Reflections

I've been somewhat nostalgic today.  Thinking a lot about the past year, the people God has put in my life, the experiences I've had, the places I've been.  Which led me to reflect on how all of that came to be...

A year ago around this time...

I was sitting at home as I watched all of my friends return to school at Williams, or start new chapters in their lives on their own, or continue in other pursuits. 

I sat, and I wondered, "What am I doing?"

During the spring semester, I decided I would not be returning to Williams the next fall. God had made it clear (as clear as I needed him to) that he had something else in mind for me. After visiting Haiti for a week in 2011, my heart couldn't let go. What I experienced that week had changed me and shown me a new world and I could not go back to business as usual. I felt led to be ministering overseas, or to go through some training to prepare for it, or to have a season of preparation at home to wait on God and seek what His plan really was for me. That was in the spring. And then it was summer. I returned to Haiti for another amazing 5 weeks, but I knew it was temporary, and I came back home. And then it got to be late August. Then all my friends were going back to school. Then everyone seemed to have a plan except me. 

I felt led to be doing mission work. But I had no offers. I had no prospects. I hadn't the slightest idea what would happen, but I still knew that God had spoken. And I knew that I wasn't supposed to be in school. It didn't make sense. It wasn't logical. I was losing my scholarship. I was taking a gamble. But it was right. And I knew it. 

And I trusted. Not perfectly. I doubted too. I questioned myself. I wondered what in the world would make me qualified to do this. But the best of me truly believed that God was for me, that he was leading me, and that he would come through and reward my faith (however weak it was).

One week, I was clueless.

The next, I got this email.

And just like that, I had a volunteer position at a ministry in Haiti and would be leaving in a little over two weeks.

That is how fast God can work. 

Except, you know, He was working all along.  Before the thought ever crossed my mind. Before any of the circumstances that caused me to question the direction of my life ever came into being.  Before I ever visited Haiti.  Before I ever decided, "Why not take a break from school and make myself available to do this now?"

There was a traceable chain of events, and dreams, and conversations, and prayers that led me to the place of surrender. Before any of those, God was preparing me. He knew. I just couldn't see it yet.

And here's the thing: The answer that came...it looked nothing like what I expected it to. It wasn't always glorious. It was never easy. There were times I wondered if God had really led me to that place, and if so, why?

I still don't have the answer to all of those questions. I still can't see what his purpose was in the things that have happened in the past year. 

Even when revelation comes, it comes in part.

And the truth is, my now is the same as it was a year ago. There are many more things in my life that I don't understand than things I do. Once again, I am in a place of confusion. I see His hand in different events, redirecting me and rescuing me and restoring me, yet I still can't see the end result. But I'm not shaken. My God is faithful. He works all things together for good, and he reveals the good in HIS time.

It's a beautiful thing to walk in the knowledge that you aren't in control. It's a beautiful thing to admit that you don't know the plan. It's a beautiful thing to wait, and to trust, and to know the one who holds your future.

Don't spend all your time waiting on the "answer." Chances are, it won't be what you expect it to be anyway. The journey is beautiful. Walking with the Lord in faith is beautiful, and the daily trusting and simply being with him is what it's really about. 

"Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory." 1 Peter 1:8  

Embracing Weakness

Confession time: Sometimes living in Haiti has a way of really bringing out my weaknesses.  

Sometimes it's feeling helpless when I see a child who is in so much pain and I can't do anything to make them better.  Sometimes it's being sick and exhausted and wanting to be at home where it's comfortable.  Sometimes it's when my patience is wearing thin and I feel like I'm going to have a nervous breakdown if I see one more ant.

At first, it overwhelmed me.  When you go into mission work, your expectations are not that God is sending you overseas to be confronted head-on with ALL your weaknesses. Yet, that is exactly what has been happening.

God has really been having to teach me to be content in my weakness.  Seeing poverty, sickness, and devastation has a way of making us feel helpless and powerless.  We wish with all our might that we could change the circumstances, and in some cases we can, but the truth is that the overwhelming majority of problems are outside our control.  That is where God comes in.  The reason I'm beginning to learn to be grateful for my own weaknesses is because when I recognize my inability, I can focus on God's ability.

