There was a time when I didn’t want a baby. I remember having “scares” when Angela thought she might be pregnant. I remember one time in particular when she came out of the bathroom holding the magic wand and excitedly screaming the results, and I feigned serious enthusiasm to cover the feeling of massive blood loss to my head and the dizziness that was enveloping me. I staggered into the bathroom and looked closer at the instruction box. My heart calmed down, then felt sad for my wife. “Babe, come here. See this symbol? I’m sorry.”

Those days seem so long ago, a time when the fear I felt toward pregnancy was associated with being pregnant. Far too real and recent are the feelings of hopelessness and desperation associated with the realization that no matter what we tried, we couldn’t have a baby. We tried and prayed. We tried and paid. We tried and wept. We tried and tried. Four years and thousands of dollars later, we sat stunned at the latest disappointment. We were assured that it would work this time, even told with a wink and a smile that “these will be twins”.

We needed to get out of town. We needed to anesthetize this searing and crushing pain. My heart was defiant and angry, then sad and hurting, and finally dark, bitter, and entitled. I was having conversations with young adults that were dating and they confessed that they had been impure physically and were really scared of getting pregnant. Hmmmm… Interesting how that works.

Angela and I were sitting quietly in the car one day, driving somewhere with both of our heads a million different places, when she broke the awkward silence by saying, “Baby, maybe we aren’t meant to have children. Maybe these young adults that we love so much are supposed to be like children to us.”

“Are you okay with that?” I asked, very much wanting her to retrace her mental stream of consciousness that had led her to that realization.

“Well, I just need you to know that you are enough for me. We don’t need a baby to fix our relationship, it isn’t broken. We don’t need a baby to make us happy, we are already happy. And I just sort of thought that maybe God has created us to just have an amazing marriage and ministry and to not have children. And if that is true, then I want you to know that you are enough.”

I was shocked silent for a little while, then retorted something that echoed the sentiment as we continued to drive. Her honesty and the price each of those words cost her in hope made my eyes well up. My mind was racing in the wake of her epiphany… Is this really it? Is this over? Did God allow us to go through this painful process just to reinforce how much we love each other?

So there you are, a baby Christian, dependent on pastor Such-n-Such to feed you once or twice a week. Without him you starve, but right after that Sunday message from God’s Word you feel energized and anew, ready to take on the toughest spiritual battles the world has to offer. Then comes Monday, and he’s not there feeding you. Tuesday arrives, and you’ve almost forgotten the vitamins that nourished your soul two days prior. Next comes Wednesday, and your week is feeling long and you’re getting weak and tired, just waiting for Friday when you can crash. But wait, there’s a whole ‘nother day (Thu) to deal with. Are you kidding me? Is this week gonna end? I haven’t seen a real friend in four days, haven’t eaten my spiritual Nutrigrain bar in too long, and I’ve been so wrapped up in life I’m going off like 5 hours of sleep. Exhausted by Friday, emotionally and physically, we’re just ready to set everything aside and dedicate Saturday to…oh wait, my friend’s party is Saturday and I didn’t get a gift or outfit or anything! Huh. Looks like we’re back to Sunday feeling tired and hungry.

Does this sound familiar? Maybe you’re not a ‘baby’ anymore and you’ve ‘known’ Christ for a couple years. I’ve seen (real) kids at 2, 3, 4 years old and it’s not pretty. Everything is about them. Sharing isn’t easy, envy increases and they just cry when things don’t go their way. Maybe you’re crying. A few years later, it’s all about fitting in. “Mom, Drew has a sweet pair of Weebok shoes and all the kids at school like him more now because of it. I want new shoes!” (or whatever the case). Pride, acceptance and a self-centered, self-promoting worldview overtakes us. Then kids start the lying, from what their dad can do to what they were allowed to watch or do over the weekend. Whatever it takes to make some friends and win the affection of those around them.

The fact is, they no longer worry about eating and sleeping. It’s provided for them, scheduled into their day, and all these other perceived needs become the vein of their existence. Finally, we reach adulthood and these habits adjust their importance, however subtly. Now we’re consumed with money, doing what feels good, and grown-up toys to put atop our totem pole of seeking love, attention and being the best. These man-made, material things and self-serving bodily desires become the center our lives. If we’re not careful, we’ll completely forget to eat and sleep.

Where’s the balance? How do we curb our earthly motives and get back to survival, maybe even thriving in the spiritual wild? Sundays aren’t enough to feed us for the week. Sundays and Wednesdays aren’t enough either. We need to eat everyday and then sleep every night! Pastor Such-n-Such isn’t gonna read me a bedtime story to give me my fill and then rock me to sleep. What I’ve learned over the past couple years is that without God’s nutrients entering my eternity-bound soul each and every day, I consume the food that the world feeds me. When it doesn’t make me sick, I know I’m not getting enough spiritual eats. But the longer I feast on the world’s junk food, the less I remember what I need to be healthy and really live.

I think of the prodigal son parable and the younger boy in the story we know so well. He went away from his dad and tasted the fruits and spoils that the world had to offer. When he found he had hit rock bottom, he returned home to a place where he knew he’d be taken care of. His dad didn’t go marching through the woods over peaks and valleys to find him though. He waited patiently at home with an open invite to a feast waiting to be prepared out of sheer love. It took that son wandering so far away and squandering so much blessing for self-serving reasons to realize that what he needed all along was the food his father was gladly willing to share with him. The son, with motives of earthly desire, finally realized that the extra-curricular food the world had for him was not going to satisfy his heart. It was all a lie.

