A TRIBUTE TO MRS. NIGHTINGALE
by Lygia Lovelace

 

While we lived in Portugal, a very special guest came to stay in our home for a week. Her name was Mrs. Nightingale. She was an elderly lady with a servant’s heart and a joyful spirit. She had been crippled years before in an accident and walked slowly, with a cane. However, in spite of the challenges she faced, she was a lady on a mission. God had called her to travel to many foreign countries, handing out tracts to people in their own languages, and spreading the joy of Jesus to everyone she met. She certainly spread the joy of Jesus to us during that week!

When she wasn’t hobbling through the streets, passing out tracts, Mrs. Nightingale would perch joyfully on our couch and laugh at the antics of four silly little Lovelace’s. She contributed to the children’s play by allowing them to hobble with her cane, and allowing little Chase to crawl all over her lap, grab her glasses, and run his fat little fingers through her hair.

How she ministered to us! I could write a whole book on the wisdom that Mrs. Nightingale imparted to us those few days, not just through her words, but by her prayers and her willing heart.

Upon leaving, she gave to each of my tearful children a sheet of old stickers--not just any old stickers, but precious reminders of Mrs. Nightingale.

Several years have passed since we have seen our dear friend. Some time ago, Bracken held up his few remaining stickers and whispered through his tears, “Mom, this is all I have left of Mrs. Nightingale.”

Memories sprang forth in my heart, as I thought back to that precious week so long ago. What I have left of Mrs. Nightingale can never be used up.

Do you know, sweet lady, how you ministered to a young mother in Portugal, weary and homesick, spiritually dried up and joyless? You have become a part of me that will never be used up.

Father, help me to be an encourager to others, an oasis in the midst of so many dry lands. Thank you, Father, for creating Mrs. Nightingale.

Thank you, Mrs. Nightingale. We love you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I HAVE TO TELL HER!
by Lygia Lovelace

 

Many years ago, when Grandpa died, Grandma felt all alone. So, she came to live with my family! What a joy! For many years we have enjoyed her presence, her experience, her wisdom. And now, living so far away from her, I miss her. Several years ago, when she reached her 90’s, she began to forget many things. But she never forgot about me. She prayed for me, and kept up with me. When Ken and I felt God calling us to the mission field, she encouraged us and supported us wholeheartedly. The last time I saw her, she told me that she probably would not see me again on this earth, or if she did, she may not remember me. “But God will always be with you, as will my love.” she said. That day, I took with me the special gift of her wedding ring, which I wear on my finger as a precious token of her love and support.

Now Grandma is 96 years old. Little by little, her body is weakening and her memory is almost completely gone. But she has never forgotten her Creator, the One for Whom she has lived all of her life. Several months ago, she said to my mother, “Look there, out that window. Do you see? Do you see those people dressed in white, standing out in the yard? What a beautiful sight!”

“No, I don’t see anything. They must be angels, Mom, waiting to take you with them to Heaven.”

And Grandma smiled and nodded. What a wonderful new life she has to look forward to!

Several days ago, I was walking with a Portuguese friend. We are very close friends, yet she does not yet believe in Jesus. While we were walking, she was telling me about her father, who died last year.

“At the end,” she was saying, “it was terrible! My father was always weeping and screaming! At times, he would shout, ‘NO! THE DARKNESS! LET ME STAY!’ ’’ Then, with a wave of her hand, she added, “I’m sure it was just because of his medication...”

She kept on talking, but I couldn't think of anything else except her father. My heart felt like it was ripping apart because of the desperation of this poor man in his final hours. What a contrast between him and Grandma, standing at death’s door!

The truth is that all people, without Jesus, will experience this desperation in the moment they die, including my dear friend who told me this story. How can I just stand by and let her die that way...without hope, without peace, without anything?

I want a better death for her. And I know the Someone who can give her a better life.

I have to tell her...over and over again.

 

O Death, where is your sting?
O Hades, where is your victory?
The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is
the law.

But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory
through our Lord Jesus Christ!
I Corinthians 15:55-56

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DOES GOD HEAR US WHEN WE PRAY?
by Lygia Lovelace

 

We love apartment life! We live on the 14th floor and it is always an adventure! I remember the first time that our clothes fell from the clothesline, or when we saw the sailboats from our window moving across the river on a beautiful day. I remember the first time that the electricity went out and the elevators wouldn’t work! And, I remember when the children began asking for a special pet...a parakeet. You know this kind of bird...nervous...dirty... generally disagreeable. We were not enthusiastic about a parakeet. We tried to change their minds, “Fish are cuter, don’t you think? Fish, or maybe a little turtle?” “A parakeet!” they insisted. Even our 3 year old insisted that he wanted a parakeet, though he wasn’t sure what one was. We continued to say no. Little did we know that our oldest son, Bracken, began secretly praying for a parakeet.

It was 10:00 p.m., at least a month after our conversation about the parakeet. All the children were sleeping. We were enjoying the sounds of the night: the wind passing through the windows, people coming and going in the elevator, little snoring sounds coming from the children. Suddenly, we heard a strange noise! What could it be!? We walked into the kitchen and couldn’t believe our eyes! A parakeet?! Where did it come from? We thought that evidently it had fallen out of a neighbor’s window and desperately flown into ours. Ken asked around immediately, but no one was missing a parakeet! Hmmm...we became a little suspicious.

The next morning, when the troops were awake, we had a family meeting. “Well now,” I began, “WHO has been praying for a parakeet?”

After a moment of silence, Bracken confessed. “Me. But why?”

Upon seeing the new arrival, the children were surprised. Actually, they were shocked, especially Bracken! Since no one claimed the parakeet, what could we do? His name is Lego. And in spite of being nervous, dirty, and generally disagreeable, he is now a prominent member of the Lovelace family.

I think that many times, we are like Bracken. We ask God for something and when we receive it, we are shocked! But it is written many times in the Bible that God hears and answers our prayers. Remember Hannah? She prayed and prayed for a child. There is no doubt that God heard her. And Paul. He prayed that God would free him from some problem that he had. There is, again, no doubt that God heard. In these two different prayers, God answered in different ways, according to what was best for each person praying. Nevertheless, God heard and responded. God IS interested in our requests. And He wants the best for us. I don’t know what you are asking God for, but He knows, and He WILL respond. Don’t be shocked!

I have to finish the parakeet story. The night after Lego flew in, Ken began closing all the windows.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m closing all the windows in case someone prays for a pony!”

“A PONY?!!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

KNOW WHY I’M SO HAPPY?
by Lygia Lovelace

 

She saw her for the first time in the street. Something about her touched her heart. For some reason, she felt a kind of responsibility for Carlotta. I don’t know why. There was nothing special about Carlotta. She wore a dress that was too small. Her hair was dirty and looked as if it had never been brushed. It seemed that Carlotta had never washed! And evidently, at one time or another, she had received some sort of damage to her eye—one didn’t open as widely as the other.

