My poor husband has to listen to a lot. His poor ears. Part of me thinks that he's excited for the day that he needs hearing aids so he can just turn me off. He's a real trooper. And I am a habitual over-communicator. It's how I process and how I deal. I can't work through stuff inside of my head space sometimes. It's just not big enough in there. But during the times when Jake isn't here, or when he's already listened to A LOT, I write. If there was such as a thing as "eye aids", some of you may choose to turn me off. Jake is at work this morning. The kids are fed and up to no good. And I need to process.
We talk to our kids a lot about choices. About how circumstances in their lives are a result of choices they've made. We can't choose things like the family we've been given or our eye color. We can't choose our personalities and we can't choose the details that God intricately designed us with. But God, when He so perfectly created us, designed us with free will. We choose everything from the way we react to someone to what we eat or don't eat all the way down to where we will spend eternity. God has provided all of the benefits of good choices for us. But we have to choose to take what is being held out to us. Our life choices are no different than that. We say so many times a week in this house "you can't control what they do, you can only control the way you react to it. Don't let their sin, make you sin." And most days, that's a tough pill for kids to swallow. For us adults, it's like the impossible pill to swallow. We react every day. Keeping ourselves in check with our reactions and actions is a full time job. Self control is a full time job. Choices are hard. And sometimes in life, we WILL make the wrong choice. What's beautiful is that God is full of grace and mercy. He will not change. If we stray from His will, and if we return, He has not changed. He's the same yesterday, today and forever. He is the only true "home". Because "home" here on earth changes. And family changes. And sometimes, that's a direct result of our choices, or other people's choices. But for each choice, there is always a result. Always.
I was 5 when my mom and stepdad started dating, 8 when they got married, and 19 when they got divorced. He's now referred to as my "dad" because "step" is just silly. He's my dad. He was there. And so was his family. They took us all in just like he did. Without hesitation. And I lived an awesome awesome childhood because of this addition of a new family (and it's a big one and I LOVED that). Holidays were always fully full. One of my absolute favorite Thanksgiving memories is trekking into NYC from my grandparents house in NJ to watch the Macy's parade. It was freezing. Legitimately freezing. And you had to get there before dawn to get a good spot. But we had our thermos and our thermals and each other. Cousins and aunts and uncles....all huddled up to see a parade and make memories that I will never forget. Most gatherings, there were so many people we couldn't move around in the house. I miss that. So much. The chaos. The drama. The warmth. As each year passed, more kids got added. Kids got older and people moved and the location of the holiday celebrations moved as well. And it didn't change. When my grandparents retired to SC, my grandma would invite random people over for holiday meals.....1 because she hated the idea of anyone being alone and 2 because the house felt empty with less than 20 people. The Scrabble board and the wine came out. The men watched whatever sport was on during that season. Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, random get togethers......they were always the same. They supported us as if the same blood ran through our veins. Sporting events and proms and graduation and sleepovers and cooking lessons and crossword puzzles and school projects. The whole deal! And then change started happening. I moved away to school and my parents chose divorce. I don't condemn them for it. It was THEIR choice. And at 19, I was old enough to be responsible and make my own choice. I chose poorly.
It was a less than amicable divorce. And I took sides. And these people that had given me an amazing childhood full of love and experience and family got hurt. My dad and I were estranged for over 2 years. A lot happens in two years. He got remarried. I gave birth to a son. And bonds were broken. We made amends the summer that I found out I was pregnant with Zella. I remember the night after we saw each other for the first time after so long and I got in the car and just cried. Yes, I was pregnant, but I was relieved and hurt. Hurt that I let myself miss 2 years of this closeness. That Christmas, the rest of the family followed. We all met after probably 4 years for dinner and there were tears and it was awesome. The kids that had been littles were almost women. And this family took us in, again. Except for my grandparents. They deserved more. They deserved an apology. Before I was able to do that, my grandma passed away unexpectedly. I walked into the funeral feeling like I shouldn't be there. Because she went to her grave never knowing how truly sorry I was, and how much I loved her and appreciated her. It got better. And family gatherings happened more often and lines of communication opened and while things will never be the same, they were still good. We've separated ourselves a lot in the last year or so. It's kind of what happens sometimes in adoption and it's necessary. But even in being necessary, it's still painful and lonely. We have missed family gatherings and I've missed the closeness and even though they've stayed the same, it feels different.
This morning, after a long and courageous battle with cancer, my grandpa passed away. He's with grandma now. He's not in any more pain. He and I had made our peace. But I never said it. I never said sorry. I never said thank you. That was my choice. One that I will have to deal with.
If I could explain this to my kids today in a way that wouldn't terrify them, I would say, "In a moment, our choices may seem right. It might feel like we are doing what's best. If you're basing your choice on how you feel, it's probably wrong. Feelings can be prideful. They can be misleading. They can be a result of outside sources. Think about it. Pray about it. Then choose."
We are so imperfect. We do make bad choices. We hurt people. We create distance where distance doesn't belong. We carry our pride with us in these giant bags and force that baggage on the people close to us. WE are the ones that change. And then we accuse everyone else of changing.
Last night our family devotional was about the hurt that people feel at Christmas. That there isn't always joy for everyone this time of year. The expectation of the Christmas season is peace and joy and cheer and happiness. And if we try to find those things in the "things" of the season, the expectation is very often shattered. And we find ourselves frustrated and even more upset that a "time of year" couldn't even make us happy. But if we focus on the true meaning of Christmas, that we can have peace all year. Emmanuel. God with us. We were given a gift that would afford us the opportunity to make a choice that would give us a forever "home" and a forever "family" and an eternal Father. One that won't change. One that won't remind us of our regret. One that will allow us to enter into His kingdom forever and ever. It's our choice.
So today, while I mourn at home for a great man and for my dad who is mourning with his family, I find great hope in this sign on my wall. Emmanuel. He is with us. No regret or pain can change this gift. Nothing can take it away or estrange it. He is the same yesterday, today and forever. No matter how close or how far we choose to be.
This season, whatever this season may mean for you, I hope you find the same hope in this gift. Whatever your hurt, whatever your regret or distance from God, this gift is for you.
"But the angel said to them, 'Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today, in the town of David, a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah. The Lord.'" Luke 2:10-11
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Monday, November 17, 2014
Not Flesh of my Flesh......
"Not flesh of my flesh, or bone of my bone, but somehow, still miraculously my own. Never forget, for a single minute, you didn't grow under my heart, but in it."
It's National Adoption Month. I think there may have also been a National Adoption Day, but I'm blessed that I remembered today is Monday so special days outside of the norm don't register in this mama's memory. And even though this adoption road has been quite bumpy, adoption and foster care are things I do still feel passionate about......though my perspective has changed a bit.
When Jake and I first started this journey, I would read the above quote and sob at the idea of having a child that I could share those words with one day. A child that would embrace the idea of me as some ethereal woman robed in white with children bouncing on my knee with love pouring out of my veins and into the lives of all of the people around me. I was also delusional. First of all, I'm not ethereal. At all. Second, white makes me look like death. Third, no child, living a for real life, with for real people, will ever look at their mother with zero angst. So toss that romanticized version of "mothering" out the window, fast forward to actually having our child in his new forever home, and insert the ACTUAL reality. Adoptive/foster parents are NOT saints. They are NOT perfect. They do NOT have it all together. They do NOT want you to put them on a pedestal. They ARE sinners just like every other Tom, Dick and Harry. They ARE still people. And people, people are just the worst.
Really. We are. And adoptive/foster parents suck at life just like non-foster/adopt parents. The ONLY difference between the two is one said "yes". One said "yes". And "yes" for us looks like this:
Adoption/Fostering is:
- like putting yourself on the fast track to sanctification. If there is anything awful inside of you, children, especially children from really hard places, will bring those impurities to the service for God to burn off.
- not always about the child. Very very often, the child is the last redeemed soul......while the rest of the family finds themselves closer to God than EVER imagined before.
- a deliberate, intentional proclamation to gut it out. To CHOOSE DAILY from the beginning of the paperwork and forward to fight the fight and do the character building and LOVE regardless of the hard, ugly, terrible stuff that might happen.
- an unpredictable path with only one road map and one compass......THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE WITHOUT GOD.
- a beautiful love story
- a tragedy
- heartbreaking AND heartwarming
- a step of faith
- a whipping post
- a physical reminder of how God can and will heal......
Don't tell me I'm amazing. When I'm getting screamed at or spit on or breaking up another sibling fight, I don't feel amazing. When I'm hiding in the closet with my husband praying for a breakthrough for a child, I don't feel like what I'm doing is anything greater than anyone else. But then......when someone asks him "what does it mean to be adopted?" and he replies "it means mommy and daddy loves me".........there is beauty in the ashes. There is fruit. There is purpose in this pain. There is a reminder that anybody can say "yes"......because WE ARE NOT THE ONES THAT HEAL. We are not the saints. We are just the sinners. The vessels. The ones that prayed some crazy prayer one day and asked God to break our hearts. He broke our hearts. Our family. Our idea of family. We have had 5 days of good. 5 days straight. In the last 13 months, this is a record. The days have been long. We've analyzed and questioned and wondered and pondered. We've prayed and we've disciplined and explained and explained again and hugged it out and prayed prayed and then prayed. And some days, the efforts felt in vain. Some days, we labor without remembering that God is laboring with us. Some days I swear God throws His hands up and says "great! Thanks for making My job harder!". But we plug away. Day by day. And why? Because God.
Because God.
Someone asked me just last week "why Ukraine? Why not adopt from the US?" and I quickly replied, "because when we prayed, God said Ukraine". Is a Ukrainian childs soul not as valuable as an American childs soul? I think that foster/adopt families will ALL agree that every child is worth it. The day that we start regarding children as disposable, or not worth the fight, is the day that we have to question our own lives. Why are we worthy of life and purpose if they aren't? I look at my life. At the ashes. At the shape that the potter is still molding me into.....and I imagine my children one day, changing the world, one super hard day at a time. Because they have seen how God works in HIS time. They have seen Him redeem and restore and renew. I know, that even today, day 5 of great, that my mind still has no capability of understanding what God has in store for those that love and serve Him (1 Cor. 2:9). I believe everyone deserves a chance to find out. And that it's our job to afford them that opportunity.
I don't believe this is a job for everyone. But I do believe, that anyone that says "yes" will be sustained and walked with and held onto by a God that loves them as the orphaned child they once were.
I don't know what today is.....national adoption day or ugly dog day or whatever day. But I know that today, my son told me that he chooses to love me. It's a hard choice for him to make. Trust is HARD. But God.
Thank you to all of the women that chose life for their children. They are not always flesh of our flesh or bone of our bone, but somehow they are still miraculously (by the grace of God) our own.
It's National Adoption Month. I think there may have also been a National Adoption Day, but I'm blessed that I remembered today is Monday so special days outside of the norm don't register in this mama's memory. And even though this adoption road has been quite bumpy, adoption and foster care are things I do still feel passionate about......though my perspective has changed a bit.
When Jake and I first started this journey, I would read the above quote and sob at the idea of having a child that I could share those words with one day. A child that would embrace the idea of me as some ethereal woman robed in white with children bouncing on my knee with love pouring out of my veins and into the lives of all of the people around me. I was also delusional. First of all, I'm not ethereal. At all. Second, white makes me look like death. Third, no child, living a for real life, with for real people, will ever look at their mother with zero angst. So toss that romanticized version of "mothering" out the window, fast forward to actually having our child in his new forever home, and insert the ACTUAL reality. Adoptive/foster parents are NOT saints. They are NOT perfect. They do NOT have it all together. They do NOT want you to put them on a pedestal. They ARE sinners just like every other Tom, Dick and Harry. They ARE still people. And people, people are just the worst.
Really. We are. And adoptive/foster parents suck at life just like non-foster/adopt parents. The ONLY difference between the two is one said "yes". One said "yes". And "yes" for us looks like this:
Adoption/Fostering is:
- like putting yourself on the fast track to sanctification. If there is anything awful inside of you, children, especially children from really hard places, will bring those impurities to the service for God to burn off.
- not always about the child. Very very often, the child is the last redeemed soul......while the rest of the family finds themselves closer to God than EVER imagined before.
- a deliberate, intentional proclamation to gut it out. To CHOOSE DAILY from the beginning of the paperwork and forward to fight the fight and do the character building and LOVE regardless of the hard, ugly, terrible stuff that might happen.
- an unpredictable path with only one road map and one compass......THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE WITHOUT GOD.
- a beautiful love story
- a tragedy
- heartbreaking AND heartwarming
- a step of faith
- a whipping post
- a physical reminder of how God can and will heal......
Don't tell me I'm amazing. When I'm getting screamed at or spit on or breaking up another sibling fight, I don't feel amazing. When I'm hiding in the closet with my husband praying for a breakthrough for a child, I don't feel like what I'm doing is anything greater than anyone else. But then......when someone asks him "what does it mean to be adopted?" and he replies "it means mommy and daddy loves me".........there is beauty in the ashes. There is fruit. There is purpose in this pain. There is a reminder that anybody can say "yes"......because WE ARE NOT THE ONES THAT HEAL. We are not the saints. We are just the sinners. The vessels. The ones that prayed some crazy prayer one day and asked God to break our hearts. He broke our hearts. Our family. Our idea of family. We have had 5 days of good. 5 days straight. In the last 13 months, this is a record. The days have been long. We've analyzed and questioned and wondered and pondered. We've prayed and we've disciplined and explained and explained again and hugged it out and prayed prayed and then prayed. And some days, the efforts felt in vain. Some days, we labor without remembering that God is laboring with us. Some days I swear God throws His hands up and says "great! Thanks for making My job harder!". But we plug away. Day by day. And why? Because God.
Because God.
Someone asked me just last week "why Ukraine? Why not adopt from the US?" and I quickly replied, "because when we prayed, God said Ukraine". Is a Ukrainian childs soul not as valuable as an American childs soul? I think that foster/adopt families will ALL agree that every child is worth it. The day that we start regarding children as disposable, or not worth the fight, is the day that we have to question our own lives. Why are we worthy of life and purpose if they aren't? I look at my life. At the ashes. At the shape that the potter is still molding me into.....and I imagine my children one day, changing the world, one super hard day at a time. Because they have seen how God works in HIS time. They have seen Him redeem and restore and renew. I know, that even today, day 5 of great, that my mind still has no capability of understanding what God has in store for those that love and serve Him (1 Cor. 2:9). I believe everyone deserves a chance to find out. And that it's our job to afford them that opportunity.
I don't believe this is a job for everyone. But I do believe, that anyone that says "yes" will be sustained and walked with and held onto by a God that loves them as the orphaned child they once were.
I don't know what today is.....national adoption day or ugly dog day or whatever day. But I know that today, my son told me that he chooses to love me. It's a hard choice for him to make. Trust is HARD. But God.
Thank you to all of the women that chose life for their children. They are not always flesh of our flesh or bone of our bone, but somehow they are still miraculously (by the grace of God) our own.
Saturday, October 4, 2014
A Whole Year
I can't possibly go through today without acknowledging it's significance. Today (in about 2 hours to be exact) marks 1 year since David Benjamin Kubnick entered the US, became a citizen, and entered our home for the very first time. A whole year.
Years used to seem longer to me. When we started having kids and the speed of life started to mimic the speed of light, years got shorter. This year, however, has been different. It has been short and long. The best and the worst. The easiest and the hardest. We were driving home from Cole's football game today and I was on a scenic route through Bluffton, windows down, sun on my face, angry little girl in the middle seat, super angry little boy in the back seat. And in my head I was like "how is this my life?" And THEN, the cars in front of me started braking and I saw an SUV half pulled off the road about a half mile ahead. There were 2 people standing behind the car and I was all kinds of irritated. Why can't they pull all the way off the road? People are just the worst! And then all of the cars were going suuuuuuper slow. The kind of slow that allows you to sufficiently mean mug the people causing the chaos. As we drove closer to the car, a tiny little white haired lady was barely making it walking to the back of her car. She had on a perfectly pressed, bleach white cardigan sweater set and perfectly pressed slacks. Her hair had clearly been rolled recently as it was stiff and perfect. And she was STRUGGLING to walk along side her car. But she made it to the back. Just as I was driving up on her car. And this is what I saw......
A homeless man was pushing a grocery cart full of bags. Bags in the cart and tied to the sides of the cart. He was filthy. And this little lady had pulled her car off the road in front of him. And she struggled her way alongside the road, and as I passed, she had her hands on him. Touching him. And her eyes were closed. She was praying over him. In her perfect, clean, white hair, white sweater, she didn't care if she stopped traffic on I-95, she was touching this man. And praying for him.
