tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38467167402547587272024-02-07T05:15:18.314-08:00As Deep As The OceanAnd as High as Heaven
McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-45149836201639593942016-06-09T19:50:00.000-07:002016-06-09T19:50:05.248-07:00Water33 years of my 33 years have been spent in the Lowcountry of SC. I know no life away from the water. When Jake and I made the decision to move to GA last year my greatest fear was missing the water. He said "there are lakes in Georgia!". But it just isn't the same. <br />
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There's something about standing at the edge of the ocean and looking out into the endless nothingness and experiencing the paradox of feeling teeny weeny but with the knowledge that you're known by the very Creator of the oceans so intimately that He has the hairs on your head numbered. There's a vulnerability when the waves take your knees from underneath you that can only be matched by the weightlessness and freedom of allowing those same waves to carry you from the depths to the shore line. There is fear of the unknown every time something small nudges your ankles in the murky water and wonder and amazement when your muddy toes pull a living, thriving animal up into eyes view. And there's silence. The kind of silence where there are kids and adults all around you, swimming and playing and interacting and all you can hear is the crash of the waves. Then there's the river. And the smell. The salt. The sun. The pluff mud. The high and low tides. The shrimp. The crabs. The boats. The live oaks. The stories of generations and generations before us living off these waters and creating legacies for their families with nothing but a net and a john boat. The physical and mental healing of the salt water. It's in my blood. There's always been something about the water.<br />
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David loved the water. The beach was his favorite. But the pool, river, bath, shower, sink.....whatever the source was, he loved them all. Water was his peaceful place. The place where his mind and body weren't at war with one another. When we met him for the first time we gave him a little photo album of our family and some of our favorite things to do. The two pictures he ALWAYS went back to were the ones at the beach and at the pool. We went to the pool first. It was March, 2014. We went to Disney because well, it's a rite of passage and we knew he would love it. We put these enormous blue shark swimmies on his arms and Jake held him as he got used to the water. He was terrified. Cole and Zella were cheering and coaxing and I think I even remember a bribe for Swedish Fish for him to loosen his vice grip around Jakes neck and enjoy the water. He just couldn't do it. He didn't feel safe. He climbed up in the pool lounge chair and sat in my lap the rest of the afternoon, Swedish Fish in hand. A few weeks later we tried again. We went to the neighborhood pool every afternoon for almost 2 weeks. He started on the top step and just hung out there for what felt like eternity. Each day during the first week he progressed one step further. His pace and only his pace. Into week 2 he was getting frustrated. He WANTED to jump in. But fear. Finally one afternoon I couldn't handle watching him hem and haw anymore. So in the most inconspicuous of ways, I sat down on the steps next to him and accidentally gave him a little nudge off the bottom step. And he never looked back. The next months and the following summer the pool was his place. Those swimmies were like his extra appendages. Even on the bad days, the pool was one place where he didn't fight me or himself. He would jump right in and float and swim and just be. And somewhere in between all of those pool trips he learned to love the ocean. The sand never bothered him. He never took excessive interest in shell hunting or bird watching. He must have run his fingers through every grain of sand from Tybee Island, GA to Garden City, SC. He was a master with a shovel. He had his beach snack game on lock. And wave jumping. Wave jumping was his favorite. Maybe it was the waves, or maybe it was the anticipation and the conquering that he loved. But some of his purest laughs were bellowed on the beach. His favorite memories (anytime he was asked) were always about beach week with our family every year. Lots of cousins and laughter and chaos and food and the beach. Every day the beach. If every week could have just been beach week. There is just something about the water.<br />
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We have spent a lot of time by the water these last 13.5 weeks. The water, in it's various forms, has served as a much needed conversation catalyst as we try to even begin to grieve and mourn. Our good memories, the ones that we will bank and never withdraw, so many of them are by the water. In the days immediately following Davids passing, we were staying with my uncle down at the river. In the mornings I would take a walk down the dock and try to grapple with a new day. It didn't feel like there was mercy in the morning. It didn't feel like even the water could wash away any of my pain. And the truth is, it can't. Even the healing power of the salt and the cleansing of the smell of pluff mud can't make his little Vienna sausage fingers be intertwined with mine again. The water can't mend my broken heart......but the One that meets me there, He can. And He will. For all of us Kubnicks. Small and big. He meets us all there. And I feel certain that David is there too. <br />
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I was en route to the river today, and I heard this song.<br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=coC6M7MFh9I">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=coC6M7MFh9I</a><br />
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I had me a little meltdown in the car and thought about how the tears are so different now. Some days are hard. No days are easy. But some days are harder. These last two weeks seem to have been full of the harder ones. But hard doesn't mean impossible. It just means hard. It means that some days we cry in public and some days we cry at night, holding the babies we have here on earth, as they cry with us. Hard means that some smiles are fake.....but it does NOT mean that no smiles are real. Hard means that there is a lot of sucking it up and pushing those tears back and making a conscious effort to choose joy over sorrow because truthfully the sorrow is too heavy to carry for even another day. But hard does NOT mean that there is no joy. There is so much joy. Hard means that we are quiet. It means that we fear going in public for having to answer questions. It means that we see people we know and we dodge them because we can't muster up one more lie when they ask how we're doing. But hard does NOT mean that we think we are the only ones with hard. Hard means that now we know. We know that we aren't the only ones. We know how much a prayer for someone that's hurting really means. We know how much grace is really needed. We now know how we have to give the most grace to the people that would never ask for it. We know now that hard means that everyone's life is different and everyone's hard is different and that it's all relative. And we now know how absolutely vital it is, that in the hard, we give thanks (Romans 5:3-5).<br />
