Some Back to School Reflections

1.  $300 on school supplies.  THREE.  HUNDRED.  We did not deviate from the list.  (Okay, my husband bought a .50 crayon sharpener but that was the extent of the contraband.)  This is insane.  This does not include registration fees, yearbooks and all the other extras.  What in the actual what?!

2.  That insanity in the kitchen would be the death of me if it were not for my husband who is patiently making sure every glue stick makes it in the right bag.  This is the one time of year I absolutely love that he is a control freak.  Okay, also when he does the stockings at Christmas.  And the Easter baskets.

3.  4 kids at 4 different schools this year.  4 different pick up and drop off times.  4 different schools to attend concerts and volunteer meetings and to chauffeur to extra curricular activities.  (Okay, who are we kidding - I do not actually attend volunteer meetings.)

4.  Chromebooks coming home are causing me actual anxiety attacks.

5.   I am already dreading the "All About Me" posters and questionnaires that will inevitably come home the first week of school asking for baby pictures and answers to questions that are difficult, awkward, and sometimes painful for my kiddos.

6.  Hair cuts, dentist appointments, physicals, first day of school outfits, gym shoes, back packs, locker supplies, lunch boxes, bus schedules...I am having stress dreams about these things and all of the other things I am forgetting.

7.  So. Many. Emails.   

8.  All the good intentions - for reading logs and agendas and signed notebooks.  For starting the morning 15 minutes early and having good routines and chore schedules.  For holding it together like all of the other sane families.  This is the year, people!

9.  This year I have already been added to 4 different Facebook groups for 4 different children.  This tool is supposed to be helpful in disseminating information regarding their schools and classrooms and my brain is going to explode if I am expected to absorb information from any more sources.  When did this become a thing?   

10.  This is the first year that I am not dancing and shouting for joy that my children are going back to school.  If you know me well, you might be picking your jaw up off the floor right now.   Don't get me wrong.  There is some relief and I am SO looking forward to six straight hours without hearing any of the following:  "Moooooooommm!"  "I'm bored."  "I'm hungry."  or "Can we play electronics?"  😑😔😒😠    But for the first time since four amazing kids turned our world beautifully upside down through fostering and adoption, I feel like we have found a new normal.

It has been nearly five and a half years.  We have prayed and fought hard and long for joy and connection...and while there have been seasons and glimpses of that over the last years, this is the first summer that has been characterized by it, and I am sad to see it end.

I am sad to see the long, slow days give way to hectic schedules and too much homework - sad to trade late nights catching lightning bugs and sunsets on the porch for earlier bed time routines.  But what a joy to be sad in this way!  I wasn't sure we would ever get here.   I know there are still battles ahead, but I feel like we have been given a reprieve from the trenches and the tide of the war has shifted.

For you mommas who are feeling the EXACT opposite, who are longing desperately for that first moment they are out the door because you are just done - worn and frayed to the point of breaking - because these last 3 months have taken every bit of energy you have just to survive...just to get through.  SOLIDARITY Sister!   You are so not alone.   Take a breath.  Tomorrow will come and the trenches do not last forever.  You are fierce and brave and you can do this.  You didn't have to.   You CHOSE to stand in the gap for someone who was not big enough or strong enough to fight for themselves.  I see your courageous love and so much more importantly, Jesus sees you and every wound you have taken on the field.  He knows how weary and war torn your heart is and He is so proud...because you look just like Him.

And He promises that when you are too weary to stand for one more battle, He will fight for you.  In truth - isn't this really where the war is finally won?

In the name of full disclosure and all of this said, tomorrow you will still find me drinking coffee, playing too loud (kid inappropriate) music, and doing a happy dance in my blissfully quiet and empty house.    CHEERS TO BACK TO SCHOOL!

Share your best/worst back to school moments in the comments!  

Not Negotiable

"It is time for parents to teach young people early on that in diversity there is beauty and there is strength."

 Maya Angelou

One of the first things you are asked to consider as you go through adoptive training is what types of children you are willing to foster and/or adopt.  This is a difficult, but absolutely vital, conversation. When the call comes from your agency, you don't have the luxury of days or even hours to mull over the decision and these issues need to have already been wrestled through.

What ages are you comfortable with?  Infants?  Toddlers?  Teens?  What about babies who are born addicted to crack or heroine?   Will you welcome into your home children who are medically fragile? What about children on the autism spectrum or children who have been victims of sexual abuse?  Are you willing to take a sibling group so that they can remain together, and if so, how many?

I will be honest and say that, in light of all of these questions, for us personally,"Would you adopt a child of a different race?" was not really even a blip on the radar.  It probably should have been.  Despite already having two biological, mixed race children, transracial adoption has brought joy, insight, and beauty into our family as well as some very real challenges.  That is not to say I might reconsider the path we have taken - in fact, quite the opposite.  The gifts have far outweighed the struggles!  But as is always the case, had we done a little less romanticizing and made an effort to understand other perspectives in this conversation, I think we could have been more prepared for the road in front of us.

Even same race adoption is very hard on adopted kids from a cultural perspective.  You add to this the large cultural differences between families of different races and for the sake of our children we must be willing to acknowledge and talk about the significant loss and struggles that come when they are ripped from all that is culturally familiar to them.  This cultural gap is challenging for the adoptive family as well.  Here is a quote from a much earlier blog, The Rhythm of Trust:

      "We've discovered something interesting about families:  we each have our own family culture.
      You know, all of those things that make your family 'home' for you.  Foods we like to eat, games
      we like to play, t.v. shows we like to watch together.  For the most part, we laugh at the same kind
      of humor, enjoy many of the same activities and just. . .get each other.  I hadn't considered what it
      might be like for cultures to collide when we added four new people, with their own rhythms and
      and culture - not even taking into account the genuine cultural differences that are inherent in 
      transracial fostering/adoption.  The realization that we would need to let go of some of that 
      culture to make space for God to build something new, and the letting go?  It's hard."

I realize now, with more than a little shame, that in large part I simply expected our children to adapt to us and our culture.  How incredibly short sighted and selfish!  The honest truth is that is has been painful to let go of what was familiar to me to allow for the new.  I can only begin to imagine that grief for them.

But here is the other side of the coin - the new is beautiful.  It is rich and diverse and full of stretching and growing.  I adore the lovely hodgepodge that makes up our family.  What a beautiful picture of the Gospel and of reconciliation.  Our family is a vivid illustration of the Creator's love for diversity -- so apparent in the beautiful medley of the one human race, made in His very Image.

     "For in Christ Jesus you are all sons of God, through faith. . . There is neither Jew nor Greek,
      there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus."
                                                                                                                                     Galatians 3:26-28

There is so much more to this conversation.  So much to be said for being intentional about keeping adopted kids connected to their own cultures, and if possible, even to their birth families.  (We intend to write more on that next week).

