Here I am writing my first blog. You may be wondering with the rest of the world, “What in the world possessed Mike to blog?!” No one has ever asked me to blog, nor do I think anyone could get me to blog till today. The one who has the unseen powers to get me here is my soon-to-be-born baby girl.

My baby girl is due the end of March. I did not know about her till 2 weeks ago. But God knew her before the creation of the world.

Sarah is much better at painting the picture for you on the ups and downs of our journey. I’ll leave that up to her to bring you along. It possesses a lot of miraculous turns and excitement. I’m only here to make a couple of things clear.

I want it to be clear to my baby girl that I wanted her and loved her before I ever met her. She is not born yet, but she is already mine. I cannot wait to meet her and anticipate her arrival. She is loved already by her daddy and mommy. Since we met her birth mother I cannot stop thinking about her and praying for her. Daddy was so excited that he bought her a tutu the day after the birth mom said she could be ours!

I want her to know that her birth mom loved her tremendously. She chose to give our baby girl life. She chose to give her up for adoption knowing she wasn’t in position to care well, for a lifetime, for this precious baby. She chose not to receive the unconditional love from a baby, but rather experience the pain of giving up her own flesh and blood.

I also want it to be clear that she is not replacing the child Sarah and I Iost thru our miscarriage in September. She is not a replacement, nor does she have the power to take away our grief. We still mourn over the death of our child and will never forget the life growing inside of Sarah. Our unborn baby will aways be a part of us and helps shape who we are today.

Some may say “See, this baby girl is the reason why you had a miscarriage.” I say “NO” to that! There will never be an acceptable reason for why my baby had to die. Could a parent ever accept a “here-you-go” reason for the death of their child? I can accept that death is part or our world as a result of sin entering into it. I accept that God has and does mourn with Sarah and I over the loss of our unborn baby. And I trust that God can redeem our loss and bring life out of death. That is what Christ did on the cross. Beauty can come out of death is what my faith promises.

Others may think, “We are so happy for you, but I’m sure you’d rather have your baby whom you lost.” Again, I say “NO” to that!  In my heart, and for always, I want them both. They are both my children.  I could never want one over the other. God is big enough to have brought both children into our homes. Stranger things have happened in this world. I am grateful that the Lord will fill our arms with a our little girl before our biological one was due. He is kind and merciful to do that though He did not have to give us our adopted baby girl to prove His mercy and kindness.

I want my baby girl to know that she has never been a second choice. She is loved and wanted simply because she is ours. Her mom and I always planned to adopt with hopes of having biological children. She is part of our first choice and we love her dearly. Her mom and dad have talked of summers at the beach and winters in the Big Apple.

I anticipate another wave of grief the end of April when our biological baby would have been due, even while holding our one-month old baby girl. I anticipate hilarious moments and fond memories of our girl in her tutu while remembering the one we lost. Embracing the ends of both spectrums of emotions simultaneously is the Christian life: living in the fallen world while holding on to faith in the One who gives life.

 To my baby girl who is due in 6 weeks, know that our home is already yours. Diapers are being bought, showers are being planned, and our budget is being refigured. We long for your arrival into the Evers home!

(Note:  Phoebe Irene Evers was born on Tuesday March 13, two weeks early.  She arrived just six weeks after we first heard of her, and we’re thrilled to finally hold her.) 

We grew by two feet…We have a baby!

 Short Version:  We’re adopting a baby girl who was born 11 days ago, and she is with us now.

Daddy and Daughter on her first day

Longer Version:  On Wednesday morning February 1st, I took a call from an out of state pastor.  He got our name from mutual friends after he was approached by a young woman who was not in a position to raise her unborn baby girl.  (Interestingly, this call came just one day after we attended our first informational session about becoming foster parents in New York City.

Four days later, on Sunday February 5, we met the bio-mom.  We had about an hour together, and it was wonderful.  She seemed to understand the emotional difficulties associated with the adoption, but also acknowledged that she is not able to give her little girl the kind of life and home that she would want her to have.  The bio-mom is very brave and wants her baby girl to have the best in life.  We got along very well and she invited me into the delivery room!  (Mike had to wait in the hallway.

Mother and Daughter

The weeks following that meeting were full: hiring a lawyer in NY as well as one in the birth state, requesting letters of reference from friends, writing short biographies, helping my sister move out of our apartment, registering for baby gear, planning a nursery, getting physicals and getting finger printed, legal back ground checks, keeping all of this quiet while bursting with joy and caution.