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There is always always always something to be thankful for. And today, I am so thankful for that water, and that every single time I see the river, or a pool or the shoreline of a beach, I know I can go there to not only find peace, rest and my Jesus waiting for me, but that I can remember my David. There is no kind of hard that can take either of those things away, and I am so thankful for that.<br />
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McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-73378836466009753882016-03-25T19:01:00.000-07:002016-03-25T20:05:01.187-07:00Learning to praise the God who both gives, and takes away.One of my best friends that knows me a little too well, told me this week, "you need to write". Thank you, Camille, for knowing me a little to well.<br />
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I woke up this morning at the river in the SC Lowcountry. The first thing I could smell was pluff mud and pollen and the first thing I saw was a live oak covered in Spanish moss, hanging over the dock. I woke up this morning broken. Like every morning for the last 19 days, mornings are raw. I fight mornings. But today was different. My birthday. A day when I'm supposed to want to celebrate and eat cake and make meaningless wishes as I blow out candles. A day when everyone around me wants to celebrate me, and all I could feel was this enveloping loss. Grief. An aching in my soul that seems incurable. I started wrestling last week with this verse.....this verse that I clung to from the moment I first realized that David was broken. This verse that I prayed and recited and recited and prayed. And in the last several days, God has revealed to me that what I thought I was praying, what I thought I was believing, was wrong. <br />
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"I remain confident of this, I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land living. Wait for the Lord. Be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord." Psalm 27:13-14<br />
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For years I have leaned on that verse, waiting on God's goodness. I have been waiting on Him to show me His goodness. The day after David passed away, a sweet friend of mine texted me this, simply this, "GOD IS ONLY ONLY ONLY GOOD". And today, when I woke up, full of sorrow, sorrow in both knowing that my loss is tremendous and deep and sorrow in having even an ounce of the feeling God felt on this very same day, in the loss of a child, I not only woke up to sorrow. But I woke up to His goodness. All of this time, while I have been waiting on God to show me He is good, He has consistently been good. And I have consistently chosen to wait on what I knew He could and would do, rather than recognizing that God is not good because of how He responds to our prayers, but that God is good because of how He responded before we even prayed. He is good because we have access to Him through prayer. He is good because of what He already did. Not because of whatever we are anticipating Him doing. "But if not, HE IS STILL GOOD". Daniel 3:1-24 If today when I woke up, and my heart was still in a million pieces, He still created the river, and the oyster beds strategically built into that water to filter it and those same oysters to feed us. He still loved me enough that He died today. He still loved David enough that He sent a family to love him. He still forgives. He still formed this life that is perfectly growing inside of me. He still covers us with grace and mercy. He still, every day, makes a way for us to reach Him at our best and our worst. He is still good. Even when today is not. <br />
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And it isn't. Today wasn't just about a hard birthday or the fact that I would trade every next birthday of mine just to give David another day. Today wasn't about how every thing we did felt wrong because we were minus a son. Today was about everything hard. And everything necessary. Today was about the death that was necessary for the resurrection. Without death there could be no empty tomb. Without crucifixion there could be no satisfaction of our sin and God's wrath. Without suffering, there could be no Savior who has hurt just as we have hurt. Without the cross, there could be no torn veil and direct access to the King. As just as much as today was literal, it was figurative for me. Today God reminded me that without brokenness, there can be no rebuilding. Without tearing down, there can be no building up. Without refining there can be no gold. <br />
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Today I cried. I cried a lot. I cried out in gratitude that this awful thing that happened so many years ago, is the greatest gift I could have ever received today. Today I cried out in mourning for the loss of a son. Today I cried out to my Father, who is holding me every day, and reminding me that He will rebuild. He will restore. He will provide. Today I cried as one too few sets of hands laid on my belly and felt littlest brother kick for the very first time. I want to understand God's plans. I want to know why His plans for David were so different than His plans for these other Kubnick babies. But today, as I look at the FULL picture of salvation, and I am reminded that the bloody cross showed no precursor to the miracle that would happen on Sunday, I can see just a speck of the picture, and God knows. And just as He turned the crucifixion into the resurrection, He will use this pain. In His way. In His time.<br />
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Friday is so hard. But Sunday, Sunday is coming. And because of Sunday, I have hope. Today is hard, but our Sunday is coming. This life will be hard without our David, but one day, some day, we will have our eternal Sunday, and we WILL see him again.<br />
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We have hope. Hope eternal. We are lost without Sunday. We are damned without Sunday. And Sunday is coming. And in these weeks, in this holy week, in this crucifixion and resurrection weekend, we are learning to praise God who takes away, so that we can learn to truly praise God who gives. McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-47471954967832373782015-11-12T18:08:00.001-08:002015-11-12T18:13:43.779-08:00This Old House I think Cole was about 2.5 years old. Jake and I had been fighting. A lot. We used to fight hard. And dirty. And both of us spent a lot of time trying to be more prideful and stubborn than the other. It got us nowhere and it got us there fast. This particular day had been bad. Cole was in the high chair in the kitchen and I was at the sink pretending to be doing dishes.....since I had abruptly left the table in disgust over whatever stupid thing we were arguing about. Jake walked over to the stereo, then walked over to me......"I am an old woman, named after my mother, my old man is another child that's grown old, if dreams were lightning thunder was desire, this old house it would've burnt down a long time ago...", and we danced. Barefoot in the kitchen. Emotions just as raw as could be, the wounds still open. It's been 7 years. And there isn't a day that I walk into the kitchen in this old house that I don't hear Bonnie Raitt and see us dancing.<br />
