Blessing others!

My dear readers, the beautiful Adeye over at No Greater Joy Mom is having a giveaway to help raise adoption funds for families who are in the process of adopting special needs kids.  Please visit this link to read about it, and to see the faces of the children you will be helping bring home.

If each of us just give a little tiny bit, it all adds up--just like the Desmond Tutu quotation that has been inspiring me for so long there at the top of this blog, each little Good thing we do sets more Good in action, and little by little we change the world.

There is another way I would ask you to help support special needs orphans;  another blogger mom and adoption advocate, Julia at Micah Six Eight has been posting about a special online event going on right now.  There is a company called Cultivate Wines that every year gives away money to the charity chosen by visitors to their site.  This year Reece's Rainbow is one of the groups who has a chance to win.  Every single penny they win will be put into the adoption funds of special-needs orphans. You can vote in this contest once a day until the end.  I have been voting whenever I remember, and now am going to every day.  Would you please do the same?  There are many worthwhile charities who are in the running for this prize money--but what a HUGE difference it could make to the orphans who will receive the money in their adoption funds.

Click here to see a link to the contest (all the way at the bottom of the post) and read a great God story showing how nothing is impossible for Him--and how He moves us to be His tools of love and mercy when we are listening to Him.

Now, go bless!

And God bless!

Blessed, the rest of the story

OK, I promise I will end this overly long story with this post.  I never meant for it to go so long, but I must say, it has been so good for my heart to write it out.  Writing is not only cathardic, but also forces me sort out ideas fully, to really think about what I think.  So, thanks for humoring me.  I hope maybe one of you got to thinking about your own relationship with God, what you mean to him, what He calls you. 

So last post I was saying that just when I started thinking about how "Blessed" did not say much about me, but was really all about God, our church started a series on the Sermon on the Mount.  They are planning on doing this series until Easter--I love how deeply they plan on going!  So for over a month now they have been dealing with just the Beatitudes, and it has been really good to think through.

The idea that I heard in one of the first messages was that "blessed" meant "happy."

Hmmmmm.  In the whole "how does Blessed reflect me and not just God" aspect, that was not very helpful.  When I think of Happy, I think--of course--of my sweet and cheerful now seven-year-old.  I don't think of myself as Happy.  I mean, I think overall I am a pretty positive person, and am overall happy with my life, but somehow that word suggests lightheartedness, even frivolity.  And those are not really me.  I think culturally we have lost connection with the word "happy" and don't know what to do with it.

So I sat with that idea of "blessed = happy = me?" for a week, until the next Sunday's message.  And then, the idea of "happy" was redefined in a way that not only gave so much more meaning to the passage, but also totally filled my heart with joy:

 

(I don't know who uploaded this image to facebook the day of that sermon, but I was so glad to see it!)

THAT is me.  Or, I should say, that is who I long to be, but believe I am in the process of becoming.  This is a meaning of Blessed that I can claim, and suddenly it feels right, it feels personal, it feels like God once again whispering to me, gently, affectionately. 

And even now, writing this final chapter, I am seeing the Truth of that name so much more clearly.

Because who I am in my innermost Self is not separatable from God's love for me, from who I am in relationship with Jesus.  My true identity is in Christ.  WHY do I forget that over and over?  How the Deceiver must chortle at every time he sees me living out the opposite.  Because forgetting that I am approved, loved, and completely accepted by God is forgetting who I really am.  Even in my sinfulness, even in my failures, even in my insecurity--I am right at this moment in a right relationship with God, because I claim him as he claims me.  The relationship does not depend upon my getting things right or being perfect--it depends only upon the choice to accept God's divine love, to revel in the knowledge of that love, to live out my life always within the Truth of that love.

[crying, now. you knew it was coming.]

Blessed = contented in belonging to Christ = me

And that feels like it reflects the innermost me the way I always wished a special name would.  So I am sure my understanding of this idea will continue to deepen, over the course of my life but even just through this sermon series, but for the moment, I feel like once again I am settled comfortably in the Truth of who I am, and it feels good.


May you all be having a great and BLESSED weekend! 

My Sunny and Merry and Happy girls, reading the Beatitudes during the service last week. : )

Family Photo Shoot

 

Last week the girls and I were part of an art project at our church--I hope to share more about it another time, when the whole thing is done.  But part of it was sharing in the creation of this huge piece of art, that is currently leaning up outside of the church gym.  I discovered long ago that the art around our church buildings make excellent backdrops for family portraits--esp. if you get good lighting.  My dear Becky took these for us this morning--thank you!