But she didn’t seem to mind. With a heart full of love, she gathered Carlotta in her arms and showed her the way home. Without hesitating, she washed Carlotta and gave her a new dress; she brushed her hair and gave her a clean place to rest—her own bed! Carlotta went with her to every meal. She never stopped loving her, not even when her leg fell off! She showed a kind of love that isn’t normal for a 5-year old. And Carlotta, in spite of being the oldest and most ragged of all of her dolls (of course, she lived in the street a long time!), she had the place of high distinction in the center of my daughter’s bed.

“Mommy, you know why Carlotta is so happy?” Brooklyn asked me the other day.

"Why, sweetie?”

“Because finally, she’s home.”

Know why I’m so happy? Because there was a time when I wasn’t worth anything. I was dirty inside. My soul was damaged, and my heart wouldn’t open. I didn’t have any hope.

But He didn’t seem to mind. For some reason, He felt a kind of responsibility for me. I don’t know why but...with a heart full of love, He gathered me in His arms and showed me the way home. Without hesitating, He washed me and gave me a new life. He gave me a clean place to rest in green pastures and prepared a banquet for me in the presence of my enemies. And I, in spite of being the most ragged of all His children, have His goodness and mercy.....for the rest of my life.

Know why I’m so happy? Because I will live in His house forever.

I’m home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A TRIBUTE TO GIORGIANA GHERMAN
by Lygia Lovelace

“Mommy, am I a diamond in your heart?”

You were born in the mountains. Perhaps you were a child of consequence to the family who bore you, yet to us, you will always be a dream come true.

For two years you lived out a nightmare as you were passed from home to home, and then ultimately to an orphanage.

I’m sorry for that. Perhaps you felt that no one cherised you…no one saw you as the precious gift that you are. But that isn’t true.

Even before you were born, God gave us a dream that was you. He wouldn’t allow us to rest until He presented you to us.

And you are our dream come true.

“Mommy, am I a diamond in your heart?”

The first time our eyes met, you held no recognition of me. You couldn’t understand me. To you, I was a stranger.

You tolerated our hugs and kisses, but with a faint look of distrust, and with sadness. You smiled as we dressed you in sweet little girl clothes. Your eyes brightened as your hair began to grow and when you began wearing hair bows, you made sure everyone noticed. You looked on in amazement as we gave you all you could eat and all you could drink, without reserve. You gradually learned to giggle at our silliness.

You slowly began to say our strange words, in an attempt to communicate and “belong”. You loved to learn and began to ask about everything!

You learned to give hugs, and to prefer us over others.

You loved to dress up and pretend. You loved to dance to pretty music. You loved your sister’s little toy diamond necklace and wore it always.

One day, I watched you as you were holding that little plastic necklace. You were turning it over and over between your chubby fingers, looking with awe at the colors as they shone in the light. As I was watching you, I was thinking about how important that necklace was to you, that it was dear to you, something of value, something significant. Then, you looked up at me. With hope in your big brown eyes, you asked,

“Mommy…

am I a diamond in your heart?”

More than that, sweet Grayson.

You are my heart.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A TRIBUTE TO JONAH AUSTIN LOVELACE
by Lygia Lovelace

It seems that with each pregnancy, I become a little bigger, a little slower, and a little more uncomfortable! This was how I was feeling at 9 months of carrying Jonah. I couldn’t WAIT to see my new little blessing, to hold my baby, to have my own newborn again!

THIS baby will have the perfect life! I will give him a PERFECT environment. We are no longer on the foreign mission field, so I don’t have to worry about medical care, he will not be attacked by anyone, and he will surely learn to speak English quickly. Because I have had lots of other children, I know what I am doing, and I will do a GREAT job of raising him. These were my thoughts as I prepared to see him for the very first time.

Labor was a little rough, but just as the evening rush hour was beginning in downtown Dallas, little Jonah peeped into the world with barely a cry. I was able to hold him for just a few moments of absolute bliss. The newborn nurse seemed a little too attentive to my baby, but I began to relax as I was wheeled to a hospital room and put to bed.

“Will my baby be coming in a moment?” I asked.

“After he’s examined.”

Although my body was screaming for sleep--due to exhaustion and medication, I refused to give in. I couldn’t wait to hold Jonah again, in private. I wanted to count his toes, to watch him sleep, to hold his little hand, to hear his little breathing noises.

However, although I didn’t know it, breathing was a problem for my little one. He never came to my room because he was quickly admitted to the Neo-Natal Intensive Care Unit of the hospital.

When I was finally told, I was devastated.

The pediatrician came to my room, telling us that Jonah, MY baby, the one I could barely remember holding, had about a 50/50 chance of survival. Then, he prayed with us.

No, we couldn’t see him just now, they said—maybe tomorrow.

I cried all through the prayer and into the night. Early the next morning, another pediatrician and a lung specialist visited my room. Yes, Jonah was in respiratory distress, and yes, his outcome was uncertain. He would have to stay in the NICU for awhile. Yes, I was allowed to see him, but certainly not allowed to touch him, as moving him could put Jonah further in distress. Holding my baby was out of the question.

If ever you have been a new mother, and if ever you have had a baby with a problem, you know how many tears I cried over the next few days. As I walked into the NICU and saw so many other parents bent over little beds with tiny, premature newborns inside, attached to tubes and wires, I wanted to scream. Why was this happening to ME? We had never had a baby with a major health problem at birth, and I struggled to believe it all. Jonah was the biggest baby in the NICU, so completely developed and beautiful.

After several days, reality began to set in. The IV’s in Jonah’s arms and hands had overloaded so many veins, that he was covered with bruises. Finally the nurses attached the IV to his head, and continued feeding him through a tube in his nose. I could tell that he was losing weight, and didn’t look so pink and healthy as he did before. I no longer felt indignant when I stood with so many other parents in the NICU. I felt as hopeless as many of them looked. So hopeless. And tired. I couldn’t make my baby better.

Since I was advised not to touch Jonah, and holding him was “out of the question”, I began singing to him. Leaning over his little bed and singing into his little oxygen cubicle, I made up the words meant only for his ears,

“Sweet little Jonah boy,

Mommy’s little angel.”

I sang to him over and over until my back could no longer bend, and until my voice wouldn’t sing another note. If indeed he had to go on to heaven, I wanted him to know me some day, by my song.

Sunday morning was the hardest. I knew I would have to leave Jonah at the hospital and go home. True, I had 5 more angels at home, anxious to see Mommy, but I felt as though my heart were being ripped out and left in the NICU in that little bed with all the tubes and wires. Rivers of tears were flowing as I lay in the hospital bed, thinking about the day. Would I live through it? My husband had already called before worship was to begin at our church. The people, our church family, were all praying, he said, but I just wouldn’t be comforted. How could I leave my baby?

Then God spoke. He didn’t speak to me in an earthquake or in my rushing tidal wave of tears, but in the very quiet moments of the morning, in that hospital bed.

“Have you forgotten? This is My baby. Jonah was My gift to you and Ken. You cannot control his destiny.”

How ashamed I felt! Of course this was His baby. Of course I couldn’t make Jonah better, and at this time, I couldn’t even comfort him through his sickness. Only the Father could do that.

I lay prostrate, begging His forgiveness for my selfishness and despair.

“Jonah is Yours! If You choose life on earth for him, I’ll be so thankful. But if You choose death on earth for Jonah, I accept that, Father. I know he’ll just be going home. And I will not be bitter. And I will never stop following You. You are my Father, and I love You.”