As of late race, a topic we are very comfortable discussing, has become an even more prevalent conversation around our table.  The intense media coverage of race related violence, Black Lives Matter, and all of the racially charged conversation swirling around the upcoming election have made this a necessity in a family that looks like ours.  I am choosing not to dive into those topics here because there have been so many who have addressed them more thoroughly and thoughtfully than I could hope to do.

I do however want to leave this on the table:   Whatever form this takes in your life, the work of truly reconciling with our brothers and sisters who look, think, act, talk, play, and live differently can seem overwhelming.  Sometimes it seems impossible.  But if you belong to Jesus, not only is it possible.  It.  Is.  Not. Negotiable.   For those of us who have chosen to submit our lives to the Lordship of Christ, the act of loving one another -- and doing it well -- it's not up for discussion.   It does not matter how difficult the conversation, how polarized the politics, or how racially charged the atmosphere. We keep trying.  We keep listening in humility, slow to speak and slow to become angry. We understand that we cannot make things right with God until we are willing to leave our gift at the altar to go make things right with our brother and sister.  We keep laying down our lives as Christ laid down His life for us.  If the Church would genuinely give itself over to this kind of work, can you imagine the impact we would make in our culture?

As always, I am so thankful to Sammy for sharing her honest and insightful perspective on a tough topic.  This blog has offered us some incredible opportunities for stretching and conversation that might not otherwise take place.  Thank you for taking this journey with us!

From Sammy:

Do you think this is a hard topic to talk about?
Yes, because I don't want to offend anyone or give them the wrong idea.  That maybe, "She doesn't like white people." or something.  

Do you think it's an important topic?  
I think it's important because I want people to know that you don't have to be the same color to be a part of a family.  It doesn't matter what your skin color is, you're still part of that family.  At the same time it makes a difference.  It can be an obstacle to feeling like a part of the family

I think it's important to talk about with all the stuff that's going on...the Black Lives Matter...all the racism.

Do you have any idea how many of your placements were with black families and how many were with white ones? 
There were 4 black families, 2 of them were my biological family, and the rest (about 23 others) were with white families.

When you first met us, you told me you were expecting us to be black.  What were your thoughts the first time we met and you realized you might be adopted by a white family?   Honestly?  I thought that ya'll were just taking some black kids to get some attention.  I thought you were rich.  Then the first time I got really mad at you guys. we were at Grandma's and I laid down in the middle of the road and you said you wouldn't give up on me because we chose you as part of our family, or something like that.  Usually when something like that happened they would call my agency and have me go somewhere else.  We went home and I packed all of  my stuff because I thought you would do the same thing as my other foster parents and have me leave.  But you didn't and I thought, "Oh, they actually want me here."

Did you believe we wanted you from that point on?  
Sometimes I did and sometimes I didn't.  When I did good I thought ya'll wanted me.  Then when I messed up I thought you didn't want me.  I still feel that way sometimes. 

What do you think are some of the down sides to interracial adoption?
The first time I met your whole (extended) family I felt like they might think, "Why did they adopt these black kids?"   I felt like they talked about us when we weren't around.  I felt on the outside and like I didn't fit.

I felt, sometimes I still feel, like I was judged by other white people when our family all went somewhere together.  When we first went to church it felt like everyone was looking at us because we were the only black people there.  

It used to be hard for me to constantly explain to my friends that I am adopted and my parents are white.  It forced me to talk about the adoption, which I hated.   It doesn't bother me as much anymore because I've talked about it so many times that it just feels normal.

It seems like you guys (biological family) click more and I miss being with my family who gets me because they are black.  I miss the soul food (laughing)  I do!

I think it's harder to fit in because I come from a whole different culture.  We have to work harder (to connect) because we are so different.

What do you think are some of the positives of interracial adoption?

Other people get a chance to see that you are not just a skin color.  I feel like families like ours can be an example to other people.  Even though we are different and we are not perfect, we struggle but we stick through it and get through it as a family.  We don't let it define us.  

Even though it's hard that we are so different as a family it's cool to be so different too.   We are a little bit of each . . .black, white, mixed. . . it's cool to go out and people ask, "Are you guys friends?"  And we're like,  "No, we're a family."  It's funny to see people's reaction when they ask my parents, "Are these all your kids?"   People are like wow!

I like that we all have different personalities and it's fun that we are different and have different views even thought that makes it hard sometimes.

What advice would you give to someone who is adopting a child of a different race?

Don't let the child's skin color define who they are.  Love them anyway.   If you don't know anything about your child's culture you should take the time to learn about it and understand it.  

Some people think that white people should not adopt black kids and vice versa.  What do you think about that?  
I think it doesn't matter as long as the kid is happy.  It shouldn't matter if they are white or black or Asian.  If the kid is happy then it shouldn't matter.  A family can love a kid that is a different color.

*****This blog is a part of a series that my 17 year old daughter Sammy and I are writing together.  The blogs are a window into some of the greatest joys and most difficult challenges we have navigated on the adoptive journey.  

Sammy's words in this blog are her own!  I have helped her clean up some of the grammar for the sake of clarity and asked questions to help her flesh out her story but the vernacular and vocabulary are hers and hers alone.  I have added a few parenthetical statements of my own for clarification. These are the pieces she is bravely choosing to share that someone else might be encouraged, challenged, or moved by her story.   The first blog in the series can be found here.***

  

The Imperative of Pain - The Undiminished Gospel

Off to get coffee and write a blog!

We are very selective when we talk about adoption.  We like to talk about the beauty and redemption inherent in successful adoptions. We like to talk about the believer's call to care for orphans.  We love to talk about adoption as a powerful illustration of the Gospel - in fact Scripture draws this parallel
in Romans 8:15-17.

While each of those statements are beautifully true, the problem is this --- those true statements are only part of the whole and as long as we remain selective in our conversation we create a very dangerous, romanticized view of adoption which has significant consequence in both the lives of adoptees as well as the families who choose this path.   There are many reasons that we must resist the temptation to romanticize adoption by remaining silent about the deep pain that accompanies this journey.  Here are just a few:

1.  Pain is not our enemy:  We live in a society that avoids discomfort at all costs.  Physically, emotionally, psychologically...we have completely lost sight of a very important truth:  pain is not an enemy, but an incredibly valuable alarm system.  Without pain, we have no idea when something is wrong.  Pain is a messenger that tells us to pay attention --- to stop and assess before further damage is done.  When we ignore pain or deaden it with medication, we risk further injury.  It is much more difficult to find it's root and work toward healing the cause rather than simply treating the symptoms. When we refuse to acknowledge and talk openly about the pain and loss that always precipitates adoption, we rob our children of the freedom to express grief over that loss and grief is an absolutely vital part of the healing process.  Adoption should be painful.   The rending of a family that God Himself knit together should be painful.  This pain should sound a glaring alarm for us as the Body of Christ!  God created families to be permanent and we should seek with all of our might to keep families together first.   And when this is impossible, we should grieve deeply alongside of the precious children who become collateral damage in the wake of sin or tragedy.

