Compassion part 8: Changed Lives

"It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men" - Frederick Douglass, abolitionist and statesman

This is the eighth and final post in my series discussing the work of Compassion International. It wasn't quite the ten posts I promised, but hey! Life happens, and it's good to fully live it when it does.

We discussed the weight of a hurting world, and learned that while we may not all be able to do great things, we can all do small things with great love.

In the next post I introduced you to three beautiful, small people from three far-flung corners of the globe.

We met Egi, the seven year old from Indonesia with the shy smile and beautiful eyes.

You saw Yegele, the sweet kindergartener who loves to play "house", and lives with no daddy.

We peeked into the life of a tiny boy named Gregori, a preschooler in Peru whose birthday is coming soon.

If you watched this video of Helen when she received her sponsor after waiting for over a year, you probably cried--I know I did!

And before the weekend, we talked about sports fanatics and saw how loving God means letting our hearts become invested in the things that move His.

I'm closing this series with one of the most compelling videos I've ever seen. 

Compassion International has been in operation since 1952, so they invited some of the children who have now graduated from the program to tell their stories as adults. If you ever wondered, "does sponsorship actually make a long-term difference?" just watch this.

Thank you for coming along with me for the past week and a half! In case you're curious, Egi, Yegele and Gregori did not find their sponsors this month, but this means that their profiles will be placed back on Compassion's website for anyone to find. If one of these children has touched your heart, you can search for them by their names, found below:

Egi Ricard Sarumaha

Yegele Telahun

Gregori David Quezada Pintado

And of course, these are only three of thousands of children waiting for sponsors! Check out the Compassion International homepage to see all of the children. 

Compassion part 7: How to love a true fan

Imagine that you're married, and imagine that your spouse is passionate about sports. (Some of you won't have to imagine very hard.)

Your spouse watches every game and physically goes to every event possible. He memorizes details about all the players, even personal details that don't relate to their performance. He adjusts his schedule around watching the games, adjusts his budget around supporting the team, and his entire mental concept of the year revolves more around what sport is currently playing than the temperature outside. Some would call him a "fan-atic".

Photo cred (words mine): Chris Breikss

If you are married to this fan, you probably knew from the moment you began dating him that it would be hard to get close to his heart without sharing in the things he loved. So you bought the t-shirts, cleared your weekends for big games, and cheered at his side until you were hoarse. You even painted your face. You invested in the things he loved, and it knit you close as the seam on a pig-skin.

God is inviting you into intimacy with him. He is passionate too--much more passionate than the loudest sports fan on the planet. 

But instead of sports, God's blood pounds deep and fast for broken people. 

He watches every person's moments and physically became present when philosophers and Jews alike agreed--Diety becoming man was impossible. He memorizes details about each person, even personal details that don't have a shred to do with their performance. He adjusted history to become one of the poor, abandoned his stupendous power and glory to rescue the weak and helpless, and his entire concept of what is valuable turns our economic and social structures firmly on their heads. 

His heart melts for the mistreated. 

He laughs with delight over little ones. 

 

Injustice and oppression make him boil.

Photo cred: Freedom House

 

He leans toward the lonely.

Photo cred: Ding Yuin Shan

 

Giving extravagantly and unexpectedly is his modus operatus.
 

Know this: the path to intimacy with God is to share in the things He loves. 

His right hand is stretched out to you. In the palm is an engraved invitation to join him in radical love for the unlovable. He invites you to sell the stuff Pinterest tells you to crave so that you can give it away and have real treasure. He beckons you to stand with Him for the oppressed, the forgotten, the weird and the socially awkward. 

"I want to know him and the power of his resurrection, becoming like him in his death..."

How can we know Him in his sacrifice if we are unwilling to sacrifice? How can we know Him in His death if we are unwilling to die to ourselves?

It is impossible to love Him without loving them. 

Over the past week, I have written here in this online space about one way that we can join our Savior in his love for the least of these. I have shown you the pictures and profiles of three beautiful children who are poor, small, weak, needing love. Sponsoring one of these children is one way that we can join our Jesus in extravagant giving that dives headlong into loving without counting cost.