Bringing it back around, here we are; some babies, some toddlers, some adults, but we’re all in need of the same thing: food and sleep. That’s what it takes to survive. How cool would it be if we never needed rest? Maybe not, but we do. Our bodies won’t work unless we give them rest and make time for sleep so we can walk through our days revitalized, alive to the world around us. And eating well is essential for our human shell to work properly. Speaking from personal experience I plead, don’t get half way through your week and wonder why you’re struggling so bad to live in a Christ-like fashion. It’s probably because you haven’t eaten in days. Or, whatever you managed to eat didn’t get digested properly because you forgot to settle down, breathe deep and let it run deep into your system.

Macie Fritts, at four months old, needs her mother and father to put the bottle to her mouth and give her food to make it through each day. With any luck, in a year or so, she’ll be able to put the bottle to her own mouth. And eventually, she won’t need us to make her a bottle at all. That girl will be equipped to walk to the kitchen, open the cupboard, make her own meal and have enough sense to sit down on the couch after nourishing herself so her food can work it’s way through her growing body. At which time I pray she’ll open her own Bible, turn off the noise of the world, and feast on a meal which her eternal Father prepared for her before time began. She’ll eat and sleep every day, all by herself. Then on Sunday, she won’t be exhausted. Instead, Macie will be well equipped to join in a celebration with others, including pastor Such-n-Such and bring an offering of worship to the Father who has given all of us the gifts of food, sleep and metaphors.

There are countless ways that physical life mirrors spiritual life and x amount of examples occur in God’s Word. These include the most obvious, like salt and light metaphors, to the more obscure, like followers of Christ being weeds (still one of my favorites). And sure, in our own lives we can see these illustrations take shape, but sometimes they manifest themselves more clearly in other people, places and things. In this case, I’m going to talk about my baby girl. No, I’m not gonna rattle off how I’m her father and now I know what a father’s love is like for his children so she can run away from home, curse my name, be ungrateful for everything her mom and I provide for her and I’ll still be right there, loving her with all my heart. And I’m not gonna mention that her mom and I would love to keep her free from harm, sheltered in our arms, and it’ll hurt to see her make mistakes, messing up major decisions in life but it’s got to happen for her to learn and grow in wisdom and maturity. Instead, I’d like to focus on our little girl’s survival skills and what it takes to keep her satisfied.

Let me take you back to a time long forgotten - when you were four months old. Oh yes, you were there once. I was too, but unfortunately much of my younger years were spent trying to get to Sesame Street, and I don’t remember much. Macie Rayne Fritts is bringing it all back to me. The diapers, the vibrating chairs, the little piggies on our feet…it’s a great reminder of where we all come from. And beyond the pacifiers and car seats lies a not-so-mysterious truth about the essentials of life and what we need to survive: food and sleep.

Seems simple enough but I think somewhere along the line our judgment gets clouded, and the basic needs in life become overshadowed by unnecessary desires. What am I talking about? Alright, four months into her life Macie can already communicate a few things: I’m hungry, I’m tired and I pooped in my Elmo diapers (can someone clean me?). Realistically, that’s about the extent of it. And when mommy or daddy (mostly mommy) takes care of her immediate needs, a huge smile graces her face and gets reciprocated by those around her. Go figure, she’s most happy when she’s well fed and well rested. That’s what I want to zone in on and analyze a little further.

It’s almost immediate, the smile Macie delivers right after a nap. As soon as the zap of light wears off and her eyes adjust, that girl’s the happiest bobble-head you ever saw. It’s a riot! She wakes up, stretches out her little arms and legs and boom- instant contentment in the moment. I know I don’t see this in my own life…quite the opposite actually. I get out of bed and can barely crack a smile prior to drinking my morning espresso. Oh no, I’m borderline miserable when I first come to, except for every once in a while I’ll fall asleep at a reasonable hour and naturally wake up the next day without the help of my phone alarm. Those are the times where I truly feel refreshed. This is what Macie must feel like every time she wakes. I know we don’t force her up (though we force her down). She typically opens her eyes when she’s ready to face the day, and I think that’s why she wears such a big smile.

Then Macie eats. Sometimes a little and sometimes a lot, the girl eats. And not once, twice or even three times a day but like five or six times. Sure, she throws up now and again from being full of food and getting rattled; nevertheless, she’s got a big smile while we’re wiping her face off. She’s so funny, just sitting there after a feeding, again a happy little bobble-head smiling and looking all confused at the world around her. All she knows is that her belly is full and she’s no longer hungry. Now before she eats it’s a whole different story; she cries and screams and kicks and punches the air and fusses until mommy or daddy puts the milk to her lips. Then she chills out and recognizes she’s getting what she needs to sustain her life. She doesn’t know much, but this knowledge is seemingly inherent in all of God’s creatures.

So, do the spiritual math. It’s not hard here. What do we need as servants under Christ to survive and keep on living for Him? Hmmm, I know it’s something. But are you there? Are you doing the mere basics to sustain your spiritual life? Are you doing more? And are you still a baby holding out for mommy and daddy to bring the bottle all the way to your mouth? Think about it.