I drove the rest of the way home thinking about the struggle. About how sometimes, as Christians, and even as non-believers, we become numb to the struggle. We forcefully desensitize ourselves to the hurt, and we completely miss the opportunity that God is giving us to walk out of the struggle a new person. We start to accept the "hard". We just say "this is my life now" and we tread in stagnant water for the rest of our lives. We are given choices. We are handed circumstances. And we are afforded the luxury of grace, daily, and a do-over and another chance with each rising sun. And we just tread. And we drudge. Because "this is my life now". And I was thinking about this woman, in her old age. What has she seen in her lifetime? I can't fathom the burdens she has carried. I can't even stomach the loss she has suffered. She could have driven by that man today and chalked it up to safety or to the fact that it took her a decade to walk to the back of the car. But she didn't. She didn't just accept her personal circumstance. She chose to be better than her circumstance.
We walk through every single day of life like that homeless man today. Our carts are full of baggage. We've got baggage tied to the side and pouring out over the edges. But God meets us. In his bleach white sweater of perfection, with no need for us or personal gain amounting from meeting us, He does it. Right there in our circumstances. And He expects us to stop treading in circumstantial stagnant water, and start relishing in living water.
One of the greatest challenges of this year for me has been learning to love the way that God loves me. And the first thing I had to do was to understand that love is not at all a feeling. It's a verb. It shows up. It forgives. It humbles itself. It sacrifices. It puts itself dead last. It pushes through and perseveres. It fights. It endures. It does not feel all tingly inside. It does not give you butterflies. It does not kiss your forehead. It prays for it's enemies. It rejoices in suffering. It trusts that God's will is the only will. It does not fail.
I may not ever be capable of loving anyone in this capacity, but one year ago today, God loved David Benjamin Kubnick enough to put him in a family that would introduce him to the greatest love he will ever know. And God loves Jake and I so much, that every morning, when He tells the sun to rise, He gives us another day to break the cycle. He gives us another day to walk through the fire. He gives us another circumstance and another choice. We've had a year full of them. Our prayers have changed many times over this year. And tonight they will change again........my prayer for our family, and for yours as well, is that we do not let the "hard", harden us. That we continue to seek God's purpose in the struggle, rather than surrender to it.
It has been a WHOLE year since we stepped off that plane. A WHOLE year closer to each of us allowing God to make us whole.
Years used to seem longer to me. When we started having kids and the speed of life started to mimic the speed of light, years got shorter. This year, however, has been different. It has been short and long. The best and the worst. The easiest and the hardest. We were driving home from Cole's football game today and I was on a scenic route through Bluffton, windows down, sun on my face, angry little girl in the middle seat, super angry little boy in the back seat. And in my head I was like "how is this my life?" And THEN, the cars in front of me started braking and I saw an SUV half pulled off the road about a half mile ahead. There were 2 people standing behind the car and I was all kinds of irritated. Why can't they pull all the way off the road? People are just the worst! And then all of the cars were going suuuuuuper slow. The kind of slow that allows you to sufficiently mean mug the people causing the chaos. As we drove closer to the car, a tiny little white haired lady was barely making it walking to the back of her car. She had on a perfectly pressed, bleach white cardigan sweater set and perfectly pressed slacks. Her hair had clearly been rolled recently as it was stiff and perfect. And she was STRUGGLING to walk along side her car. But she made it to the back. Just as I was driving up on her car. And this is what I saw......
A homeless man was pushing a grocery cart full of bags. Bags in the cart and tied to the sides of the cart. He was filthy. And this little lady had pulled her car off the road in front of him. And she struggled her way alongside the road, and as I passed, she had her hands on him. Touching him. And her eyes were closed. She was praying over him. In her perfect, clean, white hair, white sweater, she didn't care if she stopped traffic on I-95, she was touching this man. And praying for him.
I drove the rest of the way home thinking about the struggle. About how sometimes, as Christians, and even as non-believers, we become numb to the struggle. We forcefully desensitize ourselves to the hurt, and we completely miss the opportunity that God is giving us to walk out of the struggle a new person. We start to accept the "hard". We just say "this is my life now" and we tread in stagnant water for the rest of our lives. We are given choices. We are handed circumstances. And we are afforded the luxury of grace, daily, and a do-over and another chance with each rising sun. And we just tread. And we drudge. Because "this is my life now". And I was thinking about this woman, in her old age. What has she seen in her lifetime? I can't fathom the burdens she has carried. I can't even stomach the loss she has suffered. She could have driven by that man today and chalked it up to safety or to the fact that it took her a decade to walk to the back of the car. But she didn't. She didn't just accept her personal circumstance. She chose to be better than her circumstance.
We walk through every single day of life like that homeless man today. Our carts are full of baggage. We've got baggage tied to the side and pouring out over the edges. But God meets us. In his bleach white sweater of perfection, with no need for us or personal gain amounting from meeting us, He does it. Right there in our circumstances. And He expects us to stop treading in circumstantial stagnant water, and start relishing in living water.
One of the greatest challenges of this year for me has been learning to love the way that God loves me. And the first thing I had to do was to understand that love is not at all a feeling. It's a verb. It shows up. It forgives. It humbles itself. It sacrifices. It puts itself dead last. It pushes through and perseveres. It fights. It endures. It does not feel all tingly inside. It does not give you butterflies. It does not kiss your forehead. It prays for it's enemies. It rejoices in suffering. It trusts that God's will is the only will. It does not fail.
I may not ever be capable of loving anyone in this capacity, but one year ago today, God loved David Benjamin Kubnick enough to put him in a family that would introduce him to the greatest love he will ever know. And God loves Jake and I so much, that every morning, when He tells the sun to rise, He gives us another day to break the cycle. He gives us another day to walk through the fire. He gives us another circumstance and another choice. We've had a year full of them. Our prayers have changed many times over this year. And tonight they will change again........my prayer for our family, and for yours as well, is that we do not let the "hard", harden us. That we continue to seek God's purpose in the struggle, rather than surrender to it.
It has been a WHOLE year since we stepped off that plane. A WHOLE year closer to each of us allowing God to make us whole.
Monday, September 29, 2014
Mom Things
When I was 18 years old, I spoke these words, "I am never getting married. I am never having kids." I remember what I was wearing, who I was speaking to and the circumstances surrounding the conversation like it was yesterday. If someone had told me that day, that in just a years' time, I would meet my husband and immediately start dreaming of a house full of kids, I probably would have showered them with expletives and quite possibly thrown a red snake skin boot at them. I was a different person then. Don't hate. Nonetheless, that's exactly what happened and now, 13 years later, here I am. Wife of 10 years. Mom of 3. Homeowner. Mini van driver. Stay at home mom. Cleaner of all things. Chef du jour. Dr. Kubnick. Excavator of all things lost. Chauffeur. The iron fist. Wiper of butts. I could go on and on because really, this is the hardest job I've EVER had. It has the longest hours and the customers can be wicked grumpy. The pay is chintzy and the HR department happens to be the same as the CEO,CFO and part time work force and they quit years ago. I try to find the real and the really funny parts of this job and take them with gigantic grains of salt and huge doses of laughter. And as I've been laughing, laboring and lamenting through my week, I realized that I've never really written about these "mom things". Well, most of them have come up this week, so, you're welcome.
1. It has been about 2.5 years since I last dreamed. Not like sleepytime dreams. The other kind of dreams. The kind of dreams that fuel the most accomplished people in the world. I used to have dreams. When I was younger they were to be a doctor or lawyer. At different times in my life those dreams have ranged from authoring a book to owning a business in a certain industry to having acres of land with horses, a barn, tons of kids (adopted and bio) and dogs. Lots and lots of dogs. And my dreams have changed just as much as my hair color over the years and also like my hair color, I can't remember the original. There has always been a crazy idea in my head. And about 2.5 years ago, this crazy adoption dream took hold of our family. And it consumed us. And in just over 1 week, David will have been home for a year. About two months ago, I started to realize how much I've lost myself in this mom thing. I do believe that God created mothers with the purpose of raising their children. But I also know that before we were mothers, we were all still God's creation. Becoming a mother doesn't negate all of the intricacy that God designed us with. And I think I forgot that. Or maybe I was just too tired to remember. But about two months I was having this moment and I started praying about God allowing me to dream again. I can't even lie, this last dream has not exactly unfolded the way that I imagined and there is a certain amount of fear in trying this whole stepping out in faith thing again. But God designed us to dream. He designed us to live with passion and to utilize the gifts that He handed to us. He designed us to faithfully pray about those dreams and about them lining up with His will. And He is faithful. He does have plans to prosper us. And not just the Mom "us", but the person "us". The one that He designed to fulfill His perfect plan. Mom thing #1 is this......God is allowing me to dream again. It's terrifying. And electrifying. And each of you should feel exactly the same way about said dreams. You should know by now that it won't be a quiet ride once they start to unfold (evil smirk). Grab your popcorn, kids.
2. I was at the gym one day last week doing squats, trying not to cry in the rack.....here's why. Two months ago, I hit my squat max at 155 lbs. When I first started working out with Jake, I could barely squat the bar. It was a HUGE deal to me the day I hit that max. Because I spent so long thinking "I'm just a Mom". And I'm not. I am not just a Mom. I am a ninja. I'm a superhero. I am freaking strong, people. Like an ox. Every time I hit a max I want to "raaaawwwrrrr" and not because I think that women that can beat up men are cool, no. Because it's an accomplishment to see that even though I think I can't, I CAN. In the last two months, something has happened to my body. I'm weak. I was struggling to squat 85 lbs. STRUG.LING. That's a huge difference. Of course Jake was just befuddled. Ever seen a man completely confused? It was Jake, staring at me with a bar across my shoulders, almost crying. And I came home, defeated. Because I worked SO HARD to get to where I was, to now be where I am. And isn't that kind of a Mom thing? I started trying to figure out what had happened and the last several years started to unfold in front of me. The way that I just gradually stopped taking care of myself. The way that I took so much pride in putting my family first and literally serving them day in and day out but completely forgetting that if I don't take care of myself, I'm not able to serve them. I started realizing the brevity of my unnecessary sacrifice. Nobody asked me to stop fixing my hair, or to stop getting highlights. Nobody suggested that maybe a new outfit every once in a while was undeserved. Nobody told me to eat crap food out of convenience because the time needed to be spent on someone else. Nobody ever said that I should stay up way too late on Pinterest trying to plan the perfect crafts and meals for my family, while sacrificing sleep and subsequently my health. Nobody ever, not one person, said that I should forego having that medical procedure done that would increase my quality of life, because the recovery would mean I couldn't take care of every single tiny thing. I did all of that to myself. Mom thing #2........we are needed. But we aren't needed so much that our families can't function for 2 hours without us while we go out and take care of ourselves. A burnt out mama is no more useful to her family than an absent one.
3. You know. I like to laugh. I really do. If you do something dumb. I'm probably going to laugh at with you. I love stupid jokes. The kind that kids hear on the playground at recess. I also love sarcasm. And I know people that hate sarcasm because they feel like it doesn't have a place for Christians as we are called to be full of grace, but I'm not that grace filled, Proverbs 31 woman just yet. God knows that. Here's the thing......what has happened to Moms and Dads and their senses of humor? Am I the ONLY parent left that laughs at my kids? I don't do it to their faces. All the time. But seriously. Kids are awesome. And also, Kids are funny. They are ridiculous. They are us in small form and we all know how entertaining we are. So why are all these moms so uptight? Parenting is HARD. And you know what makes it even harder? Not being able to find even a single ounce of humor in it OR not being able to recognize when another mom finds humor in it. We all have different coping mechanisms. Don't be that mom that when someone tells you something funny about their kid, you go "awwwwww, I feel sorry for them". No. Don't feel sorry. Feeling sorry never helped any kid in the history of ever. Empathy can go a long way. Feeling sorry is not the same as empathy. Mom thing #3.......get your panties out of a wad, moms and dads. Your kid is just as dysfunctional as mine. Might as well laugh with me.
4. I was sitting next to the tub tonight watching Zella (a.k.a. little ray of sunshine) splash and play as if there wasn't a care in the world. And I sat there next to her feeling completely defeated because upstairs, in his bed, was a little boy VERY angry with me. I've been very transparent about our trials in the last year as we've welcomed David into our home. People know it's hard. I don't detail it because I know most people think we should be past that already. But here's the thing that I was made aware of in the last week or so.......I'm not the only one struggling. A lot of y'all have that kid that puts you to bed every night feeling like you failed God and at life and why in the world did God deem you capable of parenting this person? I thought about 3 different friends of mine that I had NO idea had these struggles.......1 that is struggling with the EXACT same issues with her biological daughter that we have with David. 1 that has 4 kids, all young, and can barely hold her head above water. And 1 that has a grown biological child that she struggled for years and years with. Behavioral, medical, psychological, developmental, etc. there are moms struggling with their kids in these areas every single minute of every single day and they are going to bed at night feeling completely alone? WHY, WHY for the love of all of the womanhood in the world, are we isolating ourselves like this? I share my story so openly because I know how lonely it feels over here sometimes and I just want even just one other person to know that their is someone that can relate. It isn't always bad. Parenting isn't always defeating. There is tragedy and there is triumph down here in the trenches. But you know what? God gave us these trials so that we can proclaim His glory. Is it glorifying to Him when we keep the trial secret, so then nobody sees the triumph? Here's what I know. God is working in Davids life. I posted a post two weeks ago on FB about how David was testing on grade level and how awesome is that after all he's been through and it got more likes than any other post in months......because it was the rainbow after the rain. If I had pretended like everything was roses and butterflies for the last year, that accomplishment wouldn't have had the same impact. Mom thing #4.......God wants to use our stories. The hilarious ones. The hard ones. And the amazing ones. And they all add up to be a vibrant, electrifying, powerful testimony. We have to stop subtracting the less attractive parts of the story. We don't write the story. God does. It's our job to tell it in its entirety. So that the world can see what He, in all of His faithfulness, has done.
There is more......there is always more. But someone needs to be wiped. Prayers need to be said and nighttime snuggles need to be administered.
Mom thing #5......at the end of the day. Pray over them. There is a battle happening for their souls that the love of mama and daddy can't win alone. Even if they feel like your enemy. Do it anyways. Even if you really really really screwed up. Do it anyways. Out of obedience. There is no power like that of a praying parent.
1. It has been about 2.5 years since I last dreamed. Not like sleepytime dreams. The other kind of dreams. The kind of dreams that fuel the most accomplished people in the world. I used to have dreams. When I was younger they were to be a doctor or lawyer. At different times in my life those dreams have ranged from authoring a book to owning a business in a certain industry to having acres of land with horses, a barn, tons of kids (adopted and bio) and dogs. Lots and lots of dogs. And my dreams have changed just as much as my hair color over the years and also like my hair color, I can't remember the original. There has always been a crazy idea in my head. And about 2.5 years ago, this crazy adoption dream took hold of our family. And it consumed us. And in just over 1 week, David will have been home for a year. About two months ago, I started to realize how much I've lost myself in this mom thing. I do believe that God created mothers with the purpose of raising their children. But I also know that before we were mothers, we were all still God's creation. Becoming a mother doesn't negate all of the intricacy that God designed us with. And I think I forgot that. Or maybe I was just too tired to remember. But about two months I was having this moment and I started praying about God allowing me to dream again. I can't even lie, this last dream has not exactly unfolded the way that I imagined and there is a certain amount of fear in trying this whole stepping out in faith thing again. But God designed us to dream. He designed us to live with passion and to utilize the gifts that He handed to us. He designed us to faithfully pray about those dreams and about them lining up with His will. And He is faithful. He does have plans to prosper us. And not just the Mom "us", but the person "us". The one that He designed to fulfill His perfect plan. Mom thing #1 is this......God is allowing me to dream again. It's terrifying. And electrifying. And each of you should feel exactly the same way about said dreams. You should know by now that it won't be a quiet ride once they start to unfold (evil smirk). Grab your popcorn, kids.
2. I was at the gym one day last week doing squats, trying not to cry in the rack.....here's why. Two months ago, I hit my squat max at 155 lbs. When I first started working out with Jake, I could barely squat the bar. It was a HUGE deal to me the day I hit that max. Because I spent so long thinking "I'm just a Mom". And I'm not. I am not just a Mom. I am a ninja. I'm a superhero. I am freaking strong, people. Like an ox. Every time I hit a max I want to "raaaawwwrrrr" and not because I think that women that can beat up men are cool, no. Because it's an accomplishment to see that even though I think I can't, I CAN. In the last two months, something has happened to my body. I'm weak. I was struggling to squat 85 lbs. STRUG.LING. That's a huge difference. Of course Jake was just befuddled. Ever seen a man completely confused? It was Jake, staring at me with a bar across my shoulders, almost crying. And I came home, defeated. Because I worked SO HARD to get to where I was, to now be where I am. And isn't that kind of a Mom thing? I started trying to figure out what had happened and the last several years started to unfold in front of me. The way that I just gradually stopped taking care of myself. The way that I took so much pride in putting my family first and literally serving them day in and day out but completely forgetting that if I don't take care of myself, I'm not able to serve them. I started realizing the brevity of my unnecessary sacrifice. Nobody asked me to stop fixing my hair, or to stop getting highlights. Nobody suggested that maybe a new outfit every once in a while was undeserved. Nobody told me to eat crap food out of convenience because the time needed to be spent on someone else. Nobody ever said that I should stay up way too late on Pinterest trying to plan the perfect crafts and meals for my family, while sacrificing sleep and subsequently my health. Nobody ever, not one person, said that I should forego having that medical procedure done that would increase my quality of life, because the recovery would mean I couldn't take care of every single tiny thing. I did all of that to myself. Mom thing #2........we are needed. But we aren't needed so much that our families can't function for 2 hours without us while we go out and take care of ourselves. A burnt out mama is no more useful to her family than an absent one.