Then there were the nights I spent awake here with Zella. She was so sick and so miserable. We would rock and sing, sing and rock, all night long. Some nights we paced a trail into the hardwood in the living room and some nights she just needed me to lay with her on the floor in her nursery. And those nights were long. I got thrown up on more times that I ever thought possible. I lost years of my life in sleep in that year and some months. But when I walk into her room now, and the crib has been replaced by a big girl bed, and I see that old rocking chair in the corner, I know I would do it all again. The crying (from both of us), the research, the begging with God to heal my baby. The singing. The cooing. The moments that I have that nobody else ever saw or had the privilege of sharing. In that nursery, in this old house, God taught me how to fight for my children. He knew I would need to know how. In that nursery, God broke my heart for a pair of orphans across the world that were suffering with the same tummy issues as Zella and they didn't have a mommy to fight for them. In that nursery, God taught me to cry out to Him.....for someone other than myself. There isn't a day that I walk into Zellas room that I don't remember those nights. She barely fits in my lap anymore. We grew up together in that nursery, at the top of the stairs, in this old house.<br />
I've been scared to death in this old house. Cole's first hernia surgery almost put Jake and I in our graves. I've never been that terrified in my life. Until it was Jake on the table for 9 hours having back surgery. Until I laid awake listening to David wheeze and gasp as he tried to sleep in his first weeks home. Until Zella had her first FPIES reaction and was limp in my arms. Until the nights before our flights were leaving for Ukraine.....and we were both leaving Cole and Zella, trusting God that He would bring us back to them WITH their new brother. Until furloughs happened. And more surgeries and more loss. And all the while, in this old house, our lives were changed. Jake found God in this old house. And God found me. We started over here. We learned about grace. We learned how to forgive. We learned how to be humble (still learning). We learned how to be quiet. We learned that it isn't always important to be right. We learned how to love each other. We learned how to pray. We learned about obedience......and that God's plans for us are good, contingent upon that obedience. We learned that it's hard. And we learned that it's worth it. <br />
2 of our 3 babies came home for the very first time to this house. <br />
This was our very first home. Our first big investment.<br />
We said yes to adoption in this house.<br />
We met lifelong, amazing friends in this house.<br />
We have changed in this house. <br />
We have witnessed God move mountains in this house.<br />
We learned the definition of love in this house.<br />
I learned how to cook in this house. <br />
I learned to dream again in this house. From those dreams.....children, a business, vision. <br />
We have filled this home with laughter for 9 years.<br />
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And in this old house, in the last year and a half, I have learned that alone, without my husband, even full of all of these memories that have shaped and molded me, this is just an old house.<br />
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Tonight is the last night I will sleep away from my husband. Next week we will pack a truck and he will drive our lives to our new old house. And we will fill that place up with memories, too. And those experiences will shape us and mold us further. And when we leave there, it will have been just an old house. Just drywall and brick and a few carpet stains and nail holes. The memories are what we hold on to. The experiences are what shape us. Old houses are just an accessory to a beautiful life.<br />
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<br />McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-39666197782455916712015-11-08T18:22:00.001-08:002015-11-08T18:22:50.642-08:00ErmaIt's been a few months since I last wrote. Sometimes the vulnerability of putting my heart on this page far outweighs the benefit of writing it all down. And that's where I've been. Vulnerable. Wondering what was next for us/me and asking God a lot of questions that He won't answer and I shouldn't be asking. I had very good intentions of shutting this blogger account down and just moving on.....me and my marble composition book could get along just fine without this very public open door to scrutiny. But every single time I went to shut it down, I hesitated. And it's the hesitation that made me re-evaluate why I wanted so badly to hide instead of shout from the rooftops. I don't have all (or many) of the answers. Most minutes of most days I am still very certain that I'm 72 shades of cray, but in this very quiet season of my life, turns out, when all of the other noise is turned down, God gets turned up. Not saying that silence has made me holy....no way. I have a temper and I'm prideful and totally allow my emotions to be dictators instead of indicators and I get inside my own head and my self-confidence is straight non-existent. I let comparison steal my joy and struggle with the not-enough (not smart enough, holy enough, prayerful enough, skinny enough, etc.) all day long. I battle daily with identifying myself in Christ and as a wife, mother, person with only 2 arms and 97 tasks required of them simultaneously. I DO NOT HAVE IT ALL TOGETHER (or any of it after I just read that last sentence back to myself). And I think God loves it. He loves that I am a mess. In my mess, He gets to rescue me. In my rescuing, my vulnerability is His to reassure. He keeps me in this place, because the very difficult person that I am, would otherwise not allow Him to hold me or forgive me or show me grace. And so today, as I spent a lot of the day frustrated, God worked some things out for me....and created a few new things on the docket for working.<br />