GENRE: DRAMA/ROMANCE
RATING: PG-13
STUDIO: SUMMIT ENT.
THEATRICAL RELEASE: NOVEMBER 20, 2009
DVD RELEASE: MARCH 2010

I may be the only reviewer who appreciated Twilight not for what it was, but rather for the person who directed it. There wasn’t much about the film that appealed to me, but Catherine Hardwicke’s body of work has intrigued me. However, of her films, Twilight was the weakest. Yes, even weaker than The Nativity Story. But, much to the delight of moviegoers and critics alike, Hardwicke was not at the helm of the newest installment in the Twilight Saga, New Moon. That job fell to Chris Weitz, who gave us the craptastic film known as Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist. What does that mean for this film? It means it was better than the first…but that’s not saying much is it?

Kristen Stewart’s turn as Bella has the emotional range of a cardboard box. From the first film to this one, I’m still not sure why she loves Edward (Pattison) and why he loves her. There is simply no depth of love communicated between the two. It’s almost like Stewart and Pattison don’t even like acting together. Edward tells Bella that he is leaving and that she cannot be with him. She doesn’t shed so much as a tear. Now, she does have unbelievably annoying night terrors, but we’re given no glimpse as to what they are or what is causing them. Then, of course, in Edward’s absence, she falls for Jacob. But, again, you can’t really tell.

And why did Jacob feel it necessary to run around for ¾ of the film with no shirts on? I get it. You’re buff. That’s cool. But, sitting in a theater full of prepubescent girls who screamed every time Jacob and his werewolf buddies came on screen was a bit much. It’s never explained. Apparently, in that part of Washington, it’s totally natural for Native American teenaged boys to walk around with their shirts off.

None of the characters in this film are developed. There are vampires. There are werewolves. There’s a creepy, aristocratic vampire clan who rules with an iron fist. And in the middle is Bella (and a police officer father who apparently doesn’t call out S.W.A.T. when his daughter disappears for days on end). It’s as if the filmmakers figured, “Well, they’ve read the book. Character development can take a back seat to really bad storytelling.” The point of a book-turned-film, is to connect with both types of viewers—those who have read the source material and those who have not. This film chose option C: Neither.

The Twilight Series is poorly written literature. Now, it is poorly written literature that has been modified into poorly adapted film making. The dialogue is dreadful; the make-up is admittedly better, but still cheesy; the digital affects were hit-or-miss, and the story crawled at a snail’s pace, only to end abruptly. If you’re a fan of the series, I’m sure you’ll find something to like about it. You have to. You’re kind of invested. The tag line for The Twilight Sage: New Moon was “The Next Chapter Begins.” However, when The Twilight Saga: Eclipse rolls around on June 30, 2010, I’m hoping and praying that another TCM reviewer will suffer through it. I really am done with this series. This is the last chapter for me.

As Christians it is important for us to stand up for what is right and defend our God. Right? I mean, when someone says there is no God, we’ve got to stand up and say, “No, you’re wrong!” Correct? What about when someone says there is nothing wrong with abortion - we should say “No, it’s murder!” Right?

I think it’s important to stand up for our God, but at the same time to do it in love and to take the conversation with a grain of salt. Remember, Jesus did not attack the person for their sin; He was able to look deeper and see the real reason in their heart for their actions and their attitude, and that is where He aimed. When someone comes against you, say, as a staunch defender is atheism, instead of immediately pulling out your vast knowledge on the formation of the universe, the laws of physics, and the reliability of the Bible, maybe it would be more helpful to sit down and learn a little bit about that person and where their heart is first.

God made us in His image. We have a specific place for Him, but there are things and events in this life that can blind us from Him and cover our eyes to any amount of knowledge. Perhaps at this point the key to taking the blinders off isn’t vast knowledge, but another soul that is full of light?

There was a time when I didn’t want a baby. I remember having “scares” when Angela thought she might be pregnant. I remember one time in particular when she came out of the bathroom holding the magic wand and excitedly screaming the results, and I feigned serious enthusiasm to cover the feeling of massive blood loss to my head and the dizziness that was enveloping me. I staggered into the bathroom and looked closer at the instruction box. My heart calmed down, then felt sad for my wife. “Babe, come here. See this symbol? I’m sorry.”

Those days seem so long ago, a time when the fear I felt toward pregnancy was associated with being pregnant. Far too real and recent are the feelings of hopelessness and desperation associated with the realization that no matter what we tried, we couldn’t have a baby. We tried and prayed. We tried and paid. We tried and wept. We tried and tried. Four years and thousands of dollars later, we sat stunned at the latest disappointment. We were assured that it would work this time, even told with a wink and a smile that “these will be twins”.
We needed to get out of town. We needed to anesthetize this searing and crushing pain. My heart was defiant and angry, then sad and hurting, and finally dark, bitter, and entitled. I was having conversations with young adults that were dating and they confessed that they had been impure physically and were really scared of getting pregnant. Hmmmm… Interesting how that works.

Angela and I were sitting quietly in the car one day, driving somewhere with both of our heads a million different places, when she broke the awkward silence by saying, “Baby, maybe we aren’t meant to have children. Maybe these young adults that we love so much are supposed to be like children to us.”

“Are you okay with that?” I asked, very much wanting her to retrace her mental stream of consciousness that had led her to that realization.