What freedom, what peace! And even though I dreaded going to the NICU to tell Jonah good-bye, even though I dreaded leaving a part of me behind, I was ready-- ready to face that frail little baby with all the tubes and needles, ready to accept reality, ready to claim victory through Christ, no matter what happened.

The moment the NICU opened late Sunday morning, I was at the door. I had finally made an attempt to dress myself, to comb my hair, to continue life as God would have it. But when I walked toward the place where Jonah’s bed had been, I stopped. The bed was gone! There was another bed, a normal newborn bed in its place with another baby there. This baby had no tubes or wires; this baby had on a little diaper and a nightshirt. He was lying on his tummy, sleeping peacefully, with his little bottom pushed up into the air. I looked at the card on the bed: “BOY LOVELACE”. In disbelief, I stared at the thin, but pink baby lying there. A nurse came up behind me.

“Look how quickly Jonah has healed!! The hole in his lung fixed itself and he’s breathing on his own! He no longer needs medicine or anything! We think he might be ready to learn to drink from a bottle…I’ll go get one. Would you like to hold your baby?”

I held my Father’s baby in my arms for what felt like the first time, and I sobbed. I knew I had been given a precious gift. God had chosen life on earth for Jonah, and He was entrusting Ken and me to be Jonah’s caregivers!

After a week’s stay, Jonah came home.

Now I look at my 7-year-old and I marvel at how healthy he is. He’s learning to read and has already accepted Christ into his heart. ! My heart is full of joy.

Sometimes when we rock together, I tell Jonah of his Father in heaven, the One to whom he really belongs. I tell him of that blessed day when I surrendered him completely to God. And then I sing,

“Sweet little Jonah boy,

Mommy’s little angel,”

Jonah just giggles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

JAKE’S STORY
(A Tribute to Jake Isaac Lovelace)
by Lygia Lovelace

 

“BRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNGGG”, sounded the telephone one sunny afternoon in Florida, ringing in the good news!

“Congratulations! It’s a boy!”

What music to our ears! Ken and I had already adopted one baby, and were on the waiting list to adopt one more. Then, with two biological children and two adopted children, we thought our family might be perfectly complete.

The social worker continued, “The baby is 2 days old. His mother is in prison and won’t want to keep the baby. Would you be willing to go ahead and take him, at “foster care status,” until we can get the adoption underway? These proceedings are very normal, in fact, we’ve NEVER had a mother from prison to keep her baby.

Then she hesitated, “There is something you should know. We suspect that the mother took drugs during the early part of this pregnancy, though she won’t admit it. There is a possibility that this baby could have some problems due to drugs.”

After praying and rejoicing, we agreed to accept little Jake. What a beautiful baby! He was 3 days old when he entered our home and our hearts.

Jake did have a drug problem. The tremors came often, and he had several heart murmurs and even some kidney problems. But when a health problem arose, we told our church family, and they prayed sincerely for Jake. Time after time, God healed him, and he gradually grew into a happy, healthy baby.

When Jake was four months old, I discovered that I was pregnant. We questioned the Lord’s timing, but we quickly became excited over this new arrival.

In the meantime, Jake absolutely delighted us. He giggled constantly. He brightened up and seemed to explode with excitement when we would pick him up in the church nursery after worship. Our older children loved playing chase with him, cuddling him, and kissing him. A hint of worry began to grow inside of me when the social worker seemed to avoid our questions about getting the adoption papers signed. I pushed those worries aside each time as I breathed prayers of petition for my son.

One night I awoke suddenly from a deep, pregnancy-induced sleep, and heard a still small voice. It was the voice of a loving Father, telling a child the news that He knew would break her heart.

“Jake will be leaving. You won’t be keeping him. It’s as it should be.”

I sat straight up in bed and my heart felt too heavy to continue beating. I glanced around the room, looked at my sleeping husband, and listened again to the still, small voice speaking to my heart.

“Jake will be leaving. He is not here to stay.”

I felt a hint of despair, but knew my Father was there, holding me up.

“Then help me to endure it….help Jake….go with him, Father.”

I promptly went back to sleep, knowing the Father had spoken, and was preparing me for what was to come.

“BRRRRRRNNNNNGGGGGGG”

When the telephone rang a few days later, the day didn’t seem as sunny as before. Although I wanted to scream at the social worker and take Jake and run, I knew that God was preparing a path for Jake to follow, and Jake needed my joy and blessing.

One of the hardest things I’ve ever done is to pack my baby’s suitcase and get him ready to leave my life, his home and security. It has taken me years to write his story, and I am barely able to push my fingers across the keys. My heart has that same heaviness, and my arms long to hold him again. I packed his baby book in the suitcase, knowing that some day Jake would wonder about his first year of life. I gave him all of the pictures I could find—pictures of the joy and love he gave us, pictures of my other children smothering him with hugs and kisses, pictures of his first bath, his first smiles, his first giggles. I gave him samples of his first little fuzzy haircut. I wrote him a letter and thanked him for the joy he brought to us. I tried to tell him how much we would miss our precious little son. Then I wrote and told him about the Son, the One who died for him, perhaps the only One who loves him more than I do. I told him how to have eternal life, and how God can carry him through all of his struggles. I tucked the letter behind one of his baby pictures, hidden from view. Then I prayed and placed my communication with him in God’s hands.

I’ll never forget the day the social worker came to get Jake. My son chose this day to call me “Mama” for the first time. Since he was only 13 months old, there was no explanation I could offer Jake to prepare him for his new life. I could only smile behind my tears as I waved goodbye to him. Our eyes met and he gave me one last smile from the car window. It was the last time I saw my son.

Only God could give me a new son just hours after my other son was taken away. I went into the hospital that evening and soon after, Chase Ethan was born into our lives and into our hearts.

Jake is my prayer child. I am privileged to pray for him in a way that only a mother can. He will always be my son, and I know that his Father will always care for him. I have never been sorry for the year God gave us with Jake. My prayer is that in some way that first year of his life will go with him, as do my prayers.

I love you, Jake. I pray daily for your salvation, that God’s purpose will be carried out in your life. You will always be…

my baby.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A SON FOR A SON
Chase’s Story
by Lygia Lovelace

PSALM 124, vss 2-5
If the Lord had not been on our side—
when men attacked us,
when their anger flared against us,
they would have swallowed us alive;
the flood would have engulfed us,
the torrent would have swept over us,
the raging waters
would have swept us away…

 

Chapter 1

Chase is a gift from God: a son for a son. The day of his birth, we lost a child of our heart, a child who was in our home for 13 months, whom we were desperately trying to adopt. When Jake was 4 months old, I became pregnant with Chase. Only God could know that on the very day Jake sorrowfully left our home, I would go into the hospital to deliver little Chase.

Shortly after Chase was born, we crated our belongings and prepared to move ourselves and our then four children to Portugal, where God was calling us to be missionaries. Chase traveled through more than 10 different states and across the Atlantic Ocean to a different continent even before he was 3 months old!