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In April 2012 I was driving home one day from work and sobbing to God. He had burdened me with a heart for the fatherless, and my hands were tied as I waited patiently for adoption to become a part of our lives. I will never EVER forgot that prayer....."God, why would you give me this burden if it isn't part of Your plan for us? WHY would You break my heart just for the sake of it being broken? God, if adoption is NOT in Your will for our family, then please, God, just give me peace....". I couldn't understand it. I couldn't wrap my brain around the fact that it took years for God to get me back to Him, and when He did He broke me and then just left me in the waiting room for what felt like eternity. Just a week or so later, in a literal miracle, adoption became a part of our lives and God began rolling out His next phase for us. David has been home for just over 2 years.....and the burden is still mine to bear. There was a little girl at the orphanage....there are so many left behind. I dream of kids in like 8 different countries (that's not scary or anything).....I will never forgive myself for leaving her behind. Ever. When I say that to people sometimes I get the mouth agape, deer in the headlights stare.....because this adoption and foster care stuff, it's hard, people. HARD. It's beautiful and necessary and emotional and exciting and so so many things. But it's also hard. So many children, so so hurt and so so broken and traumatized and sick and malnourished and developmentally delayed and all factors accounted for sometimes the rainbows are hard to see but they're still there. And the hardest part.....is thinking about where they would be if they were still in the orphanage. But let me just be for real.....<br />
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A LOT OF DAYS COMPLETELY SUCK. A BIG BUCKET OF SUCK.<br />
And that doesn't change a thing. It doesn't change the mountains God moved to make him a Kubnick. It doesn't change the value of this childs life. It doesn't change that God does not make mistakes. It doesn't change that before he was created in his mothers womb, God knew he would become an orphan........and David was created anyways. It doesn't change that I fight for him every day.....no matter what. And no amount of suck changes that I tell him that....."I LOVE YOU NO MATTER WHAT". It does not at all change that during those bucket of suck days when I say "God, WHYYYYYYYY did you give this child that needs so much healing, to someone who needs so much healing? We are hot messes together! Surely there was someone better!" And you know what He says, "it doesn't matter why. Because I said GO and if you trust Me, that's all you need to know". He's always right. But in these moments, these are the moments that I know, I would do this crazy ride again tomorrow if God called both of us. I have family members reading this right now (cause y'all know family knows our crazy on a deeper level) and they're saying "nooooooo........" but yes. I would. In a heartbeat. Because the burden doesn't go away. THE BIBLICAL MANDATE DOESN'T GO AWAY. And now that God has opened my eyes, how can I possibly stand in front of Him at judgement and say "well see, God, what had happened was......once we adopted that one child, it was SUPER hard and so we just kind of figured we met our quota....". If there is a list of "Things you gotta do to get through the gates" and one of the things is "Orphan Care", you know what? I cannot check the box. Know why? Because my son is no longer an orphan. He was. But he has a family now. And the day we said yes, the check in that box got erased. So why am I on this topic today? Because.....<br />
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TODAY IS ORPHAN SUNDAY. AND EVERY SINGLE DAY SHOULD BE ORPHAN DAY. THAT'S HOW BIG AND DIRE THE NEED IS AND THAT'S HOW CLOSE THIS IS TO GOD'S HEART. AND EVEN TODAY, ON THIS SPECIAL DAY SPECIFICALLY DESIGNATED TO BRING LIGHT TO THE ORPHAN CRISIS IN THE WORLD, MANY PEOPLE <strong>INCLUDING CHURCHES AND ENTIRE CONGREGATIONS OF CHRISTIANS </strong>TURNED THEIR HEADS AND WALKED AWAY. <br />
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And it's maddening. It infuriates me. It makes me sick to my stomach some days that other people aren't burdened the way that I am. The way that my friends (who also sometimes have bucket of suck days with their trauma kids) are burdened and so they say yes over and over and over while others sit by and tell them how amazing they are. I can't even lie, I have a few adoption friends that when they talk the songs of angels come out of their mouths because they really are amazing but you know what? Most of us are not categorically amazing. Most of us are EXACTLY LIKE EVERYONE ELSE. Most of us are quite broken. Most of us have been healed of that brokenness and we know new life. Most of us fail most days. Most of us spend more time on our knees in a prayer closet in the back of the house than we do taking pictures frolicking through meadows with our multi-racial children (have you seen that brochure?! Bless it.). Most of us, we're not any special kind of amazing. Sometimes we don't even really like our kids. But we love them. And we will fight for them. And a lot of us, we will fight for the ones that don't have moms, too. And most of us, we get super upset when we realize that we are the only ones fighting. When we realize that churches aren't stepping up. When we realize how simple and easy the solution is to the foster/adopt issue that is not just a national problem but a global epidemic. And this was me today. I was mad. Mad that I can't do more. Because the weight of the burden......oh the weight.<br />
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Throughout today God has helped carry the weight. He knows my needs. Just like He knows yours. And He has reminded me today that the body of Christ is like a machine. Each of us given a job and expected to complete that job to His standards. That my burden, this is not everyone's burden. God's heart isn't ONLY for orphan care. He uses us all according to His will. But are we all allowing Him to burden us to a point of being used? What has He put on your heart? Maybe it's the homeless population or maybe it's finding ways to get clean drinking water into remote 3rd world countries and villages. Maybe its feeding local children meals on the weekends because they don't have access to school cafeteria food. Maybe it's animals. Maybe it's the elderly or maybe it's troubled youth. Tonight as I am allowing my anger to subside, I am wondering, how many Christians are just being useful and not being used? There is a difference. God created us all with the ability to be used. But are we allowing Him to do so in a way that will truly impact His Kingdom? Or are we just hoping that someone else prays with that homeless vet on the corner.....waiting for someone else to become a certified foster family......making excuses to God that the quota was already met with that 1 thing that 1 time. <br />
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Can I encourage you to pray tonight about that burden that you have tucked away in your heart and mind that you don't tell anyone about because it's all kinds of crazy? GOD PUT IT THERE FOR A REASON. HE WANTS TO USE YOU. We can't keep ignoring Him. I will never forget reading the book "Kisses for Katie" by Katie Davis. This was before adoption was part of our lives and she said "pray about adoption. God won't say no." I did. He didn't say no. It makes me wonder....how many of us are NOT praying about that thing God put on our hearts, out of fear that He will say yes?<br />
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God reminded me today of my favorite quote.....<br />
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When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, 'I used everything You gave me'." - Erma Bombeck<br />