“Well, I just need you to know that you are enough for me. We don’t need a baby to fix our relationship, it isn’t broken. We don’t need a baby to make us happy, we are already happy. And I just sort of thought that maybe God has created us to just have an amazing marriage and ministry and to not have children. And if that is true, then I want you to know that you are enough.”

I was shocked silent for a little while, then retorted something that echoed the sentiment as we continued to drive. Her honesty and the price each of those words cost her in hope made my eyes well up. My mind was racing in the wake of her epiphany… Is this really it? Is this over? Did God allow us to go through this painful process just to reinforce how much we love each other?

We had talked about adoption very briefly during this entire process. Angela had brought it up as an option, but I had quickly cited the expense (we believed it to be a $40,000 cost) and the waiting list (we had heard up to 7 years) as reasons to pursue our other options until those doors were permanently shut. Our discussions had never really gotten beyond those initial (mis)informed reasons. I had never really viewed adoption as the ideal for us, partly because we both wanted to settle the age-old question of what our kids would look like.

The summer came upon us quickly, and with that, we reached the end of a nine month sermon series at Lighthouse, our Sunday Night Young Adult Service, going through the book of Acts verse by verse. The second to last message in that series that I preached was on Acts 27 – 28:10 and was called “Shipwrecked”. I’m sure you are familiar with the story of Paul’s transport to Rome by ship where he was to stand trial before the emperor at the end of Acts. Against Paul’s warnings, the captain decides to sail during the storm season to get the prisoners to their final destination. Along the way, they ran into a brutal storm, so bad in fact, that the text tells us that the ship dropped anchor and was being driven along by the whims of the storm. It was so bad that “when neither sun or stars appeared for many days and the storm continued raging, we finally gave up all hope of being saved (Acts 27:20).” Two weeks with darkness and zero control of a ship that held 276 passengers. No one was eating or sleeping. Imagine the fear and tension upon that boat. It got so bad that hope was given up. They were going to die. They had no idea where they were and no chance of being saved.

They couldn’t see anything, but God could see them.
They were hopeless, but God had hidden hope on that ship.
They were careening out of control, but God was in control.
All they were missing was the end of the story.

I preached this text to a group of young adults that resonated with this situation. Why am I here? Why did I lose my job? What am I supposed to do with my life? Why does my mom have cancer? Why did he break up with me? Feeling out of control, drowning in darkness, being driven along toward a future we cannot see is a hopeless situation. When you don’t know how the story ends.

At the end of June, Ange and I went our separate ways for a few weeks. I was able to go to England and Scotland with my seminary for a semester’s worth of credits in 20 days. She went to see her family and some friends in Minneapolis where we served in ministry for about five years. While in England, we were able to visit many of the historic sites of the Reformation and encounter the biographies of the Reformers in their historical and cultural context. One such reformer was a man by the name of William Wilberforce. You are probably familiar with him because of the movie about his life called Amazing Grace (without which we wouldn’t have the Chris Tomlin version of Amazing Grace – My Chains are Gone). As I came face to face with the story of a young adult that used his wealth and political career to fight evil, one principle that drove his passion to reform shook me. He fought the massive Slave Trade Industry and the power that it held because he simply believed it to be “The Greatest Evil of Our Time”. He vowed to give his life for the cause of abolition. His tireless zealotry and brilliant political maneuvering brought the slave trade to an end, with the final Slavery Abolition Act being passed just three days before his death in 1833. He championed the cause of abolition for 52 years.

Several of us were talking about what we had learned and I asked the question, “When historians look back at our time and judge us for our achievements and contributions to the world, what do you think will be seen the greatest evil of our time?” All of us agreed. Abortion.

We are all Pro-Life already, right? I vote for the right candidates, attended a rally in eighth grade, and have argued for the reversal of Roe v. Wade. What more can I do?

It was during this time that God began to impress some things upon my heart. What does it look like to live out a Pro-Life ethic? Not just checking a ballot, but truly putting my views into action. He impressed upon my heart that if we claimed to be truly Pro-Life, then we need to be willing to invite a pregnant teenage girl to stay in our home if she has nowhere to go. We also need to be willing to adopt a baby that has nowhere else to go.

This was more than a newfound political talking point for me. This was a calling. When Ange picked me up from the airport, I unraveled this crazy tale and when I got to the part about adoption we were both sobbing like schoolgirls. I told her that I believe this is what God is calling us to do. “I don’t know when or how, but I know we need to be ready and willing.”

This was a seismic shift for us. God was now calling us to something much bigger than infertility doctors, basal thermometers, sleepless nights, and staggering financial debt. He broke our hearts for something that breaks His. Orphans. Widows. The oppression of the innocent. Murder. Greed. Apathy. Easy paths out of consequences.

A few days later, Angela took a call from a girl that used to attend Lighthouse a year before. She now found herself living in a homeless shelter, and at 19 years old, was pregnant. Angela called me at church asking what we should do. Whoa – that was fast, God! Without hesitation, we decided to have her move into our house. She stayed with us for about a month, and we grew to love her deeply. She went her own way later in the summer, but we love her and her family and pray for her often as she nears motherhood.

Then I received an email at my desk at 11:28am on Wednesday, August 19th.

An expert in nautical research did a study on Acts 27-28. He took into consideration the time of year of the voyage, the strength of the storm, the size of the ship, the duration, the starting point, and the final destination as he sought to plot the path of the ship before it crashed onto the shore of the tiny island of Malta. Most theologians and historians have always assumed that the ship would have zig-zagged in a truly chaotic and random journey that luckily ran aground on the front doorstep of Malta. This is an incorrect assumption.

