Thick Skin. Tender Heart.

Over the past decade, I've been learning how to live in the tension and beauty of those two realities. I'm a really tough woman: stubborn, hard headed, opinionated, strong, determined. Yet I'm also fully tender: I cry a lot, feel other's pain deeply, am stung by other's harsh or critical words, and very emotional.

How do you have thick skin - the ability to let unimportant and damaging emotional hits bounce off of me,
yet have a tender heart - the ability to feel deeply and remain emotionally connected?

Our infertility and adoption has taken that tension to a whole new place! In some ways they are 2 ends of the spectrum - tough and tender. Because the intensity of the 2 emotional dichotomies is difficult to fully, always live in, I've also discovered another mode: numbness.

I don't often go there, but I think it's one of God's gifts to us. I don't think it's possible to constantly feel all that there is to feel is such deep pain intermingled with joy. It's just not humanly possible. So, I think God gifts us with that 3rd option of numbness. I'm grateful for it. It's restful, recalibrating, gracious, and refilling for the next dip on the roller coaster.

At the end of the day, I want to be a woman, wife, leader, AND mom who is both incredibly tough and tender. I see that all over the pages of Scripture in Jesus, and so I will continue to learn and grow in my strength and vulnerability, while occasionally opting for the reprieve of numbness.

How about you? How do you develop thick skin and a tender heart?

Validation

Last Sunday we had our Student Ministries staff celebration. We have an amazing team of volunteers who serve in a variety of creative, inspirational, and courageous ways to our 12-18 year olds at Newsong. I adore watching them "love in action" and minister to our students and their families. One of the night's surprises was an 18-minute video that one of our high school girls who's also a small group leader in our middle school ministry made. Christie was actually one of girls in my first leadership group when she was in 7th-8th grade. Now, she skillfully shepherds a group of 8th grade girls with integrity [Psalm 78:72]. It's such a satisfying and rewarding picture of what 2 Timothy 2:2 envisions for us. The video Christie prepared was of countless students who were saying "thank you" to their leaders in ways that only 12-18 year olds can: Beautiful. Raw. Meaningful. Unedited. Unfiltered. Authentic.

When Mychel was saying "thank you" to me, something hit me in a new way: one of the gifts of infertility is that it's validated my ministry and personal relationship with God. Mychel was saying that she loves me because she's seen me go through really hard stuff in life and still love God. So that's validated the advice and counsel I've given to her over the years. My pain has produced validation to my words.

If I had a fairy-tale-only life, I'm not sure that my experience with Jesus would carry the same weight to the people I serve as they do now. The rubber of my faith has hit the road. The proverbial crap has hit the fan in my life, and I still believe Jesus is the best and truest thing going on. The God of Scripture has become more real in the pages of my life. For that, I am grateful for infertility.

Home Sweet Home - Part 2

One week ago, my parent's home officially sold their home. My definition of home goes way beyond the 4 walls that hold up a roof, but it includes the space inside. Whenever anyone asks me where "home" is, I never know how to answer. I usually say "I'm from all over the place" or "my parents live in Indiana" or turbo-tongue all the places I've lived the past 30 years. If I had to choose where my home is, California feels most like home out of anywhere that I've lived but my family - Getz's and Diaz's - will always BE my home.Since my parents informed us of their move, I've been thinking about the significance of HOME in relationship to our little ones. Their home will always be Ethiopia, but it will also be wherever Brian and I are with them. I've often prayed for the monumental transition they will face in location, parents, health, culture, and language. I've wondered how their little bodies and souls will fare the change in "home". In the midst of my questions and motherly fears, I trust their Father is caring for them more than I ever will.
Ultimately, this world is not our home. My dad's said that to me countless times. And he's right [no gloating here, pops!]. Maybe when people ask me where I'm from and I stumble to find an answer, it's okay. Because this world is not my home, nor is it for our kiddos.

Hope you enjoyed the pics of the backyard my dad painstakingly designed over the past decade. And that's our dog, Lizzie [below], who's the sweetest thing in the world. [She's currently living with my cousin's family while my parents are in a transition apartment.]