Jesus Calling's devotion the other day was right on target for where I've been the past few months:

"I have taken you along a path that has highlighted your need for Me; placing you in situations where your strengths were irrelevant and your weaknesses were glaringly evident."

And everyone said, "AMEN."  We've probably all experienced this at some point in our lives. Well that point for me, more than any other time in my life so far, is right now. 

The thing is, the path that highlights our need for God is not always pleasant for our flesh.  It can crush our confidence and make us feel powerless.  It can cause us pain and make us uncomfortable.  But it's in this place where we are reminded of the value of Christ in our lives, and our hunger and desperation for Him is renewed.  When we realize our great weakness, we become dependent on God's amazing grace.  And when we are dependent on God's grace instead of our own strength and resources, that is when God is able to work his power within us.

Even Paul experienced this in his life and ministry.  In 2 Corinthians, chapter 12, he writes this:

So to keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited.  Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this that it should leave me.

But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."  Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.  For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities.  For when I am weak, then I am strong.

Paul was a powerful missionary who performed signs and wonders, yet even he suffered weaknesses.  Not only did he admit that he experienced weakness, but he boasted of the things that showed those weaknesses.  The thorn that God gave Paul was to keep him from becoming conceited.  God revealed Paul's weakness to keep him humble.  Paul realized that his weaknesses, and not the great revelations that he received from God, would be the platform for demonstrating the Lord's power and grace.

Because of this, he learned to be content with weakness, insults, hardships, persecution, and calamities.  By God's grace, we can too.

We can be content with weaknesses because God uses people who are weak in the eyes of the world. 

When confronted with weakness, whether it be something inside ourselves or an outside circumstance that makes us seem weak, most of us question our value to God and to his purposes.  We wonder how God can truly use us for his glory despite our frailty or in the midst of the hardships we are facing.  Thank God that he doesn't disqualify us because of weakness.  Throughout history, God has used weak, broken people just like us to accomplish his purposes.  When he uses people who the world sees as weak to do great things, He gets the glory for it.  When God uses us, even though we are weak and powerless, it is clear to us and to others that is is God who should be praised, and not ourselves.  When we recognize that we are insufficient and that God is not, it causes us to proclaim what the writer of Psalm 115 proclaimed: 

"Not to us, O Lord, not to us, but to your name give glory, for the sake of your steadfast love and your faithfulness!"

1 Corinthians 1:27 says, "But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong..."

When I read those words, "God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong," I'm reminded of how much we can learn from the Haitian people.

The world would consider most Haitians to be weak.  The latest research has shown that Haiti is currently the poorest country in the world.  Many of them are experiencing intense starvation, disease, and a lack of education.  And while their physical states may indeed portray weakness, their spiritual states show great strength. 

A verse that always comes to mind when I consider the Haitian people is James 2:5.  

"Listen, my beloved brothers, has not God chosen those who are poor in the world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom, which he has promised to those who love him?"

Because of their physical poverty, they are chosen to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom.  Not heirs of a rich great uncle who passes down money & material things, but heirs of the kingdom.  Heirs of a real king.  And their inheritance is something invaluable.  Their inheritance is something lasting.  It is of more importance and more worth than anything we can achieve in this world.

They depend on God as their sustainer and provider,  and they are storing up treasure in heaven as they love and trust Him above all things.

He uses the weak in the world to shame the strong.  All I know is I'm okay with not being the strong one in that situation.  I don't want to be strong if it means sacrificing my inheritance in Jesus.  I don't want to be strong if it means God can't use me because my pride and selfish desires get in the way.  I don't want to be so afraid to show my weakness, that I miss every opportunity for God to show his strength through me. 

Maybe we should stop praying this: "Lord, bless me. Lord, make me stronger." 

Join me, & start praying this: "Lord, break me.  Lord, make me weak and be strong in me."

Warning: Written while under the influence (of exhaustion, a fever, and love songs)

This blog is an uncharacteristic one for me.  Actually, it's downright uncomfortable for me to post it.  Yet, here I am, for reasons I am completely unaware of except just a weird, sudden impulse, writing awkwardly about the mushy, weird, confusing, "you're the best thing that ever happened to me" kind of love.

