuel.  I want to be Hannah.  I want to be okay placing my baby's future in God's hands.  I can clearly remember praying the prayer she prayed.  "God, if you give me a son, I will give him to You."  I wonder if Hannah ever said to God, "Okay, I know that's what I prayed, but I only said that so You'd give me what I wanted.  Do I HAVE to give him to You?  I really really want to keep him for myself- to watch him grow.  I will do all the right things, raise him the right way, teach him about You.  Are you SURE Your plan is to leave him in the temple with a priest I don't even know?"

I don't know if she prayed that or not, but if she did, I think God would take her back to the first time she met Eli when he accused of of being a crazy drunk lunatic.  He would remind her of her first prayer and tell her that He was going to glorify Himself through her sacrifice.

God took me back to the time we had him dedicated at our church last July- almost a year ago now.  I remember Justin telling the congregation through broken sobs of how we would be losing our son any week now.  I remember praying for Josiah's future and telling God that we trusted Him with it.  I didn't imagine it.  I said it, I prayed it, and in that moment, I really meant it.  But now, when I think this story isn't going to end with God blessing us with our son permanently, can I renegotiate?  Please?

My heart is breaking at the anticipation of loss.  I can feel the small hairline fractures creeping in.

What's better?  To live my life there is hope of it being how I want it to be?  Or to live realistically, bracing myself for pain?  If I pray that he stays and he doesn't, am I going to be angry at this God I put all my trust in?  If I guard my heart, and realistically look down the corridor of my future and not see Josiah there, am I going to start building walls, and force people out of my life because they remind me of him?

I think I need to go back and read some old posts.  I need to pick up some of those old stones I started stacking long ago, feel their weight, remembering the joy I had when I placed them at the feet of my King and told Him I trusted what he was doing even though I didn't understand how He would work all things out for good because I loved Him and was called according to His purpose.

It feels like rain.  A change in the natural order of things.

  

Chapter 29: What I See, What I Want, and What I Know

Today in honor of a wonderfully talented, recently-departed artist that I met when I was in college, I brought a book written by him to read while waiting at court today.  I love art books.  Yes, I'm twenty-eight and my favorite kind of book has more pictures than words.  The book is called "How I Paint: Secrets of a Sunday Painter."  There's nothing better than reading a writer's words who can describe the artistic process.

"Every picture I paint is a three-way struggle between what I know, what I see, and what I want.  Little kids draw what they know: the sky is up, so blue appears at the top of the page; Mommy is important, so she's big.  As we get older, we try to copy what we see: the sky goes down behind he land; Mommy looks dark when she stands in front of the window.  Then comes wanting: how to make the sky threatening, Mommy a refuge.  This desire level is wide open.  It can be about wanting to create certain abstract shapes and colors, about expressing views on politics, religion,... or anything, but without it, talent and skill have no place to go.  And the reverse it true: passion is powerless in the hands of the inept."
~Thomas S. Buechner

The Department of Youth and Family Services is not the best at communication, apparently.  Sometimes they'll make appointments and not call or show up.  Sometimes they'll be an hour late picking Josiah up for visitation, and sometimes I'll call an hour after they're supposed to pick him up and they'll say, "Oh, visitation was canceled today.  Did no one call you?"  No- that would be YOUR job, caseworker lady.  And today, surprisingly (although I shouldn't be surprised) our court date was moved and no one bothered to tell us.  Thank you, DYFS, for always being diligent when it comes to my child's future.  You are awesome.

Justin and I showed up early at court today eager to hear some news and got nothing- except for a few fun conversations with a parent of one of Justin's students and a pastor of a church that we know who also fosters.  (It's nice to have someone to talk to other than the crazies.)

We prayed for God's will to be done, and for Him to slow the process down and that's what we got.  Three more glorious weeks of no court and no bad news.  God is good.

I love how art mimics life.  My life is the constant battle between what I see, what I want, and what I know.

This is what I see:
I see God answering prayer and stretching out this process longer than it should be taking.
I see God bless us with a daughter and a son.
I see God calling us into a deeper and deeper faith in Him.

This is what I want:
I want God to answer my ultimate request: to have my family be what it always is now.
I want Molly's brother to be Josiah.
I want Josiah's daddy to be Justin.
I want my faith to grow in the midst of uncertainty.

This is what I know:
I know that God not answering all of my prayers in the past has lead to more blessings than I could have imagined.
I know that God's plan is perfect.
I know that I am called to a life where I can't see the end.  And for that, I'm glad.  If God revealed everything to me all at once, I am quite certain that I wouldn't want to get out of bed in the morning.