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I think we forget sometimes that God created each of us, individually, with purpose. He gave you every single piece of you, so that He could use those pieces. He does not make mistakes. <br />
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Pray. About adoption and foster care. About that dream He helped you create. About being used.....and not just useful. <br />
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McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-2206469666626703962015-07-26T19:04:00.000-07:002015-07-26T19:04:32.684-07:00A birthday story......David Tiberiy Benjamin Kubnick turns 7 years old tomorrow. 2 years ago, on July 27th, he became eligible for international adoption. And we met him just 12 days later. God. And last year we couldn't really "celebrate" yet. David was still adjusting and excess made him uncomfortable and so it was small and more of an acknowledgement of his special day with one very special gift. And I remember thinking to myself "next year. Next year we will celebrate." And here we are. Another year gone, almost 2 years home. And things HAVE changed this year. The roller coaster had different scenery and the ups and the downs and the loopty loops were all in different places. And in the midst of it all, our son began to learn what "family" means and what it looks like. He began to find his place in it all. <br />
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Yesterday Jake started the hype by asking David what he wanted for his birthday dinner (on birthdays, the birthday person gets to choose the meal) and he replied "spaghetti" so Jake asked "ok and do you have a second choice?" and David said "noodles with meat and red sauce" and I smiled. I smiled because it took A LOT for David to express his desire.....and I smiled because FINALLY, two years later, I already knew what his choice was going to be. To know that he trusts us enough to let us in on his desires is monumental. It seems so so small. But it's huge. And a big big win for us. And it continued through to today in the car. David did a little giggle and said to Cole and Zella "you know it's my birthday tomorrow, right?" and they both confirmed it with me (can NOBODY read the calendar in this house?!) and then David went on, "and we're having spaghetti for dinner. I got to pick." He was beaming from ear to ear. Cole (trying to sneak a math problem into things) said "how many birthdays have you had before this one?" and David replied "this will be my second birthday". Insert alligator tears from the driver seat. It simultaneously breaks my heart and renews it.....to know that for 5 years, birthdays weren't an occasion.....but to know that his good memories, in all of them, we are there. That he was alive because his mother chose life for him, but that to him, he started really living when he became a Kubnick. <br />
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When God burdened my heart for adoption 5 years ago, these were the moments that I longed for. The ones that reminded me of the new life that is found in Jesus. Today, and tomorrow especially, I am so thankful to be Davids mom. On the hard days.....because God gave David to me to reveal to me all of my weakness, and have mercy am I ever a hot mess! And on the good days, because I am literally watching God move mountains.....In His time. Not mine.<br />
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Tomorrow may be Davids birthday, but we are the ones that have been given the gift.McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-31575661031292455442015-07-14T18:29:00.003-07:002015-07-14T18:29:50.036-07:00RetrospectI shared this memory with a sweet friend tonight.....<br />
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She was in the middle of fundraising to bring her boys home from Africa. And if you know anything about adoption fundraising, you know it means "sell whatever you can as fast as you can" and so we had this brilliant idea one day to do crafty stuff. I mean, Pinterest makes it look super easy and people will buy it! Done! She made these beautiful burlap wreaths. They were full and Southern and PERFECT for any door or mantel. And she sold like a buzillion of them. I remember her texting me really late one night after an exhausting day dealing with adoption agency stuff and paperwork and everyday life and kids and a house and all that wears a mama down, and she was sitting in the middle of her living room floor, surrounded on all sides by burlap, fingers hurting from all of the pins, exhausted, crying, blaring Meredith Andrews, Not for a moment. <a href="https://youtu.be/XD0cvWImVjA">https://youtu.be/XD0cvWImVjA</a><br />
That was the closing worship song at church on Sunday. God immediately took me back to that night, thinking about my friend. Exhausted. Beat up. Trusting God to bring her boys home. 1 wreath, 1 fundraiser at a time. And it was an amazing reminder.......<br />
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That afternoon, I had some laundry folding time and quiet and I turned on worship music. Jesus Culture "Walk With Me" <a href="https://youtu.be/1SDfxmgM2JQ">https://youtu.be/1SDfxmgM2JQ</a> started playing and again, God took me back. The morning we were leaving for our first trip to Ukraine we went to church and heard this song for the first time in worship. And I was a mess. And it became our "anthem" throughout that trip.....it says all there is to say "Calmer of the storm.....Healer of my heart......Author of the world...walk with me......in Your presence Lord, there is joy.....there is rest.....there is peace". I remember the morning of our appointment to go look at available "files" and Jake and I stood in our apartment holding hands listening to that song. We were TERRIFIED. That's not even the right word. We fully understood the scale of what we were walking into at that very moment.....and knew that we were not at all walking alone. And I look back at the last almost 2 years, since the first time I heard that song, and some days I still feel just like my friend did that night, in a heap on the floor, surrounded by life and all of its stuff, thinking we will NEVER get past that day. And each morning, here we are. Carried. Walked with.<br />
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I look back now at the last 2 years and some things are just memories. And I'm SUPER thankful for that. And we are changed. And my friends sons have been here for a couple of years and they are thriving and she isn't making wreaths anymore (LOL) and David has been home almost 2 years and so much progress and the hard days are fewer and fewer and all of us, we made it. We are still making it. Every day, by the grace of God. <br />
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It's important to remember how far God has carried us. And important to allow Him to remind us that He IS constant and He IS sovereign. He is faithful and He is not changing......and He has revealed these things to us over and over and over again. We just have to choose to look back and remember that whatever we are walking through now, He already walked through it.....and He will walk us out of it. <br />
