Hannah Farver's Blog, page 14

"I slept and dreamt life was joy, I awoke and saw life was service, I acted and, behold, service was..."

"I slept and dreamt life was joy, I awoke and saw life was service, I acted and, behold, service was joy."

- Tagore

By the time you read this, I will have left for South...

By the time you read this, I will have left for South Korea.

Why?

Well, for an adoption conference in Seoul…

…but mostly because God is shifting hearts (earthquake-style) to understand the theology of adoption…

…and to serve orphans.

If you think of it, please pray for this trip and the Hope for Orphans people who are going. Those prayers matter.

Oh, and I do have every intention of posting pictures.

the sacred in stories

We need fairytales to show us that heroes are made, not born; that courage is a choice and sometimes we're not strong from the start…but the story doesn't end until we're done fighting.

We need fairytales to warn us that evil can be as poisonous as an apple, and that fiery dragons are not meant to be taken lightly.

We need fairytales to remind us that beauty isn't found just in mirrors, but hearts; that beauty can be made in isolated stone towers and found even amongst wilting roses in ominous west wings.

We need fairytales to tell us that sorcerers can be vanquished and that good always triumphs even—and especially—after pain.

We need fairytales to hammer into us, early and young, that life is a grander scheme than the characters can ever imagine themselves; that there is always an adventure at hand, even if we can't see it.

Most of all, we need fairytales to make us remember that all curses can be broken. There is no spell so great that love is not greater still. And happily ever after? It does exist—just not until the author is finished telling the tale.

Shakespeare wrote, "Every new morn… new orphans cry, new sorrows slap Heaven on the face." In a...

Shakespeare wrote, "Every new morn… new orphans cry, new sorrows slap Heaven on the face." In a way, he was right. Their cries do slap Heaven, because their pain is the antithesis of everything Heaven holds.

A friend told me her adopted son was given a last name at his Chinese orphanage. In fact, his was the same name given to all of the children: "One of Many."

Imagine if your nametag said, "One of Many."

Where Heaven knows each of us by name and has given us a new, unchangeable identity "hidden in Christ, who is in God" (Col. 3:3)–orphans' identities are determined by orphanages; by nametags that say they are only one of 140 million other children with no true homes.

Is there a single place on earth that shows how far we are from Eden, more so than an orphanage?

…But in the face of injustice, death, and the fact of a world brimming with vulnerable, home-less children—Heaven is not silent. It was the poet-king, David, who wrote, "I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord… Behold, He… will neither slumber nor sleep." (Ps. 121)

God is not asleep. Neither is He silent. He calls His Church to be a home to the fatherless; to wrap their arms around these children as defenders.

Every year, one Sunday in November is dedicated to these children. On this day, churches throughout the world are encouraged to spur their congregations to pray for these children; to seek ways so that—instead of just hearing the orphan's cry—we might hear and run to help.

…Even if you aren't called to adopt, there are countless other ways to serve, pray, and support these children.

Because no organization has the power to help these children like the Church does.

[Excerpted from my post at MomLife Today.]

Learn how to get involved in providing hope
Get a free DVD from Cry of the Orphan, on adoption, orphan ministry—a resource that can help you get innovative for how to serve these kids.

Also, the organization I work for, Hope for Orphans, has a lot of useful resources on their website.

via triplee

via triplee

Photo

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i am still running

 

It's hard to trust people who could break us.

I wriggle and squirm enough when it comes to trusting God (who is good, kind, and holds all things together). When it comes to trusting people who will likely botch things up…

Well, it's something I rarely do.

At the same time, how can anyone expect to live happily without trust? It's impossible to have friendships without trusting other people. As a friendship grows, that trust grows. Trust must happen.

But sometimes making a conscious decision to trust feels like tying a loose tooth to a string and the string to a doorknob. And then slamming the door. The surrendering-yourself-to-inevitable-hurt is a tough, tough thing to do.