3. You know. I like to laugh. I really do. If you do something dumb. I'm probably going to laugh
4. I was sitting next to the tub tonight watching Zella (a.k.a. little ray of sunshine) splash and play as if there wasn't a care in the world. And I sat there next to her feeling completely defeated because upstairs, in his bed, was a little boy VERY angry with me. I've been very transparent about our trials in the last year as we've welcomed David into our home. People know it's hard. I don't detail it because I know most people think we should be past that already. But here's the thing that I was made aware of in the last week or so.......I'm not the only one struggling. A lot of y'all have that kid that puts you to bed every night feeling like you failed God and at life and why in the world did God deem you capable of parenting this person? I thought about 3 different friends of mine that I had NO idea had these struggles.......1 that is struggling with the EXACT same issues with her biological daughter that we have with David. 1 that has 4 kids, all young, and can barely hold her head above water. And 1 that has a grown biological child that she struggled for years and years with. Behavioral, medical, psychological, developmental, etc. there are moms struggling with their kids in these areas every single minute of every single day and they are going to bed at night feeling completely alone? WHY, WHY for the love of all of the womanhood in the world, are we isolating ourselves like this? I share my story so openly because I know how lonely it feels over here sometimes and I just want even just one other person to know that their is someone that can relate. It isn't always bad. Parenting isn't always defeating. There is tragedy and there is triumph down here in the trenches. But you know what? God gave us these trials so that we can proclaim His glory. Is it glorifying to Him when we keep the trial secret, so then nobody sees the triumph? Here's what I know. God is working in Davids life. I posted a post two weeks ago on FB about how David was testing on grade level and how awesome is that after all he's been through and it got more likes than any other post in months......because it was the rainbow after the rain. If I had pretended like everything was roses and butterflies for the last year, that accomplishment wouldn't have had the same impact. Mom thing #4.......God wants to use our stories. The hilarious ones. The hard ones. And the amazing ones. And they all add up to be a vibrant, electrifying, powerful testimony. We have to stop subtracting the less attractive parts of the story. We don't write the story. God does. It's our job to tell it in its entirety. So that the world can see what He, in all of His faithfulness, has done.
There is more......there is always more. But someone needs to be wiped. Prayers need to be said and nighttime snuggles need to be administered.
Mom thing #5......at the end of the day. Pray over them. There is a battle happening for their souls that the love of mama and daddy can't win alone. Even if they feel like your enemy. Do it anyways. Even if you really really really screwed up. Do it anyways. Out of obedience. There is no power like that of a praying parent.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
School, the Beach and Spirit Fingers
I've been meaning to write all 3 of these posts for a couple of weeks. My last post got bumped by the ALS challenge post so now I'm doing a Sunday afternoon cram session and squeezing 3 things into one. Take your Ritalin. You're going to need to stay focused.
SCHOOL
Tuesday will start our 3rd week of school. So far, we haven't been asked to remove any children from school. This is an achievement for the Kubnick crew. Last year we had one stand on the lunch room table and refuse to get down.....that was the week after a teacher had to barricade the door to the classroom with her body to keep the same child from escaping (while he was giggling). I'm not kidding. But in all honesty, both Cole and David have loved the first two weeks of school.
Cole is getting to do a lot of Engineering this year in 3rd grade.......which he LOVES and insists that that love was facilitated by watching "How It's Made" on the Discovery Channel (yawn). He's in a smaller class this year (which mama LOVES) and his teacher is, just like every year since Kindergarten, super cute and young and fun. And not saying that he's checking her out, but it doesn't hurt the education process. He's making friends and learning and the best part? He's sleeping at night. Praise Jesus. Sleep and Cole Harrison are like oil and water. Exercising his body isn't enough to get him more than 5 hours in a night, but exercising his mind and the kid is out like a puppy. It's awesome.
David is in Kindergarten. Again. And he is real quick to tell alllllllllllll the other kids in his class that he's already "taken this class". His teacher said he very much realizes that he's a step ahead. And I'm okay with that. Let him be a step ahead. As long as those steps keep stepping. He has done really well so far. His teacher is the same as last year and she's, well, she's a saint. She is an incredible communicator and she has spent so much time researching David's issues and trying to find ways to help him adapt and overcome. She's awesome. And it's super awesome that David knows exactly what is expected of him in her classroom. Since last school year, Davids math skills have improved tremendously. He can add and subtract up to sums of 30 and is working on reading. He's super smart. Sometimes too smart. But nonetheless, he loves school. And that's a blessing. He, too, is EXHAUSTED by the end of the day. Most school nights he's falling asleep at dinner because the rhythm of his chewing is lulling him to sleep. It's kind of funny to watch. But we never ever laugh. Ever. Never. Hopefully, his mind and body will adjust soon........or maybe they'll just give us a homework pass because our child literally cannot stay awake to do it.
And Zella. When I left my super comfy desk job in May of last year, one of the sacrifices that we made for me to be a stay at home mom was Zella's "school". Cole was always more of a homebody. He wanted to be home with Mom and play by himself and organize his Matchbox cars by size and color for 13 hours straight. Zella is the polar opposite. She craves social interaction. She wants to talk. All the hours of all the days. Talk. She desperately missed school and engaging. And yes we did play dates and yes we saw other kids and yes she plays with her brothers when she isn't pestering them but it broke my heart every time we drove by her "school" and she would say "everyone wave to my school!!!! Mommy, I really miss my friends." SO......we made a way. Zella started back to 2 day a week pre-K the same week that the boys started school. When we were fundraising for our adoption, I started painting signs to raise money. And that kind of evolved into people ordering things from me. And that evolved into Carolina Girl Creations (check out our FB page!). Which has now blessed us enough that either Zella HAD to go to school two days a week, or I HAD to stop taking orders. Funny how when God gave us a new son, He gave us a new business to compensate for our lost income, too! He's pretty awesome how He works like that :). BUT, Zella is LOVING being back in school. 2 days a week is perfect for her and so far her proudest achievement is eating all of her lunch (if you have ever eaten a meal with Zella......this is a big deal). She tells everyone in the house "check my lunchbox! I ate it ALL!" Maybe next we can work on anything NOT related to food? She is mine though, so maybe not.
THE BEACH
Every summer, parts of our family descend on Myrtle Beach like Marines on the beaches of Normandy. And it's awesome fun. Last year we couldn't go because we were half way across the world in Ukraine. But this year, we went. And I was a nervous wreck because well, our family isn't quite the same as it was for previous trips and I can't even lie, I had no idea how things would be handled. It was a short trip. We drove up on a Saturday morning and came home on Monday afternoon. But it was a good trip. It was not without hiccups. But considering some of our current issues, the 2 out of 3 awesome days that we got, were just that. They were awesome. And I hated to leave. Because I miss my sister. More than anything I miss my sister. No matter where we are, she feels like home to me. And things have been stressful and my heart has been torn and well it's just been a hard year, and just being in the same house with her, it felt like home. A much needed 3 days of home. The kids played in the sand, and played more in the sand. I'm pretty sure that Triston buried every cousin in a hole that was half way to China. We ate and ate and ate. The kids played in the rain. We all got a little burnt. We had sand in our cracks and sand in our drinks and we didn't care a bit. We laughed. And laughed. And disciplined. And laughed. I looked out over the sand on our first day there and there were 9 kids. 9 of them. All completely different from the one playing/running/eating next to them. On the beach there were 5 moms. All of us completely unique to the children we were given. All of us with a different struggle and different triumphs. This last year has been hard because I let myself feel judged in my parenting of a child that has never been parented before. And I was reminded that day on the beach that there is no room for any of that with moms. We're all barely keeping our heads above the waves. Give that lady marching down the beach, yelling at her husband because her kids are sucking the life out of her, a break. She's no different than the one handing out umbrella shaped homemade pimento cheese sandwiches to her 3 kids in matching embroidered swimsuits. We're all the same. And just for a small taste of how different we all are........here's my favorite story of our little getaway. Because if you know our kids, you have a full visual as you read. So the surf was SUPER rough the first day on the beach (which was day 2 because it rained on day 1). The undertow was insane and we were really really cautious with the kids and their longing desire to be professional boogie boarders. (That, and I could hear Granny crying on the phone to me before we left about how much the water scares her and don't let any of her babies die). So the kids didn't spent too much time in the waves on day 2. On day 3 it was a little calmer so we let them loose and off they went. Well on Day 2, Colton had gotten stung by a jellyfish. No big deal. He's the biggest and toughest of the crew and we rubbed some mud on it and went on our way. In the back of my mind though, I knew how potentially bad this could be. We were getting ready to pack up on day 3 and start our drive home. Cole, Colton, Aubrey and Peyton were on their boogie boards (Triston.....still digging to China). And we hear Colton come up......he got stung again. And then Peyton, dragging his leg. And then Jake. And then Aubrey, limping and whimpering. And all I could think was "dear Jesus, not Cole. We will have to amputate". As the thought ran through my head,
I look down the beach and see a woman jumping out of her beach chair and running down to the waterline to what looks like a heap of convulsing skin. Cole Harrison. I ran down to get him.....more because I needed to claim my mom of the year award than anything.....thanked the nice lady that attended to my sobbing child that didn't pay attention to the current that had dragged him down the beach, and started coaching Cole through what is sure to go down in his memory bank as "the reason I will never ever ever go in the ocean ever again". Again, 4 other people, all fine. Cole, dying. There was a guy sitting next to us that had a bottle of vinegar in his bag (is that the ONLY thing I didn't bring?!!!) so Jake poured it on all the kids and off they went. Guess who talked about his vicious jellyfish sting and how vinegar smells really bad the whole 3.5 hours home? I love my Cole Harrison. Bless his heart. It was a good trip. Next year, we're staying the whole week. Let's book it.
SPIRIT FINGERS
This is the most honest part of this post. Because you know I just know I can't be the only one. But here goes. I have really really REAAAAALLLLLLYYYY (in Ace Ventura voice) been struggling in church lately. For real. I think back to the me that was in the same church a year ago and I was arms raised, sobbing, touched by the Holy Spirit during worship and Amening through every sermon and I felt like God had put the words in the pastors mouth just to deliver them specifically to me. And in the last several months, I'm just not that girl. And it's driving me CRAZY. We go to a spirit filled, Pentecostal church. This is the church that when my Southern Baptist Granny first found out we were going there she said (please insert country grandma voice), "that's the place where they throw snakes on the floor". First of all, no we don't. Second of all, for the first 3.5 years there, I was so lost in worship that if there had been snakes I wouldn't have noticed. We're a hand raising, tambourine playing church. There's people dancing and rejoicing and "THANKYA JESUS!" during worship. And I notice because growing up, in the Baptist and Presbyterian church, this was how it sounded to me......open your mouth and make a deep, monotone "uuuuuuhhhhhhhhh" sound. Now very slightly manipulate your mouth with that same tone and sing "Praise God from Whom all blessings flow. Praise Him, all creatures here below......". That's how it sounded to me. Dead. And in the last few months.....that's what I'm hearing again. I was sitting in church today and there was a person over my right shoulder that wouldn't stop clicking their pen.....click click click click.......the entire sermon. Over my left shoulder was a baby and a toddler (mind you, I have 3 kids sitting with me.....kids should NOT bother me) and all I could hear was the mom doing the gritted teeth whisper "STOP IT RIGHT NOW". There were people up and down and in and out and a cell phone ringing and kids crying all over the place and GAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!! And this is every Sunday. And here's the thing, it's not the church. It's me. That burns a little. And here's where the spirit fingers happen.....
The associate pastor at our church is a BIG dude. He's probably 6'5" and about 280 (REAL sorry if those numbers are off. oops.). He's one of those people that makes you feel imposed upon in an elevator. Until he talks. I always joke when he takes a mic that I feel like I need to do a high kick and throw up spirit fingers. He is literally overflowing with enthusiasm. He talks like he's got a megaphone attached to his mouth and it's not because he's just loud it's because he's really that excited about life. He makes me tired just to watch him preach. And that's awesome. He was on stage today and he came running up there and grabbed the mic and called for an encore from the band and he was singing his heart out and meaning every word up there for the whole world to see. And I know this guy. I know some of what his family is walking through and has walked through in the last few years. And it's A LOT. He and his wife were going through their second adoption process and he was talking to us one night and was like "YEAH! WE STILL NEED TO RAISE ABOUT $20,000 BUT WE AREN'T WORRIED ABOUT IT CAUSE GOD IS GOOD, ALRIGHT!" That's all in caps because that's how he said. Expectantly. Enthusiastically. Without unloading the burden on me......because he had unloaded it on God. And I was watching him today, up there in his Clemson orange shirt (bless his heart) and I was like "that. THAT is worship. I WANT THAT." You know we all go to different churches. We pick and choose based on Biblical teaching and musical style and whether or not a preacher delivers the sermon the way we like. But when it says in Psalm 16:11 "You make known to me the path of life. In YOUR presence there is fullness of joy; at Your right hand there are pleasures forevermore." Fullness of joy. THAT is worship. And in Matthew 5:16 when it says "In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven." THAT is worship. The let the light shine. To stop worrying about "the worship experience" and the hand raising and all of the things that we as Christians think have to go on the light shining checklist, and literally be overflowing with the fullness of joy that comes with the presence of God. THAT is worship. To me at least. And that's where I think I've died a little. Maybe where we've all died a little. That we get so wrapped up in the preaching style and the music style that we forget that we are designed to worship God, not to be entertained by Him.......regardless of whether or not we feel our church needs are met. Does everyone need to be in a church that feeds them? YES. But sometimes, the biggest problem under the steeple, is the hearts inside of all the people. Worship isn't just music. It's everything we have to give back to God. Everything. Let me clean these toilets today as a form of worship. Let me discipline my kids Biblically as a form of worship. Let me be a better person than who I was yesterday out of gratitude and worship for the ONE who loves me even if I fail in my attempt to do that today. Let me be so full of God's love that everyone around me feels like they need to throw up spirit fingers when I talk. THAT is worship. Am I saying that I won't still hear the man clicking his pen next week? No. I will definitely still hear that (for the love, man, stop with the pen). And this will take me some time. I'm cynical by nature. I'm not a pom pom girl. But my prayer is that as I learn to worship God on my own, in my own time and in my own way, that I won't be so codependent on Sunday mornings, so if I get distracted, I won't feel completely drained when I leave. My prayer is that I learn to worship enough on my own, that church becomes a supplement to the base, and no longer the base to a very neglected supplement.
Here's to your extra day off of school this week (packing lunches is the devil), a few more days spent at the beach ( I love SC weather) and spirit fingers and megaphones and poms poms for everyone.
SCHOOL
Tuesday will start our 3rd week of school. So far, we haven't been asked to remove any children from school. This is an achievement for the Kubnick crew. Last year we had one stand on the lunch room table and refuse to get down.....that was the week after a teacher had to barricade the door to the classroom with her body to keep the same child from escaping (while he was giggling). I'm not kidding. But in all honesty, both Cole and David have loved the first two weeks of school.
Cole is getting to do a lot of Engineering this year in 3rd grade.......which he LOVES and insists that that love was facilitated by watching "How It's Made" on the Discovery Channel (yawn). He's in a smaller class this year (which mama LOVES) and his teacher is, just like every year since Kindergarten, super cute and young and fun. And not saying that he's checking her out, but it doesn't hurt the education process. He's making friends and learning and the best part? He's sleeping at night. Praise Jesus. Sleep and Cole Harrison are like oil and water. Exercising his body isn't enough to get him more than 5 hours in a night, but exercising his mind and the kid is out like a puppy. It's awesome.
