I screened NOBLE last night, and I swallowed over a lump in my throat through the entire film. Twice the lump dissolved and I let the hot tears roll down my cheeks.
I had never heard of Christina Noble before last night. I didn’t know her heartbreaking story, her raw, real faith, or her determination to make life better for the hundreds of thousands of street children living in post-war Vietnam.
I’m so glad I know her story now.
NOBLE walks the viewer through Christina’s life in flash backs, alternating between Vietnam in 1989, and her devastating childhood. We see her faith rattled as a young girl when her mom dies after she begs God to let her live.
We see her endurance under the abusive nuns of her orphanage, and the constant, gritty dialogue between her and a God she doesn’t understand, but she desperately wants to trust.
It’s a very real portrayal of faith, because haven’t we all had those moments? Perhaps not as heart wrenching as the one Christina shared with God after the nuns took her baby boy and gave him to be raised by another family without her consent. This was the baby boy conceived in a horrific gang rape.
And beneath the dim, candle-lit altar, Christina lays it all out in front of Him. “I don’t know what to say to you, except now we both know what it’s like to lose a son. I’m not being blasphemous. I’m not comparing myself to you. It’s just that if I stop believing now, I won’t be able to keep going. I won’t survive. I hope you’re gonna explain this to me very bloody soon, so until then you’re gonna have to listen to me swear and curse and shout and I won’t be asking for your forgiveness. Sorry about that.”
We follow Christina’s journey through her marriage to an abusive husband, and a dream in which she sees images of Vietnamese children.
Years later, when her own children are grown and out of the house, Christina makes her way to Vietnam, determined to follow the vivid call of her dream.
Though it looks rash and impulsive, and to an extent it was, Christina Noble’s move and passion for the street children of Vietnam makes perfect sense. It was a move she made after years of waiting, of raising her own children, of questioning and begging God for answers.
We can all relate to the frustration that comes with feeling like God is silent. “Lord, I’m asking, but I don’t hear you.”
Christina knew she needed to help the children of Vietnam, but she didn’t know how. The red tape and bureaucracy built seemingly impossible walls to scale, and it culminated with her most personal and faith filled talk with God in which she finally threw up her hands in surrender. “Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll walk. You lead.”
And that is the essence of faith. It’s the boiled down surrender of a life spent begging for answers. It’s the place that God longs for us to meet Him.
“I’ll walk. You lead.”
What a powerful prayer – a prayer where the Lord’s power can be fully unleashed. A prayer meant for worn out, exhausted mothers with messy counters and a too full schedule. A prayer for tired businessmen who long to know if there’s more to life than making money. A prayer for the young and the old, the rich and the poor.
“Also through Him, we have obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.” Romans 5: 2
“I’ll walk. You lead.”
This is the essence of faith.
To this day, Christina Noble has helped over 700,000 children in Vietnam and Mongolia. And as the film closes and the words flit across the screen, we’re given one last glimpse into her beautiful, boiled down faith.
“Christina Noble still talks to God.”
NOBLE releases today, Friday, May 8, in theaters across the country.
When I graduated college, I really believed that I was on the path to a huge career. Early on in our marriage, Lee and I sat down and wrote out a list of 100 dreams – because those are things you do when you’re young and married and feel certain that the world is yours for the taking.
My list included such items as:
“Backpack across Europe with Lee” (should’ve taken care of that one before kids came along…)
“Go on an Alaskan Cruise” (should’ve done that when we had income to spare, and practically no bills, and no kids…)
“Own a boat” (we’ve learned it’s much better to be friends with people who own boats…)
“Have 4 kids” (hey look! dreams do come true!)
There were also a lot of ridiculous things on the list – things like, “Be in a commercial, live in the Bahamas for a year, and own an island.” You know, like I actually wanted to buy an island.
Ah, youth.
It’s actually really hard to come up with 100 dreams if you think about it, and for good reason.
This life is so much more than simply living out our wildest dreams. That’s not to say I’m against dreaming. But when you set a task for yourself to write down 100 dreams?
You’re bound to let yourself down.
My career dreams were even more ambitious than my life dreams. I wanted to write and publish ten books and be on the New York Times Bestseller List before age 30 (again, I may have wanted to edit this list when kids started showing up at age 25).