Our St. Patrick's Day Parade (aka: First Family Walk)

Phoebe Irene Evers was born two weeks early, but we were ready… barely!  Dear friends in NYC loaned us their car for as long as we need it, so we hit the road to be closer to the birth place.  I bought a car seat an hour before our bio-mom called to tell us to meet her at the hospital.  But when that call came, we ran in circles trying to get out the door!

We’ve grown to love and care for our bio-mom.  She’s been so sweet to us, and she followed through on her invitation to have me in the delivery room.  I coached our bio-mom through her labor and witnessed the birth of our daughter, holding her just minutes after she was born.  Mike soon came into the delivery room and was able to feed her her first bottle.

Will you take a moment to pray with us:

Heading to the Hospital

1. Pray for the bio-mom’s continued confidence in her decision and her healing emotionally, physically and spiritually as she recovers.
2. Pray for our Phoebe to stay healthy and connect with us quickly.
3. Pray for us as we move forward through a mountain of paperwork to finalize the adoption and enter into the responsibility of being parents for this little one.

We are honored, humbled, overjoyed, delighted, and in awe of what God has done.  We held Phoebe in our arms just six weeks after we found out about the opportunity to become her parents.  Our heads are still spinning, and we’re so grateful.

Great is Thy Faithfulness, Great is Thy Faithfulness

Morning by morning new mercies I see

Thou changest not, Thy compassions they fail not

Great is Thy Faithfulness, Lord unto me

(We’re registered at Babies-R-Us,  Target, and Wal-mart, and we’ve read the article about raising children in the city.  We’re excited about becoming parents in NYC!)

Summary of Our New Life

“the whole story”… there’s a sense of freedom in that, isn’t there? I’m glad you focused on this part Staci. The idea of Jesus wanting to hear the details, the parts that I think are important and pertinent, the moments that stick to my brain, that’s powerful. That communicates love, kindness, tender involvement. It says “I love you,” without using those particular words.

This was my response to this morning’s online New Testament in a Year devotional written by my friend Staci on Mark 5.  (I love having this online community with whom to read the Bible!)

The devotional was written on part of Mark 5, the story of the woman who suffered through 12 years of hemorrhaging, having visited medical “experts” who took her for every penny.  This woman believed that if she could just touch the robe of Jesus, she’d be healed of this chronic condition which made her an outcast in her culture.  After touching his robe, she could feel the bleeding dry up and she knew she was healed.  But Jesus wanted to talk with her.  Trembling, she told her story after which Jesus blessed and honored her.  It’s a beautiful story of a faith-filled risk.

I wonder…

• What did Jesus’ face look like while the woman shared her whole story?
• What did it feel like for the woman to unburden herself from the shame of her 12 year bleeding issue and to actually tell her whole story?
• What did the woman do next? After 12 years of bleeding, of being “unclean” and an outcast in society, what was in the next chapter of her story?

Then I wonder…

• What prevents me from telling Jesus my whole story?

This is where I’m stuck today. I’ve felt such overwhelming stress in the last two weeks. It’s come out through unkindness, short-tempered flare ups at Hubs, and general high-strung up-tightness.

When I’ve read my Bible, it’s been to check it off my list or to catch up with the reading group. But now I’m challenged to pause and consider why I’m not sharing my whole story with Jesus: He’s here. He sees my immature outbursts, He knows my thoughts better than I do. Sometimes I use that reasoning as an excuse to not talk with Jesus.

Rembrandt's Return of the Prodigal Son

But there’s something transformational to confession: confess, admit, bring to light, stop hiding.  For years I’ve counseled students that when we confess our sin to Jesus, we are simply agreeing with God about our inability to live up to perfection and holiness on our own, and that confession highlights our need for a Savior.  These are very good things.

Confession also gives me an opportunity to “own” my choices which are demonstrated in my attitude, behavior, and words (as well as the ongoing conversations in my head).

Saying “I’m sorry” acknowledges a wrong has taken place, but asking ”Will you forgive me?” is a humble invitation to the injured or offended party to move towards you with mercy.  That’s the powerful moment!  That’s when relationship can be restored.  “I’m sorry,” slaps a band-aid on a gaping wound.  ”Will you forgive me?” invites a spiritual healing.