This last one would be my favorite, except DH is so hidden in the back. Sorry, hon!

(Rebecca, please feel free to snag any of these for the Christmas calendar! Just be sure to enlarge before saving.) 

Blessed, Pt. 3

My mother sent me an email this past week which started, "Dear Bubbles, . . . ."  Totally made me laugh!  I did not mean to leave you all hanging for so long for the rest of the story, and unintentionally give the story a build-up it does not deserve.  But I finally have a good chunk of time in which to blog while my brain is fresh, and if this seems anti-climactic, perhaps it is because I have not yet reached the zenith of meaning for my chosen moniker.

So, as I was telling you in that last post, I always wanted a special name, that would (in my mind, and hopefully in others' minds as well) acknowledge what I felt was my true inner me.  Of course, I didn't even know who my true inner me was, but I think I wished that someone would love me enough to look for and see me--the innermost me--clearly, and who would give me a nickname--re-name me--out of that purposefully loving seeing.   It was interesting re-reading that last post and noticing the movement in my story from wanting a nickname to project something about me that I wished was true, but knew was not (being cute, popular, fun) to wishing I had a nickname that would uncover something about me that I wanted to believe was really true. In the first, I wanted a new name to make a new me--because of course it was not really my name I didn't fully like, it was myself I didn't fully like.  (What 13-year-old fully likes herself?) But as time progressed, I wanted a new name not to somehow artificially raise myself in other people's eyes, but to validate myself in my own eyes.  In both cases I wanted to feel that there was something valuable in me worth calling out by (nick)name.  But when I was young, I didn't think there was much of value already in me, so a nickname would add value, because other people's perceptions of me as cute, popular, fun would make it true.   Such a nickname would give me value.  When I was in college and after marriage, I needed to believe there was value already in me, and hoped a nickname would reveal it, to me and to others.

It is also interesting to see the shift in my mind from staunchly determining a "true" nickname would come "organically" from outside of myself--that if I named myself it would be invalid, a "false" nickname (at the very least, pretentious)--to going ahead and naming myself because I was resigned to the fact that nobody else was ever going to (i.e. no one saw the "real" me, and was thusly moved by affection for that inner me to want to claim her for themselves with a special name.)

Ooooooh, the revelations in my mind when I blog!  Because what I just wrote is so true--I wanted to be know fully, to be loved fully, and to be claimed.  A nickname claims someone in a very personal way--it's saying to the other person, or to the world, "There's something more to this one, and I like it, and I'm making it mine."  This is mainly true of endearments, but can be true of more public nicknames too.

OK, so there's the reflection--on to the conclusion of the story.

Sometime soon after we moved to California, so about 10 years ago, I found myself needing a new email address. Which is, in a way, a new identity. DH and I loathe changing email addresses, and so we set up these new accounts with this company called "Google" which was gaining in popularity and which we thought might be around for a while. ; ) But I had to pick a new "name" for this email address. . . and I don't remember exactly what I had been reading, but through some Bible study or other reading I had decided that God saw me as "blessed" and so I was going to claim that.  I didn't really know what it meant, but I knew it was all over the Scriptures, and it reminded me of "Beloved," except was not as intimate, not as precious.  Remember, I no longer wanted a name that would project what I wished was true about me, so since I did not believe I was "beloved" to anybody, I certainly would never claim that moniker.  "Blessed" (blESSed in pronunciation) sounded pretty, had vague Godly-woman connotations, and didn't seem to claim anything false about me.  So, I used it as the basis for my email address.  And later, I used it as my identity for this blog.  In both cases, I did so just because I hadn't come up with anything better.

And it is so interesting to see how this name, which I chose for myself in a very casual manner (usually, as you all know, I over-analyze EVERYTHING, but this name "Blessed" I did not think about too much--it just seemed like a fine idea, and there was nothing offensive about it, so why not) has gradually, over years of growing in relationship with God, become something much more special to me.  I felt myself growing into it, heart-wise.  Believing it really did say something about me, in my inner-most being.  And also believing that it was a nickname I did not give myself, but which God gave me.  I can't tell you how that happened, because it was as subtle of a process as the very realization of my faith in the first place--I wore the designation "Christian" for a long time before I realized, this is really my faith!  Not just what was passed down to me by my parents!  It is who am I am to the core, and I cannot separate it from who I am!  Becoming Blessed was the same way--just over time that word, that name, that meaning resonated in my spirit, and at low times God would whisper to me through it to comfort me and restore me.  And at some point along the way, I realized I was, am, truly Blessed.