 Read about Egi, a 7-year-old from Indonesia.

 

 

Yegele is a 5-year-old from Ethiopia who lives with a single mother.

Little Gregori from Peru loves to play with cars.

The deadline to sponsor these particular children is TOMORROW, October 1st, 2015!

 

 

Compassion part 3: Egi

Yesterday we finally got to meet all three kids in the packet for the first time! More than eighty of you clicked to see little Egi, Yegele, and Gregori's faces. Whoo hoo! Every click or share filled my heart with hope that all of these precious little ones will have sponsors by next week on September 30.

If you're just jumping in today, welcome! This is day number three in a ten-day series showcasing the work of Compassion International for impoverished and at-risk children around the world. (To catch up on what you missed, click here for Day 1, and here for Day 2!)

Compassion International operates on the assumption that:

"In a world where more than a billion children live on less than $2 USD per day, child sponsorship is the most strategic way to end poverty."

Many of us ache with sorrow over the tragedies occurring around the world, but feel helpless to help from our living rooms. Or, we feel simply overwhelmed because the Great Need just feels too great.

Friend, you are small. That is truth. But when a small person offers their smallness to a Great God , that tiny offering can be used to change the world.

Today, and for the next two days, I want to open the profile packs a smidge further and really introduce you to each child so that you can make a more informed decision about whether one of them is waiting for you. 

Today, meet Egi. 

Egi Ricard Sarumaha turned seven on the seventh of June - his "golden birthday".

He lives in an island community called Sukarami where around 2,700 people live elbow-to-elbow in homes made of cement floors and tin roofs.

The area is known for torrential rains during the flood season. Can you imagine the deafening effect of a heavy rain on a tin roof?

Egi lives with his father, his mother, and one other sibling. His mom stays at home with the kids while his father tries to keep steady employment as a day laborer. However, he is not always successful, since Egi's profile says his father is "sometimes employed". Most day laborers earn an average of $53 per month in Sukaramai.

Children living in Sukaramai are at risk for diseases such as dengue fever, malaria, and skin diseases.

Compassion International's work in Indonesia began in 1968. They partner with churches to help them provide Indonesian kids with the opportunity to rise above their circumstances and reach their full potential.

Your sponsorship of $38 per month would allow the staff at Agape Denninger Student Center to give Egi Bible studies, medical checkups, nutritious food, sports, character building programs, reading and writing classes and special celebrations.

One other thing that surprised me--it said that the center staff would also offer meetings and seminars to Egi's parents!

This means that in a very practical way, your sponsorship of a single child may actually be part of God's plan for an entire family's transformation through the love of Christ.

How do I support Egi?

Egi's starter packet is currently displayed in the lobby of the Fellowship Church office in College Station. If you live here in town, drop by after your morning cup of coffee to pick it up. Everything you need to get started will be inside. 

What's that, you say? You live out of town? Just email me at cherise.castille[at]gmail[dot]com to give me your mailing address, and I'll be more than happy to mail Egi's packet to you. 

I can't sponsor right now, but how can I help?

Pray for Egi. Like, right now, wherever you are. Pray that God will bring him a sponsor soon. Pray for his health. Pray for his education, his family, and his development. Most of all, pray that he will choose to follow Jesus and let God's love transform both him and his community. 

Share this post with anyone you think might want to be Egi's sponsor! You never know--that co-worker or relative may be the one who is meant to build a life-long relationship with Egi through sponsorship. 

Be an advocate. Compassion international needs our voices (and facebook pages and twitter accounts) to connect thousands of children just like Egi with people who have the funds and the willingness to be their sponsors. Click here for more information. 


 

Five Minute Friday:: Adore

Last year my windows were festooned with ribbons, like peppermint stripes to the floor. Colored lights glowed at the door, and the Christmas candles flickered in the hallway bathroom. Even the couch had a snowman pillow on it. 

This year, my 2-foot tree is the only bit of Christmas in an otherwise very normal, every-day living room. Only one present is wrapped. Another present sits on my desk in a brown box, exactly as it looked when the UPS guy dropped it off last night. All other presents are still at the store, undiscovered. It has been a busy month, filled with goodbyes to students who are returning home after the semester, graduation parties and unexpected guests. 