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McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-15931885096019025262015-06-09T12:05:00.006-07:002015-06-09T12:08:23.438-07:00What I've learned as a "special needs" parent.......Two years ago, Jake and I were getting ready to embark on our journey to Ukraine to meet the newest member of our family. We were waiting on a travel date from our team in Ukraine and were preparing our home and our hearts for whomever God had waiting for us. Our dossier, that had already been approved by the Ukrainian government, specifically stated 1-2 children, ages 0-7, with mild or correctable special needs. For the record, we had no idea what that meant. There are tons of labels and diagnoses thrown around in adoption world that really could mean so much more or so much less than what they actually mean so that's just a vague generalization. But we didn't know that then. A week before we were scheduled to fly out, I got an urgent email from a team member saying that I needed to call her. I did. And what she said to me was this, "I think that you should strongly reconsider your travel. From what I hear from our team, there are only children available with severe special needs. Nobody wants them." We said yes anyways. And about a month later, we met David, and 16 of his friends at the orphanage. Some of them had very obvious physical special needs. Some of them appeared just as healthy as David. "These could NOT be the children that nobody wants," I thought to myself. I had no idea that the idea of "special needs" would be redefined for me in the next several months. <br />
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Our first several weeks with David home were both heartbreaking and triumphant. Many of you followed our story and know of the things he was limited to. At 5 years old he could not hold a utensil (eating or writing or otherwise) because his muscles were so weak over his entire body from malnourishment. He couldn't chew things that were gooey or tough because the muscles in his face were so underdeveloped from having so few textural options with food. He had never seen toilet paper. Had never taken a warm bath or shower. He had never worn a pair of shoes that actually fit his feet, and as a result, had a very noticeable gait when he walked. He did not know how to be held. He was violent and would fight horribly against affection. He would spit and kick at night and not sleep for fear that he would be injured in his sleep, like he was in the orphanage. And these things, the results of his horrid living conditions, deemed him "special needs". And ALL of these things, and so much more, he has moved past. He has outgrown. He has developed and grown and has real feelings and likes and dislikes and opinions and tantrums and "stuff". And he also has needs. Very real needs. Very real needs that are special. And you know what? That makes him EXACTLY LIKE EVERY OTHER CHILD. <br />
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The most important and valuable thing that I have learned in the last year and 9 months of parenting a child that is deemed "special needs" is that every child is special needs. They don't fit in a box. They can't and shouldn't be compared to their peers. They not only require to be parented differently, but they deserve to be parented differently. Each of them. <br />
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Before we began this journey, I had never heard of sensory processing disorder, oppositional defiance disorder, reactive attachment disorder, stemming, low muscle tone, secondary trauma, etc. etc. etc. This list is infinitely long. The first time we walked into our occupational therapy evaluation I was completely overwhelmed with the details that go into a childs operating systems and development. And it was humbling. It was humbling to be a mother to two biological children that I swore I had done everything right with them and yet still, some of these things, these disorders, these quirks. I recognized them in my bio babies too. It took me weeks to reconcile that. It took me even longer to come to terms with the fact that a lot of people will tell us that something's wrong with my kids......and even longer to convince myself that they aren't broken. They are the way God made them. There isn't anything wrong with their ticks. There is something wrong with a society that tells us that children should be parented 1 way and that children should behave 1 way. <br />
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I have 3 very different children. With very different needs. And so do you. Your kids are special needs too. Yes, you. Because they are special. Not special in the way that the world defines "special". Special in the way that God defines it.....unique, fearfully and wonderfully made, perfectly created. And they have needs. Very unique and individual needs to fit their very unique and individual makeup. And some of their needs are BIG and physical and/or behavioral and require 100% of your time and some of their needs are small but still needs, nonetheless....... But in the end, they're all different. Can we all remember that?<br />
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I have to remind myself every day. Every Sunday when I drop two kids off at kids church and the same usher for the last 10 months every single Sunday says to me "you know we have a kids ministry" as he looks down at child number 3, I have to remind myself, "I am this childs mother. And I know his need. And their sitting still and being quiet skills are better than half the adults in here. so shut it." Every time a mom that doesn't know anything about our story compares a very happy bubbly child standing next to their very sad and mopey sibling and questions the difference. Every time that same mopey kid announces a half truth that turns heads. I remind myself......they are each different. And they each have needs that are special. And I will meet those needs to the best of my ability. And that is literally ALL I can do. <br />
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If you're the mom that questions other moms, just stop. There's a lot to be said for solidarity. We all need support. If you don't understand, that's okay. But that's not the other moms fault. If you're the mom with the kids that always get you the looks from the moms that I just mentioned, you're amazing. Your children will grow up knowing that their mom loved them enough to fight for them and with them through all of their crazy little quirks. Keep pushing through, moms. Moms of all children, that are all special, with special needs. McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-8200777542819842762015-05-20T19:31:00.002-07:002015-05-20T19:31:25.694-07:00A Real Quick One.....I've been quiet for some time. Sometimes we lose our voice and sometimes we choose to not let it be heard. Either way, while I have A LOT to say most of the time, this is just a real quick one before bed.<br />
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Some friends of ours gave us this book.....<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/From-Pride-Humility-Biblical-Perspective/dp/1885904371">http://www.amazon.com/From-Pride-Humility-Biblical-Perspective/dp/1885904371</a><br />