FINALLY, I have a nickname, and it is everything I longed for it to be!

Well, kinda.  The word "blessed" always seemed to me to speak truth about my life, about my circumstances, about what God does in providing for me.  I am Blessed because of these children, this husband, this house, how well God provides for me, how he knows my deepest desires and responds to them.  I am Blessed because the Lord of Lords loves me and holds me fast, and listens to me and gives so generously to me out of the bounty of His love.  I am blessed because the Creator of the Universe cares about me, my hurts, my yearnings, my fears, my joys, and He is forever faithful in responding to them.

So you see, being Blessed actually seems to say so much more about God than it does about me.

This realization hit me a few weeks back, during one of our fabulous SoulKitchen "Conversations," when the speaker for that evening asked the women there to define themselves with one word.  Well, of course you know what word came to mind--Blessed.  But in the context of that night's discussion, I realized that while I love being Blessed, I have not felt like the name really says anything about me.  Well, other than suggesting a spirit of optimism, of gratitude, of acknowledging that everything wonderful in my life has come directly from the hands of a loving Father in heaven.  And I do think those are all true!  But I thought that just spoke to my outer self, the one people see--not the real me inside.  And, frankly, we are all "blessed" in different ways--so that does not make the name feel as personal, speaking to something special just in me.

So I started to ponder the meaning of being "Blessed" purposefully.  And would you believe, the very next week our church started a new series on the Sermon on the Mount.  Which means that every Sunday since questioning who I am if I am "blessed," I have been inundated on Sunday mornings with what it means to be "blessed."  And the progression of new understanding has been fascinating.

Oh, my time at the computer is up.  I want to post something today, so will just have to finish the name saga in one final chapter.  Hopefully soon!

In the meantime, I hope you all have a wonderful weekend. : )

Blessed Pt.2

In my post last week I quoted the beginning of Matthew Chapter 5, and the first lines of the Sermon on the Mount, which we call the Beatitudes.  I wrote just a little on how I am blessed when I serve adoptive families, and how I am blessed because I mourn for this messed up world, for these families, for these kids, and for my own selfishness and sin. 

The words in those Beatitudes are a special encouragement  from God in heaven to me.  Because, as you know, I am Blessed.   I've never said how that name came about, so I think I might as well now, and might as well tell you the long, overly drawn-out story, since it is much funnier. 

Before I tell you, I want to make two three things clear: 

First, names are important to me.  I love to name things--dolls, toys, cars, pets, children--and to feel like I found *just* the right name to convey that particular thing or person.  (I'm not saying I always succeed, but it is fun--and important to me--to try.)  I think my love of naming is directly related to my love of words in general and my pleasure in using them well, and finding just the right word to convey the particular slant of meaning I intend--it is not only fun, but gratifying.  (Um, this does not mean I always use my words well--half the time when I write I only have enough brain power to make sure I am coherent, forget eloquent.) But also how we name something is important to me--calling something what it is not only speaks truth, but also shows we are not blind to the fullness of what it is, and the many implications of its fullness.  I think we have enough colloquialisms and old-timey sayings here in English that attest to the importance of naming correctly:  "call a spade a spade," "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet," "pot calling the kettle black."  How we speak about--i.e. "name"--things and situations can show a bent in our minds and hearts towards truth or towards lies.   Speaking truth is very important to me.  So not only names in themselves are full of meaning for me, when they are given with meaning, but also is the very process of naming.  Names say so much not only about the thing being named, and the one who named it, but also teach us about ourselves as we respond to the name.

(I am really hoping this is one of those times I am at least being coherent!)

Ok, the second thing I want to make clear is that I prefer names to come organically--unforced.  You'll understand what I mean in a minute.

The third thing, which I wanted to add after I originally posted this, is that I am chuckling at myself the whole time I am writing this.  So it is fine for you to laugh too!


And for the rest of this post, I'll demonstrate this with examples from my own life: my own silly journey to find my own special nickname. 