A short story by Annie Dillard about her neighbor, Miss White, exactly summarizes how I feel sometimes:

Miss White and I knelt in her yard while she showed me a magnifying glass. It was a large, strong hand lens. She lifted my hand and, holding it very still, focused a dab of sunshine on my palm. The glowing crescent wobbled, spread, and finally contracted to a point. It burned; I was burned; I ripped my hand away and ran home crying. Miss White called after me, sorry, explaining, but I didn't look back.

Miss White was trying to show Annie the rainbow in her palm, the way sun glints off a magnifying glass. But all Annie felt and saw was the burn.

Annie continued:

Even now I wonder: if I meet God, will he take and hold my bare hand in his, and focus his eye on my palm, and kindle that spot and let me burn?

But no. It is I who misunderstood everything and let everybody down. Miss White, God, I am sorry I ran from you. I am still running, running from that knowledge, that eye, that love from which there is no refuge. For you meant only love, and love, and I felt only fear, and pain. So once in Israel love came to us incarnate, stood in the doorway between two worlds, and we were all afraid.

We were all afraid. I am afraid. Because I know in relationships with people, I will burn.

Community hurts.

When all is said and done, there will be scars that sting. But do I hold out my hand to God, trusting that He (who is far wiser than Miss White) will show me a wonder worth discovering, in spite of the spot? In spite of the burn?

Opening our hands to others, we are opening our hands to God. We say, "We are Yours."

And although we may feel our stomachs clench as fear of potential betrayal drops us to our knees, somehow, I believe in the end— it will all be a very good thing.

"Our mission can unwittingly become nothing more than God-talk that justifies our slavish devotion to..."

"Our mission can unwittingly become nothing more than God-talk that justifies our slavish devotion to the idols of approval and success."

- Darrin Patrick (via katiecrosby)

Taming. It's a concept a friend recently brought up. She was...

Taming. It's a concept a friend recently brought up. She was re-reading The Little Prince, an unconventional French fairytale that is a must-read for all whimsical and romantic. At one point, the prince comes across a fox in the field. The fox says they cannot be friends unless the prince tames him. "To you I'm nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you'll be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world…"

Ah, that is some truth.

What if we are not perfect for each other because we are perfect people, but because we tame each other? What if, by relationship, we work out each other's snags and snarls—and even though a half a million other boys would check all the same marks on my list—you become, you, to me? If we were to draw this into the theological zone, I'd say that we sanctify each other. God made me to sanctify you. We fit.

The rest of my article (which is basically a bunch of musings) on love and relationships.

why calvinists are more romantic & other things i've learned about love

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(photo via permanent sunshine)

I wrote this two-part series for StartMarriageRight.com, a recently-launched site by Moody Publishers. (Oh, and let the record show that the title is tongue-in-cheek. Mostly. And will be explained in Part 2.) Here's a piece of it:

Pain. Let's just get this off the table once and for all. A friend of mine told me on the phone recently, about how she was hesitant to say anything confrontational to a guy who has given her special attention on-and-off for three years. She's afraid to do something that may cause her pain. "Okay," I said something that had been brewing in my heart for weeks but was never verbalized, "let's just forget this pain thing altogether. It's not worth being a factor in your decisions. Let's just face it right now that if you date the guy, and get engaged, and then get married—he will hurt you. In some way, shape or form, he will because he is human and to live a human life is to have pain; and there is no relationship that isn't messy. And if the status quo continues, you will be pained as well by the 'what-if's.' So let's just get this pain thing off the table forever, because pain is going to happen." Thankfully, she took it graciously. She knows I was preaching to myself.

That being said, pain is real and will always be present in this body. Instead of running away from it, the Christian call has always been a unique one—that we must learn to view pain as a carrier. Pain carries us to the arms of the Father. Pain brings us to a place where we are moldable, pliable in the hands of God.

Read the whole thing here.