WIDE
Ok I'm a Presbyterian, so verse memory is not my forte, but when I hear the word "wide" my mind goes immediately to Paul's beautiful statement in the New Testament that goes something like this, " I pray that you may how long and deep and WIDE is the love of Jesus."
I just love the thought of how WIDE Jesus' love is. It give me comfort chills. His love is so big, I can't run to it's borders. I can't stumble out of it's parameters when I'm having a bad day. And there's room. Room not just for me and my foibles, but for countless others and their foibles.
His WIDE love embraces people from all nations and ethnicities. There is no deed too bad to keep someone locked out from this love.
And the bigness and wideness of Jesus love provides a wild and fulfilling adventure for those who submit to it. With something so Wide to follow, everyday is a new storyline full of Kingdom surprises. Who will He bring to me today to invite to share in the Wideness?
Friday, September 21, 2012
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
A Son, Two Families and One Extravagant Love
How God is Transforming an Overlooked Orphan into a Trophy of Grace
 |
| George Dennehy performing live on Acces Direct, Romania, September 2012 |
My adopted son, George Dennehy, who was born without arms, is receiving worldwide attention for his unique ability to sing and play the guitar with his feet to the glory of God. Here is his story.
Beginnings
It began almost 18 years ago in a remote Romanian village. Comolsu Mare isn't significant enough to show up on most Romanian maps. It's a cluster of bungalows and patches of land where small sustenance farmers eek out a living. There are a few shops and churches and a road that leads to bigger places. |
| Comolsu Mare Romania, December 1994 |
John and Elena Dragan lived here with their three young daughters when the unspeakable happened. Elena gave birth to a long-awaited first son, but the boy had no arms. John the farmer wept and Elena fell into despair as little George with no arms was whisked away by the doctors.
The Dragans faced an impossible situation. If they brought their boy home, he would be shunned by the townsfolk. Handicaps were largely considered a curse from God. And what kind of life would their armless son lead on a small working farm? George was placed in an orphanage in the city of Timisoara and Elena and John went home to piece together the shards of their broken lives.
As George languished in an understaffed orphanage, God was tweaking the hearts of a young couple in the United States, my husband Mike and I. Mike and I and our three children were living a comfortable life in New England, but God's extravagant grace to us was making us restless to serve Him in a more profound way. The black and white, blurred photo of the 3-month old armless boy in Romania led the way. The Bethany Christian Services Newsletter said he was "born with no arms" and "desperately needs a loving home."
 |
| Sharon and George at the orphanage in Timisoara, December 1994 |
When word reached John and Elena that a US family was willing to adopt George, panic set in. Why would an American family with three children want their son--a reject, a pariah? Rumors of evil intentions fueled their fear. They decided that only a face to face meeting with these Americans would quell their fears sufficiently to trust Mike and I to take their son away with us for good.
The Meeting
 |
| Mike, Sharon and Erin Dennehy with the Dragan family, December 1994. |
Then the impossible situation shifted to us. How could we convince a mother and a father from a different culture, that speak a different language and that are deeply wounded from the circumstances surrounding their son, that we have good intentions?
I knew that only God could speak a language that we both understood. It was His Word that birthed an understanding between our two families which has spanned 18 years. I knew that George's parents needed to understand what happened to their son was not a cruel accident. That a loving, redeeming God had created George uniquely for a purpose. After reading portions of Psalm 139 which I had highlighted...
13. For you (God) created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.
14. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know
that full well.
15. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, 16. your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.
...Elena put the Bible to her chest and said through discerning tears, "I will hold this close to my heart until I die."
The story continues in a coming installment...
Friday, February 10, 2012
There is Eternity in our Hearts
I was taken aback by the passengers. Our Delta flight from Narita, Japan to Bangkok was full of them.
The ones on the fringe.
The aging male couple, so full of apparent gaiety that you almost missed the sadness in their eyes.
The elderly British couple. Their tweed jackets and pile of books said intellectual. The man’s use of a notebook-sized magnifying glass in addition to his substantial spectacles spoke of diminishing faculties.
The bohemians with the head scarves.
The young people with the intricately shaved patterns in their short hair.
The tattooed who had turned their skin into a statement.
Those with ravaged faces from a lifetime of taking in too many substances.
I had never seen such a collection all in one place.
And then I realized what this was about.
Thailand. Maybe the closest approximation to Paradise on earth. The fragranced air. The vibrant tropical flowers, ubiquitous, even in the squalid slums. The balmy, moist climate. Beauty in all corners: majestic mountains, teeming ocean, verdant life everywhere.
Thailand is The Garden of Eden, minus the cherubim guarding the entrance with the flaming swords.
We were all banished from it, yet we all long for it. The goodness, the freedom, the pleasure, the beauty, the glory of that place called Paradise.
“He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” Ecc. 3:11
It’s elusive to the natural man. So we try to find it anyway we know how. We try as many methods as we can to experience it, and by the end of our lives, some of us are left with but one option. Hop a plane and go there.
But where we land is not the real thing. Yes it’s a picture He has graciously given us, but it is a shadow of the real thing.