I was going to do all this with my perfect, angelic children by my side. And somehow my life would be spotless and easy throughout the process.
In short, I believed the biggest lie sold to women of my generation – the lie that said we could do, and have, it all.
I watched this video today, and I found myself nodding so ferociously that I thought I would get whiplash. It’s time more women stood up and acknowledged that having it all is just a myth.
I loved when Ally said, “You may have it all, but it will be in different season.”
YES!
Ladies – Moms – Life is messy beautiful. Motherhood is messy beautiful. Careers are messy beautiful. Marriage is messy beautiful. But you know what? Dreams are simply beautiful.
When we dream, we don’t see the messy. We only see the beautiful. And then the messy shows up, and the dream gets muddy, and we miss the beauty, and we wonder why it’s so hard to do all the things we dream of doing.
That’s because we can’t do it all – not all at the same time.
Everything we do – every choice we make – will require sacrifice. Motherhood will require a sacrifice of time, of brain power, of focus, of sanity. In the early seasons of motherhood, that sacrifice will be huge. But as your children grow, the sacrifice lessens to a degree, leaving space for new experiences.
Chasing a career will require sacrifice. It will require a sacrifice of time, of brain power, of the freedom to get up and go. And if you’re pursuing a career with young children at home, that sacrifice will be greater for a time. But as your children grow, the sacrifice lessens to a degree.
Do you see a pattern?
We can’t have it all at once, ladies. And if someone tries to convince you that you can, you should kick her in the shins and flee.
Make no mistake, that woman you’re watching – the one that you think has it all and balances it so perfectly – is making a sacrifice. She is sacrificing something, and that’s okay. We can’t judge one another, because we’re all doing it. We’re all sacrificing in some area of life so that we can provide in another area of life.
That’s what makes womanhood, motherhood, life in general, so beautiful. And so very messy.
So can you have it all? No, you simply can’t. Not all at the same time. But string the years together and walk faithfully toward the things set before you in each moment, and you just might be surprised when you get to the end and look back and see that you had a great many things.
You may even see that dreams you never dared to dream came true.
I’ve hesitated to share this, because it’s vulnerable. I’m not opposed to being vulnerable online, but I’m always sensitive to share stories that belong to me only. It’s not my place to share someone else’s story.
But today I’m going to share a piece of my story, and it will only be a piece, because some things just have to remain private. But I’ll share a little, because perhaps someone can identify. Perhaps this vulnerability will be cathartic in a way that’s needed not just for me, but for anyone who is separated from someone they love.
My Facebook feed has exploded with photos of friends and their siblings today. Happy pictures of siblings both young and all grown up, all smiling for the camera, because apparently today is National Sibling Day. That’s a thing, I guess. I never knew we had so many reasons to celebrate until Facebook came along.
National Talk Like a Pirate Day, National Submarine Day (I’m not kidding), National Corn on the Cobb Day (for real?!), and my personal favorite: World Nutella Day (thank you, random holiday schedulers).
I’ve enjoyed seeing photos of all my friends with their siblings. I particularly like the side by side comparisons of young siblings next to grown siblings. It’s sweet, and I’m genuinely pleased to see celebratory messages between siblings. But I’m also terribly sad, because you see…
I am alone.
I haven’t seen or spoken to my only sibling in two years. I still can’t believe that that is my reality, but it is. I am operating as an only child these days, and there’s a pain in that reality that is difficult to express.
Once upon a time, my brother and I were close. I was the dominant older sister, and he was the sweet, complacent younger brother who gave me anything I wanted. It worked well, though perhaps he would have preferred I’d let him lead now and then.
There are sweet memories of childhood, though, and those are the ones I cling to when the silence of separation starts to feel deafening. I remember the Christmases when we’d pile up together in bed and stay up late into the night, listening for the sound of Santa’s sleigh. Then we’d wake in the wee hours of the morning, much to mom’s chagrin, and tear downstairs to see what had been left behind.
There are memories of playing on the beach, and laughing together as a family. There are happy memories (ones that apparently always include dressing up, because just about every picture I found had us in some crazy get up), and I’m thankful for those.
But as time progressed and we grew older, the differences in our personalities became more pronounced. The pull away from one another happened slowly, and I take responsibility for my part.
I have no explanation for my outfit, other than it was the ’80’s.