(Don't worry, there are no current prospects--Haitian or otherwise--that I've been hiding from you.)

I just don't talk about this stuff a lot, especially on social media, so bear with me.

So tonight, I'm sick and exhausted and couldn't bring myself to do anything besides listen to my iPod. Until, I was listening to a song about love and it made me start thinking, and now an hour later I'm still awake, just starting to write this post reflecting those thoughts.

If you know me very well, you probably know that most of the time, I'm perfectly content with being single.  In fact, I feel like I'd be okay if I never got married.  Well, I know I would, because if it's not God's will for me, He will have something even more rewarding and fulfilling.  Yet, on nights like tonight, I find myself clinging to the faint hope that one day God will bring that guy my way.  

I've never been very big on dating.  I haven't had many long or serious relationships.  And especially now, I'm to the point in my life where I really don't want to date anymore.  If you're anything like me, you've heard people say that before and thought, "How can you know who you want to marry if you don't date?"  I feel like I understand a little better now.

I had a guy say these words to me in the past, "I want the next girl I date to be the one I marry." I was okay with that and didn't question it because he made me believe that I could be that girl.  That was not the case.

Since then, and even before then (I won't give him more credit than he deserves), I have been somewhat of a skeptic about all things regarding romantic relationships.  I hate that, because not only does it affect my view of men and of my own future, but it even affects how I view others' relationships, even those of my family and friends.

It's an issue and area of my life that God is still working on and I still wait and pray for complete freedom from the bitterness and doubt that are the products of past experiences.   

I know that the Father gives good and perfect gifts to his children, and I am able to trust and believe that promise in almost every area of my life except the area of relationships. Whether or not He sees fit in the future to send a good gift to me in the form of a husband, I have no idea.

However, I feel assured that if that man comes my way eventually, I will know it is him because of the way that he loves me with the pure, unconditional kind of love that only comes from God.  And I believe that God will use that love to change my skeptical heart into a believing one.

Every Captive Free

It's funny (not the laughing kind of funny, though) that I always get the most inspiration to blog at night when I am so tired I don't think I can stay awake for another five minutes. Wednesday night was one of those nights.  I tried to save what I could of my inspiration to a hidden reserve in my brain set aside specifically for blog posts before I lapsed into unconsciousness.  This is the result:

It had been a fairly normal Wednesday.

School with the kids.

Loving on babies and kids downstairs in the ICU.

Helping make homemade pizza for our weekly meetings where we have a meal and a devotion time.

Devouring said pizza and enjoying every bite.

Listening and being encouraged as Allison read from Ephesians and reminded us of the importance of putting on the armor of God.

NEOPOLITAN ICE CREAM. Yes.

Coming back and squishing packets of medika mamba. **Fun fact for the day: Medika mamba is nutrient-rich peanut butter that many of the malnourished kids here eat to help them start gaining weight. They eat a certain amount daily, depending on their weight, and the packets of peanut butter have to be squished so it is softer. Then, it is measured out and put into separate containers for the next day. There are thirty-something kids here on medika mamba right now.**

Going downstairs again to visit the kids for a few minutes before bed, in hopes of going to sleep earlier and getting some much-needed rest.

Those hopes were dashed when I sat down and put a little boy named Stanley in my lap.  This little boy came to Real Hope for Haiti not too long ago, maybe a week or two.  He was one of the skinniest and sickest-looking kids I've seen. He looked like he didn't stand a chance, to put it bluntly. (This link has a picture of him when he first came in, along with all the other kids admitted recently. He is the last one on the list.)  New admits this past week at RHFH 

Everything was just fine until I tried to lay Stanley down on the cot and go back upstairs. He started crying as soon as I set his head down (as kids often do).  Instead of picking him back up or just leaving him to cry, I leaned over beside him and started singing in his ear. I have a few go-to songs that I sing to the kids most often. They're not lullabies. They're not cutesy kids songs. They're not in Creole. They are just worship songs that I love and that give me hope while hopefully comforting the kids as well.  One of those songs is "Every Captive Free" by Matt Gilman. By the time I got to this song, I had already sung two others, Stanley was whimpering barely and looking sleepy, and I was just thinking "I can probably get away with sneaking upstairs in a few minutes."  Until I started paying attention to what I was singing. 

