This past Friday, December 17th our six officially became seven.

After 3 days of labor (2 of early labor that didn’t progress) she finally decided that yes indeed she, who had initiated the labor, would indeed reluctantly like to come out. 😂

She did need some extra induction encouragement at one point, but, by the grace of God, she and I were (and still are) in good health and strength upon her grand entrance.

Due to COVID restrictions is was a quiet, though kindly short (due to good reports), stay at the hospital for our small fraction of the family. We were able to have video chats with the big sisters and grandma back at home. And yes, it was a time to recover from the eventful previous days.

We chose to keep quiet to “the public” until our four could meet their newest little sister first. After years (for many) and then specifically the past nine months of praying for this little, she is as much their baby as she is Matt and mine.

We carried on with our family tradition, though with a COVID respecting adjustment. We picked up the girls and drove “the rest of the way” home together as an expanded family so the newest little could be welcomed to the back seat sorority.

There are no words to describe the emotional depth of these faces.

These past months have been adventurous and, while very gratefully full of good health reports, still an emotional road for all of us as we awaited sometimes unavailable information and adjusted to a “quieter” pregnancy in the developing world. We didn’t get to see this little one’s full face at all during scans of this pregnancy and while we are BEYOND grateful for the information we were able to receive and that it was all good news, it was a very different and sometimes weighty experience for our family unit. We all learned and leaned together all the more into Christ in our hearts and prayers these past nine months.

After everyone got their turn to hold her and marvel at the reality that she is really our baby (some with tears in their eyes at the relevation of all our prayers), I would like to now introduce you, dear friends and family, to:

Born at 38 weeks gestation: December 17 at 8:10p. 8lbs, 8oz and 22 and a quarter inches long (for all you US people 😉).

Her middle name is after our foremother in the faith who left everything in pursuit of God’s purpose for her life. The spelling, Rebecca, is in honor of my best friend.

Her first name, Eliyanah (Ellie-yah-nah), is Hebrew for “MIGHTILY the Lord has responded to our prayers”.

Eliyanah, indeed! Welcome to the family, baby girl. Thanks be to God. Thanks be to God!

To some this picture may not look like much. Some may think, “why is the washer and dryer outside?” Some May note the rusty dryer top or the white paint smudge on the washer.

But after over five years of either not having both of these convenience machines, a broken combo of either of these machines, a washer in our kitchen, a dryer on a distant veranda, having washed and dried clothes by hand many times, walking through the rain with laundry, this picture represents a blessing beyond measure.

Our working washer. Our working dryer. Side by side. On a convenient, rain-safe porch location. Where I don’t have to walk in the rain to access them. On this continent. In this developing country. And just a couple of short months before we, Lord willing, welcome our fifth child and another round of cloth diaper laundry. 🙌🏼

THIS is a monumental day. A luxury I never knew would feel like such a glamorous luxury.

Thanks be to God. We are overwhelmed by His blessing.

With each passing day I am more and more thankful. No, it’s not living some fantasy over here. It’s tough work and real life. In that mix of exhaustion, quarantine-like social distancing until the baby comes (since I am a “high risk” in this COVID world), and long discipleship conversations initiated by you budding and curious young people, I still find myself thankful to drink this cup of investment and not pass it on.

I’m thankful for hearing you play carefree in the yard, catching glimpses of your joy from kitchen sink dishwashing sessions.

I’m thankful to see you investing in a little sister you cannot wait to hold and have prayed over a chance to hold for years.

Thankful to see your willingness to be adventurous and step outside of your previous inflexibilities.

Thankful to see you love deeply without asking for anything in return.

Yep, it’s been a lot of us just doing normal life lately…

And it makes me so thankful

That I get to do slower life with you.

Your ninth birthday spread over a few days of joyful celebrations. This year you counted down until your birthday from Abi’s birthday back in June, you were SO EXCITED and couldn’t help anticipating the fun to be had. Every couple of days you’d alert us for three months of how many weeks until your birthday. Hehe. We were all excited too, girlie, even if there were other exciting things to celebrate between Abi’s birthday and yours (like Eden’s birthday and Mommy/Daddy’s anniversary, etc).

With the early arrival of three chicks for you to mother, a day full of your favorite foods (this year it was cinnamon rolls, burgers and tacos), and a trip to your favorite place, the beach, you sure seemed to be on cloud nine this year.

Happiest of birthdays, beautiful Hannah. You bring such light and life to our family. It is such a blessing to get to invest in you as you grow and mature into the purpose God has for your life. May you always find an animal to love on, new friends around every corner, and life full of sheer joyful adventure to be had. Love you so, ball of rupturing energy. We just can’t stop smiling around you as you wear your vibrant love for life on display. I cannot wait to see what adventure year nine has in store for you!

*Warning: May not be suitable content for sensitive audiences.*

We sat on the couch together. Much like we usually do. My girls all piled around me. Some on the back of the couch so they could see and others tucked in close. They couldn’t wait to see my findings. To dream with me a bit.

“I just love that cute teether… look at that flower print…” They gawked over the couple of items in an online cart. A hopeful “wish list” waiting for a further time.

“Mommy? What will we do with all this stuff if the baby dies before we get to meet her?” Her innocent nine year old browns pierced my soul. “We’d cry together and then we’d find a family who could use the things,” came my brainstorming. And I realized that I cannot protect her from the answer to the question. I can’t even protect her from knowing about the question. I cannot protect her from what she already has known and felt.