The reasons for our current separation are both murky and confusing, but I won’t at all claim that I had no part in our fractured relationship. When I left for college, I lost all claim to any hope of a Sister of the Year Award. I went to Texas and left him behind in Missouri, and it never occurred to me that my leaving might be difficult. I enjoyed my life away, the independence I felt living on my own.
It’s easy for me to look back on those years and justify my behavior. I was 18. I was acting in youthful ignorance, and arrogance. But my youthful arrogance left my brother alone at home at a time when life got very confusing. There were things that happened in our extended family that I was able to remain separated from, but my brother had to live through a different reality.
I wasn’t there for him.
It’s a regret I will carry for the rest of my life, because if I had been there, perhaps he would have trusted me more when he grew into an adult. Instead, I was too distanced. And despite the fact that I apologized to him, and begged his forgiveness (which he readily granted), the damage had been done. I wasn’t a friend to him when he needed me most, and so he lived his life without me in it.
The last seven years have been a challenge of trying to repair the damage, and working through new issues. There’s enough blame to go around to everyone involved, but it does no good to try to rehash every moment that led us to this final separation. I’ve learned that sometimes you can try too hard, and in the trying you actually do more harm than good.
I don’t even know where my brother is now. I don’t have an address or a phone number or an email address. I don’t know his family, and he doesn’t know mine. And I embrace my part in that separation with full remorse. I wish things were different.
On this National Sibling Day, I celebrate the good memories I had with my brother, and I hope for reconciliation. I suppose there is a part of me that’s hoping, maybe, he reads this blog and will hear my heart and be willing to reach out and start a dialogue.
To those of you who are able to truly celebrate this random holiday, I offer you my only advice – be thankful always for what you have in your siblings. Cherish them, and never give up on knowing them as adults. Because it is truly a precious relationship to have someone who knew you then and knows you now.
I love you, dear brother, and I do hold hope in my heart that someday we can enjoy one another’s company again. I just wanted you to know.
I watched her through the glass, her tiny, muscular body swinging and pushing through yet another bar routine. It’s not often that I have the opportunity to sit and just watch these days. Life is busy and the demands are high, so watching is a luxury.
She’s nine now, and for six years Lee and I have been in constant conversation about her participation in this sport. Is this the right thing? Is it too much? Is it too hard on her body?
On more than one occasion, I’ve wondered if we should pull back. Maybe it would be better if she just did it for fun. Then I laugh.
My competitive daughter would not understand the meaning of doing something for fun. If you’re not there to win, what’s the point?
As I watched her yesterday, she made eye contact with me and I knew that something was bothering her. I could tell on her face so I mouthed, “What’s wrong?”
She pointed to her head. “I have a headache,” she said.
We looked at each other for a moment, and I was immediately ready to take her out and bring her home, because I understand headaches, and the thought of her practicing for three more hours with a pounding head made my mom-heart hurt.
As if reading my thoughts, she shook her head slightly. “I’m okay,” she said. Then she wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, and jumped back up on the bars.
I am constantly amazed at my daughter’s tenacity. She’s driven by an inner force that I admire, and as I watch, I’m learning. I’m becoming a student of my child. While I know and recognize her weaknesses, and I’m constantly working to help her overcome them, I also see her strengths.
I see her willingness to push through pain in order to become better. I see her dedication, and the way she works without complaining. I see her set goals, and then not let anything get in her way as she works to accomplish them.
My daughter is a dream chaser.She sees obstacles, and she doesn’t stop to wonder if it’s possible to reach her goal. She simply believes that she can. And if it’s hard, or maybe a little scary? Well, that’s all the more reason to try as far as she’s concerned.
Dream chasing is natural to kids. I don’t know what age the belief that dreams can come true begins to darken into the more realistic approach of adulthood, but I wonder at what my influence could possibly do to my kids’ willingness to chase their dreams. Am I giving them the confidence to keep chasing, or do I hold them back, forcing them to face reality?
Of course, reality must be faced at some point. I do NOT think that point is nine years old. If Tia wants to shoot for the Olympics right now, then she has my full support. If, at 16, she still thinks she can make it and it’s apparent that the Olympics aren’t in her future, I’ll work that out with her then.
I refuse to be a dream crusher, but I also don’t want to be a false encourager.