For the Spirit of the Lord God is upon Me

Because He has anointed Me to preach good news

To take away all of your sorrow and your mourning

To give the oil of joy and a garment of praise

For I have seen you in your captivity

And I will open up every prison door

So arise and shine for your light has come

And My glory is rising upon you

And I am dancing over you

And I am singing over you songs of deliverance

And I will set every captive free

And you will be with Me

And I have carried the weight of all your iniquity

I've carried the burden of all your shame 

And I've called you by name, I've called you by name

And you are Mine

Somewhere in the middle of the song, I started no longer singing a song out of habit, but looking at Stanley and singing those words with full assurance that what I was saying was true. It broke me.

By the time Stanley's tears had dried, my own were flowing steadily. I had to stop singing because I was so overwhelmed with God's presence that I could not stop crying. I sat there, looking down at Stanley, him looking up at me, and more than ever before, I felt the weight of God's promise to set every captive free.

All over the world, there are captives.  Right now, there are 27 million people on the earth who are victims of slavery and human trafficking.  The number of slaves on earth is even greater if you consider those held by chains not seen with the eye.

Hunger

Sin

Sickness

Poverty

Pain

Depression

Anger

Fear

Where does the list end? I haven't figured it out. But I do know that there will come a day when all captivity will end, once and for all, for those who love God and believe in His son whom He sent. I can't fathom it with my limited human mind, but I believe it with all my heart.

Isaiah 61:1

"The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor; he has sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound..."

As I sang those words over the fragile little boy in front of me, I felt a longing for the reality when those words will completely and forever be fulfilled.

"I will set every captive free, and you will be with Me."

That is God's promise.  I am resting on that promise, and that is my hope. 

Stanley

A Day in the Life...

The ins and outs and ups and downs of my day today: 

--Actually, first, let me just tell you that last night was my first time to sleep in this house all by myself. 
Random things that frightened me:

• My phone ringing once and then stopping, not showing a missed call. 
• The freezer door creaking open at an obscure hour. (Still don't know who that was.)
• A lightning bug. (Yeah yeah, I know. But they're different here! They stay lit for like 30 seconds at a time and fly around at approximately 45 mph. I had just turned the light off to try and go to sleep when I see a small speck of light darting around the room! I might have thought it was an orb... and then I might have slept with the closet light on until 3:30 AM when I woke up again and assumed the lightning bug was gone...)

NOW, on to today's adventures.

Woke up to the sun shining in through my window and not my alarm clock. (That was nice.)

Read some Job & did some journal writing on the living room couch. (Also nice.)

Decided to break down some medicine boxes for the clinic. (Consists of opening a box and taking medicine out of their individual boxes and condensing it to save room.) 

Break for lunch. Beans and rice with hot dogs on top. 

Back to breaking up boxes. Two girls I don't know come sit down on the couch with me and start helping without saying a word. I ask them their names (Ericia & Jenika) and about all the other questions I know how to ask in Creole, which isn't really very many.

We continue working on the boxes. Before long, there are no longer 3 of us working on the boxes, but TWELVE people in this small living room opening boxes and sorting medicine. Eleven of those said people are Haitians, between the ages of infant baby from the ICU (She wasn't actually helping sort) and 16 years old, and they are all speaking Creole to each other very loudly. Guess who was the awkward, silent, but appreciative white girl of the group...:)

We work like this for a couple of hours in a chaotic, loud, messy, yet functional assembly line of sorts and I try to ignore the dozens of times that I hear the word "Blan" in their conversation. 

***Blan means white, and if you are a white person in Haiti, you will probably be called this about 5 times more often than your actual name. 

(They don't always mean it in a negative way, but nonetheless, if your skin were purple, would you want to be called "Purple" in place of your name? ...Okay, maybe, but this is different!)

After this, I go downstairs and visit with the ICU kids and nannies for a few minutes. The nannies want to do my hair. (Do you remember my recent blog post when I mentioned my hair doesn't look good in braids?) So of course I say yes, but they can do it tomorrow. No, I won't post a picture.

