Since I write our families’ monthly newsletter, I love reading Christmas letters in December.  Here’s my favorite for 2009:

The Zserdin’s list of things broken, destroyed, or used in a
manner not originally intended. 2009 Edition

1 Pair of eyebrows – Zach shaved his off in April.

1 Pan of cooked potatoes- Found later in the boys’ dresser drawer.

1 Road bike – Mike had a wreck during a race. He wants to make sure you know it wasn’t his fault.

1 Front porch post – Tracy backed into it coming out of the garage.

1 Large recycle dumpster – Zach used it as a clubhouse during a music recital after excusing himself for a bathroom break.
1 Office rug – Lit on fire during a birthday party/tissue paper debacle.
Bedtime – We wrote a note giving bedtime instructions to the sitter. They counterfeit the original note changing bedtime from 8pm to 10pm (This one is my favorite).
1 Old, beloved friend – Walking into the playroom one day, this is how I (Tracy) found my Grover doll. I asked Jake what the story was. He looked at me sideways and chuckled a malicious reply: “He, he, he…the death chamber.”

Best Quotes

Zach: “Mom, can I mow the lawn? The tractor and I need some alone time.”

Jake: “Mom, is today the day I can clean your tub?” Tracy: “Yes Jake, today is that day.”

While listening to a song on the radio that said, “He rose, say it’s Jesus” Zach asked, “Did that song just say: stinky cheese breath?”

Mike asked Jakey why he likes GoFrett, his favorite cartoon character, so much. He said, “Because he is such a great actor.”

Recently, Mike had a barista tell him that he could be William Shatner’s son. Earlier in the year another one told him he looks like Kevin Spacey. Apparently he spends too
much time at Starbucks. Or, they are milking him for better tips. Mike was uninspired by William Shatner, and didn’t know who Kevin Spacey was. They didn’t help their cause.

God obviously knew what he was doing when he put our crazy bunch together.
Praying that God will meet you right where you are this holiday season. He isn’t afraid.

Love,
Mike, Tracy, Zach & Jake

A few weeks ago, we met with our doctor at National Jewish for the first time. She is a kind, thorough, German woman who clearly knows her stuff. As we dove deeper into Joseph’s medical history, she looked up at me at one point and very gently but seriously said, “I think that your son has probably been in pain his whole life.” It felt like a blow to the gut, but in the midst of moving in and caring for our family, I haven’t truly processed what she said. I tucked her words away, but today, like a tidal wave, they rose to the surface.

After reading the story of Susannah Baker, another mom with a child struggling with health issues, I’ve let myself go there for the first time…Remembering the early years with Joseph when he was often inconsolable…Remembering how hard it was to figure out what was going on and clearly being so far off from what was really the issue. Remembering the unkind words of well-meaning but also clueless people who encouraged us to spank him and to let him “cry it out”. Remembering the nights I slept close to make sure that he was breathing well…Remembering the moments of utter frustration when nothing that I did would sooth him or meet his needs…Remembering the sweet respites when he was pain and medicine free, and we saw bigger glimpses of who he really is…Remembering the dashed hope when we had to return to higher doses of medication that wasn’t even doing what he needed…

I clearly haven’t made much progress in my processing. The truth is that this post is my maiden voyage. But I am inspired by the words that I read last night by Sue Monk Kidd

“When we share our inner stories, we allow others to enter our lives and partake of our deepest truths. We discover that we share the same joys and tragedies, the same ambiguities and struggles…For who has not come upon a season when the water of the soul is disturbed? And does not God meet each of us as we brave the swirling dark in search of wholeness. God, the sublime storyteller, calls us into the passion of telling our tale. But creating personal spiritual stories is an act of soul-making that does not happen automatically. It comes only as we risk stepping into the chaos of our lives and naming the angels that inhabit the shadows. It comes as we give expression to our struggle for individual meaning, identity, and truth, as we wrestle with angels, both light and dark, and celebrate the places where God stirs. In the crucible of story we become artists of meaning. There we meet God most surely.”

