Jen Russum

Dear Talitha {one year}

Dear Talitha {one year}

  Dear Talitha, It's been a year since you were laid on my chest at 9:56am. I got teary-eyed as I held you close. Another daughter to love... You are strong, but gentle. Adventurous, but shy. You will crawl across the splash pad on your own, but you nuzzle your head in my neck and hide your eyes when you meet someone new. I catch you fearlessly climbing out of your high chair and standing in the shopping cart, yet you love to sing quietly from the backseat as we drive around town. Your favorite activities are throwing a ball and wrestling, but when I put you in bed at night you grab your pacifier and lovey and smile up at me calmly before drifting off to sleep with ease. I pray you live up to your middle name and continue to bring joy to the people around you. I hope you are adventurous and loving - willing to try new things and take risks, but always doing it to serve God's Kingdom and His people. You are truly a little girl who arises with joy each day. I have so much to learn from your gentle disposition. I love you, Talitha Bean, and I'm so thankful God chose me to be your mother. Love, Mom       ... Read more

Flower Girl

Flower Girl

I want to remember when Zianne was a flower girl for the first time. She wore the world's most pouffy dress. Thank you, Etsy.  When we first ordered these dresses for the girls (Z and her little cousin, Paige), we thought it was hilarious (and much cheaper than the options at Nordstrom and David's Bridal, I might add). Then weeks later, twenty pounds of tulle showed up from Hong Kong, and we realized getting a two year-old and a not-quite-one-year-old to wear said-dresses might be rather challenging. There were instant tears the first time Z put on her dress, so we had her practice wearing it repeatedly in the weeks leading up to the wedding. We called it her princess dress and gave her so much encouragement. We cheered and clapped when she put it on. We had her watch YouTube videos to learn how to be a flower girl. We got to the point where she would wear the dress for 3-5 minutes before ripping it off in anger. Then we packed up our luggage and flew up to Washington for the wedding, while I prayed Z would somehow surrender to wearing the dress for pictures and the ceremony - an hour or two at least. In addition to fervent prayer, I came up with some strategies. I packed Zianne's beloved ballet leotard, tights, and tutu. I figured she could wear her "ballerina outfit" at the reception instead of the dress, and if she wore the tights under the tulle during the ceremony, perhaps they would prevent her from feeling itchy. I ended up putting on her tights and leotard once we got the venue. Then I could slip her dress over them and take it off right away when we were just waiting around in between photos or before the ceremony. Overall, it went well. Z half-smiled for a few pictures and raced the ring bearers down the aisle with glee. Once she made it to the front, she stood by Aunt KK for a few moments before running over to me on the side and playing in the lobby for the rest of the ceremony. Supposedly, the wedding homily was great, but I didn't hear one word of it. For the rest of the wedding, Zianne wore her tutu and worked people over at the dessert table. She would go up to unsuspecting adults and hold out her bag, asking for candy as if she hadn't eaten any yet. I got her a treat first. Within a few minutes, I glanced over and saw her grandma giving her a treat. Then she got more comfortable and starting asking other friends and relatives to fill up her goody bag. Within twenty minutes, we caught her asking a complete stranger to fill up her bag once again. The girl knows how to work a crowd. Next up... my sister's wedding in July where both Z and T will be flower girls. Start praying for us now! *Most of these pics are from my iPhone. The professional (good) ones are by Athena Grace. ... Read more

Etched on My Soul

Etched on My Soul

I'm not a sappy person. I rarely ever cry during movies or when reading books. I don't typically cry at weddings or funerals. But let me tell you about a scene that brought tears to my eyes. A picture that will be etched on my soul forever. I was at a women's conference a few years ago. I love women's conferences. I love seeing women gathered together desiring to learn from God's Word and to be transformed by His Spirit. I love seeing wise, gifted women teach, and I love seeing women in the audience sit under that teaching, excited to apply it to their marriages, their parenting, their work, and their friendships. The funny thing about women's conferences is worship time. I don't mean to dishonor females here, but sometimes it's funny when a bunch of ladies all sing together in the same room. First, it's less common for women to play instruments such as the electric guitar or drums, so often the sounds we are used to when worshiping at church are missing from all-female worship teams. That's not bad. Just different. Secondly, when two hundred women are singing together, the pitch always seems to creep higher and higher until everyone is trying to fake it as a soprano. I am not a soprano, nor am I good singer at all, so I struggle when the ladies around me sound like opera-singing angels. At this particular conference, worship was lead by an all-female band. One lady was on the guitar in the back. I didn't think much of her. She wasn't the leader. She didn't speak at all. She was singing, but I can't remember if she even had a microphone. For most of the day, she was a hardly-noticeable presence strumming at the back of the stage. As the conference was drawing to a close, the speaker presented the gospel so clearly - an invitation for those who were seeking and a welcome reminder to draw near to Jesus to those who already knew Him. It was powerful. And all of a sudden, the woman who had been leading worship all day began talking about the humble, unnoticeable guitar player behind her. She began to convey her story. This woman, the guitar player, was recently divorced. She had four young children, and after ten or so years of marriage, her husband told her he wasn't actually a Christian and left her all alone wth four kids to raise. The woman looked the part. She was probably in her late 30s, slightly overweight from bearing four kids, probably without the tools or time to take care of her own body as she invested in so many other lives. She looked a little frumpy and very tired, the burden of her husband's rejection weighing upon her shoulders. She was weary. She was downcast. And yet, under the sadness you could sense her joy. She could probably had a million other things she could be doing on her Saturday, but here she was giving her whole day to play guitar for a women's conference. And suddenly, without another word, the guitar-playing women started to strum and sing. She didn't even move forward. She didn't come to the front of the stage where the main singer would usually stand. From her humble little spot in the back, she lifted up her voice. It was piercingly beautiful. "Worthy is the lamb who was slain..." She belted out the words with such conviction: Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God AlmightyWho was and is and is to comeWith all creation I sing praise to the King of kingsYou are my everything and I will adore You I can't even fathom the pain she must have suffered. I can't imagine the weariness she must have felt raising four kids, day in and day out, on her own. I can't comprehend the rejection and humiliation she must have felt when a marriage she believed in crumbled before her eyes, at no fault of her own.  And yet, she could sing. Under the sadness, there was joy. Under the devastation, there was hope. Under the brokenness, there was redemption.  I hope to never experience what she experienced... the guitar-playing divorced mom of four. I pray she has found abundant healing and peace in the years since that conference. I am thankful she showed me truth from the back of that stage - truth I will never forget even though I can't remember her name. No matter what I face in this life, I hope I can genuinely worship the Lord in any circumstance. That I can say, "I am broken, but I adore you, Jesus." And someday I will worship with her again in heaven. She will strum the guitar and I will finally be able to sing on key. Together we will lift up a new song to the Lord... "Worthy, worthy, worthy, and holy is He." ... Read more