I don’t think I ever imagined parenting would be like this. The older girls and I sat in the living room chatting, per usual, before dinner. No real direction to the conversation. Nowhere we needed to be, but together. The littles ran amuck in their room, playing until the “dinner call” stirred them.

He shared some reflections he’d penned, spurring a flood of memories for us all. He left to stir the macaroni, but still stayed engaged in the reflections from the nearby kitchen. Words poured out uncontrollably from eleven and twelve year old lips. Fear. Loss. Hurt. Deep emotions reminding us all of a time we couldn’t save each other from. A time when we all floundered in a deep ocean, just trying to stay afloat until we were saved. A time of medical emergencies, uncertainty, and desperate heart prayers all falling over Christmas time.

And I was reminded again how much I cannot protect them. I cannot even protect myself. How we live in a fallen world with great and deep hurts. Ones that drive us into the Father’s arms with tear-stained faces and a stunned lack of words on our lips.

But mixed in there are the victories too. The times He has held His hand over us while we were in the cleft of the rock. Those times cannot be forgotten. They’re just as real as the hurts. We recalled those together too. In the big jumble of rambling feelings.

The time the robber came and went through the nursery window back in the states, creeping right by my two sleeping babes. And yet he took nothing, despite meeting him face to face at the foot of Matt and my bed. Matt spoke and he fled. And the girls never even woke up. No, protection did not look anything like I expected. I’d have preferred protection to look like him never entering, let alone WHERE he chose to enter and exit. But protection wasn’t mine to define. And it taught us lessons we never even knew we needed.

She talked about how joyfully they played. How she was jealous of their happiness in the midst of her internal chaos. And then we thanked the Lord for protecting “the littles” innocence despite the long night before we knew joy would come. No, his protection did not look like I thought it would. We didn’t know then what beauty could come from the ashes. All we saw was smoke rising from the ashes. How could He use this? How would He use this? And we lifted our scars, the individual ones and the ones we had received as a family, as a broken offering.

I don’t know how to answer these deep questions. I don’t have the healing words for these deep hurts. I never will. And I’m thankful that today God has gifted me with the arms to reach out and offer hugs when I have no words. Today He has given us each other to walk through the valleys together. Thank You, Father.

I don’t know if we’ll get to keep her. Or for how long. But I am thankful that we’ve had today with her. And I am hopeful that there could even be a tomorrow. Because I’ve seen Him protect in unexpected ways, pulling us from the deepest valleys. I’ve seen Him bring about healing from wounds too deep to identify. I’ve seen Him extend His hand and literally hold our very lives together with every breath and heartbeat He has given. He knows what we need. And He knows the protection, security, and depth lessons that we really need to draw us to Himself and render us better tools in His hand.

Lord, they’re yours. They were never mine. Thank You for another day with them. Thank You for another day period. Thank You for your extended hand of protection. Thank You for Your hand of healing. May we use this “one more day” that You are giving to honor You, no matter what lesson may come on the horizon. You have been and You will be Enough. No matter what is asked of us or taken from us. Thank You, Father, for holding us when the world shakes. Your hands are and will always be our greatest security. Your will be done in these lives that You are sustaining, Father. Amen.

I have been pretty quiet over here in this space. And in some ways I’ve come to miss it. Life keeps galloping on by with a husband to share life with and four wonderful girls to invest in, so many times things fall to the wayside.

I’ve actually been wrestling with my “online presence” for a while now. It has been eye opening over the past year to watch how helpful and how hurtful online voices can be when given less constructive echo chambers, spontaneous and seemingly lack of accountability, and a free license to “be raw” at the disregarded expense of others. Thankfully, the Lord has shielded me and my family from much over the years. But it has been sobering to sit back and watch the devolving of the “Western” mindset as it can and has faded into short, egocentric online interactions.

It caught my family off guard this past year at how many people appear to be addicted to devices and the “online voice” as opposed to those sitting right before them. It has brought many a reflection on the ministry of presence and the quality and sacrifice of investing in others face to face.

It has brought much self reflection on how much time I have personally devoted to distractions over depth. You will not find me blaming any society or people group for such examples set before me for I have seen that pride and arrogance is highlighted in us all, manifesting itself in us, mankind, in so many different cultural ways across so many country boundaries.

And, as I continue to encourage my girls, I find myself striving after a continual season of self-evaluation. A ridding of the unhealthy I find within me, caused by me, fueled by me and fanned into flame by me alone.

What will my legacy be? I have asked myself this question, not to elevate myself but to diminish myself to right standing. How quickly each generation forgets about the last. Our legacies are washed away with the next round of louder distractions and comforts. Oh sure, our testimonies matter. The way in which I conduct myself can and does spur others on or place stumbling blocks before their feet. But the fame and the renown are not mine to carry. And never were.

No, it’s not really my legacy at all. Nor has it ever been. It is the Lord’s. What kind of a legacy will I detract from or contribute to for His fame?

It brings much to reflection. Much more than a silly online voice. A silly distracted presence. A silly half-hearted investment in superficial relationships that never get to heart investment.

It calls me to much more than I can even define in myself or for myself. Much more than I can even acknowledge that I think I need. Or even immaturely want based on half-understanding and my limited horizons view.

Self-sacrifice is an unpopular choice.

Depth is an intentional choice of investment.

No, I don’t find myself out here chasing my own legacy.

I find myself chasing His.

What will be today’s legacy?

Mine or His?