Thank you Susanna Baker for sharing your story. I have no idea who you are or where you and Lillian live, but I thank God for you tonight.

We took our eldest daughter, Lillian, to the doctor today.  Lillian is only 3 ½ years old, yet in her short, three years of life, she has been in her fair share of doctors’ offices.  Thankfully, she has never had any sort of life-threatening illness, but the Lord seems to use medical ailments in her life to draw her to Himself and to continually remind my husband and me that Lillian does not belong to us, but to Him. 
 
So today’s visit was no different.  In one way, it was routine.  I knew what to pack in the medium-sized canvas bag I always take to Lillian’s doctor visits.  It had its fair share of pictures for her to color, books for us to read, and snacks for us to share during the invariable wait that lay ahead.  And, as always, Lillian was a champ.  She was polite and cooperative with the doctor, made each of the nurses smile, and left with a lollipop in one hand and her daddy’s hand in the other.
 
Yet the diagnosis was different.  In the past, we have received news about Lillian concerning her lungs, her heart, and her brain.  Today the diagnosis concerned her hearing.  Off and on, for the past several months, my husband and I have wondered if Lillian’s hearing was impaired or if it was only a chronic case of three-year-old “selective hearing.”  But the doctor confirmed that Lillian has fluid build-up in her inner-ear, which causes her to hear the world around her as if two fingers were stuffed into each side of her head.  She doesn’t hear soft sounds, and at times it is difficult for her to hear loud sounds.  And what we, in the past, have thought was just an ability unique to her personality to focus well on the task at hand could very well be a by-product of her inability to hear.  She has learned to shut off the world without and retreat within, to a place she can hear.
 
Thankfully, Lillian’s hearing problem is easily fixed.  With minor surgery, the doctor will drain the fluid, place tubes in her ears, and remove her adenoids (part of the lymph node system), and Lillian’s hearing should be as good as new in no time.
 
Yet as I pulled home into the driveway, unloaded the canvas bag, and tucked Lillian into her bed for her nap, I felt an ache tugging at the edges of my thankfulness.  I remembered the countless times she asked me, “Mommy, please turn the music up,” and my saying, “No, Lillian, you can hear the music; it is loud enough.” I recalled my frustration at having to repeat directions four or five times, the last time with impatience in my tone and frustration in my eyes.  And I could hear myself calling her name for the tenth time when her back was turned to me, inevitably ending in me saying in a rising tone, “Lillian!  LISTEN to me!” when all the time she could not hear what I was saying. 
 
I remembered all of these things, and the ache in my heart made its way to tears in my eyes as I reflected upon all the ways my Heavenly Father has responded to the deafness in my heart through the years.  He never shows frustration and impatience when I do not listen. He does not shout at me, or turn away from me, or give up on me.  He stands at the door and gently knocks until I can hear. And when the hurt or pain of life or the sorrow and consequences of sin have deafened my ears to His Voice, He calls my name in love until I respond once again.
 
My only response was, and is, “Thank You.  Thank You for being the Parent who always loves, always protects, always hopes, always forgives, always patiently understands.  Forgive me for all of the ways I have hurt Lillian and You because I have not been willing to follow Your example.”
 
So I am thankful. Thankful for doctors who are willing to use their God-given knowledge and skills to heal.  Thankful for easy access to the Medical Center and for the vast array of doctors and specialists there.  I am thankful for a child who sweetly responds to all of the ways God has chosen to draw her to Himself.  I am thankful for my husband who never misses an appointment and never fails to first  fall to his knees, and then to comfort, console, and yet be an immovable rock all at the same time.  And I am thankful for my God who loves my child enough to place His mark and His Hand upon her.  For my God who is faithful to remind us that Lillian is His, not ours.  And for my God who patiently and lovingly parents me, even when, and especially when, I cannot hear.
 

“Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name! Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy, who satisfies you with good so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.”  Psalm 103:1-5

 

 

 

As you might know, we have been wrestling with health issues with Joseph since he was about 22 months old, battling his asthma very consistently. We learned last spring that he wasn’t growing as he should be, and he failed each of six Growth Hormone Stimulation tests. We know that it’s not Cystic Fibrosis, allergies, or a brain tumor as these were ruled out. However, asthma that is not well controlled and/or steroid use are potential causes for growth problems. We also have some strong genetic factors related to his asthma and growth issues that seem to be playing a role. 

 

 

 

This summer Joseph grew 3 cm while we were serving in Colorado and had a huge respite from his typical asthma issues. While this could be totally coincidental, our doctor feels that there is a strong possibility that his asthma is exacerbated by humidity, and we’ve spent most of his life in very humid places (France, Florida, Texas, and Mexico). Consequently, our Pediatric Pulmonologist recommended that we spend the winter and spring in Colorado to see if he does as well in Colorado during the cold, winter months as he did in the summer. 

 

 

 

We received permission from our boss, Ken Cochrum, Vice President of Campus Ministries for CCC, to spend the winter in Denver. Almost immediately, things fell into place. We found a wonderful Christian family to rent our furnished home in Orlando for six months.  We were given an appointment almost immediately at National Jewish Hospital in Denver (one of, if not the top respiratory hospitals in the world). We have dear friends who direct a Classical Conversations group in Denver so the boys will continue their schooling with little interruption. God continued to open doors to lead us to spend six months in Colorado to get to the bottom of Joseph’s health issues.  Our prayer is that we can reduce his steroid use, increase his lung function, prevent lung scarring, and hopefully prevent the use of Growth Hormone Therapy unless absolutely necessary. 

 

 

 

I will be continuing my ministry from Denver. Our team is hosting our annual meeting with the main campus ministry leaders from around the world in Orlando this year, and I will return to Orlando the first week of December to participate. I will return most months for our team strategy meetings, and I can easily do my international travel out of DIA. The great thing about my role is that I can truly do my job from anywhere. I look forward to continuing to engage with ministry leaders globally as we seek to help grow student led movements everywhere…especially virtually!Thank you for your prayers and support of us during this journey. We thank God for your partnership with our family in the wonderful ministry that God has called us to. If you have any questions, please feel free to email or call. 

 

Blessings, Rich (and Kourtney)

I am cleaning out my closets in anticipation of another family enjoying our home this winter.  I must admit that I have been tempted to go Ebay, Consignment Store, Garage Sale crazy.  These are precious things that we’ve taken good care of, and although we don’t need them anymore, making some extra money right now wouldn’t be a bad idea.  But the thought keeps creeping in to give it away–to the friend who still can wear the Ann Taylor suit that I can’t fit into right now–to Rachel soon to have her first son–to my fellow homeschooler who might need some new curriculum that we aren’t using.  Please don’t hear me as saying that it’s wrong to do Ebay, Consignment Stores, or Garage Sales. Quite frankly, if I had a little more discretionary time to sort right now, I might list a few things myself.  But I just read an article from one of my favorite authors, and I’ve decided that since I don’t have a lot of discretionary time or cash right now, I am going to live like a millionaire with discretionary giving.  Want to join me?  Let me know if you need something.  It just might be in a little box in my garage waiting for you.

Recessionary spending

October 21, 2009
 

Things are tight. They are at my house, and I suspect they might be at some of yours, too. And when we’re not sure of our resources, we tend to draw back – to pull in. We hoard instead of spending. We ask ourselves, “Do I really need that now?’ or “Do I really need that, ever?” These are good questions and worth asking whether we are in a recession or not. But a voice in my head keeps calling out for spending, and not the kind you might imagine.

 

I’m hearing a line I know one of my parents must have said more than once in my growing up years, because it stuck: It doesn’t cost you anything to be kind. That’s the kind of recessionary spending I could get behind recession or no - and lately, it’s a kind of spending that has been modeled to me.