2.  A romanticized view of adoption sets adoptive parents up for failure.  
I understand the dilemma.  How much do we share?  And how do we share openly and truthfully, without turning someone away from this path when what is desperately needed is for the church to step up and DO SOMETHING!  There are tens of thousands of children in THIS COUNTRY --- one of the wealthiest and most privileged in the world --- waiting for an adoptive family.  Waiting for someone to step up to the plate and answer the call.   Waiting for someone to say, "I choose you."   Each year, approximately 20,000 children in the U.S. will age out of the system. I deeply understand the dilemma.  I want to beg people to run toward this call.  To lay down their own life and choose the life of a hurting child.  The temptation to whitewash the challenges and pain, that are so closely intertwined with the joys and triumphs, is great.

It is also dangerous.  The realities of walking alongside children who have suffered so much at such a young age can be devastating.  Parents who are considering coming alongside children from such hard places must be better equipped for the challenges.  How in the world can we prepare for a battlefield when we have no idea what is coming?!

When we romanticize adoption, the Church has no idea how desperately we need her to come alongside of us.  This call is too big for any one of us.  Our kids need a village to step into their lives to speak grace and love and truth.  We, as adoptive parents, need rest and reprieve from the day in day out of this difficult walk.  I need other believers to sit in the muck with me and simply grieve the damage that sin and tragedy have wrought in the lives of my kid's and, by proxy, my heart.

3.  When we avoid the reality of grief, pain, and loss as an inherent part of the adoption story, we diminish the Gospel.
Sin causes tremendous separation and damage.  It wreaks havoc on our world and in our lives.  But this is the absolute power and beauty of the Gospel!  To quote from an author we are reading in our Sunday night study at church:

"Christianity, unlike any other religion in the world, begins with catastrophe and defeat.  Sunshine religions and psychological inspirations collapse in calamity and wither in adversity.  But the Life of the Founder of Christianity, having begun with the Cross, ends with the empty tomb and victory."
                                                                                                                      ~Bishop Fulton Sheen

This is hope!  This is the grace and redemption of the Gospel...of Jesus Himself!  To deny the pain and challenge is to cheapen the beauty of the Gospel and it's power to redeem and triumph over even the most vicious schemes of the Enemy.  What begins in catastrophe and defeat is, in Christ, resurrected to power and victory!

In light of this, I asked Sammy to speak into some of the challenges over the course of the coming weeks:

Do you think it is important that adopted kids have the freedom to talk about the pain they have experienced and do you feel free to talk about your feelings about foster care and adoption?

Sammy:   I agree that's really important.  I feel like I have that freedom but I usually don't express myself because I don't think people will understand.  Sometimes I believe I can work through them by myself.  My heart feels like that's true but my mind knows that it's not.

Sometimes I think if I ask for help, I will be judged for it.

What are some of the things you do to avoid emotional pain:
Sammy:   I try not to think about it, shut everybody out.   I've spent a lot of years doing everything possible to avoid talking and thinking about the adoption and foster care.  I just push it to the back of my mind and don't think about it because I know if I think about it, I will have an emotional breakdown.

The problem with avoiding the pain is that the more you avoid it the more pain it causes and the more I get frustrated by it.

Do you think you're making progress in talking about your past?
Sammy:   I can talk about it without getting as emotional as I used to.  I don't like when I don't have control over emotions.  I feel as I get older I can think about things more and not just act on impulse.   The more I think about the things I went through, the more I realize I don't want to be 21 and still have all these problems I haven't worked through.  I feel like I have the resources and I might as well use them instead of trying to keep it all to myself because in the end that doesn't work.

Overall do you think adoption is a good thing?
Sammy:   I wouldn't say it is a bad thing or a good thing.  It depends on the people you're with.   Some foster parents are bad and some are the kind you need to be around.

What are the best parts of adoption?
Sammy:  There are a lot more resources and people willing to help you.  You can stay in a good school and better environment than you were.  You know there are people who are willing to help you and want to see you succeed and will do everything they can to help you.

What are the worst parts of adoption?
Sammy:  Even though you're happy that you're in a good foster home there is still a part of you that just wants to go back to your mom and home.  When you feel happy you feel like you're betraying your biological parents. . .they might think you don't want to come home.  It feels exhausting all the time to feel like if I'm too happy here, my  mom might get mad.

You feel like you have to compete with their biological kids and live up to those expectations
It's just so confusing.  You want this to be your new family and feel like you have someone to count on but but then at the same time I just really want to be home with my mom.

I am so thankful for Sammy's willingness to express her heart here.  Please continue to pray for us!  The enemy is not happy about the progress this beautiful girl is making and would love to see her fail!  We are so encouraged by the initial responses to this blog!  Thank you for coming with us on this crazy journey!

**This blog is a part of a series that my 17 year old daughter Sammy and I are writing together.  The blogs are a window into some of the greatest joys and most difficult challenges we have navigated on the adoptive journey.  

Sammy's words in this blog are her own!  I have helped her clean up some of the grammar for the sake of clarity and asked questions to help her flesh out her story but the vernacular and vocabulary are hers and hers alone.  I have added a few parenthetical statements of my own for clarification. These are the pieces she is bravely choosing to share that someone else might be encouraged, challenged, or moved by her story.   The first blog in the series can be found here.***

The Beginning

**This blog is a part of a series that my 17 year old daughter Sammy and I are writing together.  The blogs are a window into some of the greatest joys and most difficult challenges we have navigated on the adoptive journey.  

Sammy's words in this blog are her own!  I have helped her clean up some of the grammar for the sake of clarity and asked questions to help her flesh out her story but the vernacular and vocabulary are hers and hers alone.  I have added a few parenthetical statements of my own for clarification. These are the pieces she is bravely choosing to share that someone else might be encouraged, challenged, or moved by her story.   The first blog in the series can be found here.

Sammy's Story:

Hi, my name is Samantha.  I am sixteen years old.  My favorite color is blue.  I love to sing and dance, and I love Justin Bieber.  Don't hate.   I just got my driver's license a couple of months ago.  I was ecstatic!  

I have a lot of siblings (ten that she knows of, between her adoptive and biological families).  I have a crazy family because I am adopted.   I was taken into foster care at age 12.  I was extremely angry that they took us from my mom.   The night they took us away--there were 6 of us--we had to spend the night at the agency because they didn't have anywhere for us to go.  The next day we were split up.  Three of us went to our aunt's house and the rest of us to a cousin's house.   At first it wasn't too bad because we were with family.  We still got to see our cousins and people we had ties with.   We knew our family wanted to help us.  We stayed there for a few months and then they started to have family problems.  It was too much for them to handle with all of us and we had to move.  That was when it got really hard because they started to split us up.  In the next two years I moved 17 times.  (Sammy's adoptive and foster records actually indicate that she moved 26 times in 24 months.)   I never had a connection anywhere.  I wanted to be with my mom.  I could never really settle down and I never really fit anywhere.   I was so angry at everyone all of the time and it was hard for me to get along with people. 