Jesus, I’ve been worried and distracted by many things.  I’m so sorry that in response to Your goodness, gifts and blessings I’ve been short-tempered, unkind, hurried, gruff, exacting and impatient with Hubs.  I’ve ignored You, simply rushing through my day to check obligations off of my list.  I’m sorry.  Will you forgive me?  Thank you for forgiving me.  Your Word says you always will.  Whisper in my ear “This is the way, walk in it,” when I veer off path.  Remind me that You are with me for each step.  Thank You for the sweet gifts you pour into my life.  May my heart be renewed and restored today! I love you Jesus, and I need you.  Amen!  

Sarah & Mike in Fast Company Magazine

Back in November Mike and I attended a fascinating panel discussion on the “revitalization” of Harlem, our neighborhood, sponsored by Aloft Hotels and Fast Company magazine.  Architects, designers and community leaders sat on the panel and shared their stories, histories and experiences in the effort to  transform Harlem into the hot spot it is now: new restaurants, new hotels, new green spaces.  One person commented that Harlem hasn’t been revitalized, it’s simply continued the path of transformation down which all urban communities travel.

I met the architect who redesigned my favorite green space, turning it from a parking lot into a beautiful park with piers into the East River, places to sit and gaze at New Jersey, bike and roller blading paths, as well as a running trail.  I also met some of the people who lobbied for years for that park!

The event, hosted in the first hotel to open in Harlem in more than 40 years, included time to network with others and was catered by  Sylvia’s, a neighborhood restaurant known for it’s flavorful soul food.  Our infamous photo was snapped during that tasty hour.

Image from www.unviolencestudy.org

There are times when reality barges into my safe world and I don’t always know how to respond. Balancing the tension of the imperfect can be uncomfortable and disorienting. How does the Gospel make a difference here? Do I step up, step in? How? What do I say?

The bus was late, and I had a raging headache. It crossed my mind to stay home from our Tuesday night small group, but seeing those people has quickly become one of the high points in my week. After being away for ten days, the idea of joining them for a home-cooked meal and a rousing discussion about the Bible and last Sunday’s sermon was too tempting for me to skip. Raging headache and all.

Five minutes late, seven minutes late… now we would be late, too. Note to self: take the subway to small group, and the bus home.

I shared the bus stop bench with two men. The one sitting in the middle was tall, sturdy and talkative. The other was older, frail, with a beard and a curved wooden cane. When the taller man sat down, he greeted the older man as though he knew him, handing him a piece of fruit out of his white plastic grocery store bag. They carried on a lively, mostly one-sided conversation in the evening chill. Mike stood to my right, in front of the large illumined H&M store ad featuring two blond women wearing surprisingly inexpensive clothing.

I heard a noise behind me, as though a scuffle had broken out, and now someone was crying. I twisted around on the bench and saw two kids on the ground about four feet away: a little girl in her pink coat, hood up, backpack strapped to her back, was struggling to get up from the wet sidewalk. A young boy, maybe junior high age and wearing what looked like a thin navy blue jacket was on his back with an open-mouthed wail. I think I saw tears. Two women were standing over them. The one with her hair slicked back looked angry and was yelling at the boy.

My heart skipped a few beats and I turned to my right to look at Mike for reassurance or explanation. He looked down at me and softly said, “She pushed them down.”

I swiveled back around to my left, protected from the wind by the bus stop shelter, and looked at the scene again. How could that be? The older woman had the young girl by the hand by now, walking down the hill ahead while the angry woman and the boy were standing still on the other side of the clear bus stop partition. She was yelling at him, but he was wailing louder and had a hand on his head.

I turned back to Mike and asked him to repeat what he had said because I simply could not work out the mechanics of it. It didn’t seem to be an accident. Anger radiated from the scene and I was glad we had the clear plexiglass of the bus stop to shield us from that angry woman. Mike said the woman pushed the girl into the boy and knocked them both down. I can’t imagine the force she used, for when I first looked, the kids were splayed out on the ground like bowling pins after a someone throws a strike.

Now the angry woman grabbed the boy by the collar, pushing him backwards over the black wrought iron railing. Unfortunately for the boy, the railing was made up of vertical black poles of varying heights. It had to hurt to be forced backwards over that fence.

I felt sick to my stomach and glued to my seat. This wasn’t an episode of Law & Order. This was really happening in front of me. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted someone to intervene. What do I say? What do I do? My mouth felt clamped shut. Would anyone say anything? What would the angry woman do next? Would she turn towards her audience at the bus stop and unleash her anger on us? I was scared and shaken.

The pair walked away: the boy holding his head, still wailing with an open-mouthed cry and his unzipped jacket also wide open in the chill wind, the angry woman still shouting unintelligible words. I think she was oblivious to us, though we were only four feet away.