But my heart feels quiet. Anticipatory. 

For the first time, my husband and I decided to celebrate Advent. 

We bought a cheap brass candle ring online that came with the purple and pink tapers, and we downloaded a devotional by John Piper. We read it from the glowing screen of the phone as we lie in bed each night. 

The words have been garlanding my heart with awe. 

That the King would come, not to be served but to serve? The realization spreads fresh across my duty-bent heart like a red carpet to welcome him. 

And that star that God placed in the sky millennia in advance, timed to perfection so that men who scanned the night for signs would see it--dazzling. The sheer scale of planning that went into His entrance sends fiery sparks of worship through my heart, brighter than any tinsel. 

My house may look pretty much as it did in October, but I can feel Christmas within me. More of Christ. More adoration for my King, the one who let himself be made small and weak to bring me near. 

Another sister is spoken for!

My last big announcement on the blog happened in August when I shared the news that my sister, Sharon, and her husband are expecting a sweet new baby in January. (Click here to see the adorable way they told our parents!)

Now, I have more exciting news...

MY SISTER, KARIS, IS ENGAGED!!!!

I'm honestly not sure which is making me smile more--my happiness for her happiness, or my excitement over gaining this guy as a brother! Mark is an amazing dude, and I can't imagine a better man for my little sister.

He had reserved a wing of a museum they loved. He had pulled all the strings, set all the details, asked my dad's blessing, and kept her completely in the dark through the months of planning.

When she walked in, their favorite song was playing, and a collection of easels set in a semi-circle proclaimed "I love you, and always will."

Between the easels was a table topped with a Bible flipped open to their favorite verse, a picture of the two of them, and a basket shaped like a bird's nest containing the most beautiful little ring.

Did I mention that she loves birds? *swoon*

When he knelt to propose, the music was too loud for her to hear well, so they both ended up on their knees, face to face, tearfully hugging after he slipped the ring on her hand.

Mark's little brother captured the whole thing on video! (When I watched it at work for the first time, I was ambushed by tears of happiness. So if you cry easily like me, consider yourself forewarned.)

They haven't set a date yet, but I'm sure they won't wait long! 

Five minute Friday:: Care

This month has spun past full and fast. Some months are like that--each day so brim-full of people and conversation and work and weekends busier than the weeks between that you can barely catch your breath. 

I crave the process of writing like a runner craves the road. I feel so thankful that I finally get the chance to sit for five minutes on this Friday night and pin down meaning with these keys. I'm grateful to Kate for faithfully hosting this writer's party each week, even though I know her month might have been as full as mine. 

Tonight the prompt is CARE. And if you have no clue what's going on, head on over here to check out what Five Minute Friday is all about! 

{CARE}

An open letter to the woman with the 101-year-old mother:

Today you tipped a little while in my direction and spilled out some of your story. I felt honored that you would tell me, the girl a half century behind you in wisdom.

You told how she came to live with you this summer. How her house sits empty in Ohio with no one to cut the grass. How the sister in another state was caring for her, but now it’s your turn and you feel like there are days it’s just simply too. Much.

You told how she was a rock for your family, caring for your handicapped brother until even his hair was gray and he fell. Your mouth pulled in at the memory, and I thought how painful it would be to lose a brother. I told you so, and your eyes grew glossy.

You told how exhausting it is now, how you were unprepared to physically lift the woman who carried you as a child.

I don’t know what it’s like, but thank you. Thank you for caring. Thank you for dying to self for the sake of the dying. Thank you for making her breakfast each day, making her bed, making her smile.

We—the self-absorbed, the media-glutted, the youth-obsessed—we desperately need your example. We need to see love in action that is not flashy, not instagrammed, not applauded. We need to know that it’s possible to love our parents this way so that when the day comes, we will have the courage to care too. 

Love in San Antonio

Last month, my love and I stole away from everyday life to celebrate our 3-year anniversary in San Antonio. We were a month or so late, but who cares, right? What a fun, exciting city! 