 

A week or so ago I sat in a Starbucks with a colleague who wanted to show me something on her laptop, but couldn’t get her wi-fi to cooperate. A fellow sitting nearby saw us struggling to connect and called over a suggestion. As we continued to try, he got up, walked over to our table, and tried it himself. Still no deal. Then he said “just a minute” and logged off his own computer so we could log on – as him! Come on now. No one does that. Turns out he was was a regional Starbucks operations manager, sitting in the store doing some paperwork. Turns out he was kind, and spent some of that kindness on us.

On a recent flight from Portland, Oregon, to Houston (3 legs, nearly 7 hours in the air and a full day of sitting, taking off and landing), I had accidently gone on a mini-fast. It never occurred to me that after a cup of oatmeal at 6 a.m. I wouldn’t be eating anything but peanuts until nearly 6 p.m. if I didn’t ”pack a lunch.” I couldn’t leave the plane, so I couldn’t eat. (Now you know what airline I was on!) On the next-to-last leg, my seatmate (who learned I’d been flying all day) reached into his briefcase as we were preparing to land at his destination, and pulled out two packages of cookies. “Here,” he said as he winked and handed them to me. “Dinner’s on me.” A little more kindness.

Yesterday I received a gift in my mailbox that took my breath away with its generosity. The postmark said it was sent from Alabama, but I’m pretty sure it originated in heaven. It was definitely recessionary spending, and I was on the slack-jawed receiving end of someone else’s kindness.

I’m seeing a pattern. Are you?

It doesn’t cost you anything to be kind. That’s what my parents taught me. And these three kind spenders have taught me a lesson, too. My new plan is to spend my way out of this recession in as many ways as I can, one crazy act of love at a time. Join me?

You’re here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We’re going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don’t think I’m going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I’m putting you on a light stand. Now that I’ve put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand – shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you’ll prompt people to open up with God, this generous Father in heaven. (Matthew 5:15-16, The Message.)

Thanks to Heather in Hendrickville for letting me blatantly pirate most of her good Friday musings…

 

In between the sips of Starbucks and soul talk

listening to the boys flinging mud with their friends

making PB&Js

and again when Joseph’s fell

I kept on thinking…

How thankful I am for this life.

It’s messy

full

imperfect

even a little chaotic at times

but I’m thankful.

Grateful really

for my friend in the kitchen

laughing

talking

helping

loving each other.

Had it not been for another Good Friday long ago, I wouldn’t have these friends

this family

these people

in my life

because had it not been for that Friday

I would be mean

unloving

unlovable

uninterested in matters of the heart

too consumed with myself to enter into life with others.

In between scrubbing off mud again and again

comforting a child

watching Sharky emerge from a long nap

I kept on thinking…

About my boys

My husband boy

and my little boys

all the boys that I love.

It’s odd how one moment your hands can be wiping mud from a bucket

and then the next moment your mind can fly off

across oceans and across the street

and look into the faces of the people who mean the most to you.

One minute you’re swirling peanut butter

The next minute your heart can feel so much love

that you think it might pop

Thankful.

Grateful really

for my family

my home

my Rich

my three sons

my rescued dog

my soul friends.

Had it not been for another Good Friday long ago, I wouldn’t have these boys to love

this family

these people

in my life

because had it not been for that Friday

I wouldn’t be busily making sandwiches and searching for one more juice box

imagining my sons with smiles on their faces Easter morning

and mud in their hair today.

I’d be busy being foolish

destroying

my home

and everyone in it.

Had it not been for another good Friday long ago, I would be lost

clamoring

left

to sit in hopelessness

my mounds of sin

piles

really

aching for more meaning from this life

knowing there was more

living as a slave

to myself.

I’d rather think of anything

than who I’d be apart from that Friday.

In between the mud and the PB&J and the soul talk

I kept on thinking

what a good Friday it is…

what a Good Friday it was.