I used to get in trouble a lot.  I thought maybe if I got in trouble enough, nobody would want me and I could go back to my mom.  Sometimes I wouldn't get to see my brothers and sisters for a long time.  The only time we got to see each other was at visits at the agency, maybe once a moth.  It was always really hard to leave those visits.  It would make me so angry and afraid that I might not see them again.  A couple of my placements were with some of my  sisters and those were the best ones. 

After about 2 years of bouncing around foster homes, I met the Daniels at the agency.    I was excited because I knew that I might get to stay in a place or even be adopted with some of my siblings.  I thought it was weird that they lived in the country and I was a city girl.  I wondered why they wanted to adopt us.

Moving to their house was hard.  There was a lot going on.  I had to change schools again.  There were four of us moving in.  They already had three kids.  It felt really weird to think about a home that actually wanted to adopt us. 

Our adoption was finalized about a year and a half ago.  I was really conflicted about it.  Part of me wanted to be adopted and part of me didn't. I still feel that way.  (That's a whole other blog we will write later!)  We have had a lot of ups and downs since then.   I want to write this blog because I think it might help other kids who are going through this process so they can know they are not alone.   Even though they are going through it, they can know there is light at the end of the tunnel.  Even if they feel conflicted at the time, they can know it might end up being the best thing for them.    This is why I want to tell my story.

Chris, Sammy, Shanita (Sammy's biological mom), and Tashiana

Chris' Story

In August of 2012, my family took a vacation to Florida.  This is what our family looked like back then:

 As we do on most of our vacations, we drove.  We love the spontaneity and adventure that comes along with a good road trip.  In our years with our children, much of our best conversation has happened in the car...maybe because they are a captive audience. 

On this particular road trip, after some incredible conversations about faith and what it looks like to really live this thing out for our family, our two oldest posed a really challenging question.  It went something like this, "Mom and Dad, we have talked about God calling our family to adoption for as long as we can remember.  Are we just going to keep talking about it, or are we ever going to be obedient and just do it?"

Sheesh.  Talk about accountability.  We spent much of the rest of that drive home worshiping, praying, and seeking God.  With great excitement, we started the process to become licensed for foster care shortly after returning home from that vacation.

It is so interesting to look back on the process now.  In fact, it is quite jarring to recognize the gulf between the process for us, which was filled with joy and anticipation, and the process for our children, filled with grief and pain and loss.  

As we jumped through all of the hoops to get our home licensed, prepared and rearranged bedrooms, and did our best to prepare our hearts for the major adjustments to come, we were overwhelmed with the support and encouragement of our church family.  Once again, while we experienced the joy of family and community, our kids were drowning in separation, alienation, and rejection.

Still, we did anticipate the growth of our family with great joy as we learned of 4 siblings who needed placement together (Two more sisters were already in permanent, stable placements.)  We knew this would stretch us beyond our capacity, but we trusted intently that God would provided what we needed if this was where He was calling and by April of 2013, our little family had grown to this:

This picture, by the way, was taken in the same place in Florida where God moved our hearts more firmly toward adoption.  Full circle.  It took nearly 2 1/2 years to finalize the adoption, but in July of 2015 we took these photos in the courthouse downtown.  (Getting a good, functional picture of our family requires an act of God.)

Again,this day was filled with conflicting truths and emotions:  joy, and pain, beginning and end, separation and union, anticipation and regret, sorrow and hope.  It is strange how these emotions can simultaneously inhabit such close quarters, but they absolutely do and for kids who have already been drug onto a roller coast ride of emotions that they never asked for, it can be incredibly confusing and overwhelming.  When they asked Sammy if she consented to this adoption (as they do with children 14  and older) I held my breath.  I was honestly unsure what she would say as she had wavered many times in the preceding months.  She said yes.  

The gravity of that 'yes' was not lost on me and as I sat in that courtroom with some powerfully conflicting emotions of my own, I begged God for healing, connection, and peace for her heart and for our family.  Every day since then has been a step toward His answer to that prayer.  The answers have not come as quickly or completely as I would like to demand, but as they unfold they are more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.  

The adoption has been finalized for just over a year now and sometimes I think we are beginning to find some solid footing.  Other days I wonder if we have gained any ground at all.  But every moment, He has been faithful, and more than this story is ours, I pray it will be His.

An Adoption Story

A couple of years ago, my then 15 year old daughter, Samantha, expressed that she would like to write her adoption story in hopes that it might help other kids who were struggling through similar circumstances.  At the time, I was not sure she was ready to examine her own past that closely, much less share it with others.  Over the course of the last two years, Sammy has grown in some incredible ways.  This warrior of a girl has fought through more grief and loss in her first 16 years than many of us will face in a lifetime.  I have watched her muscle her way out of some terrible pits...some she dug herself, some that she was pushed into by no fault or choice of her own.  She is learning what it means to be loved - by herself, by a family, and most importantly by the only One who can redeem every bit of brokenness and loss.

So we have decided to write a series of blogs.  Once a week we will address the topic of adoption. My hope is that this blog will give Sammy a voice.    We are writing for us--to process, vent, reflect and gain some empathy and understanding for the other's perspective.  We are writing for you--that perhaps our own struggles and successes will encourage someone else on this journey.  There is such power in simply knowing that you are not alone.

If you are reading this blog in the hopes of a feel-good success story that has a tidy ending, all tied up with a neat little bow, you may be disappointed.  The last 3 1/2 years have been incredibly challenging for us.  We have had some mountain highs and some rock bottom lows.  If we are honest, there has been more of the latter than the former.  We have cried and screamed and fought and struggled.  Steve and I have made many mistakes, often causing more hurt in our clumsy efforts to help.  Sammy and I have struggled tremendously to find solid relationship and connection.

Neither is this as story of defeat or failure.  We are still fighting, and we are gaining ground.  This process of healing is painstakingly slow and often my perspective is skewed.  But when I back up and look at how far she has come, how far we have come, the truth is that there has been amazing progress and incredible victories.  Our story is not over and we are looking toward the next chapter with great hope and anticipation!  Our story is messy and hard and uncomfortable and amazingly beautiful and our prayer is that our life would declare the praises of Him who continues to call us out of darkness and into His marvelous light!  (1 Peter 2:9)

To be continued...

We would love to hear about your experiences as well!!   This journey is meant to be lived shoulder to shoulder!   Share some of your story in the comments!

10 Questions You Can Ask This Adoptive Parent

Recently, I have seen the internet flooded with articles and blogs written by adoptive parents and families who are struggling to find their footing as they adjust to a new normal which often includes a deep sense of loneliness and isolation.  The unique griefs and struggles of parenting kids from hard places can be difficult to articulate which fosters misunderstanding and isolation when what we parents need most is empathy and connection.   Many of those blogs resonate deep with me, and have spoken comfort and solidarity over my own soul.  My Facebook page is littered with links and articles I've shared in an effort to encourage others who are deep in the trenches.  I've even written a few myself in an effort to provide a glimpse into our world...forge connection and understanding.