Each summer since we married in 2011, we've tried our best to set aside a little money so we can step out of our normal routine and go celebrate each other. We know it may not be possible every year to actually leave town, but we're making the most of it while we can! 

This year, we were excited to stumble across a Groupon deal for a hotel within walking distance of the Riverwalk.

Even though I've lived in TX all my life, it was my first-ever time to visit the Alamo. (I know, you're probably thinking I'm the worst Texan ever...but better late than never!) 

Because of its prominence in TX history textbooks and movies, I think I expected the building itself to be bigger. The portion pictured above was actually one of the smaller parts of the low, single-storied compound. Admission to the grounds was free, but we quickly realized that our knowledge of the site and the battle fought there was pretty pathetic. Trying to figure out the story from the signs and displays was overwhelming, so...

we bought a set of audio tours! 

 Seriously, it was the best $10 we spent on the whole trip. 

We also bought a sno cone--and the experience of buying it next to the Alamo--for the low price of $4.

It was delicious. 

A roaming mariachi band kept popping up at different points throughout the day, offering their music to families lunching outside. Finally, I asked one of the band members if I could take his picture. 

Nice tie, senor. 

We walked miles of sun-dappled narrow sidewalks lined with river on the left and restaurant tables on the right. 

The walk was beautiful, but it finally wore us out. We found a steakhouse and plopped our tired selves into the barstools--the only seating available. 

The large group in the back appeared to be celebrating a birthday. A woman was trying to give a speech, but we could tell that she was having a hard time making herself heard. The restaurant staff found a microphone for her, and suddenly we were part of the audience. 

Her husband was celebrating his retirement from the military after a long career. We lingered over the end of our meal to enjoy the stories of a man we didn't know. 

We left feeling romantic, thinking about growing old together like the couple we'd seen. We are still only at the start of this beautiful journey. 

We heard jazz music and followed it to an Italian cafe for dessert. We had coffee and tiramisu and conversation with a Hawaiian bartender named Rodger who ended up making the tiramisu complementary when he heard why we were in town. 

The jazz music was live, and the singer decided we needed a song to call "our song". 

He sang "What are you doing with the rest of your life?" while we danced between the tables. 

Still sometimes can't believe that we're grown and married and can do grownup things like rent a hotel in a beautiful city and explore it together.

And guess where our church's next church plan team is going? UT San Antonio! I had no idea while we were there, but now that I know, I am super excited! I can already imagine the team having homegroup hangouts on the Riverwalk, talking with passerby about Jesus, and enjoying the fun music scene.

Related Links:

My thoughts on our *actual* anniversary this year. 

The crazy adventures we had on our first anniversary. (crazy is not an exaggeration!)

Five minute Friday:: Reach

When I read this week's prompt on Kate's blog, I immediately thought of a story told by author and pastor Brennan Manning.

This one took longer than 5 minutes, (so I totally cheated this week!), but I think when you read the story you might agree with me that fudging the rules in this case was totally worth it.

"Reach"

His name was Larry Malaney and he was even less glamorous than his name suggests. He was a hippie who never bathed, never seemed to change his clothes, and had a horrible case of acne. His appearance--and his odor--isolated him from his classmates.

When Brennan Manning met him in the 60's, Larry was a college student and self-proclaimed agnostic. He would often come to Manning's office to debate him about spiritual topics. It was probably one of the few places on campus where he was not rejected because of his sloppy hygiene. "In all my days," Manning writes, "I have never seen anyone with such low self-esteem."

He grew up under the strict thumb of his father, one of a breed of traditional men known as "lace-curtain Irishmen". Even in the heat of August, Mr. Malaney Sr. never came to dinner at his own home without dressing in a freshly-pressed suit. Larry would come to the same table smelling like he had never bathed in his life.

Family tension? You bet.

One Christmas, however, everything changed. Larry had spent several days at home, filled with the usual squabbles and strained silences. He told his father that he was leaving on the train the next morning, and his father said he would ride with him part of the way. It was, after all, on his way to the office.