Next, I walk home with Allison to their new house to see it for the first time. Very pretty. (Almost as impressive as the spaghetti with Italian sausage that we had for dinner.) Helped wash some dishes, which was actually really enjoyable because it reminded me of home.

Watched Ironman (my first time seeing it) with the family, and then got a ride home on their family motorcycle. Thanks again, Garrett family! :)

Came in and sat downstairs with the ICU kids again for a while. My little buddy Malange can't get rid of this fever and it worries me. Please pray for her and the other sick kids.

You know it's been a long day when you're sitting in the ICU holding a sleeping kid and smell something strange, but can't decide if it's buttered popcorn or another dirty diaper...(Still not sure what it was, but I never laid eyes or hands on any popcorn. Can't say the same about the latter...)

And on that note...

Time for bed.

Rojidner.

Today marks 4 weeks that I have been living at Real Hope for Haiti. Yesterday, another baby died. That makes seven. 7 kids who I have seen, and touched, and prayed for, and hoped that they would make it. 

Numbers are unfeeling though. They don't affect our hearts. Names do. Names and faces.

I want to introduce you to a name and a face who was very precious to me.

Rojidner

This is Rojidner.  He was brought to Real Hope for Haiti about a week before I got here. 2 years old, 18 pounds with an awful fungal infection and a mild case of kwashiorkor.  He wasn't a particularly happy little boy.  In fact, I never saw him smile once.  The only times I ever heard him speak he was asking for water.  But somehow, sometime during the few weeks I spent with him, this little boy captured my heart. 

One Sunday, I brought him upstairs from the ICU to my room.  We sat on my bed and I tried my hardest to get him to look and feel a little less miserable.  I pulled out a toy car that I'd packed and he held it for a second, but then proceeded to throw it on the floor.  Despite my best efforts, the kid wouldn't smile or even show the least bit of interest in anything I tried to entertain him with. Finally, I just gave up and we sat there together.  Before long, he stood up, walked over in front of me and put his arms around my neck and hung on.  I knew that couldn't be too comfortable for him because he was still standing up, so I tried turning him around and sitting him in my lap. That lasted about 2 seconds before he turned back around and again put his arms around my neck, head on my shoulder, and stood there. By this time, I was laughing. He was persistent, but after several tries, I eventually got him to cuddle up in my lap where he could sit down and fall asleep. And fall asleep he did.

The next Sunday was a little different. He had been sick since Wednesday. He was put on IV fluids and oxygen and was running a high fever. His heart was racing and he struggled to breathe, taking short quick breaths. When I would go downstairs and sit with him, I always put his feet in my lap. He needed to stay laying down so his IV would continue dripping, even though he fought this and wanted to be held. His hands had to be in socks and pinned to his diaper so that he wouldn't rip out his IV or his oxygen tube. One day, soon after he first had his hands pinned like this, I sat down on his cot and put his feet in my lap. Soon, his feet found their way to my neck and my face. At first, I thought that he was pushing me away. Being visibly in a lot of pain, it didn't seem unreasonable that he might not want to be touched or bothered. But after I moved and he started crying more, I realized that he wasn't pushing me away, he was trying to hold on to me. I immediately pictured the Sunday before when he hadn't been content to just sit on the bed next to me or in my lap; he had needed to be able to hold on to me himself and make sure I was still there. That Sunday he felt comforted by having his arms around my neck; this Sunday, without the luxury of having his hands free, his comfort was found by keeping his feet touching my face. I didn't mind one bit. 

Last Monday morning, around 1 o'clock in the afternoon, Rojidner died.  I was sad and glad and relieved and disappointed all at once.  Of course, selfishly, I wanted him to live.  I still wish he was here with me.  But truthfully, he is more alive now in heaven than he ever was or ever could have been on this earth.  He will never be miserable again.  He will never feel pain again.  He will never have to go hungry again, for food or for love.  He is now and will always be held in the loving arms of his true and perfect Father, and he will have joy forevermore.

I can't show you a picture of Rojidner this week, but I can guarantee that if I could, he would look happier than he ever has.  I am grateful that I was able to touch his life in a small way and be touched by his in return. I never imagined that loving and losing would be this hard, but it is worth it. Rojidner was worthy of love, and it was worth every minute spent, every tear cried, and every time my heart broke to show him that. 