I wanted to shout to them, “Yes you CAN go home again. He has made a way. The path is narrow, but His yoke is easy and His burden is light.”
To say, “Stop trying to find your life. Lose it to Him. “
“Humble yourselves before the Lord, and He will lift you up.” Jas 4:10
He’ll lift you up so that you can taste and see the real Paradise. Dimly now at first. But with His promise that it will be yours. Utterly. Completely. And forever with Him.
The ones on the fringe.
The aging male couple, so full of apparent gaiety that you almost missed the sadness in their eyes.
The elderly British couple. Their tweed jackets and pile of books said intellectual. The man’s use of a notebook-sized magnifying glass in addition to his substantial spectacles spoke of diminishing faculties.
The bohemians with the head scarves.
The young people with the intricately shaved patterns in their short hair.
The tattooed who had turned their skin into a statement.
Those with ravaged faces from a lifetime of taking in too many substances.
I had never seen such a collection all in one place.
And then I realized what this was about.
Thailand. Maybe the closest approximation to Paradise on earth. The fragranced air. The vibrant tropical flowers, ubiquitous, even in the squalid slums. The balmy, moist climate. Beauty in all corners: majestic mountains, teeming ocean, verdant life everywhere.
Thailand is The Garden of Eden, minus the cherubim guarding the entrance with the flaming swords.
We were all banished from it, yet we all long for it. The goodness, the freedom, the pleasure, the beauty, the glory of that place called Paradise.
“He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” Ecc. 3:11
It’s elusive to the natural man. So we try to find it anyway we know how. We try as many methods as we can to experience it, and by the end of our lives, some of us are left with but one option. Hop a plane and go there.
But where we land is not the real thing. Yes it’s a picture He has graciously given us, but it is a shadow of the real thing.
I wanted to shout to them, “Yes you CAN go home again. He has made a way. The path is narrow, but His yoke is easy and His burden is light.”
To say, “Stop trying to find your life. Lose it to Him. “
“Humble yourselves before the Lord, and He will lift you up.” Jas 4:10
He’ll lift you up so that you can taste and see the real Paradise. Dimly now at first. But with His promise that it will be yours. Utterly. Completely. And forever with Him.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
What trouble brings
My husband lost his job yesterday.
The job that provided sustenance for two adults, 8 special needs children and a son in college.
The job that we viewed as our provision for now and the future.
And it has brought trouble.
It has brought anxiety.
Anxiety over how we will pay our mortgage so we won't lose the house.
It has brought concern.
Concern about how we will continue to feed this large brood with just our savings and how we will pay for the glasses that Kali needs without medical insurance.
It has brought gut-wrenching sadness.
Sadness that the 7-year-old limbless girl, the girl we named Hope, will not have a family after all.
It has brought perplexity.
Trouble was not in our plan. Trouble has turned our world upside-down.
But in the midst of these human emotions, trouble is bringing us a deep, satisfying drink from the well of God's grace.
Trouble is bringing us an awareness of how much we are loved.
We are enveloped by the kindness, prayers and expressions of love from those around us. The support is always there, but we aren't fully aware of it until trouble comes.
Trouble is making us see the preciousness of our children's hearts.
We are cherishing the offers of their McDonald's gift cards and savings to help buy food, their suggestions of job possibilities (Wal-Mart and PetSmart were the favorites) and their declarations of not wanting Christmas gifts this year.
Two people, often distracted by the busy-ness and the cares of this world, are verbalizing, "I love you," to each other often and praying together with a never-before-experienced depth and zeal.
Trouble is bringing a renewed awareness that God is our portion, and not an earthly job.
I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him." (Lamentations 3). God has engraved this on our hearts afresh.
Will trouble crush us? God forbid.
Trouble shows us that His promises are real.
"I took you from the ends of the earth,
from its farthest corners I called you.
I said, 'You are my servant':
I have chosen you and have not rejected you."
"So do not fear, for I am with you;
Do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."
Isaiah 41:9-10
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Parenting and adoption: The Benevolent Dictatorship
"I've been hearing a lot lately about parents and social workers checking in with their children about whether they should add to their families through adoption. I'm all for open and honest parent/child communication, but when did the family unit become a democracy?
We don't typically ask our children if they agree with their curfew or the amount of allowance they get, do we? We don't consult with them because we know that we will get an age-appropriate opinion--an opinion that years of experience has taught us parents is not the wisest.
As Paul says in I Cor. 13:11, "When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man I put childish ways behind me."
When Mike and I decided to adopt for the first time, back in 1994, we told our three biological children, then 8, 6 and 4, about our plans. We included them in the process, explained our sense of calling to help a homeless child and enthusiastically invited them along on this family ministry adventure.
The boy we were hoping to adopt (now our son George) was born without arms and was languishing in a Romanian orphanage. The superstitious Romanian orphanage workers, believing he was born this way as a curse, were reluctant to touch him or feed him. He weighed 9 lbs. at a year old, couldn't hold his own head up and his medical report said, "this boy will soon die."
Our three children accepted the "helping a homeless child" part, but of course, reacted the way most kids would. One of them said to us, "If we're gonna adopt, could we at least adopt someone with hands and arms?"