I am thankful for people who don't do their jobs and communicate like they should.  Being in a place of uncertainty that calls me to rely on God always sharpens my focus on what I see and what I want and what I know to be true.

In the words of Buechner, "Talent and skill have no place to go [without desire].  And the reverse is true: passion is powerless in the hands of the inept."  I know that God is calling me to a life that is balanced between the passion that He's put in my heart and the lessons He is forming in my head. 

Court...again

Remember how last month we went to court and it was postponed until June 21st?  Well- here it is.  Court again.  Ugh.

I've waited to post to ask for prayer mostly because I didn't want to think about it.  But here it is, along with that familiar pit in my stomach.  We usually have no idea about what court is going to be about.  Here's what I do know:  I know that the state is trying to take parental rights from Josiah's parents for his brother, David.  I know that Brenda will be coming and testifying if the judge asks her to.  I know that we will testify if the judge asks us to, although that has never happened.  I know that there's a bonding evaluation planned for August 4th, so I'm thinking that the parents' lawyer is going to say nothing should happen until then.  Other than that, as usual, we're in the dark.

Practically, here's what you can pray for:

-Ultimately, I would love to see Josiah's family see what a great place he's in and WANT him to stay with us.
- Pray that if we are called to testify, that we will make a good impression on the judge.
- Pray that the judge would want to expedite the process of taking parental rights away and give Josiah to us :o)
- Pray that God would slow the process down for Brenda to get certified (I know, mean, but this is what we have been praying for, and so far, He has.)  
- Pray that everyone shows up, and something is actually moving forward.

I can't thank you enough for all of your prayers and kind thoughts.  I'll be sure to post tomorrow on anything that's happening.

I love that boy.  (and that girl...and their daddy.)  :o)  

Six Years! *warning*... full of cheese :o)

I dated Justin for seven and a half years, and then we got married.  I hate that I can say that in one breath and it doesn't even come close to grasp the enormous weight of miserable agony that it caused me to not be married to my best friend until after I graduated college. (Me? Impatient?  Maybe just a tad.) There have been so many seasons in my life Justin has stood by my side.

He met me when I wore one of two colors everyday: navy blue or maroon.  Knee socks, sweater vest, collar at attention.  We had arguments about who loved each other more before we hung up the phone every night.  (We also argued about who would hang up the phone first.)  He called me "cutie pie."

He loved me from a few hundred miles away, my sweatshirts and jeans and toes of my shoes splattered in paint.  He called me his long distance girlfriend.

He asked me an important question and gave me a diamond to wear on my hand.  He finally...FINALLY called me his fiance.

He adored me when I walked down the aisle in the most beautiful white wedding gown I have ever seen.  He told me he would be with me all the days of his life.  I finally got to tell him "goodnight" and "good morning" all in the same day.  He called me his wife.

He helped me do my best as he worked by my side.  I wore skirts to the knee and artsy necklaces.   He called me his colleague and co-laborer in Christ.

He cried with me when our dreams were broken.  He let me wear his oversized sweatshirts with my tears wiped on the cuffs of the sleeves and tissues in the pockets.  He called me a mother even though my arms were empty.

He helped me choose my outfit the day we went to pick up our foster son from the hospital.  A brown shirt and blue jeans.  He told me I looked like a mom even when I didn't feel like one.    

He labored in prayer next to me as I wore a hospital gown.  He held our daughter and said she was beautiful because she looked like me.  He proudly called me the mother of his daughter.

He comes home to me everyday, my clothes covered in baby drool and rice cereal, my hair pulled back in a pony tail, wearing the same pair of jeans I wore the day before.  He tells me my job is harder than his and that he doesn't care how the house looks.  He cooks dinner and does the dishes because he knows I've had a hard day.  He calls me an amazing mother to Molly and Josiah.  He always tells me how much they love me.

There are precious moments when I feel like I look my worst on days when the kids never nap at the same time and the house is a disheveled wreck, and Justin looks at me like I'm back in my plaid skirt and he can't wait to hold my hand.  Or he hugs me like he hasn't seen me in weeks just like when I wore my art-major apron.  Sometimes he still looks at me in awe just like he did when I walked towards him with flowers in my hands.

I am honored to be loved by such an amazing man who has stood by my side for so many seasons of my life.  Today marks six years since he promised me that there would be many more seasons together and many many more clothes to wear.  :o)  Happy Anniversary, Justin!  I praise God for the blessing that you are to me and our children.  I love you so much!    