Upon arriving in Lisbon, Portugal, everything seemed strange to us. We were anxious to learn the language and begin fulfilling God’s calling upon our lives. Since I would have to be in language school throughout the first year of our missionary career, we knew that Chase would need someone to care for him each weekday morning, and we began to pray seriously for a Christian nanny.

“A CHRISTIAN?” marveled our missions coordinator. “That will have to be an act of God…we’ve never been able to find a nanny who is a Christian.”

Yet, on the very first day of our life in Lisbon, Maria do Ceu Ornelas knocked on our apartment door and walked into our lives! We couldn’t understand her, nor could she understand us, but we communicated beautifully through smiles, gestures, and a translator! She swept little Chase from my arms and began “coo-ing” and “oo-ing” and “ahh-ing” in a way that only the Portuguese can. We became immediate friends. Shortly after her employment began did we realize that her name is literally translated “Mary from heaven.” She had a name and a mission only God could provide!

So, with Tia (“auntie”) Ceu, Chase thrived. Tia Ceu spoke Portuguese to him in the mornings, and we spoke English to him in the afternoons. Tia Ceu helped Chase to pray over his breakfast toast in Portuguese, while we prayed in English over his “pumpkin and garlic soup” lunch in the afternoons. Our other children were attending Portuguese schools, and they were learning the beautiful Portuguese language quickly and easily, so there was a happy mixture of both languages in our home. Hearing two languages didn’t seem strange to Chase, and he had ready smiles and hugs and words in both languages for anyone who noticed him.

During our first year in Portugal, I began to notice God’s powerful hand of protection on Chase’s life. It seemed that accidents followed little Chase. When he was one year old, he pulled a 25 pound transformer down onto his head. After a few moments, a few tears, and a bump on his head, he walked away unharmed. One night I went in to check on Chase and he was hot with fever. The thermometer read 107. I called our pediatrician in a panic. He came to our house, examined Chase, confirmed the high fever, and helped us to get the fever down. Again, Chase remained unharmed. Another day, upon returning to our apartment after language school, Tia Ceu met us at the door in tears, saying Chase had fallen off of the couch and scratched his face on the floor rug. His face appeared to be one big scab, but not big enough to cover up his ornery, two-year-old grin!

One morning, while I was doing laundry, Chase was playing happily around my feet. I leaned out of our 14th-story window to hang our clothes on the clothesline when I looked across the building at our bedroom window. Chase, in a matter of minutes, had crawled to the other side of our apartment, somehow opened the bedroom window, and was HANGING OUT THE WINDOW, waving at me.

I wanted to scream, to show horror on my face, and to throw myself out the window so that I would be there to catch him if he fell! But I knew that if I did scream and look afraid, Chase would become startled and possibly lose his balance. I waved back and slowly left the laundry room. Running full speed ahead, and with a prayer on my lips, I ran through the apartment to the bedroom, and grabbed his tiny feet to pull him back through the window.

And then it happened that one day the children and I went across the street from our apartment building to a big open area in front of the Banco do Espirito Santo, a prominent bank in the area. The children always enjoyed going there, where they could skate, ride their bikes, or bounce a ball. Two and one-half year old Chase had a riding car that he loved to sit on and push with his little legs. Very close to this open area, there was another apartment complex that housed missionaries from one of America’s cults. On this particular day, vanloads of new Mormon missionaries were arriving from the airport to begin their “ministry” in Portugal. As I watched the vans arriving and unloading the many young, misguided men, I began praying fervently against them and their particular mission. I felt indignant that they would come to God’s beloved Portugal to deceive the people and try to hide the truth of the Gospel.

It was during my prayer that I noticed a young man walking by on the other side of the open area, next to my children. His particular gait and expression caught my attention, and in my spirit I knew that Satan had control of his life. The man seemed particularly interested in my children, and was staring strangely at them. I breathed a prayer for protection and watched the man carefully. He lingered a moment; and then, gazing at me, he wandered out of sight.

After a few moments, I turned my attention back to the unloading activities and the many vans. I continued my prayer against the efforts of this particular cult as Chase rode his car back and forth in front of me. Suddenly the man I had noticed earlier appeared again, not two steps away from Chase and me. I stopped breathing as I watched him reach for Chase, as if to pat him on the head. He was mumbling something, and smiling unnaturally. Without warning, he grabbed the back of the ride-on car on which Chase was sitting and began running at full speed toward the busy street, where all the vans were unloading. I jumped up and ran after them. Chase was screaming, and the man was laughing hysterically. The car was going so fast that Chase lost his hold on the tiny toy steering wheel and fell to the pavement, right before the man would have pushed the little car under the wheels of a moving car. The man reached down and grabbed Chase by his coat, began shaking him, and turned to throw him out into the traffic. To my surprise and relief, I reached Chase just in time, and jerked him out of the man’s hands.

“Give me my baby!” I screamed at him in Portuguese. As I turned to walk away from him, he followed me, shouting and waving his arms and laughing hysterically. He was so close to me that I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. Chase was still screaming and the other children were walking closely beside me, not knowing what to do.

“O.K.,” I said as calmly as I could, “I want you guys to run across the parking lot back to the park bench where Mama was sitting. Gather your things and wait for me there.”

Sensing the uncertainty and danger, they obeyed immediately. I held Chase tightly and prayed, continuing to walk slowly across the parking lot. The man was screaming at me—threatening me. I could see people watching from the curbs, but why wasn’t anyone helping us?

Face him. Face the man.

This command kept running through my head. I knew that any minute he would grab me, and I was expecting him to begin hitting me.

You can do this. Face the man.

It took all the courage I had to face him. But I did it. I yelled to him in Portuguese,

“What is it you want from us?”

He stopped his ravings, and our eyes met. I gazed steadily into his eyes, refusing to look away.

He looked afraid, screamed, and ran away.

I walked to the park bench and sat down, with shaky legs and a crying baby. While I sat comforting Chase, I thought to myself, ‘I can’t believe he ran away!’

I heard that same voice speaking inside of me, “Didn’t you just pray for protection a few minutes ago? What can’t you believe?”

Relief flooded my heart, my soul, every part of me as I praised my Heavenly Father. It wasn’t me the man saw. It wasn’t MY face.

Greater is He that is in me, than He that is in the world (1 John 4:4). Praise be to the Almighty God, who frightens the demons and protects his little children from harm!

I will never forget God and His protection that day. I am forever indebted to Him for saving my son. It is a joyful indebtedness. He has my undying love. He has my life.

vss 6-7
Praise be to the Lord,
who has not let us be torn by their teeth.
We have escaped like a bird
out of the fowler’s snare;
the snare has been broken,
and we have escaped.
our help is in the name of the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

UNNATURAL COURAGE
by Lygia Lovelace

I could tell that the cat was very annoyed. The children were rescuing something from her jaws and she was not going to give it up without a fight.

“What is it?” I asked at the doorway.

“Look, Mom, it’s a lizard, and he’s bleeding. It’s a good thing we rescued him from Esther. In another minute, he would’ve been dead…or eaten!””

Not really a lizard fan, I bent down with only half-hearted sympathy to inspect the little victim my son was holding. The poor thing was indeed bleeding, and gasping for air, apparently from fright. But it was the hair between the lizard’s jaws that caught my attention: the cat’s hair!