However, something makes me a little uncomfortable about the tone of some of the articles out there.  At the risk of offending my own tribe, I am writing this blog as a bit of a push back.  It is not uncommon to read an article or blog entitled something along the lines of, "Top Ten Annoying Things People Say to an Adoptive Parent"  or  "10 Questions Adoptive Parents are Sick of Answering".  The first few times I read a list like this my gut level response was, "Yes!  Finally, someone is saying what needs to be said!"  When you are in a lonely place there is immediate camaraderie and such a sense of fellowship when someone speaks your heart so clearly.   Adoptive parents often feel on the outside, so this kind of mindset can be especially satisfying.   I get it.  I really do!  There is safety in the 'club', a sense of belonging.  You know...the elite few who get it...and you are one of them.

But as more and more of these articles come out, I am becoming increasingly aware of an uncomfortable inflection that sounds just beneath the surface of the words.  I am beginning to wonder if these words are perpetuating division and separation instead of creating space for understanding and empathy.   I mean, I remember what is was like before we adopted, before I really understood and how easily I might have asked those same questions or made some of those same comments.  In fact, I cringe to think of the many stupid things I have said to people in a variety of challenging circumstances.  The flavor of my foot is well known to my mouth.  I have a gift here, people.  

I began to think about the truth that there are a million kinds of grief in this hard, fallen world we inhabit  And until our King comes and sets things right, above all, I want to be a part of creating empathy and genuine intimacy that brings Him glory as His people become One.

So in this vein, here are 10 questions you can ask this adoptive parent!  I have heard them all before and will welcome them all again!

1.  Where is their 'real' mom?   While I don't love this phrase, I know that what you probably mean is 'biological' mom, and that you are probably not making an attempt to slight me!  Some parents are free to answer this question with more transparency than others.   Every adoptive parent struggles to find the balance between being transparent and protecting our kids and the stories which uniquely belong to them.  In our case, their other real mom is still a part of their life and a part of our family.  This has its own unique struggles, joys, and challenges, but we wouldn't have it any other way.

2.  Are your kids so happy you adopted them?  This is a great opportunity for me to open the door to a conversation about the reality that even in the best of circumstances adoption is hemmed in by trauma and loss.  There is no joy in the destruction of a family by sin or tragedy.  While we can rejoice in God's redemption, provision, and faithfulness to work all things for His good purposes, we still mourn and grieve deeply alongside of our children the loss of His original design -the beautiful family He intended.

3.  How did you know you were 'called' to adoption?  We recently had a great discussion at a women's Bible Study at my church about this whole elusive idea of 'God's call'.  The truth?   I think we are often guilty of missing the forest for the trees here.  While I think God does call us to specific places or purposes in our life, we spend far too much time worrying we might miss some minutiae, while overlooking His much larger and very discernible revelation in Scripture.  The Word is filled with God's manifest call to His people, and one of His most clearly stated directives is to care for the orphan and the widow.    While it might not be everyone's call specifically to adopt, if you are a believer, you ARE called to be involved in this work in some capacity!  Make meals for an adoptive family with too much on their plate.  Offer to tutor a child in school work or teach them a unique skill set.  Offer to babysit to give over extended parents time to breathe and refresh. (We can be your recipient family for any of these ministries, by the way.  You're welcome.  We're just servant hearted like that.)  Mentor or disciple a hurting child.  Volunteer for a foster agency.   Become a child advocate.  There really are abundant ways to respond to YOUR call!

4.  Is it hard having a racially mixed family?  Yes and no.  I will be honest, and say that while this is certainly not the case for everyone,  the answer to this question for me is mostly . . . no.   Our family is made up of a crazy hodgepodge of connections and colors.   The skin tones in this family range from the pasty white toddler to beautiful rich chocolate hues and several shades in between.  This delights me!  We talk openly, and sometimes seriously, in our family about race, culture, and the struggles that come along with living in a multi-cultural family.  And sometimes we joke about it.  My beautiful, mixed (and incidentally, biological) daughter once shared that she and another mixed boy at school used to call themselves "Halfricans".  Sometimes they would link arms and proclaim that together they made a whole African.  Some may find that offensive, and in no way do we ever mean to diminish the harmful affects and realities of racism that still plague our world today.  There have been hard moments.  Sometimes our kids are faced with questions that hurt them or are difficult to answer.   Still, we find much joy and beauty in the diversity, even amidst the challenges.

5.  How much did it/they cost? Or the flip question:  Do you get paid to have them?  Okay, I am not going to lie.  I hope you won't ever phrase this question in such a way that presents adoption as a way to 'buy'  or get paid for a child.  However, giving you the benefit of the doubt, I'd love to share about the process, what is entailed, etc.  We only have experience with adopting through foster care which is very different than overseas adoption...but I will gladly offer any insight I can if you are curious, or even better, considering this path!

6.  What's their story/history?  See number one. :)

7.  Did you hear about the horrors of  so and so's adoption story?  Trust me, I've heard a hundred horror stories.  What a great open door to talk about God's clear directive for us to lay down our lives that others might know Him.  I cannot think of a greater opportunity for discipleship than through adoption and parenting!  Comfort and safety have never been the believer's first consideration as they make decisions.  Obedience is.

8.  Is she/are they normal?  I have no idea or context for the word normal.  Nothing about our family is or has ever been "normal", and we love every bit of that!

9.  Would you do it again if you could go back?  Unequivocally, emphatically, YES.  Every hard, beautiful messy moment has been a harbinger of God's grace, mercy and redemption.  I have, through this process, become more passionate about calling the church to seek out solutions and provide support to keep families in tact whenever possible.   Foster care and orphanages only amplify exponentially the initial trauma these kids have already experienced.    I have come to believe that there is no greater way we could serve or care for the at-risk children in our communities and around the world.  What better way to serve the orphan than to ensure that fewer children are orphaned?!   However, apart from this process, my eyes would never have been opened to this reality.  Funny how God works that way.  Incidentally, if you are interested in more information about how you or your church could be involved in that mission, you should look into:  Safe Families or Illini Christian Ministries.   Two amazing organizations who are accomplishing huge Kingdom work in that direction!

10.  Honestly?  Ask me anything you want! My deep desire is to be as honest as possible about this journey...both the crazy joys and deepest hards.  Adoption is hard.  Grief and loss in all of their forms are hard.   There are a million things NOT to say to the broken hearted who have lost a parent, a spouse, a child, to the woman who is desperately grieving a miscarriage or the ability to conceive at all, to the family who has been devastated by divorce,  abuse,  addiction. The truth is, we live in broken, fallen world and sometimes the best we can do is to show each other mercy and grace. Assume the best.  Give the benefit of the doubt.  Pray for all wisdom and compassion  as we shine the light of the Gospel into the darkness.  Ask questions.  Brave honesty and vulnerability.  Risk relationship.  Love is always, always, ALWAYS worth the risk.