Chapter 28: A Visit to Dr. Helpful

Josiah is still a foster child, which means he is on insurance covered by the state- Medicaid.  There are not a lot of doctors that take that insurance in our area due to its "that's all the state is paying for....suck it up" mentality.  Fortunately there is an office that is less than ten minutes away from where we live.  UNfortunately, it is not a pediatrician, just a general practitioner that covers everything from fevers to foot fungus.

Let me just paint a picture for you what the waiting room of the office looks like.  I don't mean to sound discriminatory or elitist or bigoted, but do you know how when you go to the DMV you say to yourself, "Where do these people COME from?  They must only exist here."  Not true- apparently when they're not at the DMV, they're at a government-subsidized healthcare facility- or at family court.  You know what I'm talking about- the woman with one eyebrow and a hairy mole growing out of her lip, the family with 5 children that all seem to be under the age of 3, the guy with the one arm scratching places he shouldn't in public with his claw.  Granted, there are "normal" people there also, but let me just say its a cultural experience, and one that keeps me entertained while I wait for a ridiculous amount of time- even after scheduling my appointment months in advance.  

After an hour and a half, we are finally taken to a examination room.  The doctor comes in after another half an hour, sits down across the room and starts shuffling through paperwork.  He is large and sweaty and bald, and his rotund bottom tests the durability of the small swivel-stool he perches on.  In between scribbling notes on Josiah's chart, clearing his throat about a dozen times, and nodding his head as he writes, he's pushing up his glasses that keep sliding down his nose.  Josiah has had it by then and so have I.  He's walking around the room, a book in each hand, banging the walls and anything else that he thinks will make a fun noise.  I finally decide I should wrangle him once again, so I walk across the room, pick up my 26.6 pound little moose, and sit him on my lap.  The doctor looks up at us for the first time since he came in the room five minutes ago.

He clears his throat again, "So....is he walking yet?"

Seriously?


After answering more politely than I should have, I blurted out a question I had since he wasn't going to be asking if I had any himself.  "So...I'm concerned about how much juice he drinks.  He won't drink just plain water, and I know that juice has a lot of sugar in it.  How much juice should he have in day?"

He looks up, annoyed, like I just distracted him from his "job."  "Ummmmm....no more than a few ounces at a time."

I scrunch my nose and raise an eyebrow.  Ummm...was that an answer?  I quickly nod and smile when I realize I'm making a face.


Finally, I just ask the one question I know he will have an answer to.  I know he has a chart right in front of him.  "What percentile is he for his weight and height?  I'm concerned he's too big.  The boy loves to eat."


He shuffles shuffles shuffles, finds the chart, and pretends to do a little mathematical calculation. "Ummmmm....  he's fine."

Ok...was THAT an answer?  Did I miss it? Like 30th percentile fine or 90th percentile fine?  I tell myself I'll just find a chart online when I get home.


Poor Josiah gets a few shots, and after kissing a few tears away, we bolt out the door.  They tell me to make another appointment for him in three months.  I get that sad feeling I always do when leaving the office thinking, "I wonder if I'll still have him when the time comes for his next appointment."

Oh, government healthcare, I loathe thee.

Psalm Twenty-Seven: Fear and Light

"The Lord is my light and my salvation- whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life- of whom shall I be afraid?  
When evil men advance against me to devour my flesh, 
when my enemies and my foes attack me, they will stumble and fall, 
Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear, 
though war break out against me, 
even then will I be confident." v. 1-3


...Just go and break out your Bible and read the entire chapter.  It is 14 verses of awesomeness.  You will need a highlighter or a pen to underline.  You might just want to underline all of it.  It will be well worth your while- I promise.

There have been two times in my life where I can remember being truly afraid.  (OK- 3 if you count the time I made a wrong turn coming home from Connecticut and drove through NEW YORK CITY. I can't talk about that one yet.  When I do, I relive it, and my palms get all clammy.)  Consequently, during both of those scary times I had one of my dear friends beside me.

This is Carissa. Carissa was the first person I met at college.  We were both art majors and clicked instantly.  That's not a difficult thing for Carissa to do with most people.  I know it's cliché to say, but she's one of those people who truly lights up a room when she walks into it.  She can have a conversation with anyone- and often does- on trains, subways, people working a cash register, etc.,  and more often than not she leaves a conversation having put a smile on the other person's face (that is, if she's not telling that person what an idiot they are, which she also can do with ease and gusto.)
She is the bravest and most independent person I know.  She lives and works in New York City and knows all of the subway trains to get from place to place.  That, to me, is impressive.  It figures that when I look back on the two most fearful times on my life, God would put the bravest person I know next to me.  Funny.