In spite of my lack of love for furtive, and darting little creatures, I had to admire this one. This lizard had fought back with unnatural courage! Not knowing that my children would rescue it from an untimely death, the creature had fought bravely for its own life! Never mind that the predator was 100 times the size of the lizard itself! No one told the lizard of the incredible odds or that fighting back would be futile.

It was unnatural courage. As the children and I marveled at the cat’s hair dangling from the lizard’s mouth, we watched as my son released it once again to freedom.

So many times when the predator, the prince of this world, pursues me, I run. Marriage struggles, family pressures, sick babies and ministry heartaches can send me into a panic, and cause me to lose all courage. After all, the odds are incredible; fighting back seems futile.

Give me unnatural courage, Father. Please, let it come naturally, as I seek to face what pursues me.

And as my children were indeed there for that fortunate lizard, You will be there—standing in the gap for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A TRIBUTE TO PRACHARAK TOAKERD
Caleb Ton Lovelace
by Lygia Lovelace

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lovelace, but the Thai government has refused your request for adoption of the little boy that has been assigned to you.”

With disbelief, I struggled for something to say. What?! The little boy whose picture we have all over the house, whose name we’d already chosen…he won’t be ours?

The social worker continued, “However, we do have another option. While the boy that was assigned to you will go to another family, we have another baby, a baby girl that is available for adoption. Will you accept her?”

Moments of silence passed between us.

“Excuse me, may I call you back?” I asked.

After hanging up the phone, I burst into tears. What an emotional roller coaster this adoption business was! One minute I felt like shouting for joy, while the next minute I was crying for a child I had lost—one I had never even gotten to hold or tickle or sing lullabies to. What was I supposed to do--reject a child and then accept another one in a matter of seconds?

Prayerfully, I gave Tannon to the Lord. Where would he go? Who would be his Mommy? I slowly let go of a dream that was to be someone else’s.

Later, Ken and I called the social worker. Yes, we would accept the baby girl. God must have a plan.

“It really is a miracle,” the social worker told us, “that we have another baby just waiting for a home. Otherwise, you would have had to begin the assignment process all over again.”

As the months passed, I continued to pray for Tannon as we began receiving photos and information on our new baby. What a sweetheart! As I read the reports, I kept gazing at the picture of this new little baby, with a head full of thick black hair, all dressed in pink. The reports were not always accurate, so sometimes our new little blessing was a “she” and sometimes a “he”!

In March, 1995, we traveled to Bangkok, Thailand. We marveled, and then laughed at our cute little baby, walking toward us. Was it a boy or a girl?

Dear Caleb,

I remember watching you coming toward us for the very first time. Did God ever create a cuter toddler? You were just learning to walk, and you had on little shoes with squeakers in them.

You loved chasing the bubbles we blew at you. When we gave you a little toy truck, you made “car noises!” You laughed when we turned on the TV in our hotel room. You screamed when we tried to give you a bath, and then WE laughed as you gave US a bath! You cowered in terror every time we rode the elevator, and hungrily reached for bugs you would find on the floor!

After visiting the village where you had lived, we began to understand you a little better. You loved drinking the milk out of young coconuts. You lived in a stilt hut close to the river, and played in the mud and sand, eating all the creatures you discovered while digging.

The people in your village wished you well on your new life with an American family. One by one they came and tied a string upon your wrist, saying a blessing to you as they gazed at you for the last time. Caleb, I still have those strings. It is my prayer that you have indeed been blessed in our family. We love you so much and want the best possible life for you.

We have tried to teach you everything we know about God and life. And you’ve taught us a lot about life…about unconditional love…about following God’s plan, even when it hurts so much that we sometimes wonder if we will survive the sorrow…about pursuing love and joy in the midst of pain and separation. We wouldn’t un-do our journey with you. You are our son, forever. No matter what.

Now as I see you growing into a young man, I marvel at how He brought us together, you and me--two completely different people, who lived on opposite sides of the world. You lived inside of me, even before God created you. You were a dream come true. Of all the other parents in the world, you were given to us, for awhile. But ultimately I know you belong to Him. And He is the greatest Parent.

Thank you, Father, for Pracharak Toakerd. Thank you for my Caleb Ton. He is yours. Please take good care of him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BUT I’M ALREADY GROWED
by Lygia Lovelace

 

Does mealtime ever become wartime at your house? Aren’t there some days when the kitchen table becomes the battlefield, little green vegetables become the enemy, and your child the fearless warrior? How can a child be starving and five minutes later, after having seen “what’s for supper”, not want to eat?

Usually, we can persuade our little ones to eat. With magnificent victory tales of how vegetables cause little soldiers to grow strong, they will become inspired and eat…all for the purpose of becoming big and strong.

But on one such night, one little warrior would not be persuaded. After a few half-hearted bites, he sat up rebelliously tall and said, “Look, Mom, I’m alREADY growed!”

Dear Father, how many times do I buckle under the trials and temptations you send my way? I’ve read all the victory tales in the Bible, and how joyous it is to share in Your sufferings. But time and time again, when you want to strengthen me with the “vegetables,” the difficult times in life, I stiffen up and insist,

“I’m alREADY growed.”

Forgive me, Father. Help me to be always teachable, always ravenous for Your strength. Your nourishment. Your sufferings.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO WORRIES
by Lygia Lovelace

 

Each morning as our family gathers around the coffee table to pray, we ask the Father for protection. In a world where our enemy seeks to destroy us, we have learned that when God stands before us, we are invincible, no matter what may come our way. Many times, my husband will literally ask God to place His shield of protection around us.

One afternoon I went looking for my son, who had been quiet for quite some time. Complete silence coming from the direction of a very active six-year-old can be quite frightening to a veteran mom! I found him intensely studying a tree outside, and at the same time, playing with something in his hand. As I approached him, I saw that what had grabbed his complete attention was a huge trail of ants coming down the tree, and that he was cradling several of those ants in his hands.

“Be careful! Those ants will bite you! You may watch them, but you mustn’t touch them!”

He looked at me calmly and smiled. “It’s ok, Mom,” he answered, “I’ve got my shield of protection on, remember?”

While I still insisted that he leave the ants alone, I marveled at his child-like faith: innocent, fearless, completely trusting.

Father, grant me a child-like faith. Allow me to approach my struggles, the trials I face day by day, with child-like courage and dependence on You, my Shield and Defender.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Josiah the Prince
A Tribute to Prince Jackson
by Lygia Lovelace

 

Who are you, Prince Josiah?

You were born in Liberia, in poverty--belly swollen with mal-nutrition. Your skin is as black as a summer night, with no moon…until

you smile!

You are beautiful!

We only met a few months ago. Your eyes held mistrust, and some sadness.

They still do at times.

We are getting to know you better, though, balancing your discipline with love. In many ways, you lived an animal’s life—scratching, foraging for food, caring nothing for cleanliness or relationship—looking out for yourself, your own survival.

We understand.

 

But who are you, Prince Josiah?

We didn’t expect you! You were a surprise, an extra, delivered along with your twin sisters…

“Can’t you take him, too?” the orphanage pleaded. “After all, he shares the same birthmother
with the girls. It would be good to keep them together. All they have are each other.”