I sat still, shocked, feeling ill, unsure of what to do next. The large man on my left made comments about how a boy can’t stop crying when a woman is hitting him.

That’s when it hit me hard: this is reality. For many people. This kind of abuse is an everyday occurrence. With more than 8 million people living on an island 13 miles long by 2 miles wide, you’re going to run into all sides of humanity. How had I lived here for over a year and not yet run into situations like this?

I’ve seen the sad, fallen side of society like poverty and the plight of the homeless. I’ve volunteered time and muscle to help. Jesus said we’d always have the poor with us. But this scene was energized by anger and incited fear in me. Now my raging headache was accompanied by a churning stomachache.

When the M11 bus finally arrived, I climbed on in a shell-shocked state. I took a seat near the back, next to the window to search the passing sidewalks for the foursome. But they were long gone. Do they live in the apartment complex across the street from my place? Will I see them again? Was the boy at home, cowering from the angry woman? What was it like for him everyday? Scenes from the movie Precious punctuated my questions.

Two and a half miles south on Amsterdam the happy hum of conversation greeted us in the Upper West Side apartment, along with the comforting smells of homemade lasagna. People smiled and called out warm greetings as I wriggled out of my puffy down coat. It was the kind of scene that a movie director could use to close out a film, complete with clusters of conversation around a big table, soft lighting, with a few people in the kitchen washing the dishes while a sense of joy and fullness radiated from everyone in the place.

But this isn’t the end of a movie. This is the tension of living in the now and the not yet, believing in a Redeemer who binds up the wounds of the broken, restores what was stolen, and brings justice, yet not seeing the complete fulfillment of these promises in the lives of other people, or even in my own.

Oh Lord Jesus, I want to live out the truth, righteousness and hope of your Gospel, but I don’t know how to reconcile the harsh reality of our fallen, broken world with what I know to be true about you. I live sheltered from so much of the hurt others experience. Lead me. How do you want me to live?

Photo from www.RachaelRayShow.com

Living in New York City provides opportunities for unexpected fun which you can’t get anywhere else.  Take yesterday, for instance.  A friend gave me tickets to see a taping of the Rachael Ray Show, and I sat in the front row of the audience with my sister on my right, and a friend on the left.  Next thing I knew, I had a microphone in my hand, a camera trained on my face, and I was standing up asking a baking question to Rachael Ray and Buddy the Cake Boss as they made a cream puff pie dessert.

Photo from http://www.andol.info/life/1222.htm

I shoved my gloved hands deeper into my jacket pockets.  It wasn’t a frigid winter day, but it was windy and damp, having rained on and off.  Staff meeting was over and I headed back to our apartment to finish up a report for our team leader.  We had a team dinner in three hours, so I had just enough time to make the final edits and revisions.  I was glad to have words to wrestle with for the afternoon because near the end of our staff meeting sorrow had wrapped itself around me like a warm blanket on this chilly day.  I didn’t expect the sorrow, so when I realized what I felt, I was surprised.  I needed the comfort of mindful editing so I could ignore the unexpected sorrow.

This was a unique day.  Because three of our teammates are leaving the city, moving out, we had a day of farewells with fond memories and an encouraging send off.  But walking away from that, I didn’t feel happy.

It felt like everyone else on the team was moving on to something new: new ministry locations, new teams, new adventures.  And the one other couple remaining in the City  had a baby just a few days ago.  It seemed like everyone had new chapters of life to explore.  But I felt the weight of empty arms and was reminded again of the baby we lost.  If I hadn’t had a miscarriage, I’d be 5-6 months pregnant by now and we would’ve had our new chapter to look forward to, too.

Oh Lord, how do I move forward in this sadness, this sorrow, this emptiness?  May my wounded heart learn how to rejoice with those who rejoice, and mourn with those who mourn.  Fill my heart with healing, with hope.

Rather than exploring my yearnings for a svelte figure or organized and clutter-free living, I’d rather write about WHO I hope to be in 2012 rather than WHAT I want to do. I’m back at the be vs. do challenge around which my life often circles.

Who do I want to be this year? Me, but a growing version of me: ever learning, exploring and creating.

I want to walk in greater avenues of humility with a tender heart, asking for forgiveness, and offering it without being asked.

I want to be a woman who doesn’t hold grudges, nor thinks more highly of herself than she does of others.

I want to be a woman who says “yes,” to new friends, experiences, challenges and opportunities.