Because let’s face it – we’ve all seen American Idol, and we’ve wondered why someone didn’t have the guts to tell some of those kids that they couldn’t sing before they went on TV and made fools of themselves.
It’s a tricky business, navigating the waters of dream chasing with our kids. We want their success, and yet we also want to protect them from disappointment. And we must always make sure that we are not projecting our own dreams for our children onto them unfairly.
And so, as my daughter chases her dreams, and her brother’s each chase dreams of their own, I sit back and I watch. I admire their courage, and I applaud their hard work. Then I sit down and look at the goals I have written out for myself. The more realistic, grown up dreams of the present that are entirely possible with a little hard work and dedication.
Dream chasing, you see, isn’t just child’s play.
In light of this topic, I’m excited to announce that I’m joining the writing team over at God-Sized Dreams. It’s time to stop talking about what we want to do with our lives, and start doing something about it. So if you’re a dream chaser, or if you’re looking to rekindle the magic of an old dream you’d long since given up, please join me and the other ladies as we chase the dreams that are placed on our hearts.
It’s 2:00 am and he’s splayed across the bed, hot breath on my cheek, dirty feet hanging off the edge. Why does he sleep like this? His arm swings up and flops across my cheek and I jerk my head away in response, because it hurts and I’m annoyed, and why does he sleep like this?
I stumble out of bed and move to the couch with a sigh. I didn’t have to let him sleep in my bed tonight. I know that. But dad is out of town, and when there’s a vacancy in my bed, they like to fill it. They think they’re doing me a favor, keeping me company. I tell myself that they’ll only be young once and in ten year’s time no one will want to keep the other half of the bed warm for me when dad’s away.
At least I hope not, because I feel like that would be weird.
In the quiet dark as I huddle under a blanket that’s not quite warm enough, I take stock of the last few days. Four of them and one of me means at any given time I’m letting three people down.
I only saw a few minutes of his game while I saw most of his brother’s.
I couldn’t watch her do gymnastics tonight because the baby needed to sleep.
He needed help with a Power Point presentation, so I couldn’t help the other with his reading.
The baby spent most of her time alone in the exersaucer instead of being engaged and held.
It’s okay. I know it’s okay. No one suffered. Everyone was cared for and fed and clothed. But the pressure of feeling as though I dropped the ball mounts at 2:00 am. Darkness always whispers lies.
I roll to my side and thoughts drift to the upcoming school year. There are decisions to be made – big decisions. The kind of decisions that feel monumental in the middle of the night, but when daylight comes you’re reminded that these decisions won’t make or break the family.
Can you make a wrong decision in the daylight? I guess you can, but if you’re prayerfully seeking wisdom, and all of your options are good ones, I don’t think it’s likely. Lee’s dad taught us that. Perhaps it’s one of the most valuable lessons he ever passed down to us as a married couple.
If you’re seeking the Lord, then whatever decision you make is the one He wanted you to make.
Such freedom. I’m thankful for that lesson he taught us.
Morning will come swiftly and 2:00 am rolls into 3:00 am while I still lay awake. The good news is the baby is still sleeping. It’s ironic, isn’t it? The night she sleeps all the way through, I’m wide-eyed on the couch.
I love my children. Deep down in my very core I feel the love bubble and churn. I love the baby in the crib who grins with her whole face when she’s happy. I love the seven-year-old with the spindly legs and smattering of freckles who’s currently splayed horizontally across my bed.
I love the nine-year-old who works harder than most grown ups I know, and who isn’t afraid of anything. And I love the eleven-year-old who is so much like me in personality that he makes parenting a challenge, because have you ever tried to parent yourself?
It’s 3:30 and I feel my eyelids finally getting heavy. I forget about all the ways I dropped the ball the day before, all the times the kids had to figure something out on their own because there isn’t enough of me to go around – all the times I didn’t respond appropriately because too many people were talking at once. I let those moments roll off my shoulders.
No, they didn’t get showers last night, or a healthy meal. Not everyone got in their full thirty minutes of reading, and I forgot to sign two out of three take home folders yesterday prompting notes from the teachers. I didn’t do things perfectly.
But I gave out sincere hugs and kisses before bed. I laughed heartily with them at dinner as we listened to the comedy station on Pandora. I gave a little to each of them in the areas they needed most.
I decide to accept the fact that despite not doing everything perfectly, I’m still the perfect mother.