The researcher took all of these factors into account and concluded that the ship traveled in a perfectly straight line from Fair Havens to Malta. It arrived at Malta as if that was the intended destination all along. In spite of no way to navigate or steer, this ship arrived at an island that is 1/10th the size of Rhode Island. Upon their arrival, Paul and Luke were used by God to heal the sick on the island and to bring the love of Christ to these people.

In spite of darkness, hopelessness, mutiny, anger, fear, depression, and deep pain and anguish on that ship, God had hidden hope on board for the people of Malta. There was healing on that ship. As the prisoners and soldiers felt like they were drifting aimlessly, God was directing them with purpose straight to where He wanted them to be.

This shocking email stated matter of factly a situation in which there was “a need to find a home for a 3 month old blue-eyed, blonde-haired, baby girl that we received quite suddenly yesterday afternoon”. My eyes bulged and my heart raced. I forwarded the email to Angela, then called her to tell her to read it. She didn’t know I was on the line because she had just hung up with our infertility nurse to tell her that we were going to pursue other options and had accidentally answered my call.

“Check your email right now, and I’ll call you back in five minutes.”

I called Timari Deane, the name of the woman who sent the original email. “Hi, this is Cliff Johnson. I just read your email and want to tell you that we are very interested. My wife will be calling you in five minutes.” She told us later that day that she knew it would be us calling when she sent the email even though she knew nothing of our journey.

“Ange, what do you think?”
“Baby, I can’t believe it. Is this for real?”
“Yes it is. Can you call Timari right now?”
“Ok – love you.”

Twenty minutes later, Ange picked me up at church and we drove to go meet this baby girl that had been born the day after our 9th Wedding Anniversary and a week before I preached about Malta. Our car-ride conversation was nervous and scattershot. “I wonder what she looks like? What in the world is happening? Is this for real?”

Nick Deane, Timari’s husband is not a small man. He is a mountain of a man that has been a football coach for many years. For every inch and pound of his frame that could be intimidating, his smile and tender heart for serving God quickly melt away any fears. Nick came down the stairs holding an 11 week old bundle of sleeping baby. Her face was covered by the blanket. Nick pulled back the blanket and unveiled her face. Ange just sobbed. “She’s beautiful” Ange said as she wept. I stood in muted awe.

She had giant blue eyes and looked strangely like I did as a baby. We both held her and talked to the Deane’s about what had happened. Timari explained the sense she had that we would be the couple to adopt this baby girl. We all got goosebumps and cried some more.

An eighteen year old girl that had been through a lot in her life already considered giving her baby up for adoption before she gave birth, but decided to keep her. For the first few weeks everything was going well, but in the last week or so, some poor decisions had been made on behalf of the baby. Child Protective Services had been called in to investigate the situation. That has to be one of the scariest sentences in the world for a parent.

The Deane’s had taken in a couple of older foster girls, ones that were nearly done with high school. Things didn’t work out with the girls as Timari had hoped, but she did get to know some of the Social Workers through the process and had met several of the girls’ friends. On Tuesday, August 18th a Social Worker that knew Timari Deane had gone to investigate a call of neglect and to remove an 11 week old little girl from the situation until a hearing could determine the baby’s fate the following Monday. A friend of Timari’s foster care girls placed a call to the only person she knew that could keep her baby until an adoptive family could be found. This eighteen year old single mom called Timari Deane and asked if she could get to her house immediately and beg for the Social Workers to allow this baby to go to the Deane’s until an adoptive family could be found.

When Timari arrived, Child Protective Services was waiting in the driveway. The Social Worker remembered Timari, and bent the rules and allowed the baby to go home to the Deane’s until the hearing on Monday. They had five days to find an adoptive home for this baby girl, or she would be placed in the protection of the state in foster care.

We set up a time to meet the birth mom a few hours after we met and held the baby for the first time. We made some calls, set up an appointment with an adoption attorney and an adoption agency (one call covered both, the lawyer is married to the adoption agent) for the next morning, and headed to the meeting place. Starbucks, my homefield. As we were gazing into each others eyes at a stoplight marveling at God’s handiwork, our car was slammed into from behind by a teenage boy driving his mom’s minivan with his driver’s permit. I can’t print what I yelled at him. Just kidding – I simply informed him that ramming into someone from behind that had been sitting at a stoplight for over five seconds does not bode well for your future insurance rates.

We were late for our appointment. Thankfully, so was she. I nervously asked if she wanted anything from Starbucks since I was about to order a drink with enough caffeine to paralyze a rhino. We all sat and chatted about her giving us her baby. Forever. We told her bits and pieces of our story. I tried to make her smile with some dry humor. The gravity and tension of the situation was tangible. She asked us a few question that we did our best to answer honestly. We didn’t just want to give answers that we knew she would want to hear. We shared our true hearts with her and prayed that God would give her peace about us. She shared some of her story, and we realized that she had truly experienced things that no child should have to go through. Feeling unloved and rejected. Wishing she had been given up for adoption rather than have her upbringing. We all felt the irony of that statement, and Angela gently said, “It’s amazing that you want to give your daughter something that you never had.”

She looked at us and said she wanted us to raise her baby.
We got in our damaged car and floated home.