David is in Kindergarten. Again. And he is real quick to tell alllllllllllll the other kids in his class that he's already "taken this class". His teacher said he very much realizes that he's a step ahead. And I'm okay with that. Let him be a step ahead. As long as those steps keep stepping. He has done really well so far. His teacher is the same as last year and she's, well, she's a saint. She is an incredible communicator and she has spent so much time researching David's issues and trying to find ways to help him adapt and overcome. She's awesome. And it's super awesome that David knows exactly what is expected of him in her classroom. Since last school year, Davids math skills have improved tremendously. He can add and subtract up to sums of 30 and is working on reading. He's super smart. Sometimes too smart. But nonetheless, he loves school. And that's a blessing. He, too, is EXHAUSTED by the end of the day. Most school nights he's falling asleep at dinner because the rhythm of his chewing is lulling him to sleep. It's kind of funny to watch. But we never ever laugh. Ever. Never. Hopefully, his mind and body will adjust soon........or maybe they'll just give us a homework pass because our child literally cannot stay awake to do it.
And Zella. When I left my super comfy desk job in May of last year, one of the sacrifices that we made for me to be a stay at home mom was Zella's "school". Cole was always more of a homebody. He wanted to be home with Mom and play by himself and organize his Matchbox cars by size and color for 13 hours straight. Zella is the polar opposite. She craves social interaction. She wants to talk. All the hours of all the days. Talk. She desperately missed school and engaging. And yes we did play dates and yes we saw other kids and yes she plays with her brothers when she isn't pestering them but it broke my heart every time we drove by her "school" and she would say "everyone wave to my school!!!! Mommy, I really miss my friends." SO......we made a way. Zella started back to 2 day a week pre-K the same week that the boys started school. When we were fundraising for our adoption, I started painting signs to raise money. And that kind of evolved into people ordering things from me. And that evolved into Carolina Girl Creations (check out our FB page!). Which has now blessed us enough that either Zella HAD to go to school two days a week, or I HAD to stop taking orders. Funny how when God gave us a new son, He gave us a new business to compensate for our lost income, too! He's pretty awesome how He works like that :). BUT, Zella is LOVING being back in school. 2 days a week is perfect for her and so far her proudest achievement is eating all of her lunch (if you have ever eaten a meal with Zella......this is a big deal). She tells everyone in the house "check my lunchbox! I ate it ALL!" Maybe next we can work on anything NOT related to food? She is mine though, so maybe not.
THE BEACH
Every summer, parts of our family descend on Myrtle Beach like Marines on the beaches of Normandy. And it's awesome fun. Last year we couldn't go because we were half way across the world in Ukraine. But this year, we went. And I was a nervous wreck because well, our family isn't quite the same as it was for previous trips and I can't even lie, I had no idea how things would be handled. It was a short trip. We drove up on a Saturday morning and came home on Monday afternoon. But it was a good trip. It was not without hiccups. But considering some of our current issues, the 2 out of 3 awesome days that we got, were just that. They were awesome. And I hated to leave. Because I miss my sister. More than anything I miss my sister. No matter where we are, she feels like home to me. And things have been stressful and my heart has been torn and well it's just been a hard year, and just being in the same house with her, it felt like home. A much needed 3 days of home. The kids played in the sand, and played more in the sand. I'm pretty sure that Triston buried every cousin in a hole that was half way to China. We ate and ate and ate. The kids played in the rain. We all got a little burnt. We had sand in our cracks and sand in our drinks and we didn't care a bit. We laughed. And laughed. And disciplined. And laughed. I looked out over the sand on our first day there and there were 9 kids. 9 of them. All completely different from the one playing/running/eating next to them. On the beach there were 5 moms. All of us completely unique to the children we were given. All of us with a different struggle and different triumphs. This last year has been hard because I let myself feel judged in my parenting of a child that has never been parented before. And I was reminded that day on the beach that there is no room for any of that with moms. We're all barely keeping our heads above the waves. Give that lady marching down the beach, yelling at her husband because her kids are sucking the life out of her, a break. She's no different than the one handing out umbrella shaped homemade pimento cheese sandwiches to her 3 kids in matching embroidered swimsuits. We're all the same. And just for a small taste of how different we all are........here's my favorite story of our little getaway. Because if you know our kids, you have a full visual as you read. So the surf was SUPER rough the first day on the beach (which was day 2 because it rained on day 1). The undertow was insane and we were really really cautious with the kids and their longing desire to be professional boogie boarders. (That, and I could hear Granny crying on the phone to me before we left about how much the water scares her and don't let any of her babies die). So the kids didn't spent too much time in the waves on day 2. On day 3 it was a little calmer so we let them loose and off they went. Well on Day 2, Colton had gotten stung by a jellyfish. No big deal. He's the biggest and toughest of the crew and we rubbed some mud on it and went on our way. In the back of my mind though, I knew how potentially bad this could be. We were getting ready to pack up on day 3 and start our drive home. Cole, Colton, Aubrey and Peyton were on their boogie boards (Triston.....still digging to China). And we hear Colton come up......he got stung again. And then Peyton, dragging his leg. And then Jake. And then Aubrey, limping and whimpering. And all I could think was "dear Jesus, not Cole. We will have to amputate". As the thought ran through my head,
I look down the beach and see a woman jumping out of her beach chair and running down to the waterline to what looks like a heap of convulsing skin. Cole Harrison. I ran down to get him.....more because I needed to claim my mom of the year award than anything.....thanked the nice lady that attended to my sobbing child that didn't pay attention to the current that had dragged him down the beach, and started coaching Cole through what is sure to go down in his memory bank as "the reason I will never ever ever go in the ocean ever again". Again, 4 other people, all fine. Cole, dying. There was a guy sitting next to us that had a bottle of vinegar in his bag (is that the ONLY thing I didn't bring?!!!) so Jake poured it on all the kids and off they went. Guess who talked about his vicious jellyfish sting and how vinegar smells really bad the whole 3.5 hours home? I love my Cole Harrison. Bless his heart. It was a good trip. Next year, we're staying the whole week. Let's book it.
SPIRIT FINGERS
This is the most honest part of this post. Because you know I just know I can't be the only one. But here goes. I have really really REAAAAALLLLLLYYYY (in Ace Ventura voice) been struggling in church lately. For real. I think back to the me that was in the same church a year ago and I was arms raised, sobbing, touched by the Holy Spirit during worship and Amening through every sermon and I felt like God had put the words in the pastors mouth just to deliver them specifically to me. And in the last several months, I'm just not that girl. And it's driving me CRAZY. We go to a spirit filled, Pentecostal church. This is the church that when my Southern Baptist Granny first found out we were going there she said (please insert country grandma voice), "that's the place where they throw snakes on the floor". First of all, no we don't. Second of all, for the first 3.5 years there, I was so lost in worship that if there had been snakes I wouldn't have noticed. We're a hand raising, tambourine playing church. There's people dancing and rejoicing and "THANKYA JESUS!" during worship. And I notice because growing up, in the Baptist and Presbyterian church, this was how it sounded to me......open your mouth and make a deep, monotone "uuuuuuhhhhhhhhh" sound. Now very slightly manipulate your mouth with that same tone and sing "Praise God from Whom all blessings flow. Praise Him, all creatures here below......". That's how it sounded to me. Dead. And in the last few months.....that's what I'm hearing again. I was sitting in church today and there was a person over my right shoulder that wouldn't stop clicking their pen.....click click click click.......the entire sermon. Over my left shoulder was a baby and a toddler (mind you, I have 3 kids sitting with me.....kids should NOT bother me) and all I could hear was the mom doing the gritted teeth whisper "STOP IT RIGHT NOW". There were people up and down and in and out and a cell phone ringing and kids crying all over the place and GAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!! And this is every Sunday. And here's the thing, it's not the church. It's me. That burns a little. And here's where the spirit fingers happen.....
The associate pastor at our church is a BIG dude. He's probably 6'5" and about 280 (REAL sorry if those numbers are off. oops.). He's one of those people that makes you feel imposed upon in an elevator. Until he talks. I always joke when he takes a mic that I feel like I need to do a high kick and throw up spirit fingers. He is literally overflowing with enthusiasm. He talks like he's got a megaphone attached to his mouth and it's not because he's just loud it's because he's really that excited about life. He makes me tired just to watch him preach. And that's awesome. He was on stage today and he came running up there and grabbed the mic and called for an encore from the band and he was singing his heart out and meaning every word up there for the whole world to see. And I know this guy. I know some of what his family is walking through and has walked through in the last few years. And it's A LOT. He and his wife were going through their second adoption process and he was talking to us one night and was like "YEAH! WE STILL NEED TO RAISE ABOUT $20,000 BUT WE AREN'T WORRIED ABOUT IT CAUSE GOD IS GOOD, ALRIGHT!" That's all in caps because that's how he said. Expectantly. Enthusiastically. Without unloading the burden on me......because he had unloaded it on God. And I was watching him today, up there in his Clemson orange shirt (bless his heart) and I was like "that. THAT is worship. I WANT THAT." You know we all go to different churches. We pick and choose based on Biblical teaching and musical style and whether or not a preacher delivers the sermon the way we like. But when it says in Psalm 16:11 "You make known to me the path of life. In YOUR presence there is fullness of joy; at Your right hand there are pleasures forevermore." Fullness of joy. THAT is worship. And in Matthew 5:16 when it says "In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven." THAT is worship. The let the light shine. To stop worrying about "the worship experience" and the hand raising and all of the things that we as Christians think have to go on the light shining checklist, and literally be overflowing with the fullness of joy that comes with the presence of God. THAT is worship. To me at least. And that's where I think I've died a little. Maybe where we've all died a little. That we get so wrapped up in the preaching style and the music style that we forget that we are designed to worship God, not to be entertained by Him.......regardless of whether or not we feel our church needs are met. Does everyone need to be in a church that feeds them? YES. But sometimes, the biggest problem under the steeple, is the hearts inside of all the people. Worship isn't just music. It's everything we have to give back to God. Everything. Let me clean these toilets today as a form of worship. Let me discipline my kids Biblically as a form of worship. Let me be a better person than who I was yesterday out of gratitude and worship for the ONE who loves me even if I fail in my attempt to do that today. Let me be so full of God's love that everyone around me feels like they need to throw up spirit fingers when I talk. THAT is worship. Am I saying that I won't still hear the man clicking his pen next week? No. I will definitely still hear that (for the love, man, stop with the pen). And this will take me some time. I'm cynical by nature. I'm not a pom pom girl. But my prayer is that as I learn to worship God on my own, in my own time and in my own way, that I won't be so codependent on Sunday mornings, so if I get distracted, I won't feel completely drained when I leave. My prayer is that I learn to worship enough on my own, that church becomes a supplement to the base, and no longer the base to a very neglected supplement.
Here's to your extra day off of school this week (packing lunches is the devil), a few more days spent at the beach ( I love SC weather) and spirit fingers and megaphones and poms poms for everyone.
Friday, August 22, 2014
My ALS Challenge
I got challenged, not once, but twice in 2 days to take the ALS ice bucket challenge. And, just like all of you, my newsfeed has been clogged with challenges being accepted AND articles disputing the actual "help" in the challenge for the last 10 days or so. I've read the articles. And I've watched the challenges. There are always skeptics. And there are absolutely some of you out there that have futures in film. I have been completely entertained! And from the first one that I saw, I knew my day was coming. I've had so many thoughts about this challenge......they start somewhere around here.
Good for you, America! That we've all taken the challenge to raise a ruckus and to raise awareness and let's just be honest, to make cute videos to show to all of our Facebook friends and family AND to prove that we won't back down from a challenge. Isn't this the easy way, though? To dump a bucket of ice....AND then slink away. Will any of us really invest ourselves in ALS research? Will any of us, that haven't been directly effected by this disease, will any of us remember this challenge outside of the Facebook video? In spite of me knowing the answer to these questions, I was totally going to "man up" and dump a bucket of ice water on myself and then I read this blog.....
http://www.bostern.com/blog/2014/08/15/what-an-als-family-really-thinks-about-the-ice-bucket-challenge/
The author says about ALS, "We are in for the fight of our lives with this monster, and the very LAST thing I want is for people to give quietly, anonymously, and then slink away. Raise the roof! Raise a ruckus!". I read that line over and over again. And it was like she was talking about my life.
I think about all of the "monsters" that people face. Things completely out of anyones control. Diseases like ALS and Alzheimers and cancer. They take a slow painful toll on all parties involved and at the fault of no one. But everyone suffers. And then I think about the little boy sleeping upstairs in my house. And I think about the monster that we face every day. And I think about how HE didn't have a choice, but someone did. And he is suffering, because of someone else. And then I think about the kids all over the world....red, yellow, black and white.....that are suffering at the hands of someone else. And the monsters they face both physically, mentally and figuratively, in their present and in their future if the opportunity for healing ever presents itself. And then I thought about the people in our very own country that fight monsters every single day, by choice. These men and women signed up. They enlisted themselves to protect our honor and freedom. And they found themselves wounded, suffering and struggling. By choice. For us. Don't these people, these children, don't they deserve a ruckus? Doesn't everyone suffering deserve a ruckus much greater than an ice bucket challenge?
I believe in this challenge. I believe that as Americans we have change at our fingertips but are too lazy to tap into it. We lack passion on so many fronts. We lack commitment to causes that have nothing to offer back to us. We lack the drive to go past the ice bucket. I took this challenge, and chose to donate my money to the following charities:
http://capabeaufort.org/about-capa/mission/
http://www.nami.org/
http://www.woundedwarriorregiment.org/
These are efforts close to my heart. These are issues that have directly effected my family. These are the platforms that I will stand for in 5 years when the buckets have been packed away.
My challenge to you is to do your research. My challenge to you is to tap into what hits closest to your "home". AND RAISE A RUCKUS!!!! Advocate. Fundraise. There are people living all around you, fighting different fights. Everyone needs someone that cares. I challenge you to be more than just a Facebook video.
Good for you, America! That we've all taken the challenge to raise a ruckus and to raise awareness and let's just be honest, to make cute videos to show to all of our Facebook friends and family AND to prove that we won't back down from a challenge. Isn't this the easy way, though? To dump a bucket of ice....AND then slink away. Will any of us really invest ourselves in ALS research? Will any of us, that haven't been directly effected by this disease, will any of us remember this challenge outside of the Facebook video? In spite of me knowing the answer to these questions, I was totally going to "man up" and dump a bucket of ice water on myself and then I read this blog.....
http://www.bostern.com/blog/2014/08/15/what-an-als-family-really-thinks-about-the-ice-bucket-challenge/
The author says about ALS, "We are in for the fight of our lives with this monster, and the very LAST thing I want is for people to give quietly, anonymously, and then slink away. Raise the roof! Raise a ruckus!". I read that line over and over again. And it was like she was talking about my life.
I think about all of the "monsters" that people face. Things completely out of anyones control. Diseases like ALS and Alzheimers and cancer. They take a slow painful toll on all parties involved and at the fault of no one. But everyone suffers. And then I think about the little boy sleeping upstairs in my house. And I think about the monster that we face every day. And I think about how HE didn't have a choice, but someone did. And he is suffering, because of someone else. And then I think about the kids all over the world....red, yellow, black and white.....that are suffering at the hands of someone else. And the monsters they face both physically, mentally and figuratively, in their present and in their future if the opportunity for healing ever presents itself. And then I thought about the people in our very own country that fight monsters every single day, by choice. These men and women signed up. They enlisted themselves to protect our honor and freedom. And they found themselves wounded, suffering and struggling. By choice. For us. Don't these people, these children, don't they deserve a ruckus? Doesn't everyone suffering deserve a ruckus much greater than an ice bucket challenge?
I believe in this challenge. I believe that as Americans we have change at our fingertips but are too lazy to tap into it. We lack passion on so many fronts. We lack commitment to causes that have nothing to offer back to us. We lack the drive to go past the ice bucket. I took this challenge, and chose to donate my money to the following charities:
http://capabeaufort.org/about-capa/mission/
http://www.nami.org/
http://www.woundedwarriorregiment.org/
These are efforts close to my heart. These are issues that have directly effected my family. These are the platforms that I will stand for in 5 years when the buckets have been packed away.
My challenge to you is to do your research. My challenge to you is to tap into what hits closest to your "home". AND RAISE A RUCKUS!!!! Advocate. Fundraise. There are people living all around you, fighting different fights. Everyone needs someone that cares. I challenge you to be more than just a Facebook video.
Monday, August 11, 2014
May and Me
A few years ago, I read a book titled "The Secret Life of Bees" (if you haven't read it.....READ IT). I won't bore you by rewriting the Spark notes but there was a character in the book named "May". May had a twin sister, April, when she was younger. April was very depressed and committed suicide at a young age. And May was left to live that pain every day. She was extremely sensitive to any kind of hurt. She would read a newspaper article about something tragic or hear a sad story and she would retreat to her "wailing wall" to mourn as deeply as the families directly effected by the tragedy. She felt very real pain. Very very deeply. And it was her curse. Her burden. Her daily battle.
I remember sobbing my way through parts of this book. The storyline itself is tragic but I wasn't sobbing about the main character.....I was sobbing because I felt like May was writing my story. I didn't have a twin sister that committed suicide. I don't have a personally built "wailing wall" out back that I retreat to when my heart is heavy with hurt (though I do have a bathroom that serves quite handy for this matter). But when I let myself hurt, it hurts deep. And it is my curse. My burden. My daily battle.