I have been a reader all my life, and as a youth would read these teen stories with characters that had--what seemed at the time--wonderfully spirited teen names, names that set them apart, names that made them more exciting, more special, capable of greater things.  But now you will laugh at the names that so inspired me--Barbie.  Skipper.  Trixie Belden.  Honey.  Blair.  Blake.  Bubbles. Yes, to my great chagrin, there was a period of time when I thought "Bubbles" was a fantastic nickname, so. . . sophisticated.  (I had a strange attraction to names beginning with "B" too, which is now intriguing.) Oh, I thought my given name, Lisa, was so mundane.  None of the teen heroines in the books I read had that name.  It sounded decidedly unadverturesome and unimaginative. 

(My apologies, Mother--it is a nice name! It just did not sound in my head the way I wanted to imagine myself at age 13.)

So I really, really wanted a nickname.  I imagined myself as a Bubbles, and thought I would sound so much more fun, and would likely be more popular with a cute and cool nickname like that.  The only problem was that no one ever gave me a nickname, and I was adamant that nicknames were supposed to come from those around you, who saw the "real" you come bubbling through (ahem) and could not restrain themselves from affectionately naming the "real" you they saw and loved.  So I longed for a nickname that would come from a friend, or even a sister, that was spunky or sophisticated but definitely cool. 

It never came.  The only thing anyone ever did was shorten my already short name to "Lis."  Which is not so much a nickname as it is pure laziness.  Ok, affectionate laziness. ; )  Now I'm teasing my big sister Rebecca, who was the first one to call me that, and meant it in the best affectionate way--I did like it, kinda, because at least it was like a nickname.  But it didn't "name" me in a new way that would tell anyone hearing it something about me that was special, and thus deserving of the nickname.

In college I finally got my nickname.  And it happened organically too.  And some people even called me by it for a short time.  And it was, I swear, the absolute worst nickname anyone could ever have (that was not given to be cruel.)  It was. . . Er.  Yes.  "Er."  This came about because of a little in-joke with a guy I dated for a short while, named Brad.  He was Goth before there was Goth, and actually looked a lot like Edward Scissorhands.  ANYWAY, my maiden name is spelled one way but pronouned another way.  It is an Austrian name by heritage, and we always said the pronunciation was shorted somewhere along the way, ala Ellis Island style.  So basically there is an "e-r" at the very end that we don't actually say.  The letters are there in the spelling, but you just ignore them when you say the same.  As an adult, I realize this is strange.  As a college student, I had told Brad that actually he was pronouncing my last name wrong, and he thought it was so funny that he turned the joke around and pretended the first part of the name was the part you didn't pronounce, so my name was really "Er."  Lisa Er.  Er for short.  And so he affectionately called me Er, some people heard him do so and started calling me Er too. 

Oh, to finally get that long-awaited nickname!  Oh, the despair to have it be something so ugly.  A word that sounds like hesitancy, like a frog in the throat, like a mistake to be caught.  Sigh.   

I never told him not to call me that, because of course I was still secretly a little pleased that finally someone had caught sight of something playful, interesting and nickname worthy in me.  But I was also completely fine with its short-lived nature, as Brad and I only dated for a few months before he realized, er, I was too nice for his bad-boy side, and he was too nice to want to corrupt me.

So, that was that.  That was my one and only bonafide nickname, and it certainly did not satisfy my secret longing to be known, to be recognized for who I am inside.

I just remembered that a few years after that, I took a Greyhound bus from Illinois to Virginia, during a summer when DH and I were dating, and a hippie girl and I stayed up all night talking as the bus drove on.  I told her my name was Rhen, which I had decided was my new self-given nickname.  It was fun for a day--and I think I even received one letter from her afterwards addressed to Rhen, which was thrilling.  But then a cartoon came out with a character called Ren (ala Stimpy) and while I never saw the show, it forever ruined the nickname, since that's all people would think when they heard the name.

Skip forward a few years to when DH and I were out of college and engaged to be married.  After re-reading my sister Rebecca's ElfQuest graphic novels, I became enamored with an idea found in them, that of people having a secret name that is tied up with their soul.  Oh, yes--to have one every-day name that is used by everyone around me, and then to also have a secret name that belongs to the most inner me, the me most people would never know but which I might share with one special man someday and thusly cleave my spirit to his in a way that is undeniable, unbreakable.  Yes, I know.  How over-the-top romantic.  How idealized--and what a burden to place upon the man one will marry.