With little hesitation, we accepted you, knowing that your bonding would be harder.

But it is our pleasure to have you as our son.

After all, you are a child of the King.

 

But who are you, Prince Josiah?

Your relationship with your twin sisters is intriguing. It’s almost as if their guardian angels assigned you to assist them. You share with them, you love them, you protect them, even over your own well-being. Though you are always hungry, you take time to pull food from your own mouth and give it to the girls.

You amaze us!

So who are you, Prince Josiah?

Though we didn’t expect you...

Though you don’t yet love or prefer us completely…

Though we know it won’t be easy…

…you are a wrapped package, presented to us by God, your Heavenly Father, created in

His image.

As time goes by…

… we know you will open up, little by little…

…and show us the gift that you are to us.

Who are you, Prince Josiah?

It doesn’t matter. We love you—and we are committed to you,

whoever you are.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE WRONG NEIGHBORHOOD
by Lygia Lovelace

 

Several years ago, after coming home from the foreign mission field, we began searching for a house here in Dallas. It was an overwhelming process! We found a house we liked, and put a bid on it. Bracken and Brooklyn were particularly excited about it. However, several days later, we discovered that our bid was totally rejected. We were a little sad, when Bracken reminded us,

          “You know, maybe God didn’t give us this house because it’s in the wrong neighborhood.”

Knowing that we had chosen the neighborhood carefully, I looked doubtfully at Bracken.

He continued, “Maybe THAT neighborhood was full of Christians. Maybe God wants us in a neighborhood where we can really minister and tell others about Jesus.”

From then on, we began re-directing our praying:

Father, we want the house that will most glorify You.
        Send us to the neighborhood that needs
        You the most. We will be proud to
        move in and represent You.

Here we are, send us…

It wasn’t long before we were moving into a different house—one of God’s choosing. We really had no idea about the neighborhood, but we liked the house.

Shortly after our “move-in”, we began knocking on doors, wanting to get to know our neighbors. Apparently, the word was already out that we were a Christian family—and that Ken was a pastor. Doors shut in our faces, almost as quickly as they opened.

A little discouraged, the children and I brightened one day when we saw a sign out in front of one neighbor’s yard: FREE KITTENS. Great! We could go in, look at the kittens, and become acquainted with our neighbors in this way! We eagerly went up to the front door and knocked.

When the lady answered, we smiled, and I said, “Do you have free kittens?”

The lady inspected all of us and looked at me over her glasses.

“Are you here to choose a kitten?” she asked me gruffly.

“Well, not exactly…” I responded, “…but we’d love to meet you and SEE the kittens.”

“YOU CAN’T SEE ‘EM UNLESS YOU WANT ONE!” the lady yelled, and she slammed the door in our faces.

As we were walking away, the children were discouraged.

“No one wants to meet us, Mom. That was rude! Why do we care about people like that?!”

We stopped right there on the sidewalk, and prayed that God would give us His kind of love for our neighbors—even the rude ones. We prayed that God would begin to literally OPEN some doors so that we could get to know our neighbors. We wanted so much for them to get to know Jesus.

This was the beginning of many prayers! For years we have prayed, asking God to show us how to be a witness to our neighbors. If we saw an ambulance in front of someone’s house, Ken would quickly go to the home and ask if he could pray with the family. If we saw a child outside, we would introduce ourselves and our children. We held Bible studies in our home. No neighbors came. We had garage sales. Few neighbors came. We even had parties in our front yard, inviting our neighbors. They stared—some even came over to see what was going on…but no one lingered.

Finally, after so many years of praying, God opened wide the neighbors’ doors, and they started coming! We held a Summer Bible School for kids in our own front yard, and invited the teens over to play basketball in our back yard. We sweated, we swatted mosquitoes, and we prayed. Every day brought more kids and teens! It was so exciting to tell these children about Jesus when they had never even heard about Him! During that week, we talked about the birth of Jesus…

“Do you know why we celebrate Christmas?” I asked.

No one knew…

“Do you know what gifts the wise men brought to Jesus?” I asked.

No one knew…someone guessed…diapers? A Bible?

“Do you know that God loves you so much that He sent Jesus to earth to die for you?”

Astounded, everyone stared. One girl responded, “I never knew…God loves me? But…why?”

We ended our week with Christ’s crucifixion, and His resurrection. We carried crosses, we wrapped each other as Jesus’ body was wrapped in the tomb. We burst out of those wrappings and cried “HE IS RISEN!” We celebrated Easter in the middle of August!

Now, ever since that week, it has been a joy to have our neighbor kids and teens in our home. On Wednesday nights, they begin coming, even an hour early, to hear stories from the Bible. I love to sit among them and listen to their reactions as Ken tells them truths from God’s Word. We have had the privilege of leading many of them to salvation in Christ, and now we are discipling them through God’s Word.

I remember a few weeks ago, Ken was telling them about Adam and Eve, and how Eve disobeyed, and ate the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

One neighbor kid, a new boy, stood up excitedly, “Wait! Wait! I know this story! She eats that poison apple, and falls into a deep sleep, then the prince comes…”

Another neighbor kid jumps up and yells, “Sit down, you fool! That’s a fairy tale! THIS is a story from the Bible!”

Though they are an irreverent bunch, they hold God’s Word as truth, and with reverence. They have taught me a lot—about the hopelessness of a life without Christ, and about how obvious and bright TRUTH is in a world of darkness.

Oh, how I love them! Oh, how I long for them to know and follow the Truth! Oh, God, let this be a new generation for You—breaking away from the darkness and ignorance that plagues our country. Let these kids someday raise families for You.

Just the other day, Ken walked out the front door to get something from the car. A man’s voice sounded from across the street,

“Hello, Pastor!” Ken raised his hand and smiled, in surprise, as he realized that one of the neighbor kid’s dads had actually spoken a kind word.

Then, at another time, and without warning, there was a knock at our door. We gulped as we saw the “kitten lady” standing out front. Ken answered the door while we all stood silently by.

She stammered around a minute, then she said, “We are putting up a nativity set in our yard for Christmas… could you tell us where to put the shepherds? Where does the Bible say that the animals stood? And the wise men?”

It’s a start, don’t you think?

We won’t stop praying for these parents, these adults of our neighborhood. Perhaps someday soon, they will come to Bible study with their children. Then they will hear of the Truth and Hope—the Savior that loves them so much. They will learn to read His Word for themselves.

Thank You Father, for saving us from that first house so many years ago—it was in the wrong neighborhood. Thank You for this house, this neighborhood, this calling.

Thank You for sending us.

Would you like to be involved with us in this ministry to our neighbors? We need your prayer support! Click here to request a list of names and prayer needs using our Contact Us form.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A TRIBUTE TO C. BRACKEN LOVELACE
Senior 2008

Dear Bracken:

It is, of course, impossible to put down on paper all of our thoughts and feelings about the past 18 years. But we want to communicate, if even in a small way, how much you mean to us.