As I've gotten older, I have developed self coping mechanisms and have learned to increase the inhibitors and decrease the triggers. I've learned to breathe deep- A LOT (this may also sound like sighing. Sometimes it is. I'm Southern. Can't help it.). I go to the gym. Do I want to be skinny? Ummmm...YEP! But more than anything, I want a natural release of serotonin. Do I really, really, lick my lips enjoy several glasses of wine on occasion......Fo' sho!!!! BUT.....even one glass makes me weepy and let's just be honest, NOBODY wants to open the Hoover dam in exchange for 1 glass of wine. So I most often, opt out. I don't watch movies or tv shows that will stick with me anymore. I can't put anything into my mind that doesn't filter to my heart. So, no "Chain Saw Massacre", "300", "Hatfields and McCoys" even a few scenes in the Bible series of people getting beaten and throats slashed......I can't function for days after watching something like that. (FYI.....people that think they CAN watch something and it mean NOTHING because it's "just a show"......you're all lying to yourselves.) I rarely watch the news. We can't deny that we live in an awful, sick, horrible world. If the stories aren't about horrible sins committed against children or the elderly or husbands and wives, then the stories are about the war torn countries throughout the world that are suffering at the hands of their rulers (there is 1 in particular that I feel certain is the anti-Christ). Childhood cancer and orphans and babies being killed by the millions in clinics. People hating people. In the name of hate. And it's too much for me. It's too much for someone that fights every day for joy.
Depression. I was 14 years old the first time a doctor said that word to me. I was humiliated and ashamed and wanted to hide it from the world. I made a lot of mistakes growing up with depression. I didn't do a lot of the things that I do now as means of helping myself. Am I saying that the precautions I take now have eliminated my depression? Nope. I'm saying that depression is very very real and that it's a choice I make every single day.......... To get up. To put my feet on the floor. To participate in life. To recognize when I need an emotion check. To not allow my feelings to be the rulers of my universe. To not always say I'm ok, if I'm not really okay. To talk to someone. To turn on praise and worship music. To open my Bible. To open my eyes. To breathe it in. To ask God to relieve my burden. To hide in the bathroom and cry it out. To hold my kids and let them see that I'm weak sometimes too. To look around and see that God is answering my prayers for relief, but I have to accept the help before it can actually be helpful.
So now in these last few months, my heart is so heavy. No matter how much I hide from it, I'm reading stories and seeing pictures of Christians and CHILDREN being persecuted/executed because they love God. Hundreds of girls kidnapped from their school and sold into "marriage". Entire families being executed in their homes. Wives losing their husbands, Husbands losing their wives. Children dying from cancer. Orphanages being bombed. Vehicles full of children trying to flee the bombing being shot at. Mass human graves being found. Civilian planes being shot down. How is this possible? And it's becoming unbearable. The weight. The knowledge. The inability to hide. The feeling in my stomach that tells me "you are not immune". And we aren't. We aren't immune to tragedy. Every night when I kiss my kids goodnight I kiss, and then peak, and then peak real quick again. Most nights I touch them to make sure their chests are still moving up and down. Because we are not immune. Every time Jake gets behind the wheel. Every time I leave the house with a van full of kids. Every time we go to a movie or for a routine doctors visit. Not fear. Not waiting. But knowledge. Knowledge that this life is just a vapor. Knowledge of the speed at which this life could shift from reading about tragedy, to living tragedy.
And today I read about Robin Williams committing suicide. And it reminds me all over again that this thing that so many of us fight every day is a demon. It is a relentless demon. It shows no mercy. It is both a figurative and literal darkness. I am reminded that sometimes, even people that are a light to so many, fail to see the light themselves. I used to be one of those people. Smiling on the outside. Dying on the inside. Without hope. Just like May.
Here is the difference between me and May. May would have read about Robin Williams today, she would have taken the newspaper article down to her wailing wall and stapled it there. She would have cried over him for days. Hurting. Weeping. She would have taken the photos of the children beheaded by ISIS down to the wall, and she would have walked into the river, never to walk out again, unable to bear the weight of the pain those parents must feel. The difference between me and May is hope. Hope of what is to come. Hope, as an anchor.
Revelation 21 New International Version (NIV)
6 He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. 7 Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children. 8 But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars—they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death.”
And I have this hope, because I am redeemed. (2 Corinthians 5:17-18) Thank God, redeemed. I am victorious. Chosen. Adopted. (Ephesians 1:4-6).
My heart breaks daily for so many people. For their hurt. For their loneliness. But I can't fix it. Only the One can. And He hears the prayers of the brokenhearted. He makes a way, as a light in the darkness.
Praying for Christians being persecuted throughout the world tonight. And for so many that don't know what hope means.
I remember sobbing my way through parts of this book. The storyline itself is tragic but I wasn't sobbing about the main character.....I was sobbing because I felt like May was writing my story. I didn't have a twin sister that committed suicide. I don't have a personally built "wailing wall" out back that I retreat to when my heart is heavy with hurt (though I do have a bathroom that serves quite handy for this matter). But when I let myself hurt, it hurts deep. And it is my curse. My burden. My daily battle.
As I've gotten older, I have developed self coping mechanisms and have learned to increase the inhibitors and decrease the triggers. I've learned to breathe deep- A LOT (this may also sound like sighing. Sometimes it is. I'm Southern. Can't help it.). I go to the gym. Do I want to be skinny? Ummmm...YEP! But more than anything, I want a natural release of serotonin. Do I really, really, lick my lips enjoy several glasses of wine on occasion......Fo' sho!!!! BUT.....even one glass makes me weepy and let's just be honest, NOBODY wants to open the Hoover dam in exchange for 1 glass of wine. So I most often, opt out. I don't watch movies or tv shows that will stick with me anymore. I can't put anything into my mind that doesn't filter to my heart. So, no "Chain Saw Massacre", "300", "Hatfields and McCoys" even a few scenes in the Bible series of people getting beaten and throats slashed......I can't function for days after watching something like that. (FYI.....people that think they CAN watch something and it mean NOTHING because it's "just a show"......you're all lying to yourselves.) I rarely watch the news. We can't deny that we live in an awful, sick, horrible world. If the stories aren't about horrible sins committed against children or the elderly or husbands and wives, then the stories are about the war torn countries throughout the world that are suffering at the hands of their rulers (there is 1 in particular that I feel certain is the anti-Christ). Childhood cancer and orphans and babies being killed by the millions in clinics. People hating people. In the name of hate. And it's too much for me. It's too much for someone that fights every day for joy.
Depression. I was 14 years old the first time a doctor said that word to me. I was humiliated and ashamed and wanted to hide it from the world. I made a lot of mistakes growing up with depression. I didn't do a lot of the things that I do now as means of helping myself. Am I saying that the precautions I take now have eliminated my depression? Nope. I'm saying that depression is very very real and that it's a choice I make every single day.......... To get up. To put my feet on the floor. To participate in life. To recognize when I need an emotion check. To not allow my feelings to be the rulers of my universe. To not always say I'm ok, if I'm not really okay. To talk to someone. To turn on praise and worship music. To open my Bible. To open my eyes. To breathe it in. To ask God to relieve my burden. To hide in the bathroom and cry it out. To hold my kids and let them see that I'm weak sometimes too. To look around and see that God is answering my prayers for relief, but I have to accept the help before it can actually be helpful.
So now in these last few months, my heart is so heavy. No matter how much I hide from it, I'm reading stories and seeing pictures of Christians and CHILDREN being persecuted/executed because they love God. Hundreds of girls kidnapped from their school and sold into "marriage". Entire families being executed in their homes. Wives losing their husbands, Husbands losing their wives. Children dying from cancer. Orphanages being bombed. Vehicles full of children trying to flee the bombing being shot at. Mass human graves being found. Civilian planes being shot down. How is this possible? And it's becoming unbearable. The weight. The knowledge. The inability to hide. The feeling in my stomach that tells me "you are not immune". And we aren't. We aren't immune to tragedy. Every night when I kiss my kids goodnight I kiss, and then peak, and then peak real quick again. Most nights I touch them to make sure their chests are still moving up and down. Because we are not immune. Every time Jake gets behind the wheel. Every time I leave the house with a van full of kids. Every time we go to a movie or for a routine doctors visit. Not fear. Not waiting. But knowledge. Knowledge that this life is just a vapor. Knowledge of the speed at which this life could shift from reading about tragedy, to living tragedy.
And today I read about Robin Williams committing suicide. And it reminds me all over again that this thing that so many of us fight every day is a demon. It is a relentless demon. It shows no mercy. It is both a figurative and literal darkness. I am reminded that sometimes, even people that are a light to so many, fail to see the light themselves. I used to be one of those people. Smiling on the outside. Dying on the inside. Without hope. Just like May.
Here is the difference between me and May. May would have read about Robin Williams today, she would have taken the newspaper article down to her wailing wall and stapled it there. She would have cried over him for days. Hurting. Weeping. She would have taken the photos of the children beheaded by ISIS down to the wall, and she would have walked into the river, never to walk out again, unable to bear the weight of the pain those parents must feel. The difference between me and May is hope. Hope of what is to come. Hope, as an anchor.
Revelation 21 New International Version (NIV)
A New Heaven and a New Earth
21 Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,”[a] for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. 2 I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. 3 And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 4 ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’[b] or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”
5 He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”6 He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. 7 Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children. 8 But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars—they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death.”
And I have this hope, because I am redeemed. (2 Corinthians 5:17-18) Thank God, redeemed. I am victorious. Chosen. Adopted. (Ephesians 1:4-6).
My heart breaks daily for so many people. For their hurt. For their loneliness. But I can't fix it. Only the One can. And He hears the prayers of the brokenhearted. He makes a way, as a light in the darkness.
Praying for Christians being persecuted throughout the world tonight. And for so many that don't know what hope means.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
A 1st birthday, 6 years in the making.......
I remember all of Cole and Zella's firsts. I have baby books filled with little lockets of hair and notes scribbled on paper and tossed in the books that say things like "today you smiled for the first time" with a date written next to it. Their birth stories are emblazoned in my mind. I will never forget the way I completely melted and gave my heart away when each of them was laid on my chest in the delivery room. Cole was a puker. He threw up on more occasions and for so many different reasons I can't even recall them all. But I was there, reaching my hands out to catch it in the car, washing sheets in the middle of the night, using q-tips to get it out of his nose. Zella didn't sleep for the first year of her life. And I was there. Pacing the living room floor in the middle of the night. I actually got evaluated for narcolepsy when she was about 6 months old.....because that's how little she slept. And each of those moments, those special, hard hard moments, are the ones that created our bond. Somehow, the sacrifice of being sleep deprived and puked on, didn't seem like a sacrifice at all. They needed me. And they loved needing me. And I never considered that I didn't share a lot of David's "firsts" with him. Because a lot of his "firsts" didn't happen until he joined our family and those are just as monumental. His first train ride, his first plane ride, his first comfy bed, first stuffed animal, first real family. But it's different. I said it. I got it out. It's different. About 4 months after David got home, it hit me, really really hard, that this is different. That this child will not require the same love that Cole and Zella will require. That sometimes, this sacrifice, will feel like sacrifice. That me not sharing the moment he entered the world with him or the first time he cried in pain or the first time he threw up or got hurt or needed food...me not being there for the same firsts that I shared with Cole and Zella.....it didn't hurt me. It hurt him. And hurt is deep. Children don't always have clear memories of exact circumstances, but they have memory of emotion. They remember fear. They remember loneliness. They remember pain. They remember distrust. They remember hopelessness. David remembers.
David's mothers' name was Angel. Around his second birthday, Angel loved him enough to send him to a hospital via ambulance. She never showed up to pick him up. The hospital records show that he stayed at the hospital for 7 months before he became property of Ukraine. He spent his next year in one orphanage. And the next year in a different orphanage. And one year ago today, on his 5th birthday, David became eligible for adoption in Ukraine. His file arrived at the adoption authority's office just 30 minutes before Jake and I arrived to blindly select our future child. We planned to bring two children home. And we were shown 7 files of siblings and had NO PEACE. The lady we were meeting with left the room and came back with an 8th file. I think Jake and I both started crying. That was our son. His name was written incorrectly on the paperwork so our translator originally told us his name was David. We had no intention of naming him that. We went to Ukraine with the idea of naming our son Isaac. But God knows. In 1 Samuel 16, Samuel was seeking a new king for Israel from the sons of Jesse. Samuel saw 7 of Jesse's sons but knew that none of them were chosen by God. Samuel asked Jesse if he had any other sons and Jesse sent for his youngest, his 8th son, David. When Samuel saw David the Lord spoke to Samuel "Rise and anoint him; this is the one". I didn't know the parallels until I started reading more about David. The more I started believing and trusting in God's plan for his life. One night Jake and David were reading from the Childrens picture Bible that we have. The story of David and Goliath reads like this "Goliath was a giant. He came to fight God's people.....But a boy named David was not afraid. GOD HAD BLESSED DAVID AND MADE HIM VERY BRAVE. David stood before the giant Goliath. He said, "I have come to fight you in the name of God." I was standing downstairs listening to Jake read and I started sobbing. God has blessed David, and God did make David very brave. And David is fighting a mighty mighty giant. Every day he fights his memory. He fights the first 5 years of his life. He fights the instinct to fight. He fights fear. He fights every single day, against an enemy that preys on the innocent. Matthew 13:19 tells us "When anyone hears the message about the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what was sown in their heart." Because David does not understand love, when we give it to him, the enemy comes and snatches it away from him. Because David does not understand what it means to be a family or what it means when we pray and thank God for him, the enemy snatches it from him like a thief in the night. And as his mother, my heart is broken. Because ALL I can do is take heart, and be strong and take heart and wait on the Lord. (Psalm 27:13-14) I KNOW that darkness will ALWAYS lose to light. But today, today I wanted it to hurry up. Today I wanted it to be different. Today is David's birthday.
The hardest day of our 10 months home for me, was the day that I realized that I can't spoil David the way my heart wants to. I know his story. I know all of the awful, nasty stuff in his history book. And it makes me want to spoil him even more. And I can't. Because he can't handle it. I think back to all of the kids 1st Christmases. All 3 of them. We went over the top and gave them just a ridiculous amount of gifts and expected them to perform and be happy and cheerful and then we threw a camera in the mix and made them wear scratchy, uncomfortable outfits and THEN, when they started crying, we were like "what's wrong?!". Why do we do this? Why do overwhelm our kids? I was talking to my Uncle yesterday about the big birthday today and I was reminding him of all the Christmases gone bad and he said "well when you give all those gifts, it's not really for the kids". Sigh. Truer words were never spoken. David can't handle excess. It makes him uncomfortable because it is completely foreign to him. At Christmas, he was literally shaking so hard that I had to hold him tight under my arm. And birthdays are all about excess. The excessive sugar and too many gifts and it's just a lot. So a few weeks ago, I got nervous. I didn't want to force this birthday thing on him and ruin the whole day. BUT, every single person in our entire house has had a birthday (even the dog) since he got home, so doesn't he expect the hoopla?! Turns out, no. He doesn't want the hoopla. He wants to belong. And us crazy, over the top, Americans, well sometimes we give gifts to make people feel special. But you know what's crazy? The idea of giving material things to people to make them feel special. That's crazy. I look at David today, 6 years old, and I know that the excess won't heal David's heart. I know that the presents and the cake and big party, that won't erase the fact that for the first 5 years of his life nobody celebrated him. Ever. On any occasion. We have family members right now that are mad at us because we asked them to just send David a card with a note in it and not big gifts and they're mad because well this is his first birthday and we're making up for lost time so it should be crazy over the top, right? No. It should be safe. It should make him feel secure in this new life. It should tell him that we love him......and should teach him that love is not measured by gifts and dessert. Even if that is really really hard for mom.
There are days when I just want him to live. Days when I want him to jump out of bed with a smile on his face and just LIVE. I want him to walk in confidence and faith and not in fear and defiance. I asked God so many months ago to start planting these emotions in me and you know what? God answered my prayers. And you know what else? It's so painful. It's so painful to watch him struggle with his past. It's so painful to want to mother him....when he's too afraid to admit that he needs a mother. But in that pain.....it means that God is working. It means that God has started to burn out the ugly. And maybe the start of that was with me. Maybe the start of His healing started with the heart of our home. Just maybe.
And maybe God has big plans for David's 7th birthday. I woke up this morning and looked at the Bible app on my phone and the verse today said "No eye has seen, no ear has heard and no human mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love Him", 1 Corinthians 2:9. I'm trusting in that. That His plans are greater than my dreams for David. That His plans trump a 6th birthday party. His plans epitomize excess. That's where my hope is.