Yesterday was DH and my 17th wedding anniversary.  Which I realized the day before was coming up soon, but thought was the 10th, not the 7th.  And then realized last night it was actually yesterday!  Well, at least this year we remembered; last year we both forgot, and the year before that--the 15 year milestone--DH remembered but did not say anything to see if I would remember (thanks, hon).  I think I remembered about a month later.  Anyway, it is funny that I started this post a week ago, and am just now at the knowing thy spouse to his or her core part today after yesterday's "anniversary."  I no longer believe any person can know my deepest self, and it's not fair to expect that of my husband, who is after all a guy, and who is having a hard enough time figuring out this whole "woman" thing, let alone wrapping his brain around the one particular woman with whom he's now united for life.  In fact, I gave up this idealized notion of the swapping soul-names with one's spouse after a year or two of marriage.  In fact, I don't think I ever even told DH the ElfQuest-styled name I made up for myself, which is highly embarassing to reveal here, because I imagined this name really reflected my most secret self, and so it felt special, even sacred, but which will just look silly to you all. 

Kree.

You have to say it aloud to appreciate how pretty that sounds.  Looking back, I find it very telling that both the names I chose for myself, Rhen and Kree, were completely made up, with no actual meaning.  I think I did this unconsciously, choosing sounds that I liked together, and sounds that somehow evoked a feeling in me, that I thought resonated with who I am at my core.  And choosing to create a name is freeing because it will not have connotations of other things--made up names are unique (or, "Uuneeque,"if you have watched the fascinating documentary Freakonomics on Netflix, and it's section on baby names ; ) and so feel like they are tailor-made for that one person.  And made-up names allow the namer to imagine the name means anything they want; which is particularly helpful if you are still secretly not sure who you are and want to leave some wiggle room for self-revelation in the future. 

And that is why I think I had been longing for a special nickname all my life--I did not know myself, and wished I did, and hoped that whatever I found about my "real" self would be meaningful, special.  I wanted to know myself and be glad about what I found, and I wanted to be known, fully, and along with that, to be loved, fully. . . .


Final part to come!
Click here for Pt 3.

in this home. . .

attributed to someone named Debbie Napier on facebook

The spell-check red line in that cracks me up.  I guess in that home they aren't perfectionists either!

But we aren't perfectionists either. So I still like this picture and what it is trying to convey.  I am trying this week to do all those things well, and boy am I getting the "real" and "mistakes" parts down.  My wonderfully amazing children of last week are back to grumpy and disrespectful, for no reason other than we had a lot of fun at the end of last week. Sigh.

But I'm trying to focus today specifically on the "grace" and "hugs" and "love."

And trying  not to covet the house in the picture. ; )

Blessed

Blessed are the poor in spirit,

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn,

for they will be comforted.

Blessed are the meek,

for they will inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,

for they will be filled.

Blessed are the merciful,

for they will be shown mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart,

for they will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,

for they will be called children of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

I don't think much in this world is coincidence. So I was not really surprised when my dear Becky read Sunday's post and told me that what I had written had really gone along with the whole message at Vintage Faith yesterday morning, which I missed because I was still at home typing and crying. The message was on the above passage of Scripture, from Matthew Chapter 5, the beginning of the much-loved Sermon on the Mount. So this morning I decided to go to that passage and consider those words of Jesus in light of what all is churning in my heart.

I am sure you can see many connections. This could have been written about those parents who I care so much for, those who are lovingly sacrificing themselves for their children over and over, day in and day out. Julie. Barb. Dorothy. Lisa. Keri. Kari. Susie. All the mothers and fathers who are living love fully and suffering for it. So at least for today, I am praying these words over them.

And it is also not a coincidence that two of my favorite adoptive blogging mothers wrote pieces that continue the ideas in that last post, and in the two posts that inspired it:

Lorraine wrote this beautiful piece that reflects further on the value of their adoptive daughter's life, and shows even in her many potentially scary diagnoses, she is totally held in the hand of her Father in heaven:

Our character is shaped greatly by Him and the things He allows us to walk through. It is a gift to walk through life, and death, with specials needs children. There are things He teaches us through these experiences that cannot be learned any other way. Our hearts are forever changed, looking much more like His than we could ever imagine, because that is His plan for us.   