---Number One---
My sophomore year, a few college friends and I went for a little weekend jaunt to Carissa's hometown of Canandaigua, NY, about an hour and a half away from school.  We had fun together and laughed a lot, as we always did.  We made a trip to Wegman's (OH, I MISS YOU, WEGMAN'S) and saw all the places where Carissa went to school and church.  I drove.  I will be the first to tell you that when given the choice to either be the driver or the passenger, I will pick passenger every time.  I don't like driving, nonetheless driving in the arctic tundra that is Western New York.  On our way back to school from our adventure, what started out as a beautiful dusting of swirling, dancing snow on the highway quickly turned into a completely disastrous blustery white-out.  I could barely make out a foot of pavement in front of the car.  We knew that it was too late to turn back; it was only going to get worse throughout the day.  So we trudged along at a snail's pace.  Every so often we could make out a car or two that had skid across the road and was tail-end up in a ditch.  I truly feared for my life.  I was clutching the steering wheel white-knuckled.  Carissa sat in the passenger seat next to me and kept reassuring me that I was doing a great job and we would get back safely.

I kept imagining all the things I wouldn't get to do if I died in a snow storm.  No more painting.  No wedding.  No babies.  It's amazing how fear can disable right-thinking.  It paralyzes me.       

We all  prayed together, and the verse that kept repeating itself over and over in my mind was Psalm 27.  

"The Lord is my light and my salvation- whom shall I fear?

The Lord is the stronghold of my life- of whom shall I be afraid?"

  

There's nothing like wisdom from Scripture that can bring light into the darkest parts of my mind.  It reveals the true nature of my faith in God and puts in perspective how much I should be trusting Him with my future.  

We did end up making it back to school safely, by the way.

---Number Two---
Carissa and I went to Italy for three weeks along with our art department.  We visited the three art meccas- Venice, Rome, and Florence.  There were about thirty of us altogether in the group, including our four professors.  While we were in Florence, we stayed in a one-star hotel- basically a hostel with five or so beds in a room and bathrooms for everyone to share in the hallway.  It was only our group that was staying on the third floor, so no one bothered to lock their rooms.  It was a hassle.  If anyone woke up during the night to use the bathroom, someone would have to stay awake to unlock and re-lock the door with a key.  I am a super light sleeper.  It would have made for a very long night.
On the second morning in Florence, I awoke to panic-striken people running up and down the hallway.  "Check your wallets!  Check your money!" I kept hearing.

I rubbed my eyes, and looked over at my nightstand that Carissa and I shared, on which I carefully placed my money belt on the night before. The money belt had been hap-hazardly strewn on the floor, my passport and credit card spilled out.  Someone had broken into our room, used sleeping gas to make sure we remained asleep, and taken all of our cash.  Four rooms were broken into that night, with a total of $1200 stolen.

 It was hard to fall asleep the next night.  I was afraid.  I imagined what may have happened if I had woken up and the robber was inches away from me.  What if they came back?  We locked our door the next night and every night after that.  My moneybelt was safely tucked inside my pillow case.  I knew the chances of it happening again two nights a row were slim.  But still, I was truly fearful.

Again, God brought this same scripture to mind.

"The Lord is my light and my salvation- whom shall I fear?

The Lord is the stronghold of my life- of whom shall I be afraid?  

When evil men advance against me to devour my flesh, 

when my enemies and my foes attack me, they will stumble and fall, 

Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear, 

though war break out against me, 

even then will I be confident."

I remember sitting in a train next to Carissa saying this verse out loud to each other, memorizing it, soaking in all the truth, bathing the dark corners of our minds with light from God's word.  

It was so much easier to sleep after that.

When I think of those two instances, they both have something in common.  My imagination.  My imagination can take me anywhere, and when I let my mind taste and then bite and then devour deception and lies, I convince myself that my God is too small to handle my circumstances.  Fear is the result.  Fear takes my mind to the "could-be's" and "what-if's" and I start to practice feeling what I would feel in those circumstances.  Maybe it's a way of guarding my heart- so if those things do happen, those feelings won't be unfamiliar in that moment.  I'll be prepared.  