I put my heart on the line in a small way in loving these children and getting attached, knowing that some of them will die. Others will go home with their parents, and I won't see them again. 

Jesus put his heart on the line in a big way. Every single day, he is rejected by those whom he loves so much that he was willing to die for them.  Every single day, his heart breaks for the people who are lost, not just to death, but to eternal death and separation from him. If anyone knows about loving and losing, it is Jesus. He risked it all and spent everything He had to show us that He calls us worthy of love.  I will embrace loving and losing if it means becoming more like Him. 

Philippians 3:10 "That I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death.."

Confession: I'm not really Haitian...

Sometimes I like to pretend that I'm a Haitian. But I'm not. 

And here's why:

I'm not really Haitian because...I don't like rice and beans. I have no appetite for them...or, to be completely honest...much of the Haitian food at all. I've eaten more cookies in the past few days than substantial food. 

I'm not really Haitian because...I have running water. And a real toilet.

I'm not really Haitian because...if I was, I would like Rihanna and Justin Bieber much more than I actually do.

I'm not really Haitian because...I have white skin. Embarrassing and regrettably white, especially when I'm surrounded by so many beautiful brown people. (You'd think a person should get more tan in a tropical climate, but I just get whiter.)

I'm not really Haitian because...My hair doesn't look good in braids. Trust me, I've tried. Multiple times. Proof:

I'm not really Haitian because...The rats still scare me. 

I'm not really Haitian because...there is NO way I could carry one of those 5-gallon buckets full of water on my head without dropping it or breaking my neck.

I'm not really Haitian because...I don't speak Creole. And what little I do know probably comes out tainted by an Arkansas accent.

I'm not really Haitian because...I'm kind of fascinated by the pig(s) that live right outside my bedroom window.

I'm not really Haitian because...Tampico is still gross to me.

I'm not really Haitian because...if I was REALLY Haitian, I would take a bath in the river in broad daylight just like everyone else.

I'm not really Haitian because...I'm not used to views like this:

I'm not really Haitian because...when I hear the word "taxi," I think about a yellow car in New York and not a small motorcycle with 4 people piled on it.  

I'm not really Haitian because...when I see a goat, I still think, "Aww, cute!" instead of "Mmm, dinner." (Even though they are delicious.)

I'm not really Haitian because...I've never lived through a 7.0 magnitude earthquake.

I'm not really Haitian because...I have never known what it feels like to be hungry or to go to sleep at night not knowing whether I will have anything to eat the next day.

I'm not really Haitian because...I don't know how to cook anything over a charcoal fire.

I'm not really Haitian because...I can't imagine what it would be like to have to walk 9 hours to a clinic in order to get help for my child who is dying of malnutrition. 

I'm not really Haitian because...I'm not mentally, physically, or emotionally as strong as these ladies who take care of sick kids 12 hours a day, and then go home and care for their own families as well.

I'm not really Haitian because...I was raised having everything I could ever need; never having to wonder if my water was safe to drink, if I would be able to afford to go to the 3rd grade, or if my parents would ever be so poor they might be forced to abandon me.

Basically, I'm not really Haitian because I could never deal with what the average Haitian deals with and be as strong as they are. But it some sense of the word, I am Haitian.

I am Haitian in the sense that I love this country and this people like they were my own.

I am Haitian in the sense that I see every man and woman and boy and girl here as if they were my brothers and sisters, because really and truly, they are.

I am Haitian in the sense that I have so much respect for these people, so much love for them that I would leave my own family, friends, and home to move here and try to fit into this culture that is so foreign from my own, so different and scary and sad, but yet so beautiful and exciting and full of hope.

I am so blessed to be able to say that I have had the privilege of knowing some of these incredible people who call themselves Haitian, but more than that, they call themselves children of God. GOD, who is the God of Haiti and America and Israel and every other nation, tribe, and tongue that has ever existed. I may not be able to say that I am Haitian, but because of God's love, I can call these people who have so inspired, challenged, and changed me, family.

"But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who has called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy."   1 Peter 2:9-10