The next morning, they sat together in silence. At the stop they disembarked, the elder to walk to his office, the son to wait for the second train.

Photo credit: www.urban-photography-art.com 

As they stood on the platform, a group of men across the street began to taunt Larry. One man yelled out "Hey Pig Boy! Oink! Oink!" Another man jeered, "If that was my son, I'd lock him up in the basement where he belongs!"

Larry turned away wordlessly. The cruelty was not new and he had learned to ignore it.

Suddenly his father, the prim "lace-curtain Irishman", gripped him by the shoulders and turned him until they were face to face. He then pulled his son into the first embrace of his life and kissed him on the lips.

"Larry", he said, "if your mother and I live to be 200 years old that wouldn't be long enough to thank God for the gift he has given us in you. I'm so proud that you are my son."

After that cold December day at the train station, Larry was a different person. He was still a hippie, but he cleaned up. He started dating. He had a new confidence, and he smiled readily. Soon after, he showed up at Manning's office with a simple request. "Tell me about this man, Jesus." Manning then explained the good news of the Gospel. At the end, Larry simply smiled and said, "OK."

In his book, "The Furious Love of God," Manning explains Larry's transformation:

“It wasn’t because of the six weeks of sitting in Brennan Manning’s office while I talked about Jesus. No, it was because of a day long ago, during a Christmas vacation, standing at a bus stop, when his lace-curtain Irish father healed him. Yes, his father healed him. He looked deeply into his son’s eyes, saw the good in Larry Malaney that Larry couldn’t see for himself, affirmed him with a furious love, and changed the whole direction of his son’s life.”

That prim man reached for his son when the world flung insults--and healed him. Despite any rejection that he had previously meted out through his strained silences and tacit disapproval, this was the shining moment when he loved well.

You may not be a perfect parent, but today, you can choose to heal with your unearned acceptance.

You may not have had a perfect parent, but there is a Father who reaches for us now. Arms stretched painfully wide on a rough cross, he reached for us in our stinkiness, our sloppiness, our never-enough.

And we are healed.

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A letter to the bride

Little cousin, you were so lovely that weekend, radiant in your womanhood and your love.

You ran to us the night we arrived for your rehearsal dinner, all glowing and breathless with arms flung wide, and I felt like years and miles hadn't mattered at all.

You are no longer the doe-eyed little girl who made flower chains with my sister and begged us Olders to "be the bad guys" for your games. You no longer climb trees barefoot, sharing secrets with the Twin Cousin and concocting pranks for your big brother.

That was precious, but this, this new season you've joined us in--this is glorious.

You made those forever promises as you stood in your lace, and I leaned close to my own love and let the vows re-imprint themselves on my resolve.

You will see--weddings get a new layer of richness and meaning after you have your own.

The East Coasters were the last pockets of family to finally meet my husband. It felt like your new love and mine were initiated into the clan on the same fun-filled, rain-blessed weekend. Every outrageous game of Brandi Dog and Farkle, every crochet stitch taught--they turned our far-flung lives into community again and I remembered how much I love our family.

The couple that started it all: Grandma and Grandpa Beekman

Sweet cousin, I love you. I love the love I see in you, between you both, and pouring out to everyone within reach.

I pray you keep choosing love. Keep choosing humility.
I pray you keep choosing to open yourselves to friendships, even when they move away or get pregnant before you do or take a while to return your calls.
That you will have grace for the budgeting foibles that will come.
That you find a beautiful new "family culture" as you discover how to do the oneness of marriage.

Aaaaannnd I secretly pray that you move to Texas. (Because that would be awesome!)

Three years ago this day

Last night you nuzzled close to my face in bed and we looked at each other in the dark.

"Three years!" you whispered. "That's crazy!"

And it is. But if this is crazy, well Sweetheart, I've decided I like crazy.

On that day three years ago, I was nervous and excited and my cheeks hurt from smiling but I just couldn't stop the grin that bubbled up and took over my face. I was declaring to the whole world that you were the man I wanted to follow as you follow Jesus. I was becoming yours, promising my heart and all my years until I die.

We only learn the magnitude of a promise when we live it.