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...and I feel certain that Jake and I both rolled at our eyes at the Title. Does anyone truly desire to read a book about finding humility? But we read it. The whole 31 pages (yes, that's all). And it was a gut check. And we were truly humbled. And learned so much about pride and how prideful we were without even recognizing that it was pride. I think that I always associated humility with being walked all over. And in fact, that's not at all what it is. Humility will look different for everyone. But I know for certain, that if each of you reads this book and goes through the 30 characteristics of a prideful person, you will find yourselves saying "check....check check check" and realizing just how crappy you really are. (insert awkward laughter) <br />
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Anyways, since we finished reading it a few weeks ago it's been there in my head "what does humility look like for me?" and I've answered my own question daily. It's there when I completely go psycho mom crazy and flip out on a child for wanting to wear tennis shoes when I ask them to wear flip flops.....and then I apologize and ask them for forgiveness. It's there when I shut the cabinet door with the protein shakers in it that somehow mysteriously gets left open every single time a certain individual in our house drinks a protein shake (twice a day.....you know who you are) and instead of saying "no worries, I'll close the cabinet" with a snotty tone in my voice, I just close it gently, keep my trap shut and move on. It's there when the doctor is running an hour and 10 minutes behind (this is no joke) and the receptionist doesn't understand why I would possibly want to reschedule the appointment despite the fact that she has no idea how long it may actually be until I'm able to see the doctor and I keep my cool, and just reschedule.....without berating or reminding them of their one job. It's there when a foot is stomped or a sibling fight breaks out. It's there when I'm tired and grumpy in the morning but chatty cathy and friends want to talk immediately and at elevated volumes. It's there. And I'm not perfect. I still mess up every day. But I'm closer than I was before. Isn't that what we can do? We can't change everything about ourselves overnight. We can't wave a wand and undo all of the bad habits that we've spent our entire lives "doing". We do what we can and pray that God meets us in our effort and know confidently that He will. <br />
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Jake and I were at the gym this morning and it was chest day (the worst of all my days.....except shoulders. But I quit doing shoulder day once I decided I actually want to have a neck). It was getting to the end of the workout and the adrenaline is pumping and I'm feeling all strong and Need to Breathe "Able" came on Pandora.......<br />
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<a href="https://youtu.be/rmMZezhSI0I">https://youtu.be/rmMZezhSI0I</a><br />
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"And though I feel, I'm just as strong as any man I know, I'm not able, I'm not able, I'm not able, on my own......"<br />
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And there it was. Jake and I are strong. Not like Patrick Swayze in Roundhouse strong, but strong like, we can do it. We don't ask for help. We just do it. We are the people that got a "U" for Unsatisfactory in grade school for "works well with others" because we know we can get it done in the most efficient and expeditious manner possible and you other jokers can just watch. And for whatever reason, God thought it would be awesome to have us marry each other to exponentially complicate our lack of working well with others (you can laugh.....I am). But this is just how we are. And God made us this way. He truly did. He created our personalities in this manner with a very specific purpose, just like He did with each of you. But just like how man took a good thing and tainted it in the garden of Eden, we've done the same thing with our independence and strong personalities. And rather than use them, we've tried to own them. There is a thin line between knowing you are capable and feeling as if nobody else is capable other than you. And when we start to lose control, we try to control in stronger, larger ways and it turns into us saying to God "no thanks, don't need You. You made me this way. I got this." But getting back to basics........if our goal as Christians in this life and the next is sanctification, how will we ever get there on our own? We can't. It is literally impossible. It occurred to me today that sanctification begins where pride ends. I'm not able, at all, on my own. That is what humility looks like for me. Rediscovering the goal, and realizing that I can't reach it without the One that created it. <br />
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Order the book, people. 31 pages.<br />
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McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-5790642912680292902015-03-29T17:51:00.001-07:002015-03-29T17:59:55.319-07:00HosannaI've been sitting on this for a while. I had no idea how to unpack what was in my head and certainly didn't know if the timing was what God wanted. In my head, I've written this approximately fiftyleven times in the last couple of months. And none of them was right. None of them seemed to fit. It was just this week that God wrote this story for me (and still I won't do it justice with my words). And I'm so glad that I waited. Because He didn't just change my words, He changed my mind.<br />
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Several weeks ago, I was out to a girls dinner with 3 girls. 2 of them I know in an acquaintance kind of way and the 3rd I'm super close with. After hours of talking about everything under the sun, I was left alone at the table with one of the acquaintances. First of all, I give props to this girl. She did this respectfully (in waiting for the other two to leave) and second of all, she asked, but didn't pry. So they left the table and she just asked. Flat out. "I hear people say all the time that they love their adopted children the same way they love their biological children. Is it really the same?" And I told her, "no. It's not the same. Loving him is something that I work very hard to do." And before I had a chance to elaborate, the other girls returned, and this wonderful woman dropped the subject and we never revisited it. But it won't go away. It's there in my mind all the time. And I know that I meant what I said. I know that, FOR US (every family is different), this is true. So if I'm so confident in my answer, why has God been holding this conversation hostage in my heart for weeks? <br />
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And this week, He let me know why. Because He wanted to not just change my answer. He wanted to change my heart. This week I learned that love is not a feeling.<br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Love is a commitment.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Love says......</span><br />
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I will be here when everybody else leaves.<br />