The adoption was a scary step of faith for Mike and I as well, but because of the assurance we had from the Holy Spirit that this was the path God wanted us to walk, we were able to confidently explain to the kids that God wants us to want the unwanted and to love the seemingly unlovable. He calls them "the least of these" in his Word. We explained that his Spirit would compensate for our human weaknesses in this area. We told them that hardships and challenges would help us grow in faith and maturity as individuals and as a family, and that through the experience we would be richly blessed.
We've gone on to adopt seven more children since George. Each time we've told our existing children about the new addition we've met with some mild protestations. After all, it's a natural reaction for a person of any age to balk at sharing resources, things and parents with yet another "outsider." But the argument on our part has gotten easier. Whe one of the adopted kids protests, we can point to the fact that if we had "taken a vote" of the existing siblings, they, themselves, would not be part of our family.
I've suspected all along that our family focus on others rather than self has had a healthy impact on who our children have become, and that some day, they would understand more fully what this adoption calling really means. A recent note from my 23-year-old daughter, Marissa, who is spending a year teaching and helping at an orphanage in China, has been a precious confirmation of this.
Marissa was never much of a complainer about growing up in such a large family, but I know she would sometimes dream about the "normal" life some of her contemporaries from smaller families had: the creatively-themed yearly birthday parties, the annual trips to Disney World, and the general parental fawning that an only child could expect.
Marissa sent me this note a few weeks ago on the occasion of my 50th birthday. She gave me permission to share parts of it.
"I miss you so much--being here at an orphanage especially, I think of you all the time. I think 'Oh, Mom would love this' or 'I wish Mom could be here for this' or 'wish she could talk to these people.'"
"Being on the other end of the adoption world, the end where kids sit and count the days until they get a forever family, I have come to appreciate more and more what you have done with OUR family and what a special thing adoption is and what kind of thing you really give."
"I tell people about our family and they all say that you must be a 'miracle worker' and 'a very special person.' People in the States say that, but it is different coming from the mouths of people who work here, because they see families come to adopt all the time. Coming from experienced people who understand what a difference adoption makes, but also what a difficult but miraculous process it is. I understand now that they aren't just giving lip service. You really are a special person and I love you so much!"
Thanks be to God for letting us participate in his work in the world and for giving us the grace to do so!
We don't typically ask our children if they agree with their curfew or the amount of allowance they get, do we? We don't consult with them because we know that we will get an age-appropriate opinion--an opinion that years of experience has taught us parents is not the wisest.
As Paul says in I Cor. 13:11, "When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man I put childish ways behind me."
When Mike and I decided to adopt for the first time, back in 1994, we told our three biological children, then 8, 6 and 4, about our plans. We included them in the process, explained our sense of calling to help a homeless child and enthusiastically invited them along on this family ministry adventure.
The boy we were hoping to adopt (now our son George) was born without arms and was languishing in a Romanian orphanage. The superstitious Romanian orphanage workers, believing he was born this way as a curse, were reluctant to touch him or feed him. He weighed 9 lbs. at a year old, couldn't hold his own head up and his medical report said, "this boy will soon die."
Our three children accepted the "helping a homeless child" part, but of course, reacted the way most kids would. One of them said to us, "If we're gonna adopt, could we at least adopt someone with hands and arms?"
The adoption was a scary step of faith for Mike and I as well, but because of the assurance we had from the Holy Spirit that this was the path God wanted us to walk, we were able to confidently explain to the kids that God wants us to want the unwanted and to love the seemingly unlovable. He calls them "the least of these" in his Word. We explained that his Spirit would compensate for our human weaknesses in this area. We told them that hardships and challenges would help us grow in faith and maturity as individuals and as a family, and that through the experience we would be richly blessed.
I've suspected all along that our family focus on others rather than self has had a healthy impact on who our children have become, and that some day, they would understand more fully what this adoption calling really means. A recent note from my 23-year-old daughter, Marissa, who is spending a year teaching and helping at an orphanage in China, has been a precious confirmation of this.
Marissa was never much of a complainer about growing up in such a large family, but I know she would sometimes dream about the "normal" life some of her contemporaries from smaller families had: the creatively-themed yearly birthday parties, the annual trips to Disney World, and the general parental fawning that an only child could expect.
Marissa sent me this note a few weeks ago on the occasion of my 50th birthday. She gave me permission to share parts of it.
"I miss you so much--being here at an orphanage especially, I think of you all the time. I think 'Oh, Mom would love this' or 'I wish Mom could be here for this' or 'wish she could talk to these people.'"
"Being on the other end of the adoption world, the end where kids sit and count the days until they get a forever family, I have come to appreciate more and more what you have done with OUR family and what a special thing adoption is and what kind of thing you really give."
"I tell people about our family and they all say that you must be a 'miracle worker' and 'a very special person.' People in the States say that, but it is different coming from the mouths of people who work here, because they see families come to adopt all the time. Coming from experienced people who understand what a difference adoption makes, but also what a difficult but miraculous process it is. I understand now that they aren't just giving lip service. You really are a special person and I love you so much!"
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