Today, Lord, I come to you on behalf of the innocent ones. I’m thinking of those who hurt through no fault of their own. I’m thinking of children, of course, and also of other victims of anger, hatred, or violence. I’m thinking of those who suffer for doing what is right. I’m thinking, Lord, of you who knew no sin but became sin on our behalf. And Lord, this is what I pray for these innocent ones today: that they would know you. That they would experience your power in their suffering. That you would rise up as their vindicator and protector.That they would take no thought for themselves but bring you glory through their patient endurance. God, I ask you to sustain them. Strengthen them. Support them as only you can, our Provider. Heal them. Hold them. Help them reach beyond these hurts to find their full potential in you. Thank you, Lord, for the innocent ones we see every day. May we not turn our backs or ignore them anymore. Empower us to reach out and serve them, to love them with your love, to offer them more than a pat on the back and a “God bless you.” The innocents, Lord, are the least of these—and the least of these matter to you. In your holy name I pray, AMEN.  Does this prayer bring an innocent one to mind? I know I could have expanded it much more. Feel free to share your thoughts and/or prayer requests in a...

As I write this, a dear friend is preparing to take a journey. In order to make it, she and her husband have waited years and waded through mounds of paperwork and red tape. When she brings the newest of her three daughters home from Haiti (the other two were born in China and Ethiopia, respectively), many will rejoice—but none so much as this amazing family. And also as I write this, two other dear friends are traveling to China. There, this young couple will enlarge their family with the addition of Promise, a precious toddler. Promise needs surgeries to correct her cleft palate. But more than that, she needs a mommy and daddy. And they know they need her. Twenty-five years ago this coming Sunday, my husband and I stood before a judge with a precious seven-month old baby girl. From the moment we first held her in the hospital, she stole our hearts. And on October 7, 1987, she also took our last name.  Cindy and Billy, Michael and Shannon, and Kristen Elizabeth, this one’s for you—along with all the other adoptive and hope-to-be adoptive parents  and their children.  Dear Father, How wonderful that you allow us the privilege of using that great name. You are our true Father. And today, Lord, I want to lift up those who are giving the least of these a father, or a mother, or both. These children have been (for one reason or another) left behind. You see it in their eyes. You hear it in their voices. And, if you’re an adoptive parent, you do your best to remove any trace of rejection or abandonment from their lives. Lord, I lift up these parents to you today. They make their adoptive journey in all sorts of ways, none of them easy. Some of them give up careers. Some of them sacrifice homes and finances. Some of them travel long distances. And some endure rejection or rude questions from family, friends, or acquaintances. When you pull a child from the mire, some of the muck sticks. I ask you, God, to guide these parents in its removal. Wash the children clean by the power of your Word and your loving mercy. Give the parents grace to choose relationship over rules along with the wisdom to know when rules must prevail. Give them strength to continue their journey of sacrifice. Give them vision for tomorrow and faith to wait as you bring it to pass. Fill them with the hope of your love for their children and the willing investment you pour into their lives each day. Keep them safe from the enemy and his awful, evil schemes. They have no...

“What did you learn today?” My brother and I grew to dread the question. Dad directed it at us every school night from perhaps second grade on. I remember planning ahead to make sure I had an answer ready, which I now realize was Dad’s intent. Of course, our engineer dad wouldn’t settle for pat answers like “math” or “reading.” We had to give a full explanation of whatever we thought we’d learned—and be prepared to defend it against his questions and challenges. My dad, Harold Surface, took his last breaths on June 10 of this year. He handled his battle with cancer like everything else in his life, with few words and great strength. Since then, I’ve written nothing about him longer than a Facebook status. But in honor of what would have been his eighty-first birthday today, I want to share some of the things Dad taught me. Work hard. Dad grew up on a farm where chores were accepted and expected. With some effort, he transferred this concept to parenting in the suburbs of Cincinnati. Mike and I learned to garden; to cook; to do yard work; to clean and maintain a home; and even to paint and hang wallpaper.  Our early experiences prepared us for life in real and practical ways, just as Dad wanted. Do it yourself.When I was small, I thought everyone had a dad who rotated tires, packed wheel bearings, fixed washing machines and refrigerators, and designed/built a deck for the back of the family home. Dad did all these things and more. If something broke, my first thought was, “Dad will fix it.” And he almost always could. Put family first.At least twice in his long career with General Electric, Dad had the opportunity to work overseas. He turned down both chances because he wanted my brother and me to remain at our local high school. He gave his vacation time for long family camping trips to various parts of the country in order to ensure we had experiences he’d missed growing up. Without fanfare, Dad made many other sacrifices to help his family, near and far. Help others. Both in the community where I grew up and in the more rural area of his retirement, Dad plowed the neighbor’s driveways in the winter and shared garden produce (including popcorn) in the summer. When I cleaned out his desk this summer, I found an entire section of envelopes from places like Habitat for Humanity and the Salvation Army, all with notes inside thanking him for his donation. Once again, Dad was a quiet but generous giver. Show your love. Dad showed his love for God and for others through the actions...