Dorothy linked today to this old post by Julie, which perfectly addresses the heart of a child with hidden disabilities, who is so worth loving and parenting, and which--in God's upside down way of things--ends up even being a blessing because it is hard:

 

My son has a beautiful, loving heart. He has a heart for God and wants to please him. He really does. I have to focus on the beauty of the soul that God has given him at times when all I can see is the craziness that alcohol and early neglect has done to his brain structure. I have to hold on to the hope that our faith brings and know that our family was designed by God. During the times that I think someone else would be better equipped to handle the FAS/RAD, I am reminded that each child in our family was meant to be here with these ill-equipped parents and wild bunch of siblings.

I remember the early days, when all I could think was "I used to be a good mom." I did alot of relying on my own skills and the pride I had in my ability to parent. Now, I am thankful for my little challenging child..because he never allows me to rely on myself and my abilities...he drives me to look to God to find the strength to parent. He has taught me so much. 

Most meaningful of all for me personally was what Adeye wrote, which might have been written as a direct response to my post, my own fears and failures, except she is not a reader here--so I'll take it as the response written by God through Adeye to me and to whomever else needed to hear that truth!

She writes:
So often in adoption circles we use a very well-quoted scripture.

In the 25th chapter of Matthew, Jesus said, “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”

I love that Scripture! I have read it hundreds of time. And every time I read it I am reminded, obviously, of how important it is for the body of Christ to be taking care of the weak, the lonely, the hurting, the needy, the widow, the orphan, the destitute, and the downtrodden.

But recently, something different has struck me.

“WHATEVER you did…”

WHATEVER.

The Scripture doesn’t say, “When you have gone and adopted four children with profound special needs…you did it for me.”

Neither does it say, “Once you have gone on two overseas mission trips and made a huge impact in the lives of hundreds of children in a heinous orphanage…then you finally did it for me.”

Nor does Scripture say, “Go out and find fifty hungry people to feed this afternoon, and only then will it be for me.”

No, Jesus made it so simple for us to follow what burned in His heart.

WHATEVER you do…

Whether you ARE called to grow your family through the blessing of adoption and have a multitude of children from all over the world in your home.

Or whether God puts it on your heart to support just one orphan monthly through a relief organization.

Whether God calls you to pack up your entire home and relocate to a Third World country.

Or whether He whispers to your heart, “Do the fostering classes and open your home to one child whom I have already chosen for you.”

Whether God tells us to sell everything we have and give it all to the poor.

Or whether He burdens us to clear out our overflowing closets to help the little girl in school who only has one pair of shoes…

WHATEVER you did...

“You did it for Me!”

How freeing! How amazing to think that just the smallest, least noticeable thing that we do for the sake of expanding the Kingdom of God on earth is HUGE in the eyes of Jesus.

“Whatever” can mean anything….
.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .

My words again.  I did not mean to sound so cynical at the end of my last piece, when I said "at least I can throw money at the parents running into the building."  I know each and every dollar I give to families to help bring their children safely home is so appreciated--it all helps, every last bit, and I know when I give out of love and concern for "the least of these" the amount I give does not matter, just that I did give, and had the right heart when I did. It is a form of obedience for me, and honoring God, and worship.  It is all win-win-win, it blessed God, it blesses the families and the children, it blesses me.  But for a moment there I felt like that was not enough--not the amount I might be able to give, but just the fact that it sometimes feels like even a million dollars, if I had it, would be the least I could give.  That what God really wants is all of me.  My whole heart.  My whole attention.  My whole trust.  And that's what I am not sure I am giving fully.  So Adeye's post really encouraged me to look at my small obedience for what it is, and rest secure in that.  For now.

And in the meantime, I am going to be encouraged by Becky's words to me too.  In response to my post and what the speaker at church said about Jesus' words on the Mount, she wrote to me,"The poor in spirit are those who have nothing to offer the rest of the world – the truly “worthless,” to the rest of us. Those who mourn are those who are feeling, deep in their souls, the brokenness of the world. The agony of sin, death, sickness, sadness, broken relationships. But in God’s upside down world, it’s these folks to whom the Kingdom of God, the reign of God, the favor and blessing of God, is most readily available."

It is a blessing that I mourn.  It means I am aware of my own sin, and the brokeness of the world in general.  And in that awareness I just want more God--more God in the world, more God in me.  And I think that is the beginning of transformation, into becoming something really useful to Him.