So today, in our house, there was a Happy Birthday banner and there was a Happy Birthday song. There was a watermelon cake with a candle and a big dinner. And there was one gift....and a little boy that literally gasped when he opened it. And he smiled. A real smile. Today wasn't huge. It wasn't over the top. It was a 1st birthday, 6 years in the making, for David Benjamin Kubnick. And at the end of today, he smiled. And THAT says so much. That means we're doing it. On the days when I feel like we have NO idea what we're doing, we're still doing something. And he smiled.
Happy Birthday, David Benjamin Kubnick. "And I am sure of this, that He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ." Philippians 1:6
**For those of you that are curious about kiddos that come from hard places, I encourage you to watch this clip and then read the letter. If you don't have time for both, read the letter. This was done by some parents of trauma kids. It's well done. And it says a lot about what we go through behind closed doors. https://www.attachmenttraumanetwork.com/mylife.html **
David's mothers' name was Angel. Around his second birthday, Angel loved him enough to send him to a hospital via ambulance. She never showed up to pick him up. The hospital records show that he stayed at the hospital for 7 months before he became property of Ukraine. He spent his next year in one orphanage. And the next year in a different orphanage. And one year ago today, on his 5th birthday, David became eligible for adoption in Ukraine. His file arrived at the adoption authority's office just 30 minutes before Jake and I arrived to blindly select our future child. We planned to bring two children home. And we were shown 7 files of siblings and had NO PEACE. The lady we were meeting with left the room and came back with an 8th file. I think Jake and I both started crying. That was our son. His name was written incorrectly on the paperwork so our translator originally told us his name was David. We had no intention of naming him that. We went to Ukraine with the idea of naming our son Isaac. But God knows. In 1 Samuel 16, Samuel was seeking a new king for Israel from the sons of Jesse. Samuel saw 7 of Jesse's sons but knew that none of them were chosen by God. Samuel asked Jesse if he had any other sons and Jesse sent for his youngest, his 8th son, David. When Samuel saw David the Lord spoke to Samuel "Rise and anoint him; this is the one". I didn't know the parallels until I started reading more about David. The more I started believing and trusting in God's plan for his life. One night Jake and David were reading from the Childrens picture Bible that we have. The story of David and Goliath reads like this "Goliath was a giant. He came to fight God's people.....But a boy named David was not afraid. GOD HAD BLESSED DAVID AND MADE HIM VERY BRAVE. David stood before the giant Goliath. He said, "I have come to fight you in the name of God." I was standing downstairs listening to Jake read and I started sobbing. God has blessed David, and God did make David very brave. And David is fighting a mighty mighty giant. Every day he fights his memory. He fights the first 5 years of his life. He fights the instinct to fight. He fights fear. He fights every single day, against an enemy that preys on the innocent. Matthew 13:19 tells us "When anyone hears the message about the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what was sown in their heart." Because David does not understand love, when we give it to him, the enemy comes and snatches it away from him. Because David does not understand what it means to be a family or what it means when we pray and thank God for him, the enemy snatches it from him like a thief in the night. And as his mother, my heart is broken. Because ALL I can do is take heart, and be strong and take heart and wait on the Lord. (Psalm 27:13-14) I KNOW that darkness will ALWAYS lose to light. But today, today I wanted it to hurry up. Today I wanted it to be different. Today is David's birthday.
The hardest day of our 10 months home for me, was the day that I realized that I can't spoil David the way my heart wants to. I know his story. I know all of the awful, nasty stuff in his history book. And it makes me want to spoil him even more. And I can't. Because he can't handle it. I think back to all of the kids 1st Christmases. All 3 of them. We went over the top and gave them just a ridiculous amount of gifts and expected them to perform and be happy and cheerful and then we threw a camera in the mix and made them wear scratchy, uncomfortable outfits and THEN, when they started crying, we were like "what's wrong?!". Why do we do this? Why do overwhelm our kids? I was talking to my Uncle yesterday about the big birthday today and I was reminding him of all the Christmases gone bad and he said "well when you give all those gifts, it's not really for the kids". Sigh. Truer words were never spoken. David can't handle excess. It makes him uncomfortable because it is completely foreign to him. At Christmas, he was literally shaking so hard that I had to hold him tight under my arm. And birthdays are all about excess. The excessive sugar and too many gifts and it's just a lot. So a few weeks ago, I got nervous. I didn't want to force this birthday thing on him and ruin the whole day. BUT, every single person in our entire house has had a birthday (even the dog) since he got home, so doesn't he expect the hoopla?! Turns out, no. He doesn't want the hoopla. He wants to belong. And us crazy, over the top, Americans, well sometimes we give gifts to make people feel special. But you know what's crazy? The idea of giving material things to people to make them feel special. That's crazy. I look at David today, 6 years old, and I know that the excess won't heal David's heart. I know that the presents and the cake and big party, that won't erase the fact that for the first 5 years of his life nobody celebrated him. Ever. On any occasion. We have family members right now that are mad at us because we asked them to just send David a card with a note in it and not big gifts and they're mad because well this is his first birthday and we're making up for lost time so it should be crazy over the top, right? No. It should be safe. It should make him feel secure in this new life. It should tell him that we love him......and should teach him that love is not measured by gifts and dessert. Even if that is really really hard for mom.
There are days when I just want him to live. Days when I want him to jump out of bed with a smile on his face and just LIVE. I want him to walk in confidence and faith and not in fear and defiance. I asked God so many months ago to start planting these emotions in me and you know what? God answered my prayers. And you know what else? It's so painful. It's so painful to watch him struggle with his past. It's so painful to want to mother him....when he's too afraid to admit that he needs a mother. But in that pain.....it means that God is working. It means that God has started to burn out the ugly. And maybe the start of that was with me. Maybe the start of His healing started with the heart of our home. Just maybe.
And maybe God has big plans for David's 7th birthday. I woke up this morning and looked at the Bible app on my phone and the verse today said "No eye has seen, no ear has heard and no human mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love Him", 1 Corinthians 2:9. I'm trusting in that. That His plans are greater than my dreams for David. That His plans trump a 6th birthday party. His plans epitomize excess. That's where my hope is.
So today, in our house, there was a Happy Birthday banner and there was a Happy Birthday song. There was a watermelon cake with a candle and a big dinner. And there was one gift....and a little boy that literally gasped when he opened it. And he smiled. A real smile. Today wasn't huge. It wasn't over the top. It was a 1st birthday, 6 years in the making, for David Benjamin Kubnick. And at the end of today, he smiled. And THAT says so much. That means we're doing it. On the days when I feel like we have NO idea what we're doing, we're still doing something. And he smiled.
Happy Birthday, David Benjamin Kubnick. "And I am sure of this, that He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ." Philippians 1:6
**For those of you that are curious about kiddos that come from hard places, I encourage you to watch this clip and then read the letter. If you don't have time for both, read the letter. This was done by some parents of trauma kids. It's well done. And it says a lot about what we go through behind closed doors. https://www.attachmenttraumanetwork.com/mylife.html **
Sunday, July 13, 2014
The Big Move
Several months ago, Jake and I both posted on Facebook about our big move to Memphis, TN. Jake accepted a job with the FAA working at Memphis Center. On July 3, Jake graduated 3rd in his class from the FAA academy in Oklahoma City, OK and on July 4, after being away from us for 12 weeks, he returned home to a VERY excited family of Kubnicks. Since Jake left for school, we've had so many people ask us "when are you leaving?......are you still moving?.....when does Jake start his new job?" and well, I thought I would make answering all of those questions easier on myself and just put a blog post out there. For all of you inquiring minds, here you go.
8 years ago Jake got out of the Marine Corps with a bright future in air traffic control. He had been promised a job with the DOD and well, we learned a tough DOD lesson and things fell through. So, he applied to the FAA and got hired at Memphis Center. He accepted that job but then the FAA went through a huge pay grade restructuring process and the money was not worth the stress of being a controller for the FAA. But Jake said yes anyways because he needed to provide for his family. About 2 weeks before his check-in date in Memphis, the DOD called and hired Jake at MCAS Beaufort. We knew that when Jake called and turned down the FAA position that we didn't want to completely close that door. Jake's a talented controller and we had no idea what our future held for us. As our family has grown, we've gone through so many changes. We purchased our first home (right before the housing market collapsed) contingent on the two awesome incomes that we had for so many years. We've added 2 more children to the mix. We've gone through a lot of cars and car loans and have upgraded and downgraded more times than I can count. We found a church that is ALIVE. Jake became a Christian. We started listening to God. God started refining us for His purpose (we still don't know what this purpose is). We decided to try and live off only 1 great income instead of 2 (I hate discipline). And we've been on a crazy long roller coaster ride through it all. But for some reason, God keeps on blessing us.
2 and a half years ago Jake decided that he was ready to revisit the possibility of the FAA. His resume was beefed up and his experience immeasurable. He applied.....and got his dream job. Jake got hired at Atlanta Center. As a controller, from what he explained to me, that would be the pinnacle for his career. And he isn't even 35 yet. So he said "yes"! And then the government started enforcing furloughs. Government branches started their budgeting processes and money got cut from every single corner.....including the Department of Transportation. Every time the budget moved a little money from Peter to pay Paul, the numbers of employees that each air traffic control facility was able to employ was reduced. So basically, Jake was hired, but he was on a wait list for school because there wasn't enough money in the DOT's budget to school and hire the number of controllers that were waiting to be employed. About a year ago he started talking to his HR rep with the FAA and she told him that for him to get in as an employee in Atlanta, he would wait until 2018. She offered him several other options......New Hampshire, Minnesota, Oakland (bwahhahahha. nope.), and Memphis. When Memphis popped up Jake and I chuckled. We couldn't help but pay attention. So twice, this same job has fallen into Jake's lap. Maybe God wants us in Memphis? Jake accepted the job. He left for Oklahoma City in April. And the next 12 weeks we all spent surviving and letting God work on our hearts.
Last week our pastor delivered a sermon on a fresh start. He mentioned that a change of location isn't imperative for a fresh start. And Jake and I did the half smirk and glanced at each other. When Jake accepted the position in Memphis, our entire family was desperate for change. David had been with our family for a very short time and was struggling. We were coming off of a year and a half long fundraising frenzy for the adoption and separation during time in Ukraine and sleep deprivation that comes along with bringing a new child home. And we all thought we needed a fresh start. We needed change. But the change we needed wasn't to pack up the house and move. The change we needed was inside our home.....and inside our hearts. And Jake and I both knew that. Neither of us had peace. The day Jake arrived in Oklahoma City for FAA school, he said that God made it clear to him that Memphis was not the place for us. And I informed Jake that the idea of Memphis made me want to vomit. Not because it's Memphis, but because God was screaming at me "NO!". So now what? What do we do? Jake had already quit the job in Beaufort. So we started praying. And God started responding.
In our time apart, God spoke separately to me and Jake. Jake is the head of our home and I am the heart. Albeit a dirty, ugly heart, but the heart nonetheless. And God reminded me to just sit down and remember how He has met us every step......and in every mistake. The hindsight is always clearer. Jake turned down Memphis to work for the DOD. So we bought a house. The house we bought that was a HUGE mistake, God put a pastor in across the street to led Jake to Christ. Then God used my nephews baptism to lead us to a church that was spirit filled and just starting an adoption ministry. And that time that our dossier in Ukraine got rejected and we were devastated, was because God was waiting for our son to turn 5 and be eligible for adoption. I could go on and on.....but the point is, that one day, all of the pieces will fit. One day we will look back and see what God was doing and how His plan unfolded so perfectly for our lives. And as much as I knew that, the idea of Jake not having a job was terrifying. We started praying that God would make it 100% clear where he wanted Jake. If it was Memphis, then make Memphis the only option. If it wasn't Memphis, then God, open that job in Beaufort back up.
Long story short, Jake worked his butt off at school. And we stayed fervent in prayer and faithful that God would answer. And He did. On Monday, Jake received his final offer letter for a position in Beaufort. I was a nervous wreck until then. But Jake stood firm. He stood in full confidence and faith that God had spoken clearly to him. Maybe not Beaufort forever, but definitely not Memphis. Not now. Not when we have so much work to do at home.
2 years ago, the Kubnicks started making decisions that make NO sense. We started our adoption journey and answered so many questions about "why not just have more bio babies?". Then we answered a buzillion questions about international over domestic adoption. And now, now we have controller friends telling Jake that he's INSANE to turn down the FAA job. It's A LOT more money. It would mean a substantial amount of financial security for our family. But without peace, is that money worth it? And can I tell you, one of the proudest moments of my life is when Jake looked at me and said "God will make up for it. I know He will". (Insert tears).
Tomorrow morning, Jake will officially be a Department of Defense employee again. He will drive onto base tomorrow morning confident that he listened to God. He might not be driving that truck he dreams about. His decision might not make any sense to any person but God. But he is walking in faith. He is walking in obedience. And for now, we are staying put.
Yesterday I saw this quote on a FB friends' newsfeed: "Real faith is birthed in times of transition, contemplation and confusion." - TD Jakes.
God is birthing something in us. Faith. And it looks different for all of us. But for us, "the big move" means just being still.
8 years ago Jake got out of the Marine Corps with a bright future in air traffic control. He had been promised a job with the DOD and well, we learned a tough DOD lesson and things fell through. So, he applied to the FAA and got hired at Memphis Center. He accepted that job but then the FAA went through a huge pay grade restructuring process and the money was not worth the stress of being a controller for the FAA. But Jake said yes anyways because he needed to provide for his family. About 2 weeks before his check-in date in Memphis, the DOD called and hired Jake at MCAS Beaufort. We knew that when Jake called and turned down the FAA position that we didn't want to completely close that door. Jake's a talented controller and we had no idea what our future held for us. As our family has grown, we've gone through so many changes. We purchased our first home (right before the housing market collapsed) contingent on the two awesome incomes that we had for so many years. We've added 2 more children to the mix. We've gone through a lot of cars and car loans and have upgraded and downgraded more times than I can count. We found a church that is ALIVE. Jake became a Christian. We started listening to God. God started refining us for His purpose (we still don't know what this purpose is). We decided to try and live off only 1 great income instead of 2 (I hate discipline). And we've been on a crazy long roller coaster ride through it all. But for some reason, God keeps on blessing us.
2 and a half years ago Jake decided that he was ready to revisit the possibility of the FAA. His resume was beefed up and his experience immeasurable. He applied.....and got his dream job. Jake got hired at Atlanta Center. As a controller, from what he explained to me, that would be the pinnacle for his career. And he isn't even 35 yet. So he said "yes"! And then the government started enforcing furloughs. Government branches started their budgeting processes and money got cut from every single corner.....including the Department of Transportation. Every time the budget moved a little money from Peter to pay Paul, the numbers of employees that each air traffic control facility was able to employ was reduced. So basically, Jake was hired, but he was on a wait list for school because there wasn't enough money in the DOT's budget to school and hire the number of controllers that were waiting to be employed. About a year ago he started talking to his HR rep with the FAA and she told him that for him to get in as an employee in Atlanta, he would wait until 2018. She offered him several other options......New Hampshire, Minnesota, Oakland (bwahhahahha. nope.), and Memphis. When Memphis popped up Jake and I chuckled. We couldn't help but pay attention. So twice, this same job has fallen into Jake's lap. Maybe God wants us in Memphis? Jake accepted the job. He left for Oklahoma City in April. And the next 12 weeks we all spent surviving and letting God work on our hearts.
Last week our pastor delivered a sermon on a fresh start. He mentioned that a change of location isn't imperative for a fresh start. And Jake and I did the half smirk and glanced at each other. When Jake accepted the position in Memphis, our entire family was desperate for change. David had been with our family for a very short time and was struggling. We were coming off of a year and a half long fundraising frenzy for the adoption and separation during time in Ukraine and sleep deprivation that comes along with bringing a new child home. And we all thought we needed a fresh start. We needed change. But the change we needed wasn't to pack up the house and move. The change we needed was inside our home.....and inside our hearts. And Jake and I both knew that. Neither of us had peace. The day Jake arrived in Oklahoma City for FAA school, he said that God made it clear to him that Memphis was not the place for us. And I informed Jake that the idea of Memphis made me want to vomit. Not because it's Memphis, but because God was screaming at me "NO!". So now what? What do we do? Jake had already quit the job in Beaufort. So we started praying. And God started responding.
In our time apart, God spoke separately to me and Jake. Jake is the head of our home and I am the heart. Albeit a dirty, ugly heart, but the heart nonetheless. And God reminded me to just sit down and remember how He has met us every step......and in every mistake. The hindsight is always clearer. Jake turned down Memphis to work for the DOD. So we bought a house. The house we bought that was a HUGE mistake, God put a pastor in across the street to led Jake to Christ. Then God used my nephews baptism to lead us to a church that was spirit filled and just starting an adoption ministry. And that time that our dossier in Ukraine got rejected and we were devastated, was because God was waiting for our son to turn 5 and be eligible for adoption. I could go on and on.....but the point is, that one day, all of the pieces will fit. One day we will look back and see what God was doing and how His plan unfolded so perfectly for our lives. And as much as I knew that, the idea of Jake not having a job was terrifying. We started praying that God would make it 100% clear where he wanted Jake. If it was Memphis, then make Memphis the only option. If it wasn't Memphis, then God, open that job in Beaufort back up.