Looking out from Casa de Paz Excess. That describes what I brought to Peru. Knowing my visit would last two weeks and might not include access to laundry facilities, I packed plenty of clean clothes, jewelry, and three pairs of shoes. I had church clothes and casual clothes, two jackets, and, well—excess. Excess. I didn’t think of the beautiful purse I carried, a gift from one of my daughters, as excess until I arrived in Trujillo. The missionary friend who met me has worked in Peru for more than a decade. The bag she carried matched mine in size, but its worn, faded fabric made me question its usefulness. Her battered van, emblazoned with Scripture verses and her ministry’s name and logo, made my aging Honda Odyssey seem like a luxury vehicle. And the laundry she washes out in her tiny bathroom made me wonder why I didn’t stick to a few pairs of jeans and four or five T-shirts. Excess. Two weeks ago today, God spoke to my spirit at 4:30 in the morning as I landed in Lima. With the plane’s lights down and the skies still dark, most of my fellow passengers dozed. Not me. I all but bounced in my seat as I celebrated the God who was, by bringing me to Peru, fulfilling the desire of my heart. One of my first published projects has a strong connection to Peru. Three of my children as well as my husband have served on mission trips there. Now, I could experience Peru myself. “This is my excess,” God said, “exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think” (Ephesians 3:20, KJV). Excess. I see such a deep overflow in the life of my new friend, Avis Goodhart. The overflow of God’s Spirit through hers has birthed one ministry, three institutions, and countless stories of lives changed and hope renewed. Through years of choice and challenge, trial and triumph, God has brought her (as another new friend puts it), “Treasures in the Dust.”One day, Avis and I hope to share those treasures in book form. For now, my job is to wave a  tearful goodbye to Peru, return to the loving arms of my family, and get to work sorting and shaping the story of an ordinary life that accomplishes the extraordinary. Life, and life more abundantly (John 10:10). That’s the best kind of...

I’m back after an extended break from my blog. In May, my father, who never used tobacco, was diagnosed as terminal after a long battle with metastasized oral cancer. I traveled to my parents’ Ohio home in late May and didn’t return to Florida until a week after his June 10 passing.  Since then, I’ve had some trouble finding focus. I’ve written only what I’ve had to. And I’ve enjoyed some extended family time. One day, I’ll write more about my dad. But today, on the anniversary of a tragic day, I thought it appropriate to get back to blogging with a prayer for those who mourn. Our Lord, today we cry out to you in sorrow. We know the events that took place eleven years ago didn’t surprise you. But we also as the horrific scene unfolded, your heart, like ours, was broken. Today, I ask you to comfort those who mourn. Some remember a loved one suddenly taken from them in New York City or a Pennsylvania field. Others waver in the grip of another loss—whether a person, a relationship, a position, or something else. No one can say the right words. No one can make things better. No one, our Father and Friend, except you. We trust you to use sadness and sorrow to draw us closer to you. We trust you to keep working out your purpose despite man’s sin-sickness. And we ask you to help us be your instruments as we comfort those whose grief endures beyond an anniversary date or a half-masted flag. Thank you for our land of freedom, Lord. Thank you for your world and the people you created. Help us live together in peace, turn our swords into plowshares, and keep pointing people to the One who is over all. In your holy name I pray—AMEN.  Where were you when you first heard the news of the tragedy of September 11, 2001? Do you mourn a more recent loss? Feel free to share by leaving a comment. You know I’ll be honored to pray for...

Father, today I come to you to lift up mothers of young children. Some of them came to motherhood, as I did, after years of hoping and praying. Others were surprised in one way or another by motherhood. And some may not have intended to become mothers at all. Lord, I thank you that you are there to meet each mother in her unique circumstance. You know her needs and her deep desires. You know her failures and her victories, the times she weeps in silence or giggles in glee. Please, God, come to her. Come to her when she holds a crying infant who won’t give up. Come to her when she settles one more argument over a favorite toy. Come to her when the teacher’s report is negative and the pregnancy test the opposite. Come to her when she faces the unthinkable. Come to her. Surround her. Love her. Support her. Strengthen her and guide her into all truth, all light, all of you. As this mother sleeps tonight, Lord, would you whisper into her ear? Remind her that she matters. Remind her you waste nothing. Remind her you see what others don’t. And remind her that you had a mother, too. In your holy name I pray—AMEN....