Fighting for Love

(I am posting this once more at the risk of worrying my mom and my family.  As if y'all aren't every bit as neurotic.   Please hear the humor and sarcasm and know that I am okay.  Well, I am not always okay, but I am learning to be okay with that.  I am trying to learn to "wear life like a loose garment", as a really wise friend once told me.  Still, loving...laying down your life...choosing grace...it's hard for this girl.  Sometimes, the hardest person to extend grace to is the sinner looking at us in the mirror.)

It is no secret that my family has been in a difficult place for the last several months. . . that I have been in a difficult place.   While I try to be respectful with the pieces I chose to share (after all, much of the story is not mine to tell) I have tried to balance that with honesty and transparency.  My hope is that other mommas might feel a sense of solidarity and know they are not alone in the midst of a whole lotta hard.  And honestly?  I am honest because I  don't want to feel alone.  I want to be known and loved even in all of my sin and struggle and failure.  Isn't that the cry of our heart?

So I struggle to walk the balance beam.  To share enough, but not too much.  I post blogs that others have written and express it so much more eloquently than I could.  I wonder if anyone reads them and gains a glimmer of understanding, or maybe hope for their own hurting hearts.  Sometimes, in my least attractive moments, I just pull the covers over my head and hide.

Today was one of those days.  As my family got ready to head out the door for church, I chose to stay home, unable to face the world outside.  I don't know how to explain to someone who has never experienced the panic of trying to walk out your door and put on your game face when inside you feel like you are drowning.  The desperation of knowing you need to reach for a lifeline, but feeling in all truth as though you are trapped in quicksand and cannot free yourself to grab hold of the raft.   So instead of going to church, I stayed home and listened to worship music on Spotify and podcasts by Francis Chan and begged God to meet me, even in this lonely place.  I begged Him to take my heart of stone and give me a heart of flesh, that loves His word, that loves Him, above all else.  I sobbed my heart...the truth that not one ounce of me felt capable of loving in that moment and that I feel like a failure for not loving as I am called to love.  Chan's sermon drew me to these Words:

     "I know your works, your toil and your patient endurance, and how you cannot bear with those
     who are evil, but have tested those who call themselves apostles and are not, and found them to 
     be false.  I know you are enduring patiently and bearing up for my name's sake, and you have not 
     grown weary.  But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first."
                                                Revelation 2:2-4

The truth is, right now, in this place I often do not know how to love.  I feel empty.  How can I love when I feel so completely unlovable myself?  I know the answers, but applying them in the context of such desperation can be impossible.   Still, as I struggled to cling to truth, I was drawn to some of my favorite Scripture in all of the world.  I read a section of Psalm 119 every morning to prepare my heart to interact with the Word.  This morning, as I grappled with this idea of fighting for my first love, and of fighting to love those He is calling me to love, I scanned through some of the underlined verses from this beautiful chapter of Scripture:

     "In the way of your testimonies I delight as much as in all riches.  I will meditate on your
     precepts and fix my eyes on your ways.  I will delight in your statutes;...

     Take away from me scorn and contempt...

     I have chosen the way of faithfulness

     Let your steadfast love come to me, O Lord, your salvation according to your promise;

     for I trust in Your word...

     The earth, O Lord, is full of Your steadfast love; 

     Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now I keep Your word.  You are good and do good.

     in faithfulness you have afflicted me.  Let Your steadfast love comfort me according to Your
     promise to Your servant.  Let Your mercy come to me that I may live for Your law is my 
    delight.

     In Your steadfast love give me life...

     Great peace have those who love your law;  nothing can make them stumble.  I hope for Your
     salvation, O Lord, and I do Your commandments.  My soul keeps Your testimonies;  I love them
    exceedingly.

And in those moments, I chose to fight for love.   And I was reminded that I have been choosing the wrong weapons.  "The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world.  On the contrary, they have the divine power to demolish strongholds.  We demolish arguments and ever idea that sets itself up against the knowledge of God.  We take captive every thought and make it obedient to Christ."    2 Corinthians 2:4-6

So I stayed on my knees and fought, for love and for peace and for joy.  And I begged God to fill me with a love that overflowed.  And I begged Him to show me His love in this moment, in this day.

Then my family came home.   They came home, and the house filled up with noise, and chaos, and whining and arguments and attention seeking behaviors and stress and all of the resolve and quiet joy I had found in the Word that morning faded as quickly as it had come.  And there was my failure, smacking me once more in the face.  Why was I so fickle?  Why was I so quick to fold?  Why could I not cling more tightly to obedience  Why could I not clothe myself with compassion and gentleness.  I did manage to whisper a quiet prayer for the strength to fight for love.

We made it through lunch and finally, finally, we pulled on coats and scarves and hats and piled into minivans to go pick out a Christmas tree.  Friends, this is literally one of my favorite days of the year.  I love holidays, I love tradition, and above all, I love, love, love Christmas!  As a kid, even before the days of Pinterest, Mom made this holiday so, incredibly special.  She found boundless joy  in every bit of it - the tree, the decorating, the baking, the hospitality and gathering of family, the chaos, the Christmas music, the gifts.  She went all out.  I remember the excitement and anticipation as she would hoist me into the storage room above our basement stairs so I could hand down the dusty decorations and lights and ornaments.  She made it magic and it has remained so for me even as an adult,  so in the midst of the chaos, I fought to find joy for this moment.

We pulled into the lot and crowded into the small store to claim our cider before we set off to find the perfect tree.   As my crazy family crammed into the shop, smearing finger prints over the glass that encased the sweet treats, I smiled despite myself.  I still struggle to understand how happiness and grief can live together in such close quarters, but that is exactly what they do.

My load continued to lighten as we made our way outside to examine the virtues and flaws in every tree.  The cider, the crisp air, and the infectious delight of the kids as we laced our way through the rows, exclaiming, "Look at this one!"  "Oooooh!  What about this one?!"  was enough to lighten the weight and force the sadness to give way, and after much debate, we settled on a tree.  A ridiculously huge, beautiful, pine-scented, mammoth of a tree.   I am not even sure what happened from that point, or why, but as I began to herd the kids back toward the store, Stephen grabbed my arm, leaned toward me, and said in a low voice,  "She just pulled the tag off of the tree and said, 'Merry Christmas.'"

     "What?  She ...what?  She did what?  Where is she?"

He pointed, "The lady in the red vest."

     I weaved my way through the tress my eyes already brimming with tears as I grabbed her.  "Thank you.  Thank you so much."  I wrapped my arms around her,wondering if she had any clue what her incredible gift of kindness meant to me.  I choked out an awkward, "Merry Chrsitmas" and retreated in a bit of embarrassment at the wave of emotion.  The rest of the trip was a blur, picking out a huge wreath for the barn since the tree had been gifted to us, letting the kids pick out sweet treats - fudge and frosted sugar cookies and chocolate covered pretzels, piling back into the vans to head home.   As I considered God's extravagant answer to my prayers that morning, a tangible sense of His grace and love washed over me.   I grabbed a card from the floorboard of the van and scribbled this note,

     "My family has been through a phenomenally hard couple of months.  You could not possibly know how much your kindness meant to me.  I pray that you are blessed as much as you have blessed us."