Long story short, Jake worked his butt off at school. And we stayed fervent in prayer and faithful that God would answer. And He did. On Monday, Jake received his final offer letter for a position in Beaufort. I was a nervous wreck until then. But Jake stood firm. He stood in full confidence and faith that God had spoken clearly to him. Maybe not Beaufort forever, but definitely not Memphis. Not now. Not when we have so much work to do at home.
2 years ago, the Kubnicks started making decisions that make NO sense. We started our adoption journey and answered so many questions about "why not just have more bio babies?". Then we answered a buzillion questions about international over domestic adoption. And now, now we have controller friends telling Jake that he's INSANE to turn down the FAA job. It's A LOT more money. It would mean a substantial amount of financial security for our family. But without peace, is that money worth it? And can I tell you, one of the proudest moments of my life is when Jake looked at me and said "God will make up for it. I know He will". (Insert tears).
Tomorrow morning, Jake will officially be a Department of Defense employee again. He will drive onto base tomorrow morning confident that he listened to God. He might not be driving that truck he dreams about. His decision might not make any sense to any person but God. But he is walking in faith. He is walking in obedience. And for now, we are staying put.
Yesterday I saw this quote on a FB friends' newsfeed: "Real faith is birthed in times of transition, contemplation and confusion." - TD Jakes.
God is birthing something in us. Faith. And it looks different for all of us. But for us, "the big move" means just being still.
Saturday, June 14, 2014
Dads
I know this is the typical Father's Day post. Maybe. Ok, I don't know that. But I know that we spend most of our time talking about Moms. About how hard Moms work and about how a Moms work is never ever ever done. We spend a lot of time talking about women struggling with mourning their pre-Mom identity and finding a new identity in being a mother. We talk about the hurt that women endure when they aren't able to be moms. We don't talk a lot about Dads. The silent workhorses. The steady Eddy's. I want to talk about them. About my main men.
There are a lot of people in the world that feel short changed by their deadbeat dad. There truly are a lot of children that are losing out on certain parts of their life because of a man that walked away. And then there are children that are enjoying the fullness of life because of men that picked up those broken pieces. I am a part of the latter statistic. And to say that I'm blessed and grateful are gigantic understatements.
My biological father left when I was young. I don't know the whole story. The details have fallen apart as I've gotten older and I have forgiven him and can clearly see that God's plan for my life may have included his sperm, but it also included the influence of much greater men than the person that my bio dad was able to be. I was younger than Zella when my mom and bio dad divorced. I was too young to understand but old enough to know that what was happening wasn't positive and that I was losing someone in my life. He's the guy that I let hurt me for years and years. He's the guy that made broken promises and every single time he promised he would show up and he didn't, my little heart broke. Just a couple of years after he left God walked my step dad into our lives. I resisted at first because it was different. I didn't want 2 dads. I wanted the one that I knew to man up and come home. But Kenny knew that wasn't going to happen. And he worked so so hard to be every ounce of what bio dad never was. He worked hard to provide for us. When the time came for my sister and I to go to private school he was a golf pro by day, bartender by night and landscaper on the weekends. Just to pay tuition. Somewhere in between those jobs he managed to teach me how to catch a pop fly (not without a few busted chins), coach me through countless years of basketball and perfect my jump shot, cook meals for us (and announce what was for dinner in this TERRIBLE French accent), discipline us (y'all just don't know some of the shenanigans me and McCall got into), teach us the art of eating the chicken wing every Friday night, let us live a cultured life with trips to professional sporting events and fancy schmancy restaurants, be a total goofball when we needed to laugh, and a total sap when we needed to cry. I will always remember the look on his face on Christmas morning every year when bio dad would call. It was part defeat (because this guy just wouldn't go away!) and part anger, because he knew that his girls would get their hopes up, and that eventually we would be let down again. He wasn't super emotional. He was a tough guy. He parented us like he coached us. He would show us how and expect us to watch and learn and then fully expected us to do it on our own. He allowed us independence and when we couldn't handle it, he pulled the rope back in. Even into college days, when we would sneak in through the doggy door in the back, he would be in the recliner waiting for us. Because we were his girls. I remember this one night I was going on a date and I walked into the kitchen and he said "go change". He NEVER commented on my clothes. Ever. That was moms department. He never commented, until comment was needed. And he was quick to inform me that my skirt was too short. And that was not okay. I remember the night I missed curfew. By A WHOLE LOT. And when I got home he was standing on the other side of the front door, hands tucked behind his back like a drill instructor. There are few times that I have been that terrified in my life. And I never did it again. I'll never forget the first time he cried with me. My first serious boyfriend dumped and well, I was a 16 year old girl about it and did not handle it well. And this boy said some things to me on the phone one night that were just plain awful. And he had no idea that Kenny had picked up the phone and was listening. After that boy saw his life flash before his eyes, Kenny came in my bedroom crying. He sat on the edge of the bed with me and told me that I was never to talk to that guy again. Because no one, ever, in the history of ever, was allowed to speak to me that way. When I was in college and he almost lost me......he drove around with my picture next to the speedometer in his car. I don't know if he knew that I knew that. I lost almost 2 years with him. When he and my mom separated and things weren't exactly amicable I made judgements and mistakes. And I lost some great great years with him. But God is good. And when we reconciled, it was like no time was lost. We don't talk every day. We don't talk near enough. But I hope he knows that my childhood wouldn't have been much of one if it weren't for him. I hope he knows that the discipline I have in life today was learned as he taught me about perfecting my shot, my catch, my throw, my pitch. To never ever give up. To always get up and keep going. I can't put the memories all into this blog......but Kenny Conroy, you're a great dad.
And I don't just have a great dad. I have an incredible uncle. I was talking to my Granny this week and she said to me "I can remember carrying Ronnie around when he was a baby and praying that he would have children one day. And I hurt so bad for him that he didn't. But I know why. God knew that he would have his girls and he knew that Ronnie would need to take care of me." It broke my heart. I won't tell his story. It's not mine to tell. But I will say that he's a blessing, an influence, a force in my life. And I know that God knew. I know that God knew that my "unca Ronnie" would love us and care for us like we were his daughters. God knew his story before there was time. We had lunch today and the kids were being crazy and we still sat and talked for over an hour......after we stood outside in the parking lot talking for over an hour. I could talk to him for years and there would never be a lull. He's a wealth of knowledge and when I talk, he listens. He has a genuine interest in what's happening in my life. He gave me my first real job. He afforded me the opportunity to sow into a family business with his name on it and he taught me and answered my stupid questions and trusted me with his most valuable customers. He gave me confidence in showing me that he trusted me. For 8 years, every morning I would check in with him. I would stand in the doorway of his office and we'd laugh and talk and then every afternoon we'd stroll over to Granny's house together before saying goodbye for the afternoon. I loved working with him. We drove each other crazy some days. But that's love. That's how it works. And the next day, the waters were always calm and we had moved forward. I love this man. Because it drives me absolutely bananas how he gives until it hurts. And then gives a little more. When my Granddaddy was alive he had this blind faith in people. He always wanted to believe that there was good in them. And so many times that hurt him. And he didn't stop believing. And I see that in Uncle Ronnie. He wants to believe that there is good left in the world. He wants to believe that if he helps someone that it will genuinely help them.....it will lift their morale and pick up their spirit and change their mind about the state of their living. He gives and gives and gives. I love that about him. He's my guy when I have a car question, a business question, a financial question, a funny kid story, a funny Granny story, anything funny in general (we love to laugh together). He's the first one I call. And what totally melts my heart.......is that he's the first one that Jake calls now too. He's never NOT answered my calls. Ever. He's my encourager. We were at his house a few weeks ago and he pulled me aside and just said "you're a great mom" and hugged me. There were no words. Because in that exact moment I needed that so bad. He has walked with us through hard stuff. He's watched us fight through some things that I know hurt him so bad. And he was always there to offer advice, to sometimes bail us out, but to let us learn the same way that he did. He is my biggest fan. Always cheering me on. Even when he doesn't think it's the greatest idea.....he can see the light in my eyes when I'm excited or when I feel passionate and he fans the flame, in spite of his personal opinions. He sows into our kids just like he sows into us. All of them. Even when he thinks that collectively we have too many (wink wink). I could go on and on.....I won't. He knows. He knows that he holds this place in my heart. He knows that on Fathers Day we celebrate him, too. Thank you, Ron Nettles, for sowing into my life as if I were your daughter. I am forever grateful.
And then there's my #1. 9 years ago and 5 years ago and just under a year ago.......we found out we were going to be parents. Terror, excitement, more terror, and even more excitement each time. I remember every tiny detail of the physical pregnancies and the paper one and of all three "birthing" processes with Jake. He used to read to my belly every night when Cole was in utero. "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always.......". We would giggle with delight every time Elton Johns "Tiny Dancer" came on and Cole would dance in my belly. Jake was fascinated with my Zella belly. She was a big girl in utero and she would shift her weight and wiggle her butt and it was so horrible and beautiful at the same time. He false labored with me for two weeks before she arrived. That's love, people. God spoke to Jake when we first began our adoption process and told him there was a 5 year old boy waiting in Ukraine for us. Jake, the once fatherless, going across the world to find this fatherless child, and sent their by his Heavenly Father. The emotion is overwhelming considering those things. That God designed this man to be the father of these 3 children, even in their different circumstances. He picked Jake to parent them and He hand picked Jake to lead and guide them. It's incredible to know that I am married to a man that God reveres so highly. There are so many incredible "Father" memories I have of Jake.......but here are my most favorite things: he's a total goofball. Our kids LOVE laughing with Daddy. He teaches them to be independent. He shows them the way things work and explains things and then lets them try (even when Mom is maybe freaking out a little). He encourages them. He's the best at telling them how awesome they are and highlighting the great things they do. He's a really great snuggle/wrestling buddy. Snuggling always evolves into wrestling. He is constantly trying to be a better dad. Our kids don't see this yet. They don't hear the agony in his voice when he makes a daddy mistake. But I see it. And it's one of his best qualities. The desire to be better, for them. The desire to give more, for them. The desire to always work on being a better Christian so he can be a better dad.......because that's why he was given this job in the first place. Our children are blessed to call you Daddy, Jacob Kubnick. Thank you for giving them the best of what you have to offer.
I could have been a statistic. Another kid with a deadbeat dad. But God blessed me with two men to parent me.....and then turned around and blessed me with an incredible man to parent our children. If I tried to count my blessings, I would never have a single breath to do anything else. Here's to the men in the world that are "manning up" and are actually fathering children.......not just producing them, but actually guiding them. Whether they are biological, adopted, step children, nieces or nephews, grandkids, whatever.....thank you. Thank you for doing what so many choose not to do. You are heros.
There are a lot of people in the world that feel short changed by their deadbeat dad. There truly are a lot of children that are losing out on certain parts of their life because of a man that walked away. And then there are children that are enjoying the fullness of life because of men that picked up those broken pieces. I am a part of the latter statistic. And to say that I'm blessed and grateful are gigantic understatements.
My biological father left when I was young. I don't know the whole story. The details have fallen apart as I've gotten older and I have forgiven him and can clearly see that God's plan for my life may have included his sperm, but it also included the influence of much greater men than the person that my bio dad was able to be. I was younger than Zella when my mom and bio dad divorced. I was too young to understand but old enough to know that what was happening wasn't positive and that I was losing someone in my life. He's the guy that I let hurt me for years and years. He's the guy that made broken promises and every single time he promised he would show up and he didn't, my little heart broke. Just a couple of years after he left God walked my step dad into our lives. I resisted at first because it was different. I didn't want 2 dads. I wanted the one that I knew to man up and come home. But Kenny knew that wasn't going to happen. And he worked so so hard to be every ounce of what bio dad never was. He worked hard to provide for us. When the time came for my sister and I to go to private school he was a golf pro by day, bartender by night and landscaper on the weekends. Just to pay tuition. Somewhere in between those jobs he managed to teach me how to catch a pop fly (not without a few busted chins), coach me through countless years of basketball and perfect my jump shot, cook meals for us (and announce what was for dinner in this TERRIBLE French accent), discipline us (y'all just don't know some of the shenanigans me and McCall got into), teach us the art of eating the chicken wing every Friday night, let us live a cultured life with trips to professional sporting events and fancy schmancy restaurants, be a total goofball when we needed to laugh, and a total sap when we needed to cry. I will always remember the look on his face on Christmas morning every year when bio dad would call. It was part defeat (because this guy just wouldn't go away!) and part anger, because he knew that his girls would get their hopes up, and that eventually we would be let down again. He wasn't super emotional. He was a tough guy. He parented us like he coached us. He would show us how and expect us to watch and learn and then fully expected us to do it on our own. He allowed us independence and when we couldn't handle it, he pulled the rope back in. Even into college days, when we would sneak in through the doggy door in the back, he would be in the recliner waiting for us. Because we were his girls. I remember this one night I was going on a date and I walked into the kitchen and he said "go change". He NEVER commented on my clothes. Ever. That was moms department. He never commented, until comment was needed. And he was quick to inform me that my skirt was too short. And that was not okay. I remember the night I missed curfew. By A WHOLE LOT. And when I got home he was standing on the other side of the front door, hands tucked behind his back like a drill instructor. There are few times that I have been that terrified in my life. And I never did it again. I'll never forget the first time he cried with me. My first serious boyfriend dumped and well, I was a 16 year old girl about it and did not handle it well. And this boy said some things to me on the phone one night that were just plain awful. And he had no idea that Kenny had picked up the phone and was listening. After that boy saw his life flash before his eyes, Kenny came in my bedroom crying. He sat on the edge of the bed with me and told me that I was never to talk to that guy again. Because no one, ever, in the history of ever, was allowed to speak to me that way. When I was in college and he almost lost me......he drove around with my picture next to the speedometer in his car. I don't know if he knew that I knew that. I lost almost 2 years with him. When he and my mom separated and things weren't exactly amicable I made judgements and mistakes. And I lost some great great years with him. But God is good. And when we reconciled, it was like no time was lost. We don't talk every day. We don't talk near enough. But I hope he knows that my childhood wouldn't have been much of one if it weren't for him. I hope he knows that the discipline I have in life today was learned as he taught me about perfecting my shot, my catch, my throw, my pitch. To never ever give up. To always get up and keep going. I can't put the memories all into this blog......but Kenny Conroy, you're a great dad.
And I don't just have a great dad. I have an incredible uncle. I was talking to my Granny this week and she said to me "I can remember carrying Ronnie around when he was a baby and praying that he would have children one day. And I hurt so bad for him that he didn't. But I know why. God knew that he would have his girls and he knew that Ronnie would need to take care of me." It broke my heart. I won't tell his story. It's not mine to tell. But I will say that he's a blessing, an influence, a force in my life. And I know that God knew. I know that God knew that my "unca Ronnie" would love us and care for us like we were his daughters. God knew his story before there was time. We had lunch today and the kids were being crazy and we still sat and talked for over an hour......after we stood outside in the parking lot talking for over an hour. I could talk to him for years and there would never be a lull. He's a wealth of knowledge and when I talk, he listens. He has a genuine interest in what's happening in my life. He gave me my first real job. He afforded me the opportunity to sow into a family business with his name on it and he taught me and answered my stupid questions and trusted me with his most valuable customers. He gave me confidence in showing me that he trusted me. For 8 years, every morning I would check in with him. I would stand in the doorway of his office and we'd laugh and talk and then every afternoon we'd stroll over to Granny's house together before saying goodbye for the afternoon. I loved working with him. We drove each other crazy some days. But that's love. That's how it works. And the next day, the waters were always calm and we had moved forward. I love this man. Because it drives me absolutely bananas how he gives until it hurts. And then gives a little more. When my Granddaddy was alive he had this blind faith in people. He always wanted to believe that there was good in them. And so many times that hurt him. And he didn't stop believing. And I see that in Uncle Ronnie. He wants to believe that there is good left in the world. He wants to believe that if he helps someone that it will genuinely help them.....it will lift their morale and pick up their spirit and change their mind about the state of their living. He gives and gives and gives. I love that about him. He's my guy when I have a car question, a business question, a financial question, a funny kid story, a funny Granny story, anything funny in general (we love to laugh together). He's the first one I call. And what totally melts my heart.......is that he's the first one that Jake calls now too. He's never NOT answered my calls. Ever. He's my encourager. We were at his house a few weeks ago and he pulled me aside and just said "you're a great mom" and hugged me. There were no words. Because in that exact moment I needed that so bad. He has walked with us through hard stuff. He's watched us fight through some things that I know hurt him so bad. And he was always there to offer advice, to sometimes bail us out, but to let us learn the same way that he did. He is my biggest fan. Always cheering me on. Even when he doesn't think it's the greatest idea.....he can see the light in my eyes when I'm excited or when I feel passionate and he fans the flame, in spite of his personal opinions. He sows into our kids just like he sows into us. All of them. Even when he thinks that collectively we have too many (wink wink). I could go on and on.....I won't. He knows. He knows that he holds this place in my heart. He knows that on Fathers Day we celebrate him, too. Thank you, Ron Nettles, for sowing into my life as if I were your daughter. I am forever grateful.