We met with our adoption attorney the next day in Dearborn, searching in vain for his office for ten minutes when we were already a few minutes late. His name was Herb and he had a white beard and wore madras shorts. We filled him in on the situation and quickly realized that he was truly an expert in the adoption field. He suggested a power of attorney for Timari granting her decision making power on behalf of the baby until we could complete the adoption approval process. Herb stepped out to talk to his Adoption Agent wife, Kristine, and I seized the opportunity to read his plaques that were decorating his walls. “Sweet mercy babe! Herb was the President of the Association of Adoption Attorneys for a few years!” We were in good hands.

Woodside Bible Church was in the middle of a series called “Becoming Generous” in which we were being challenged to give sacrificially to help others in our church and in our community. A church wide garage sale with all proceeds going to Detroit non-profits was a huge part of this campaign, and Timari was in charge of this massive effort. Take the stuff at your last garage sale and multiply it by 1,000 and you’ll get the scope of this project. She couldn’t possibly have this little baby girl around the clock and run the garage sale. So Angela volunteered to watch the baby from 9am to 10pm everyday. Gladly. The bonding process began immediately. I joked that it was like we were dating her. At a Christian college. We picked her up first thing in the morning, were inseparable all day, then said tearful goodbyes late at night. Repeat.

We had a checklist a mile long to complete before our adoption home study would be completed. Background checks, physicals, personal references, financial statements, tax records, and a housing floor plan. Then the home study. We cleaned all day long, not wanting a stray cobweb or dirty dish or chirping fire alarm to cost us a lifetime of memories and love. The agent sat down on our couch and asked us questions for 95 minutes and looked around our house for less than 5. We were asked about our parents, philosophy of parenting, strengths and weaknesses of each other, and about 27 other personal and piercing questions.

Then we waited for the results of the home study while still hanging out with the baby during the day. Except Labor Day weekend. The Deane’s went out of town for the extended weekend. That was when I saw how much we loved this little baby. Ange was constantly thinking about her, and asking me about her. I was also daydreaming about our sweet little smiley baby, even while sitting in Row 11 at the Michigan / Western Michigan game (a bright spot this year for Michigan).

September 11th, a day that lives in infamy in our country for good reason was given a new significance for us, for it was the day that the birth mom signed the paperwork giving us a Temporary Placement. This may not sound like much, but it is the same right that adoptive parents have when leaving the hospital with a pre-arranged adoption of a newborn. We were one step closer to the adoption being official. Now she could stay with us overnight. No more dating!

We braced ourselves for how little she was going to sleep at night. We had heard the horror stories of babies that wake up every 3 minutes all night every night for its first 12 years of life. We worked out the plan of who was going to get up with her first, and went to sleep. With one eye and both ears open. She slept ten hours the first night. Then ten and a half. Then ten. Eleven hours. Nine hours. Over twelve hours! We stopped telling people because they were getting mad at us.

The date for the final step was set for October 1st. This was the signing away of parental rights by the parents. Since the identified birth father had not been responding to repeated attempts to contact, his rights would be taken away as long as he was served papers and didn’t show up. We prayed for God’s will. We prayed for God’s will to be that he didn’t show up.

We gave the birth mom a ride down to the courthouse. I once again resorted to trying to lighten up the situation for her and her boyfriend by doing some old material. I lamented the consequences of beeping your horn at someone in Michigan. They kind of chuckled at my statement that if you use your horn to alert someone to the green light that they are texting through, they will wave a special finger at you to thank you and yell out their appreciation while offering you an air-fist pump. I try to be funny when tense and monumental moments are happening. You should see me when Ange is scared in the Emergency Room.

The birth mom went in without us to appear before the judge to sign away her parental rights. Forever. Michigan should have the parents chisel their names into stone, because that is how firm and unchangeable it is. She was in there for thirty minutes, but every minute was a white-knuckled stress fest for me. I was obsessed with looking for the birth father, who could have shown up and contested it. His appearance would have changed everything. His appearance was exactly what was making me sweat. I had no idea what he looked like. So every young looking male that came down the hallway got my heart racing with anxiety. It didn’t help that we were standing next to the juvenile detention center intake office. Every two minutes another punk would come down the hall to face the music, while my emotional state was rising and falling like a dinner cruise on the ocean that is making you sick.

Meanwhile, Ange was humming and singing and praying and joyful. She was living the dream during my near anxiety attack. She was reading Psalms and smiling while my chest was careening towards cardiac arrhythmia. I prayed 32 foxhole prayers in a row. “Please God, don’t let this be him! I’ll get in shape. I’ll stop drinking Diet Coke with Lime. I’ll stop wasting time playing video games.”

Finally, they emerged from the courtroom. Tears had been shed. Lots of them. I offered a half-hug and a nervous smile. Angela gave a long, loving, firm hug for several minutes as she spoke truth and encouragement into her ear. Later we found out that the birth mom went back and forth and delayed and asked questions. We heard that she cried and said she couldn’t do it. Then she had a moment of clarity, grabbed the pen, dried her tears and said “I have to do this for her.”

We left the courthouse together and I stopped to buy everyone ice cream. The sound of suction filled the awkward silence as we all strained to get the ice cream through the thin straws. We arrived at the boyfriend’s home, listened to a song of her favorite band, then said goodbye. As we left, we saw her crying on his shoulder.