I don't need the pictures to remember how your face trembled with emotion when I rounded that corner at the end of the aisle. The way our hands gripped each other and your eyes glowed as Ray said "husband and wife".

It was the first of all the moments following, but we've had even better ones since then.

I remember how we danced our feet sore and you did that crazy backflip that freaked out the mother you'd just waltzed. I remember how I blushed when you reached up for the garter.

Now you backflip for the neighborhood kids.

Three years ago this day I could not have known how I would love you now.
Or how your voice inflections would become mine.
How your allergies would create a new level of health for us both.
How I could love a second family so intensely.
How the curve of your arm and side could become home to me.

I love you, Darling. Like crazy.

*I started this post on Wednesday, our real anniversary, but had such a fun date that night that there was no chance to post until now. :)

Five Years with my Love

Yes, we are that couple.

The ones who still celebrate the anniversary of "this-is-when-we-started-dating". It might be corny, but I've always loved corny. Corny with extra cheese is my favorite.

Because it's fun.
Because it reminds us of where and why we started.
And because taking time to celebrate the past gives us that extra "oomph" to keep holding hands and pressing forward.

For the past three years, our dating anniversary has fallen during the Italy mission trip in Milan. How lucky can a girl get, right?

Each time, hubby has carved out an evening for a date.

It's just us two, walking arm in arm to some restaurant close by. We order wine. We dip bread in the oil that always tastes better here and we struggle to pronounce our food.

I sit and look at this man and think how blessed I am.

Our Crem Caramel della casa arrives, and it tastes like Mexican flan. Apparently, the hubby doesn't like flan but never knew. We giggle about it and I finish the whole thing.

I remember our first date-that-wasn't-a-date, before I knew he liked me. We sat at the coffee shop with a pastry between us, our forks plucking away at both ends. I refused the last bite. I took half. He laughed and took half. I took half again.

He thought I was ridiculous, but it was my family's way. Now, with the finished crem, I guess we're forming new ways.

Later we walk to another restaurant so he can have dessert. Chocolate mousse pie with candied pear on top. Takeout? Yes, thank you, we say.

There were no pictures. It was devoured too fast.

It seems unreal. Five years? My heart spills over with thanks for you, babe. I feel so hopeful for the next five years.

Scratch that--I meant the next five decades.

Book Review::Surprised by Motherhood

I am not a mother, but odds are I will be someday.

 

Someday my fridge will be covered with crayon masterpieces, my walls with jelly stains, and my floors with cheerios. Someday hubby and I will be entrusted with one or more miniature humans and I know deep in my gut that our lives will never be the same.  

 

Honestly, it’s terrifying.

 

Even though I love children.

Even though I get wistful over the soft curls of my friend's kids.

Even though I pray for the ones who will someday look like me and my husband.

Change has just never been my favorite, and the knowledge that two little pink lines will one day change absolutely everything--well, it scares the bejeezus out of me.

 

When that day comes, I will be so thankful for moms like Lisa-Jo and brave, hope-filled words like hers that come straight from the trenches. Which is why...I'm unashamedly doing my very first book review/promo for her!

 

Surprised by Motherhood reads like a heartfelt conversation on the couch with the author, a girl from South Africa who married a "cowboy-green eyed" man from the Northwest on the firm understanding that she would never bear his children. Ten years and three kids later, she bravely bares her heart and invites you into the messy, hilarious journey all laced with truth and wild hope.

 

 

She writes for you mommies. You, the ones who feel caught on the exhausting treadmill of life wondering, "will things ever slow down?" She believes you deserve a super-hero cape and a cheering squad and she's volunteering to wave pom-poms for you.

 

"I would throw away most of the parenting books that made me feel like I was somehow failing this most important test of womanhood—being a mother. I’d throw out the advice about what I was doing wrong or should be doing differently or should aspire to be doing. I’d just revel in the daily, sleep-deprived merry-go-round and eat a lot more chocolate cake.(p. x)"

 

She puts it this way:

This isn’t a “how-to” book, it’s simply my “you can” story.