And I was reminded again...even when my love fails, Yours never does.  Today was exhausting and hard and beautiful and filled with joy.  Tomorrow, I will get up and fight for love again.
 

The Rest of the Story

So I am having a bit of writer's remorse.  Not for being as raw or as honest as I was in the last blog. I was completely blown away by how many comments and messages I received from people who felt like they were reading their heart.  Any insecurity I was feeling faded pretty quickly.   (Well, there is always insecurity.  But that's another blog, another time.)   I know that there is something SO comforting and powerful about hearing the words (or seeing them vomited out in a blog?) that you've been too afraid, ashamed, prideful, isolated, or for whatever other reason, unable to articulate.  If one person was encouraged, comforted, validated, or moved toward understanding, I am so glad I hit "Publish".

Still, I feel some uneasiness with leaving that blog to stand alone for a couple of reasons.  First of all, I am afraid I gave my Momma a few more gray hairs.  In a staff meeting yesterday my husband flashed his phone at me when her name popped up on the screen.

"She's worried about me.  The blog."

I mean, it's my Momma. She loves me.  (Hi, Mom!)  After ensuring that I was not on the verge of a mental breakdown, she promised to take me to lunch.  And buy me a rug for my living room. Seriously.   Because what makes you feel cheered up more than a new rug?  You wish your mom was as cool as mine.  You can rest assured that I will be finding more reasons to write cathartic blogs about the hot mess that is my life.  And it wasn't just her.  I received pretty prompt messages from my big brother, my sister and my sister-in-law.  I love that my family loves so big.   We don't see each other often and we might be the definition of dysfunctional, but let me tell you what I know for certain:  when there is a real need, my family will move mountains to help or to be there.  That, my friends, is good stuff.

Secondly, more than just giving my family further reason to believe that I am an emotional basket case is this:  while the last post was absolutely authentic, it was still only part of the picture. The whole truth is that it was not the whole truth.  It was still a cropped picture of reality.  And that just isn't sitting well with me.

My biggest fear about sharing the crazy hard that is inherent in fostering and adoption is the possibility of turning someone away from this beautiful calling.  But the problem is if we are not honest, how can we possibly equip people for the task.  So how do we balance this?  How do we tell the whole truth?  Share the uncropped picture in all of its tragic beauty?  It is remarkably challenging to articulate the whole scope of joy and pain that this journey has encompassed, but I want to try.  Because the unabridged truth is that as deep and overwhelming as the trauma and grief have been. . .the moments of gratification and joy are equally profound.  I truly do not believe that one side of the coin can exist without the other.  The harder we fight to overcome, the sweeter the victory!

So, I dedicate this post to my Momma (mom, can we go rug shopping this week?) and to telling the whole story.  Because alongside of the struggle and the pain, there is so, so, so much goodness.  There are beautiful moments.  They are not the only moments.  And there are more ugly, painful moments than I want to share, but the beautiful ones are just as real.  And they are precious.  And sometimes I post them on Facebook not to fool you but to remind myself of just how much goodness I have a tendency to miss.

And there are funny anecdotes.  A lot of them.  Like the time last week when Charlie walked into the room after a shower with 2 large squares shaved into each side of his head. (My biggest parenting fail is that I do not have photographic evidence of this.)  When Steve asked about them, he answered with all seriousness, "I didn't know it was a razor.  I thought it was a head massager."  And the truth, way too willingly and smugly supplied by his sister, "He was trying to shave Nike swooshes into his head."   (Steve kindly reminded him that I primarily use that razor to shave my arm pits.  Call us for parenting advice any time.)

Or the time that we walked into McDonalds and I got the kids situated in booths while Stephen ordered.  A sweet, older couple was dining a few tables away and smiled warmly at us while I tried to corral the kids at several different tables.  (This exercise is a bit like trying to herd fleas.)  I mustered a smile in return and the husband asked with all the pity sympathy he could muster "Are you guys a church group?"  I cherished his baffled look as I chirped, "Nope.  I birthed every one of them from my loins!"***

And there is so much more than funny stories.  There is meeting absolute heroes of the faith who have endured SO MUCH with their kids for the sake of Christ.  So that those precious ones would know Christ.  There is hearing, "Mommy!" instead of "Chris!" for the first time and the startled look on both of our faces.  There is a dinner table crammed with so many people and so much laughter it makes your heart hurt.  There is watching your pasty white toddler, who has always and only known this family, run and leap into the arms of his chocolate brother and proclaim, "I wuv you Chawie!!   There is sitting on the deck and watching an entire gaggle of kids run and squeal and catch lightning bugs at dusk.  There are teachers who have seen the progress from the beginning and who wrap their arms around you and tell you that you are genuinely making a difference, when you cannot see it.  There are baptisms and conversations about Jesus that make your heart soar and ache and real moments that cement this truth into my soul.  Every bit of hard is worth it.

And perhaps most significant is this:  the absolute helplessness, abandon and joy of reaching the complete end of yourself.  Knowing that you cannot take one more step apart from Christ.  Choosing love when you cannot possibly choose love again.  But you do.  Or you don't.  And you fall on grace and find that the Cross really was enough.  That there is nothing you can do to add to it or take away from it.  And even though you have failed so many times that you cannot own up to all of the failure, you pick yourself up and try again, because there is nothing, absolutely NOTHING that you want your kids to understand more than the reality that His grace is enough.  For you.  For them. There is no trauma, no failure, no past or present. no pain or grief it cannot overcome.  It is enough. That is the whole truth.



***Of course I did NOT really say that.  But I wish I would have.

Even When My Love Fails

Tonight, I am weary to the bone.  Like a bit of rope drug too many times over a rough edge, I feel frayed.  Sometimes I wonder if the next bit of friction might cause me to snap altogether.  Forgive me if I risk a little too much authenticity here tonight.  Maybe I will edit this post to make it a little more palatable.  Maybe I will just vomit it all out on the page.

Here's the deal.  Trauma. Freaking. Sucks.   It is two and a half years in and I find myself torn between two extremes.  I SO desire to paint the beautiful lie.  The Photshopped picture of adoption.  The one where there are elements of truth, but they have been edited to look a little more picturesque.  Whitewashed.  The subjects and the setting are real, but the lighting has been adjusted, the ugly parts of the background have been softened, or erased altogether.  I want to share the picture that draws others toward the beautiful story of being grafted into a family.  The one that screams of redemption. One that makes everyone line up at the closest adoption agency to get on board as foster parents.  It is so easy to do, you know?  To post the right pictures on Facebook.  To share the funny tidbits and laughable anecdotes.  To photoshop reality into something that looks authentic but is at best only a shadow of the truth.