Ange and I were pretty pensive and quiet as we pulled away. When we arrived at the church, the weight of what our baby girl’s mom had done for her kept us from cheering or dancing in delight. In fact, if you had been watching from the window as we walked into the church, it would have appeared that it didn’t go through.

We went home that night and held our baby girl, Lily Rebekah Johnson a little tighter and kissed her a few more times than normal. The love that we have for Lily is unlike anything we have felt before. She is the answer to countless prayers, she is the goal at the end of a long and brutal journey, she is the fleshly reminder of the love and sovereignty of God.

We were feeling hopeless and lost, drowning in darkness and doubt. What we needed was the end of the story. God had changed my heart and called us to be willing to life a Pro-life ethic knowing that Lily was already alive and waiting for us. All that needed to change was me. God lifted the fog of the painful suffering and revealed that the whole time He was guiding us in a perfectly straight line from the first infertility treatment to our baby girl.

We couldn’t see anything, but God saw us.
We felt hopeless, but God had hope in store for us.
We were careening out of control, but God was in control.
All we were missing was the end of the story.

Healed hearts and a beautiful baby girl named Lily, our reminder that God brings life out of valleys.

Psa. 118:23 the LORD has done this, and it is marvelous in our eyes.

I know that I am free, but feel like I’m running on empty. I’ve got a dream and could use a little gasoline. Crossed over and I’ve seen.
I need adventure like an addict needs nicotine. I’ve dined with the devil and danced with the dead, collected the newest disease to fill in my head.

But, I have seen! I have seen!
Stop trying to find the connection! And look at your reflection!

In our own shells we ‘need’ something to do!? The battle is already won…you need to conquer you.

I sit anxiously awaiting my time to serve. I’ve decided to keep this opportunity to serve as quiet as I can. Only a few people know, because they are concerned as to why I will not be at church on Sunday morning. I’ve made my decision to keep whatever serving I do between me and God. Even though this opportunity came through the company I work for, I still want to hold to Matthew 6:3–“But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.” The last time I served with my company, I posted the number of lunches served on facebook. I like to think that I didn’t do it to boast- I just wanted to share. But the more I thought about it, the more I could see that it reeked of pride. Facebook seems to allow us to portray “humble” pride, of which I am the biggest offender. So why am I writing this if I want to keep my serving between me and God? Because Fox 2 news was at the soup kitchen documenting everything and interviewing several of my co-workers. So, this service opportunity I had desired to keep quiet will be airing on Fox 2 news from Thanksgiving until Christmas. But that is not the only reason I am sharing this story…

Crossroads soup kitchen is a very nice facility but heavily regulated by the health department. I love serving there because you are really put to work. This past Sunday (11-15) was a slow day. We served over 700 lunches. Think about that. This really tugged on my heart even more than the last time I worked in this same kitchen and we served over 1000 lunches. I don’t share this number to brag or try to convey that I’m all holier than thou. A slow day is feeding over 700 people. Over 700 people. That number is bigger than the Lighthouse Collective. And that’s a SLOW day!! I couldn’t help the crushing feeling of how selfish I have been. I have been so stressed and upset about all the stuff that has hit me in my life. There are people with REAL needs and TRUE pain. They don’t have time to concern themselves with trivial nonsense. No matter what I’m going through, I still go home to a nice apartment; I can sit down to a nice meal at anytime either in a restaurant, with my parents, or even just by myself. There is just too much of me in my life. God has really been working on my heart in this area. Matthew 25:45 continues to resonate in my head. “…I tell you the truth, whatever you did NOT do for the least of these, you did NOT do for me.” If 700 needy people is a slow day in a small area of Detroit, think about the mass need just in the United States. Expand that to the rest of the world, and it’s overwhelming.

I know we can’t do it all. But we can have an impact. We each have a different part to play as 1 Corinthians 12:12 reminds us. “The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts; and though all its parts are many, they form one body. So it is with Christ.” We can serve within the church and we can serve on the streets. We can encourage and pray (REALLY pray) for those in the mission field and those they are helping. We can offer financial assistance to those in need. We can be the shoulder to cry on or the ear to listen. We can be the church. We MUST be the body of Christ (1 Corinthians 12:27—“Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it.”).

Let’s show the love of Christ—the love that has set us free from the chains of darkness—to all who are brought into our lives.

Skillet’s rich history makes it near impossible for an article or cover story to do them justice. The grammy nominated foursome have been pumping out music for nearly fifteen years and are just now beginning to be noticed outside of Christian rock circles. Never bounded by genres, they’ve experimented with neo-hippie rock, electronica laced rhythms, industrial metal tech fests, grungy hard rock, and a more top-40esque sound on their latest Comatose.

While the band garnered quite the fanbase with previous albums, Comatose worked to catch the ears of many new listeners with its mainstream sensibilities. Spawning multiple headlining tours, a re-released deluxe edition, and a DVD of their live performance, Comatose was extremely successful.

Awake looks to pick up where the band left off, however feels a little premature. Only two years have passed since the incredibly successful album, and a project looking to fill such shoes would seemingly require a fair amount of time. Regardless Awake is here, and ready for the store shelves.

Perhaps nothing characterizes Awake more than the words straight from John Cooper’s mouth, “[Awake] is even more immediate than Comatose.” In a musical sense, the album takes their new sound to the next level. While Comatose had power ballads, Awake has several. While Comatose inched on radio friendly territory (think Shinedown), Awake runs into at blazing speed. While Comatose could have been perceived as geared toward at a new audience, Awake undoubtedly is.