You have been our “first” in so many ways! We dreamed of you long before God gave you to us--we knew there would be a “Christopher Bracken” before you even peeked into the world! We prayed for you, talked about what life would be like with you, and imagined what you might look like. We read pregnancy books, parenting books, went to childbirth classes, and even read out loud to you from God’s Word while you were in the womb! I (Mom) remember when I got to Lamentations--I worried whether or not you would be born a depressed child!

But through all of our “firsts” and all of our mistakes, you’ve made us proud. We beamed with “parental pride” when you played at your first piano recital, played your first violin concerto, sang your first solo, and wrote your first composition piece. We admired you when you learned to speak Portuguese faster than the rest of us. We’ve rejoiced at each birthday and cried over each of your disappointments. We marveled at how quickly you learned to read, and how well you did in school. We praised God at your salvation and will forever treasure your baptism in the moat at the Promise. We’ve prayed for you, day and night, and sometimes constantly, as you’ve tried your wings again and again from the nest. Sometimes you’ve fallen, but we have prayed that you have grown stronger with each fall. We already see signs of your soaring and strengthening as God prepares you to someday fly on your own and raise your own family in the Lord.

One portion of Scripture that we have always claimed for you is Psalm 1. Since you are our firstborn, and have borne the rewards and sometimes, misgivings, of that birth order, we thought Psalm 1 to be appropriate for you. It is still our prayer for you—and our charge on this special day of graduation and accomplishment:

Blessed is the man
who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked
or stand in the way of sinners
or sit in the seat of mockers.

But his delight is in the law of the Lord,
and on His law he meditates day and night.

He is like a tree planted by streams of water,
which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither
Whatever he does prospers.

Not so the wicked!
They are like chaff
that the wind blows away.

Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment,
nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.

For the Lord watches over the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked will perish.

Bracken, we look so forward to seeing what God will do with you and through you during your lifetime. You are so gifted and fit to be used in His Kingdom! You must know that it doesn’t matter to us whether you collect garbage, sell coffee, sing on stage, or become the CEO of a big corporation. What matters to us is that you bring glory to God on a daily basis--that you take the “road less traveled by” and choose to be that tree, planted by streams of water.

We love you!
Mom & Dad

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THORN
by Lygia Lovelace

 

The house next door lay empty for some time. I prayed almost daily that God would send a Christian family to live there—one we could relate to and spend quality time with . I envisioned a house full of lots of angelic children, a mom I could talk to and share Bible verses with…and that’s what I prayed for.

One day a moving van pulled up in front of the house. How exciting! Several angelic- looking children stepped out of the truck with their dad. My children ran out quickly to meet our new neighbors.

“It’s two boys and a girl, Mom! Come and meet them!” encouraged my daughter after she had introduced herself.

That’s when I first met Thorn. He was a fine-looking boy of about 10, with big brown eyes.

As Thorn’s dad introduced himself and his children, I looked around a little sadly for a mom. Though in the months to come, she would come in and out of their lives, there was no mom to be seen on that day.

As the weeks passed, we got to know Thorn better and better. He was determined to commit mischief throughout the neighborhood! He became infamous for knocking over trash cans, paint balling houses, and vandalizing yards. Though he’s been gone now for several years, we still remember Thorn fondly by the holes in our bushes, the fluorescent pink paint stains on our siding and one particularly memorable experience…

“Oh, no!” cried my son, “It’s raining! Our yard sale will be ruined!
We’ll have to pull all of the tables into the garage!”

Just then, a little old lady walked up to our yard to look at the things we were selling. A boyish hand, holding a water hose, appeared over the top of the fence next door and water began to pour down on top of our customer, drenching her hair-do and dress!

By the time Thorn was done, we were soaked, as were our customers, our tables, and our patience!

Day after day we had conflict with Thorn. Fights among kids would break out in our yard—with Thorn in the middle of it. Bad language flew frequently in our hearing, causing us to keep our children away from Thorn. The police even came to our door on occasion, looking for Thorn. He was basically, as one neighbor expressed to me, “a neighborhood nightmare”.

Because Thorn knew that he had done things against us, he avoided us. I couldn’t get him to even acknowledge me when he was walking along or riding by on his bike.

“What can we do, Lord?” I asked Him. “How can we be a witness to Thorn and his family if we are always at odds with him? Show me how we can love him—with Your kind of love.”

Only God could know that hard-hearted Thorn would respond to a mother’s tender care. A mother’s love seemed to be lacking in his life, and surprisingly, that’s how God used us to minister to him.

One day, I was walking by the window and happened to see Thorn “wipe-out” on his bike. He was in the middle of the road, holding his knee, and I could see by the expression on his face, that he was trying not to cry.

Just then, the Spirit spoke to my heart, “You go now. Wash his knee and bandage it.”

I hesitated.

“Give him a band-aid, Lord? A band-aid? What will he think of me? He won’t accept it—he already thinks we’re strange. He’ll tell his gang of neighborhood troublemakers—they’ll laugh and make fun--that’s just not going to work!”

But at that moment, thankfully, I chose to obey the prompting of the Spirit.

“…Thorn?” I said as I slowly approached him.

He didn’t look up, but I could hear muffled sniffles coming from his sleeve.

I took a deep breath, and knelt down.

“Oh, look. I’m so sorry you fell. This must really hurt. Let me help you.”

As I began cleaning his wound and applying medicine and a band-aid, he looked into my face. He didn’t say much that day, but the door to his heart began to open.

A few months later, we had another garage sale. I drew in a quick breath as I saw Thorn boldly approaching our yard. We all stood in silence as he began looking at the items on our tables. I wondered if he was planning another water attack!

I was amazed when Thorn began talking to us, as if we were his friends. He and my husband were carrying on a conversation, and before I knew it, Thorn was listening intently as Ken was drawing on paper a child’s presentation of the Gospel. Thorn was now 11 years old, and I prayed fervently in those moments for his salvation.

I wish I could have been in heaven that day. When Thorn prayed and asked Jesus to be His Lord and Savior, I know the angels sang their loudest! All of us Lovelace’s rejoiced and praised God for this precious new birth!

I wish I could say that Thorn was completely good after that, but like all of us, he still struggled with his old nature. I do know, however, that he had definitely begun his journey with Christ.

How do I know?

One day, a friend of ours introduced herself to Thorn. I hesitated, to see if he would actually speak to her. He, in turn, introduced himself to her.

“My name is Jesse.”

I stared at him in surprise.

My friend, knowing his reputation and his story, looked at him and smiled sweetly.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jesse. That sure is a nice name.”

He glanced sideways at me. Then he smiled. “Yeah, it’s my other name. I’ve decided I like it better…”

Jesse and his family moved away a few years ago. I often wonder about him and pray for him. Truthfully, when I see the holes in our bushes, I smile, remembering.

I marvel at the work God did in Thorn…I marvel at the work He does in all of us! And, I praise God that a skinned knee and a band-aid led one troubled boy to the Kingdom.

 

“…and do you not realize that God’s kindness leads you towards repentance?”

Romans 2:4

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWIN BLESSINGS
by Lygia Lovelace

 

When Ken visited an orphanage in Monrovia, Liberia, we had no idea that we would receive such blessings from the Lord. He saw so many babies and children, longing to belong.