And then there's my #1. 9 years ago and 5 years ago and just under a year ago.......we found out we were going to be parents. Terror, excitement, more terror, and even more excitement each time. I remember every tiny detail of the physical pregnancies and the paper one and of all three "birthing" processes with Jake. He used to read to my belly every night when Cole was in utero. "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always.......". We would giggle with delight every time Elton Johns "Tiny Dancer" came on and Cole would dance in my belly. Jake was fascinated with my Zella belly. She was a big girl in utero and she would shift her weight and wiggle her butt and it was so horrible and beautiful at the same time. He false labored with me for two weeks before she arrived. That's love, people. God spoke to Jake when we first began our adoption process and told him there was a 5 year old boy waiting in Ukraine for us. Jake, the once fatherless, going across the world to find this fatherless child, and sent their by his Heavenly Father. The emotion is overwhelming considering those things. That God designed this man to be the father of these 3 children, even in their different circumstances. He picked Jake to parent them and He hand picked Jake to lead and guide them. It's incredible to know that I am married to a man that God reveres so highly. There are so many incredible "Father" memories I have of Jake.......but here are my most favorite things: he's a total goofball. Our kids LOVE laughing with Daddy. He teaches them to be independent. He shows them the way things work and explains things and then lets them try (even when Mom is maybe freaking out a little). He encourages them. He's the best at telling them how awesome they are and highlighting the great things they do. He's a really great snuggle/wrestling buddy. Snuggling always evolves into wrestling. He is constantly trying to be a better dad. Our kids don't see this yet. They don't hear the agony in his voice when he makes a daddy mistake. But I see it. And it's one of his best qualities. The desire to be better, for them. The desire to give more, for them. The desire to always work on being a better Christian so he can be a better dad.......because that's why he was given this job in the first place. Our children are blessed to call you Daddy, Jacob Kubnick. Thank you for giving them the best of what you have to offer.
I could have been a statistic. Another kid with a deadbeat dad. But God blessed me with two men to parent me.....and then turned around and blessed me with an incredible man to parent our children. If I tried to count my blessings, I would never have a single breath to do anything else. Here's to the men in the world that are "manning up" and are actually fathering children.......not just producing them, but actually guiding them. Whether they are biological, adopted, step children, nieces or nephews, grandkids, whatever.....thank you. Thank you for doing what so many choose not to do. You are heros.
Saturday, May 31, 2014
The Kitchen Sink
That's my brain these last several weeks. Full and dirty and then clean and sparkly and 20 minutes later the kids want to eat again (every day they want to eat!) and back to full and dirty with muck and mess smeared on the inside walls. I get mentally overwhelmed. Physically I'm like a workhorse; fixing toilets, mowing the lawn, painting, sewing, laundry, meals, therapy, and on and on I go. But mentally, my disposal gets clogged and I struggle to grind it all down to what matters. Unfortunately for anyone reading, failure to dispose properly typically means a jumbled up blogger mess. Imma try to keep it together on this one......
In the last several weeks I have totally felt like the worst ever adoption advocate. I told Jake months ago that it was hurting my heart so badly that I felt like all I ever talk about is the hard. And that I never ever ever want to be the reason that someone says "no". And that's a tough pill to swallow. It's tough to look at your perspective and acknowledge it as "stinkin thinkin". But the truth is, I'm just being real. THIS IS HARD. This last week, God knew. He knows my heart. He knows how much it hurts for orphans. He knows how much it hurts for the little boy under my roof that hasn't allowed himself to get rid of that label yet. And God always provides. Here in the midst of my "stinkin thinkin" I had 2 friends randomly say "hey let's talk adoption". In the same day. On a very hard day when I was wondering what in the world I was doing as a parent. And they both appreciate my honesty and had questions and asked for prayer and didn't completely reject me when I gave them the lovely and the ugly on a platter. And another friend that has been close to us and knows the gross details of our "stuff" and who I figured had completely eliminated the adoption option after getting all eaten up in our tangled web told me, that watching us has just let her know that her faith needs to grow before she can do it. She told me a whole lot of super sweet things and built up my confidence and made my ego all big and swollen. And God put His arm around my shoulder and pulled me in closer and said "told you so". And all of this came after my two weeks ago week.........
We've seen a lot of doctors in the last 10 years. Between Jakes fragile bones and Cole's hernias and Zellas tummy issues and Davids lack of medical care for his first 5 years of life we've become very familiar with our little circle of medical professionals. Our pediatrician joked (but my checkbook knew he was only half joking) when Zella was a baby that he was going to just rent me a room in his office and have a plaque made. He got a new truck that year. Just sayin. But so I saw a doctor that has always been very very honest with me. He believes in laying it all out and letting us sort through it. I sat there and listened to these acronyms being rattled off in association with our son and my mama mind started to panic. I missed my calling as a doctor. I understand medicine and diagnoses and will research something to death just to be educated. I knew what these things meant and I knew what they meant for our future and it was scary. And the doc talked to me about a lot of really hard stuff. Things that parents cringe at and things that make me want to puke. But they are still realities. Whether they induce vomit or not, it is what it is. And he said to me before we left, he wanted me to make a list of pros and cons. And there's no point. I could write out the cons for days. And on the Pros side it will say "But God". I texted another adoptive mama when I left that appointment and unloaded on her. Have I ever mentioned how thankful I am that God put other adoptive families in our circle? And as I was processing all of this stuff with her, this.....I KNOW, without a shadow of a doubt that God can heal this child. But I also know that He may choose not to. And that doesn't change that He commissioned me to parent this child in the name of Jesus. It doesn't degrade the size of God's plan for this child. It doesn't diminish the size of God's heart and love for this child. With or without diagnosis, this is a child of God's and He has a plan. A good plan. And not just for David. For Cole and Zella too......
I've spent a large majority of my time as Cole and Zellas mom trying to protect them. From everything under the sun even including the sun. When I hurt, I hurt so deep and I see that in both of them and there was no part of my mama's heart that was interested in letting them walk that out. And then I walked hurt right through our door when we brought David home. Can I just say, if you know an adoptive family, please don't only consider the changes that the adopted child is enduring. From a Mom's perspective, Cole and Zella have sacrificed so much and have witnessed and endured so much hurt in the last 8 months. These last 2 months I have ached for them. They miss their daddy. They've said goodbye to friends. They've longed to be closer to cousins. They've been desperate for their old, very quiet normal. And there are nights when I lay in bed and ask God why He would wreck two, to save one. But God.......He always knows. Last week we all sat down at the dinner table and Cole started to pray. He prayed to bless the meal and thanked God for a great day. And he paused and said "Dear Jesus. Please heal David." It may seem so small.....but Cole had spent his day mad at David. And in his anger. He prayed for him. God didn't wreck two to save one. He's saving them all. And I can't protect them from everything if I want them to learn to that their Protector is not named "Mom". I have to show them how to live through the hard stuff. Praying when angry.......if he's got that down then I can take my gloves off and rest for a while! Those tiny moments, those are the moments God promises. The rainbows after the rain. I hold onto those.......
And I'm so thankful that I had that moment because I needed it. I had a friend tell me when we first got home to go ahead and just stop caring what other people think. I didn't get it at first. I got judged for the first time as a mother last week. It was painful and there was a girl with bad attitude and weave and her shoe in her hand that was fighting to get out of me but I held my tongue and moved along. All 3 kids were given "jobs" that suited them. If the jobs were completed, we were going to get frozen yogurt. Cole and Zella completed their jobs and David chose not to. We got frozen yogurt anyways and David did not get any. We put our cups on the counter and the cashier pointed to David and said "isn't he going to get some too?" I replied nicely and she huffed. And I ate my yogurt through gritted teeth. Here's why I'm telling this story.......if you ask Zella, she can very distinctly recall Cole's 6th birthday. She remembers it because her behavior was so AWFUL at daycare that day that she did not get to have any birthday cake. She went to daycare for a full year after that. Never had another bad day. In a year. I think that sometimes people forget that love is not all mushy gushy. Love includes discipline. And it includes boundaries and right from wrong. And in the end, each of us has a free will. There are always 2 choices. Our job is to shape our children so that the right choice will always be clear. And you know what's really hard sometimes? That when we don't properly define "love", people assume that they can just "love" the past out of an orphan. When properly defined, you can. Love can reframe and restructure and heal and bind up and redirect whatever hard stuff may have been endured in a past life. But hugs and food alone won't do it. It just won't. Two years ago I was that mom that judged. If we were in Target and a kid was screaming and the mom was just strolling along like it was nothing at all I would have totally thought to myself that someone needed to go break a switch (you have to read this in a really country voice). But not now. Cause I'm that mom. I'm that mom with 3 kids with different needs that require different handling and different consequences and have different love languages AND I'm that mom that knows that I'm the only one that knows what my kids need. Don't be judgemental about other people's parenting. It isn't constructive and you don't live their life.
That last sentence was kind of angry sounding! I'll close with this.......these small people are all gifts from the Lord. They have different packaging and let's just be honest it can seem like God used the really thick foil paper and layered it 27 times on some days but what if as Moms we stop looking at how hard it can be and start thinking "wow. God thinks I'm pretty amazing if He tasked me out with THIS." He does. He thinks we're awesome. And we are. We are the glue. We are the gears that make the machine turn. Keep grinding. Look for God on the hard days and He will make Himself known.....whether it's in the tiny sounds of your babies crying out to Him, or blue skies after days of rain, or a dent in the lady that works at the fro-yo places bumper......He sees you. He hears you. He loves you. (Someone send me a link to this blog next week when I forget this stuff. Thanks.)
In the last several weeks I have totally felt like the worst ever adoption advocate. I told Jake months ago that it was hurting my heart so badly that I felt like all I ever talk about is the hard. And that I never ever ever want to be the reason that someone says "no". And that's a tough pill to swallow. It's tough to look at your perspective and acknowledge it as "stinkin thinkin". But the truth is, I'm just being real. THIS IS HARD. This last week, God knew. He knows my heart. He knows how much it hurts for orphans. He knows how much it hurts for the little boy under my roof that hasn't allowed himself to get rid of that label yet. And God always provides. Here in the midst of my "stinkin thinkin" I had 2 friends randomly say "hey let's talk adoption". In the same day. On a very hard day when I was wondering what in the world I was doing as a parent. And they both appreciate my honesty and had questions and asked for prayer and didn't completely reject me when I gave them the lovely and the ugly on a platter. And another friend that has been close to us and knows the gross details of our "stuff" and who I figured had completely eliminated the adoption option after getting all eaten up in our tangled web told me, that watching us has just let her know that her faith needs to grow before she can do it. She told me a whole lot of super sweet things and built up my confidence and made my ego all big and swollen. And God put His arm around my shoulder and pulled me in closer and said "told you so". And all of this came after my two weeks ago week.........
We've seen a lot of doctors in the last 10 years. Between Jakes fragile bones and Cole's hernias and Zellas tummy issues and Davids lack of medical care for his first 5 years of life we've become very familiar with our little circle of medical professionals. Our pediatrician joked (but my checkbook knew he was only half joking) when Zella was a baby that he was going to just rent me a room in his office and have a plaque made. He got a new truck that year. Just sayin. But so I saw a doctor that has always been very very honest with me. He believes in laying it all out and letting us sort through it. I sat there and listened to these acronyms being rattled off in association with our son and my mama mind started to panic. I missed my calling as a doctor. I understand medicine and diagnoses and will research something to death just to be educated. I knew what these things meant and I knew what they meant for our future and it was scary. And the doc talked to me about a lot of really hard stuff. Things that parents cringe at and things that make me want to puke. But they are still realities. Whether they induce vomit or not, it is what it is. And he said to me before we left, he wanted me to make a list of pros and cons. And there's no point. I could write out the cons for days. And on the Pros side it will say "But God". I texted another adoptive mama when I left that appointment and unloaded on her. Have I ever mentioned how thankful I am that God put other adoptive families in our circle? And as I was processing all of this stuff with her, this.....I KNOW, without a shadow of a doubt that God can heal this child. But I also know that He may choose not to. And that doesn't change that He commissioned me to parent this child in the name of Jesus. It doesn't degrade the size of God's plan for this child. It doesn't diminish the size of God's heart and love for this child. With or without diagnosis, this is a child of God's and He has a plan. A good plan. And not just for David. For Cole and Zella too......
I've spent a large majority of my time as Cole and Zellas mom trying to protect them. From everything under the sun even including the sun. When I hurt, I hurt so deep and I see that in both of them and there was no part of my mama's heart that was interested in letting them walk that out. And then I walked hurt right through our door when we brought David home. Can I just say, if you know an adoptive family, please don't only consider the changes that the adopted child is enduring. From a Mom's perspective, Cole and Zella have sacrificed so much and have witnessed and endured so much hurt in the last 8 months. These last 2 months I have ached for them. They miss their daddy. They've said goodbye to friends. They've longed to be closer to cousins. They've been desperate for their old, very quiet normal. And there are nights when I lay in bed and ask God why He would wreck two, to save one. But God.......He always knows. Last week we all sat down at the dinner table and Cole started to pray. He prayed to bless the meal and thanked God for a great day. And he paused and said "Dear Jesus. Please heal David." It may seem so small.....but Cole had spent his day mad at David. And in his anger. He prayed for him. God didn't wreck two to save one. He's saving them all. And I can't protect them from everything if I want them to learn to that their Protector is not named "Mom". I have to show them how to live through the hard stuff. Praying when angry.......if he's got that down then I can take my gloves off and rest for a while! Those tiny moments, those are the moments God promises. The rainbows after the rain. I hold onto those.......
And I'm so thankful that I had that moment because I needed it. I had a friend tell me when we first got home to go ahead and just stop caring what other people think. I didn't get it at first. I got judged for the first time as a mother last week. It was painful and there was a girl with bad attitude and weave and her shoe in her hand that was fighting to get out of me but I held my tongue and moved along. All 3 kids were given "jobs" that suited them. If the jobs were completed, we were going to get frozen yogurt. Cole and Zella completed their jobs and David chose not to. We got frozen yogurt anyways and David did not get any. We put our cups on the counter and the cashier pointed to David and said "isn't he going to get some too?" I replied nicely and she huffed. And I ate my yogurt through gritted teeth. Here's why I'm telling this story.......if you ask Zella, she can very distinctly recall Cole's 6th birthday. She remembers it because her behavior was so AWFUL at daycare that day that she did not get to have any birthday cake. She went to daycare for a full year after that. Never had another bad day. In a year. I think that sometimes people forget that love is not all mushy gushy. Love includes discipline. And it includes boundaries and right from wrong. And in the end, each of us has a free will. There are always 2 choices. Our job is to shape our children so that the right choice will always be clear. And you know what's really hard sometimes? That when we don't properly define "love", people assume that they can just "love" the past out of an orphan. When properly defined, you can. Love can reframe and restructure and heal and bind up and redirect whatever hard stuff may have been endured in a past life. But hugs and food alone won't do it. It just won't. Two years ago I was that mom that judged. If we were in Target and a kid was screaming and the mom was just strolling along like it was nothing at all I would have totally thought to myself that someone needed to go break a switch (you have to read this in a really country voice). But not now. Cause I'm that mom. I'm that mom with 3 kids with different needs that require different handling and different consequences and have different love languages AND I'm that mom that knows that I'm the only one that knows what my kids need. Don't be judgemental about other people's parenting. It isn't constructive and you don't live their life.
That last sentence was kind of angry sounding! I'll close with this.......these small people are all gifts from the Lord. They have different packaging and let's just be honest it can seem like God used the really thick foil paper and layered it 27 times on some days but what if as Moms we stop looking at how hard it can be and start thinking "wow. God thinks I'm pretty amazing if He tasked me out with THIS." He does. He thinks we're awesome. And we are. We are the glue. We are the gears that make the machine turn. Keep grinding. Look for God on the hard days and He will make Himself known.....whether it's in the tiny sounds of your babies crying out to Him, or blue skies after days of rain, or a dent in the lady that works at the fro-yo places bumper......He sees you. He hears you. He loves you. (Someone send me a link to this blog next week when I forget this stuff. Thanks.)
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