And this isn’t inherently bad. Teaming up with famed producer Howard Benson, Skillet has never sounded so… “large.” Songs are loud, catchy, memorable, and fun. “Hero” is a hook heavy anthem, “Monster” would feel at home on rock radio, and “One Day Too Late” is easily top-40 material. Gone, however, are the days of the band’s signature gritty heaviness, metaphorical lyrics, and perhaps more original songwriting.

It does feel slightly odd to hear Cooper singing some of the lyrics. The married thirty-six-year-old sings of broken dating relationships in “Should’ve When You Could’ve” and teen driven angst in “It’s Not Me It’s You” shouting in the chorus “It’s not me it you! It’s not me its you! It’s not me its you! All the lies and stupid things you say and do. It’s you!” However, the album is not without its highlights. “Awake and Alive” takes the brilliance of Comatose’s title track and almost reinvents it perfectly. “Don’t Wake Me” is one of their best ballads, and “Lucy” will undoubtedly pull at the heart strings - it’s bound to have listeners thinking about life in a way much music doesn’t.

The album feels specifically branded for a younger audience, but at times this tends to make the album fun. Some are the songs are just great to rock out too. Awake stands on its own, but does fall in comparison to their previous material. Unfortunately, many longtime pinheads may be disappointed, but Awake will undoubtedly pull new ones in.

Rating: 4 out of 5

Street Date: August 25th
Label: Atlantic Records

Track Listing:

1.) Hero
2.) Monster
3.) Don’t Wake Me
4.) Awake And Alive
5.) One Day Too late
6.) It’s Not Me It’s You
7.) Should’ve When You Could’ve
8.) Believe
9.) Forgiven
10.) Sometimes
11.) Never Surrender
12.) Lucy

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GENRE: CCM
LABEL: SPARROW
RELEASE DATE: NOVEMBER 3, 2009
RATING: 5 OUT OF 5

I believe Steven Curtis Chapman’s newest album Beauty Will Rise is going to be absolutely review proof. For years I have argued that Speechless was his greatest work, and the story behind it makes that hard to argue with. Those songs came from such a deeply contemplative place, nothing could replace that. However, with the recent tragedy that befell the Chapman family, I don’t think Steven could have written a more beautiful, questioning, tear-jerking album if he tried. Years ago, Chapman wrote a song titled “Rubber Meets The Road,” that talks about faith being tested by the fires of life—that faith meeting real life will reveal its mettle. Well, this album is a testament to the fact that Chapman’s faith, despite the longing and questioning and confusion, is a deep and abiding one. Though from a place of intense sorrow and loss, Beauty Will Rise offers a sense of hope amidst the questions that plague us when bad things happen to good people.

“Heaven is the Face” is the album’s opening track and the one you have likely been hearing played at AC radio. You could say that the song is the first of many prayers that Chapman prays throughout the project, beginning with hard questions and ending with expectant peace.

Title track “Beauty Will Rise” follows with a nice pairing of piano and cello, creating a dark and ominous intro before Chapman’s light acoustic strumming and vocals rise to the fore. Chapman sings, “Out of these ashes beauty will rise…” and you can almost envision the artist sitting like Job, covered in sackcloth and ashes, declaring God’s goodness through unimaginable bereavement.

I’m trying to wrap my mind around Chapman’s ability to pen a song like “Our God Is In Control” after everything he and his family have gone through. But, write it he does. And sing it he does, with the resolute conviction of a man tried by the fires of life. He sings, “This is not where we planned to be/When we started this journey/But this is where we are/And our God is in control/Though this first taste is bitter/There will be sweetness forever/When we finally taste and see/That our God is in control.” How? How can a man sing those words when chaos moves in and takes everything that a person finds precious, leaving them breathless and impoverished? I’m not going to even posit an answer to that question.

If you do not get chocked up over “February 20th,” then I question if you have a heart. I could hardly listen without getting misty eyed. It recounts the story of Chapman’s daughter, Maria Sue. All of I could ask was, “Would I be able to call God ‘faithful’ if I lost my daughter like Chapman lost his?”

These are but a sampling of the sad and hopeful songs that characterize Steven Curtis Chapman’s newest record. I have not even spoken of the depth of such songs as “God Is It True (Trust Me),” “Jesus Will Meet Me There,” or the magnificent “Spring Is Coming.”

This is easily the saddest album I have ever listened to by a Christian artist. But, it gives language to those thoughts and heartaches that defy description. For anyone who has experienced loss—and that is all of us—Chapman offers not just one song touching on the topic, but an entire album. Both Jesus and Chapman’s little girl seemed to have reached out of heaven and touched each track, leaving their fingerprints.

Beauty Will Rise is a gorgeous tapestry—woven together with threads of indescribable pain, unspeakable joy, deep sorrow, unfathomable anticipation, profound loss, and stunning hope. This is Steven Curtis Chapman’s finest work. There is no returning to the shallow end for the artist. Like hymnist Horatio Spafford penning “It Is Well With My Soul” upon hearing that his four daughters had perished and only his wife had survived, Chapman has looked into the chasm of death, looked up into Heaven’s Face and still declared, “You are faithful.” Beauty Will Rise is a modern day “It Is Well.”