“We may not have much,” he told me over the phone, “but we have more than they do…they have nothing.”

As he discipled scores of pastors during a 2 week mission trip, Ken fell in love with the people…so eager to learn, so dependent upon God. As God began to work in our hearts to adopt an orphan, we eagerly began the process for a Liberian baby girl.

“Might you be willing to take a sibling group?” asked the orphanage liaison, “We do have twin girls.”

Eagerly, we accepted. Who could resist?

Then came the 2nd call, “These girls have a brother! Can’t you take him, too? We’re not sure of his age, but he is older…”

With little hesitation we accepted again, knowing it wouldn’t be easy. God reassured my heart that he was adding a preschool boy blessing, to fill the emptiness in my heart due to losing Jake, my African American son of 11 years ago.

It seemed like an eternity before we got our phone call, telling us to meet our new children in Washington, DC.

Ken, Brooklyn, and I prepared for the journey we had been waiting for. Questions filled our minds as we filled our suitcases…

“Will they like us?”
“Will they cry a lot?”
“Will we seem too strange to them?”

The night before, in the hotel room, I lay awake, knowing I needed my rest. I knew our new little ones were on the airplane, on a journey they didn’t understand, coming to a destination of uncertainty and insecurity.

“Oh, Father, make it an easy transition for them, please,” I prayed as I stared into the darkness. I began to pray for their salvation—and that God’s plan would be fulfilled in their lives.

The next morning, we were up before dawn, lingering at the gate, where our new family would appear. Why do minutes drag by when you most want them to hurry?

Finally, passengers from the African airlines began to trickle into the airport. I searched the faces of all the young children, all the ladies, wondering if they were our babies, our escorts.

When the passengers all filed out, our children still had not arrived. We became a little anxious. What if they missed the plane? What if something happened?

Then an airline stewardess came from behind the big double doors.

“Are you the ones waiting on those twin girls and their brother?”

We nodded eagerly.

She sighed, “Oh, they’re adorable! You’ll love them!”

Then we knew that our long-awaited miracles were here!

When they first came around the corner, I recognized them immediately! Josiah was perched on top of the luggage cart, eyeing us suspiciously. There were 2 exhausted women--our escorts--each holding one of our twin blessings. I looked from one 15-month old to the other, trying to memorize their differences so that I could tell them apart.

Quickly, our escorts placed our babies in our arms. The ladies were anxious to leave.

“Good luck on getting Emerson to eat or drink,” one of them told me. “She hasn’t had anything since we left Liberia about 20 hours ago!”

All six of us insecurely watched the ladies walk away. Josiah stood uncertainly by, while Emalee screamed and cried. Nothing we did comforted her. Emerson lay limp and silent in my arms. To get away from staring eyes, we escaped to a nearby restroom to try and calm Emalee. Emerson gratefully sat in a stroller, while we bounced, cooed, and stroked Emalee. Finally, she calmed down—but only momentarily. Every few moments, if we looked at her, she would cry. We finally realized that eye contact was upsetting her.

“OK…” I said quietly, “Nobody look at Emalee.”

We all laughed…and we tried not to look! But we couldn’t resist! These children were so precious, so magnetic, that we couldn’t stop staring at them, and cuddling them. Emalee went back and forth between crying and stopping to take breaths.

While working hard to comfort Emalee, I glanced over at Emerson, who had only been staring into the air. She had made no effort whatsoever to notice us. I began to cry as I noticed one small tear trickle down her little cheek. Still, she made no expression. Passing Emalee off to Brooklyn, I gently took Emerson and held her close. As she lay there limply, I prayed for her.

“Oh, Lord Jesus, please…just tell her she is finally home.”

In the midst of our airport chaos, Ken had to go and confirm our flights. Josiah, with a look of concern and insecurity, and in an effort to comfort Emalee and Emerson, began to dance, and sing songs in words I didn’t quite understand. All of a sudden, I got it!

“Gah eez so goo…
Gah eez so goo…
Gah eez so goo…
Heez so goo…to us.”

God worked a miracle through Josiah’s songs. The girls calmed, and began to drink a bottle.

That’s when I began to really look at them.

Emalee was a mess. She smelled—they all did. Emalee and Josiah had mucus running from every open place on their faces. Emalee had oozing sores on her head, and some of them were bleeding. I could feel the stickiness of the sores on my own skin and face, as I had cuddled and comforted her.

But I didn’t care. These 3 were answers to my prayers! They were finally with us. They were gifts from the Lord--sores, smells, tears, and all.

The flight home to Dallas was wonderful! The airline had placed us in the back, away from everyone else, anticipating lots of noise and chaos. But our 3 African blessings were happy and calm. They slept, they ate, and they played. By the time we landed in Dallas, we had even coaxed a smile from each one, which brightened our own hearts.

There has never been a family more excited than the Lovelace’s were as we all united in the airport! Hugs and kisses were everywhere! Josiah and our twin blessings stared in amazement and wonder as they were showered with love and smiles. We stopped and thanked the Lord for bringing our 3 new ones home to us. We asked Him to help us to be the best family we could be to them.

We arrived home in the evening, exhausted and ready for bed. What a joy it was to put our twin blessings in their own room—the one we had painted and lovingly decorated. Gratefully, they slept…

About 5am, I heard crying. It was Emalee again. I took bottles with me as I sleepily climbed the stairs. The girls stared at me as I entered the room. I’m sure they were wondering if they were dreaming. Eagerly they drank their bottles and watched me. I sat in the middle of the floor, between their beds, as they drank. A few times, I fell asleep…

But not for long…Emalee was fussy, and I knew that she needed a doctor. She had more mucus everywhere—even worse than before. Her sores seemed to be spreading and I even found some on Emerson. I got the girls up, cuddled them, and then, I began to cry. 5am is a hard time for me to have a positive attitude.

“God, this is hard, and I’m tired!
The girls are sick!
Emalee is even running fever.
And what are these sores? I’ve even seen some on Josiah’s head!
The least they could have done in Liberia is send us healthy kids.
I’ve wiped so much snot and pus from Emalee that I have it all over me.
This is not the way I planned it!
Josiah’s belly is so swollen, I don’t think he’s ever had a proper thing to eat!
How can I do this? These kids are so needy!
Why in the world did You call us to adopt 3 at once?
What were You thinking?!”

My complaints went on and on. I knew that my heart did not really feel what my mouth was expressing, but my exhaustion was in control. I burst into tears.

God let me cry it out. Then, a voice spoke to me—so loudly in my head that I jumped.

“I TELL YOU THE TRUTH, WHATEVER YOU DO FOR ONE OF THE LEAST OF MINE, YOU DO FOR ME…”

Immediately I cried again, and felt shame. I remembered that this calling upon our lives was to be done in His way, in His strength, and in His Name—the Name above all Names. God’s forgiveness came quickly and freely as I looked at my precious diamonds, my twin jewels. They were staring at me--both of them--with big black eyes, recognizing my tears as something serious.

“These are the GREATEST, Father. The GREATEST OF YOURS! And this is the most awesome gift! I gladly give myself, my exhaustion, my fears—all of it to You.

I smiled, and took my twin blessings in my arms.