But one thing is wrong with that.  In my imagining those circumstances, God is absent.  His presence is not there.  It is complete darkness.  I fail to recognize that God will be beside me in my moment of need- guiding, reassuring, strengthening, surrounding me with His children (people like Carissa) to be a voice of reason and light and life and truth from God's Word.      

Fear is a waste of my imagination.    

I'm not talking about using common sense and imagining the worst and being prepared.  I'm talking about fear that cripples my faith into thinking I am more alone than I really am.

What, then, am I encouraged to think about?  This is David's solution: Before an army overtakes him and war is all around him, he makes the commitment to be confident in his God.

"One thing I ask of the Lord, this is what I seek; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple.  For in the day of trouble he will keep me safe in his dwelling; he will hide me in the shelter of his tabernacle and set me high upon a rock." v. 4-5


I am so thankful for the truth of these verses.  On days when I let my mind wander to dark places filled with fear for myself and for my family, I can cling to this truth and know that God will not abandon me in the dark.  He is my light and my salvation.  Truth dispels darkness.  

Psalm Twenty-Six: Heart and Mind and Feet

"Vindicate me, O LORD, for I have lead a blameless life.  

I have trusted in the LORD without wavering.  

Test me and try me, 

examine my heart and my mind; 

for your love is ever before me, 

and I walk continually in your truth." v. 1-3

Dear God,
It is one thing to lead a blameless life- to walk worthy of your calling and do all of the external actions that show that I love you.  However, the psalmist doesn't ask You to test his outward appearance.  He asks You to test his heart (emotions) and his mind (his thoughts.)  It is this inward struggle that is so much more difficult than simply "doing" what is right.  But the psalm offers the solution to both of these things,  1- God can guide our hearts into feeling the right way when we are focused on how He loves us.  2- We will think rightly when we are continually in His truth daily.

The illustration (forgive me- I was in a pregnant-tired and newborn-baby-in-the-house-tired when I drew this.  I'm warning you now...the quality is going to go down for the next few.)  shows a man focused on the sacrifice of Christ.  His heart and mind have aligned his directional charge.  (If I drew this again, the feet would have been pointed the same way, like he's walking.  He looks a little tired and dizzy and confused here- like I was at the time.) ... but you get the point- hopefully.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately.  Emotions.  Why is it so difficult to put what I know to be true  into practice?  Why do I let the way I feel about a situation dictate my attitude? I always thought as long as I'm doing what I know God wants me to do, I'm covered.  He's happy.  Granted, I may not always have the best attitude while I'm doing it, but atleast I'm doing it, right?

If you've been reading for a while, you know I'm speaking about visitation.  Brenda.  She is my Nineveh.  I go through the actions because I know God wants me to.  I know that anthing I do or don't do isn't going to ultimately change who gets to be the parents in Josiah's forever home.  I know that God is in control of his life.  I know that this is the path God wants me on despite my constant whining.  So why, every week, do I still feel swallowed up and spit out? I feel absolutely awful the day before, the day of, and the day after she comes to my house to play with Josiah.  I am drained of all energy.  Stripped of all sanity.  Robbed of joy.  Laden with guilt that I should be happy that his great-aunt loves him so much.    

I know why.  It's because my head and my heart are telling my feet to go in different directions.  And I'm dizzy.

 Scripture tells me that God can change the way I think.

Romans 12:2
Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.


I always thought that our intellectual selves belong to God. I, then, made the assumption, that my if my mind belongs to God, emotions belong to me.  Emotions are the human reaction of the spiritual experience of God changing the way that I think.  That's one thing I love about Psalms.  The psalmist's emotions are real.  He tells God what he thinks about the world around him.  But he is also quick to tell God the truth about Himself, and then (this is really cool) knowing the truth not only changes the way he thinks....it changes the way he feels.  

The God I serve is not just Lord over my mind; He can be Lord over my heart too.  And when I let Him transform my thinking to line up with Scripture, I can then truly yield all of me- emotions included- to His good, pleasing, and perfect will.     

Ready, head?  check.  Ready, heart? check. Ok, feet...NOW you can start moving forward.  And if you forget your motivation, just look at the cross, and let Jesus' love for you inspire you to love others the way He does.    


"Vindicate me, O LORD, for I have lead a blameless life.  I have trusted in the LORD without wavering.  Test me and try me, examine my heart and my mind; for your love is ever before me, and I walk continually in your truth." 

And the winner is....

GINA!  You're the winner!  


I'll get working on your very own original Psalm Ten if you're sure that's the one you want.  All I need is your address and it will be on its way ASAP.  


Thank you to all who entered.  :o)