I want be a woman who doesn’t “should” on herself: I want to cease making oppressive, unrealistic expectations for my character, behavior, appearance, accomplishments, and anecdotes.

I want to be a woman who lives in the freedom of grace and extends it to others.  I want to be a woman who gives herself and others room to breathe.

It sounds like this is my 2012 manifesto.  As with the resolutions regarding behavior changes, this manifesto of ME development will need accountability, action steps and goals which are broken into achievable tasks.

Did I just turned my WHO into a WHAT resolution?  Maybe that’s just part of who I am.

"The Art of Living" Hostee Manifesto from ArtStormer.com

]]> http://www.eversfam.com/2012/01/this-is-your-life.html/feed 1 http://www.eversfam.com/2011/12/small-steps-to-the-homeless-shelter.html?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=small-steps-to-the-homeless-shelter http://www.eversfam.com/2011/12/small-steps-to-the-homeless-shelter.html#comments Fri, 16 Dec 2011 16:39:38 +0000 Sarah http://www.eversfam.com/?p=1012 Continue reading →]]> The roasted vegetables smelled really good.  I’d been standing behind the serving counter for an hour picking up clean plates from my left, scooping out a generous spoonful of those veggies and passing the plate to the person on my right who filled the rest of the plate with spaghetti.  It smelled really good.  I was hungry.

He was hungry.  His back was slightly bent.  He hadn’t shaved for a while.  It was a cold day, but he didn’t have a warm coat on.  He came to the homeless shelter at the same time everyday, and stood in the same line which wound around the building.  He was a regular, and he knew that hungry men like himself were allowed into the dining room in shifts so that there was room for everyone to sit down in a warm place to eat.

I was hungry.  He was hungry. But I wasn’t as hungry as he was.  Looking him in the eye, I acknowledged his dignity and greeted him with a smile and an overflowing plate of roasted vegetables and spaghetti.

There’s something good about serving alongside your staff and students when you aren’t wearing the hat of leader or director.  It puts everyone on an even level and let’s face it, there’s something about looking hungry people in the eye and handing them something hot to eat that removes any sense of hubris.

Wikipedia, that vast bastion of ever evolving information, says, “Volunteerism is the act of selflessly giving your life to something you believe free of pay.”

at the Rescue Mission

I agree, but I’d also add that when campus ministers and ministry leaders put our love in action by serving alongside of our students, we demonstrate the Gospel in a deeper way.  With over 300 verses in the Bible about the poor, social justice, and God’s concern for both, putting my faith in action seems like a reasonable act of worship.

For years I’ve thought about volunteering on a regular basis.  I had a roommate four years ago who spent one night a week in a local soup kitchen.  I didn’t even know that our small city had a soup kitchen.  As I watched her go week after week, I thought about how she put her faith in action so well.  I put my faith in words very well, but I felt a great divide between my words and deeds.  I justified my lack of intentional effort to serve others by my full time ministry role (unpredictable hours, seasons of craziness, I’m already trying to meet the spiritual needs of so many), but lots of people experience similar work stresses and still find time to help people.

This fall I’ve volunteered at a homeless shelter and a warehouse with supplies for the underprivileged.  Yes, it takes a bit of time to get there, and I have to say “no” to other great opportunities to keep those time slots open.  But those few hours spent serving people in need (people in REAL need) while connecting with my students have given me some sweet gifts and insights.  I walk away so grateful for how faithfully God has provided for me.  I walk away with a full heart of worship, having had my heart touched by compassion.  I walk away knowing that someone else’s hard life was made just a little sweeter because of those few hours.  I walk away with a greater appreciation for the decisions my students make to be there every month, and I get to know my students in a different context.

What’s the next step? I want to model servant leadership by helping “the least of these” without an agenda to advance my own purposes.  For me, it’s to commit to a monthly time to serve at the homeless shelter.  I’d like to make it weekly like my former roommate, but I’ll start with small steps.

What about you?

Earlier that first volunteer day I almost backed out of going to the homeless shelter.  “I’m just so tired,” I thought as the time flashed up that strange greenish color on the microwave clock.  I didn’t know if I had the energy to make the subway trek down to the Bowery Mission.  Enough of our students said they wanted to volunteer at the soup kitchen to serve meals to homeless men that I didn’t think it would make a difference if I showed up.

But it did.  It made a big difference.  To him, to my students, and to me.

originally posted on the CruPressGreen Campus Ministry Blog on 15 December 2011