The other half, the part of me that is desperate to come clean, screams to share the raw, unedited truth.  The kind of truth that makes you squirm because there is a little too much reality.  Too much pain.  Too many rough edges.  The real picture is much less attractive.  Someone is almost always forgetting their game face.  There is anger and frustration and exhaustion and giving up - trying but failing again.  And again and again and again.

There is walking on eggshells...always the eggshells in hopes of maintaining peace.  Constantly wondering if today will be free of a blow up that will set the entire house on edge.  There is the deep, deep mourning of what was.   What was true for my family before we chose to take on so much hard. There is desperately missing days of easy, comfortable joy.  There is guilt and shame and pain and struggle.

There is second guessing EVERY parenting decision, where you once felt confident and secure.  There is battling hard to love authentically in the face of hate and venom that you KNOW is not really directed at you, but makes you bleed just the same.  There is secondary trauma, when you begin to live so defensively that just sharing a room causes your heart rate to rise and your guard to go up because you simply cannot do battle anymore.  There is rejection and failure and feeling like you just want to lay on the ground in the muck because you cannot get up again.  There is feeling so exhausted and bone weary that you cannot put one foot in front of the other.  There is hiding at home because you simply cannot plaster on the fake smile. . .not even (especially not?) at church.  There is this desperate desire to be known. . .really known.  For others to know how much you are struggling.  But that desire collides with crushing guilt that you might turn someone away from this holy call to  love beyond yourself, if you are that uncomfortably honest about the hard.

And even in the midst of the true story is the truth:   I would choose every bit of it again.  I would choose the ones that no one else wants to choose.  26 placements in less than 2 years.  Twenty six declarations of rejection in twenty four months.   I will look you in the eye and from the bottom of my heart, I will say, "I choose you."

In the midst of more struggle and trauma and pain than I ever could have imagined . . .I choose you.  I will fail.  I will put up walls of defense when I should tear them down.  I will sin.  I will keep a record of wrongs when I should forget.  I will get angry when I am called to be patient.   I will lose my temper when I should be slow to anger.   I will blame when I should choose compassion.  I will grieve and mourn when I should hope. I will be jealous of those who reach your heart when I could not, though I should rejoice.  I will give up when I should persevere.   I will choose self protection when I should lay down my life.   Even so, I will choose love.  I will choose you.  Because even when my love fails?  His NEVER does.

Redemption is not pretty.  It is not sanitized or fluffy.  Our redemption cost Jesus EVERYTHING.  It cost His reputation, His standing, His life.  He gave up His very nature, every comfort, every privilege, every advantage, so that we could find life.    He took on every bit of our sin and shame, deserving none of it.  He CHOSE suffering, not for His sake but ours.  How could I expect it to cost me any less?

The truth?  I feel like a failure most days.   I suck at this. . . this laying down of my own life when it really matters.  Tonight, the truth is I feel discouraged and defeated and alone. The truth is that sometimes just surviving today is the best I can do.  The truth is that I also still feel fiercely called to this path.  And the truth is, I will pick myself up tomorrow, and whisper to my heart that mercy triumphs in the end.  And despite every bit of hard, I will choose love again.  Because even when my love fails, His Never does.  And that is enough.

Connected

We are forgetting how to connect with each other.  My family, that is.

I mean everyone, really. . .but when we are sitting in the living room, all of us together and close, heads bent over glowing screens, near enough to touch but in completely different worlds, that is where it makes my heart pause.

Lately, in our house, I have noticed more and more of this.  More and more disconnect.  Now, I am not anti-technology, or even anti social media.  I realize it is here to stay, and I think it can be a phenomenal tool.   The Ranch has benefited greatly from social networking online, and as a chronic Facebook over-sharer, I am personally enslaved to fond of keeping up with friends and sharing photos of the kids with Grandma and Grandpa online.

Still, I wonder how many deep, heart conversations I have missed out on with my kids because they were, or I was, too engrossed in a news feed or whatever is trending on Twitter.  I wonder how many moments I have brushed off one of the Littles without even realizing it and I won't even approach the reality of how much time I could be spending in the Word and in prayer if I shut down my phone and spent half of the time on the internet. . .

But that's another blog, and one that has been written times over. . .because, well, we are all feeling this overloaded, over stimulated, over connected disconnect in our lives.

So, Stephen and I are taking some steps to battle this.  Rather than changing the wi-fi password (which we strongly considered and may still revert to), one of the things we are doing is to simply challenge our kids, and ourselves, to choose to connect.  To put some flesh on this, we came up with a list of 40 ways they might do that and challenged them to choose at least 3 things off of that list a week.  (I thought it should be 5, but Steve always says I'm excessive.  Go figure.)  Some of these are simple and take only a moment.  Some require a bit of effort and preparation.  I pray all of them will nurture the face to face, real life, soul filling connection that our over-saturated lives are starving for!

Here is our list:
(In our family with so many kids and such a wide age-range, the youngest four - ranging in age from 3-11) have bee affectionately dubbed the Littles.  Much of this list reflects our desire for our older kids (the Bigs) to pour into the lives of their younger siblings.)

1.  Do Sunday School homework with the Littles.

2.  Crochet with them

3.  Play a game with someone(s)

4.  Do a craft with the girls

5.  Read a book with the Littles

6.  Paint the little girl's finger and toenails

7.  Invite someone(s) to go for a walk

8.  Ask someone about their day, and then really listen to their answer

9.  Play an instrument with one of the Littles

10.  Help with homework, or quiz them on math facts or sight words

11.  Leave your phone in your room for 1 hour

12.  Ask someone to go ride (do this for the Littles or with someone else)

13. Build a fire and make hot chocolate for the family

14. Bake cookies or invite one of the Littles to cook with you

15. Take someone(s) out for coffee or ice cream.  (Hint:  We'd probably pay)

15. Plan a date night with someone in the family

16. Have a photo shoot with the Littles

17. Make goofy videos with the Littles

18. Spend  2 minutes listening intently to whatever someone wants to talk about

19. Spend 2 minutes sharing about your day with someone

20. Whatch a "What's in the Bible" video with the Littles then discuss it with them

21. Color with a Little

22. Write a note of encouragement for someone in the family

23. Help a Little write a note to someone and mail it

24. Call a grandparent just to chat

25. Take a Little to visit a grandparent

26. Offer to do an extra chore, or simply do something extra that you see needs done.

27. Offer to do someone else's chore for them or with them

28. Jump on the trampoline with the Littles for half an hour

29. Paint a picture with a Little

30. Read the Bible with a Little

31. Hug someone

32. Tell someone something you appreciate about them

33. Build a fort with the Littles (and clean it up)

34. Practice spelling with the Littles with Scrabble tiles

35. Build Legos with a Little

36. Trim their toenails (this was Dad's idea)

37. Do a puzzle with someone(s)

38. Grab a Little and commit a random act of kindness together

39. Stargaze with someone

40. Initiate a pillow fight

Also, the irony of sharing about this issue via a blog is never lost on me.  Baby steps! 

What about you?  I'd love to hear your ideas to add to the list!?  What creative efforts do you and your family employ to combat this in your home?