 

She writes for you daughters too, especially for those who feel the absence of their mothers. When she was entering high school, her own mom was entering a hospital. Now, more than eighteen years after her mother's death, Lisa-Jo understands the pain of working through the unsaid, the unexplained. Whether the absence is literal or emotional, the wounds are real and she offers her own journey in all its confusion and healing.

 

She also writes for the not-yet mommies and someday mommies, the ones of us who need someone to say, "I was scared too. Yes, it's hard--but it's glorious and beautiful and worth it."

 

“Parenting is not for the faint of heart. And it’s especially not for those type A personalities accustomed to having all their ducks in a row, all their check boxes checked, and their sofa cushions, cereal boxes, and entire lives neatly arranged.” (p. 4)

 

  It doesn't hurt that she is type-A like me. Just an added layer of commonality to make me believe dying to self in the area of perfection might actually be possible.

Grab the first three chapters here for free!

Never Thought I'd Use Facebook for This...

Four months ago, I was on facebook, staring at a blinking cursor with fingers poised. I was about to apologize to someone I hadn't seen in six years.

My thoughts were nervous, skittish of the message I was about to write. 

She won't even remember this. It was so long ago! She'll think I'm weird for dredging up the past. Worse, it might make her feel bad, maybe even create wounds where none existed. 

But I couldn't shake the conviction to make things right.

I'd been sitting with God, venting to him about someone who frustrated me. Eventually, the venting had given way to softness, me confessing the prickles in my own heart that were bristling in frustration. (Isn't it cool how that works?) 

Suddenly, in the clarity of that softness, I saw myself six years ago. There I was, frustrating someone with my own immaturity. I sat still in the flash of realization: the flaws in Past Cherise were the same that made me bristle with irritation now. 

Takes one to know one. 

So there I was, typing an apology halfway around the world. 

"...I know it has been many years, but would you forgive my arrogance from that time?..."

Her response came within five hours, full of forgetful grace and forgiveness. My heart basked in the glow of her words from my facebook screen. I felt light.

Then, two weeks ago, a conversation jogged another memory of another hurt both received and given. This time it was from even further in the past, a time before puberty, braces or the end of fifth grade. Really, God? 

Obediently, I tapped out another facebook message. I received another surprised, grace-filled reply less than a day later. The sweetness of the exchange made me wish I had sent it sooner, felt the freedom years before. But until that week, I hadn't remembered.

In our apartment, there are certain little piles that have always been there--part of the decor. Technically, they're clutter, but they no longer register as mess in my brain. 

In my heart, it's the same. There are certain character issues and wounds that feel like part of the landscape--part of me. Invisible until my Healer says "See that?"--then it's suddenly there, conspicuous. 

I am so thankful that He is gentle, showing me the piles one by one. 

Our final wedding photo shoot! (no, I'm serious)

Guess what we did this summer? We took our final wedding photo shoot! Ta da!

Umm...yeah. Our wedding happened two years ago. We know. A little ridiculous.

We were touched that our photographer was willing to honor our package deal after such a wide time lapse. Yes, we have been finishing degrees, traipsing to Colorado for a summer, flying to Italy for mission trips, and other random things that make life busy, but two years? After this experience, I wouldn't be surprised if she put a new clause in her photography contracts. If you lovebirds are too busy (lazy) to schedule all included photo-ops within a reasonable six-month span of time, you will forfeit the unscheduled services.
I wouldn't blame her one iota.

I believe the "day after" photo shoot idea originated from the desire to have a good collection of romantic photos without making guests wait at the reception for hours. Couples usually don the wedding clothes again for a complete wedding day simulation.

As you'll see, we opted for comfortable jeans and t-shirts. This was due to the unbearable, sickly stickiness of Texas July heat...and the fact that all essential undergarments for my wedding dress were borrowed. But it gave me a chance to sport this fun t-shirt given to me by my sis at a bridal shower way back before the wedding! It says "I *heart* my hubby".

I was surprised by how little she had to coach us on natural-looking cuddliness! I guess we've learned a few things in the past two years. :)

If you want to see more, head on over to this album on my facebook page. And if you like her style, check out her other photos on Southern Charm Photography.