I will NOT enable you, I WILL teach you that you can do hard things.<br />
I will back off, but I will NOT leave, when you need space.<br />
I will forgive you when you can't forgive yourself.<br />
I will pray, when you don't know how.<br />
I will reach my hand out to you, and wait patiently as you decide whether or not to take it. <br />
I will offer guidance, and accept when you deny it. <br />
I will lead you to water.......and accept that I cannot make you drink.<br />
I will always do what's best for you.....even if it doesn't benefit me.<br />
I will show you right from wrong......<br />
I will show you what it means to be humble and what it looks like to serve.....<br />
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If someone asked me again today, is it the same? I would say yes. Yes I am committed to my husband and all of my children in the same way. I will not give up. I will not walk away. Does it FEEL the same? No. But love is not a feeling. All of us have commitments. Running a few miles a day. Taking up a new hobby (ever seen a man with a new set of golf clubs on the driving range - commitment, people). Running a business. Marriage. Kids. Volunteering. Making a commitment means that you refuse to lose. That's what love is. It refuses to be defeated. And that sounds so magical right? In your head you're considering all of the hypothetical ways that "love" can be defeated. All of the ways that, in this world, you've seen it fall apart. And that's where I've been wrong. Love was not defined for us in this world. <br />
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Today is Palm Sunday. I think about the way Jesus must have felt as they called out for Him "Hosanna!!!!! Hosanna in the highest!" Hosanna means "save me". The people were literally crying to Him and begging to be saved. And He knew of His fate. He knew that the only way to satisfy the wrath of God was to die on that cross. But even with the desperate cries of the people, do you think He wasn't afraid? He wasn't riding that donkey like it was his steed and he was a knight in shining armor. Do you think He wasn't wondering why THIS was God's plan for His life? But He was committed. He LOVES us. If love was a feeling, He would have refused. If love was a feeling, He would have pointed out that He was not being treated reciprocally. If He was going to die, then what were we going to do for Him? If love was a feeling, we would all be going to hell. But it's not. It's a commitment. And it was displayed for us, right there on the cross. And even after He died (because of us) and rose, as He ascended into heaven He said "and be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age." Matthew 28:20. AFTER we nailed him to a cross, He STILL won't leave us. THAT is commitment. That is love.<br />
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What a perfect example we've all been given on how to love. And what an even more perfect display we've been shown of how when we feel unlovable, someone (God) is committed to us. Nobody can sin enough to negate His love. It is a commitment. Unfailing. Permanent. <br />
<br />McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-13647968631961659932015-02-07T17:52:00.001-08:002015-02-07T17:52:57.886-08:00Victory for the PeopleCole (n.) - Victory for the People<br />
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9 years ago, at this very hour, I was in labor with you, my first born. It was all so peaceful. There was no frenzy. We were all calm and collected. It was very much the opposite of what we anticipated it being. You arrived quickly. Daddy called Grandma to tell her you were on your way at about 6pm and she said "maybe by tomorrow morning". 6 hours later, you were in our arms. Screaming. Both validating us as parents and making us question our newest calling. You were long and skinny and that black hair, it was wild. Only now can I look at you and know how perfectly it fit you. It was always a perfectly arranged mess. I couldn't make it lay down, but every strand fell in line. A curl every here and there. Random cowlicks to keep the game interesting. It was so very perfectly, Cole. As you grew and your personality developed everyone around you was enthralled. We had an email blast among family called "Cole-isms" that went out every few days. You're quick witted. And hilarious. And way too smart. You know how to work a crowd. It terrifies me. At your third birthday party we asked you to pray before pizza. You tucked your 2nd and 3rd little chins down to your chest and reached your little sausage fingers out to hold your cousins' hand and you prayed, "giggle giggle, snort snort, giggle.....God is great, beer is good and people are crazy. Amen." Granny almost died. Not in comical way. And you enjoyed, for the first time, a captivated audience. <br />
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You love to laugh. And you love to think. And you love to have space to think. When you were in daycare you spent MANY days in the office of the director and one day she said "I think he just likes to sit in here and read where it's quiet". You are absolutely my son. And I love you. I love your passion. You've always had this deep, pensive furrowed brow thing happening. It's focus. You're taking it all in. You're figuring out how things work. Daddy always says he can see the hamster running. Don't ever stop doing that. Don't ever stop wanting to know how things work and how to fix them. Don't ever stop thinking and wondering and dreaming and reading and learning. When you were 6 we had to take all of the books out of your bedroom because instead of sleeping at night you would read. For hours. In the dark. With a nighlight. You would sneak into the bathroom and read in there at night for better light. And if you weren't reading, you were organizing your stuffed animals. Or bathing them in handsoap and writing their names on the wall of your bedroom in suds. And even though poor monkey died a painful, sudsy death, don't stop. Don't ever stop creating. Don't ever stop being resourceful, innovative, and original. There will always be someone telling you to stop. Don't. <br />
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You are kind and compassionate. Don't ever lose that. The time you got a balloon at the store and we passed a little boy in our neighborhood and you made me go back so you could give your balloon to him, the summer you wrote me a love note almost every day as you watched me struggle with your siblings, the way you prayed for David before his name was David, because you know there are children hurting in the world, the way you lay with Brandy at night and lay hands on her, the way you always, always, always apologize for disrespect, bad attitudes or misbehavior without ever being expected to. Don't ever ever stop being these things. <br />
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I love the way you love God. He used you, you know. When you were born, we knew that we wanted to be better for you. You gave us a reason to go back to church. We wouldn't have done it on our own. God used you then and He is using you still. All of the nights when you say "we haven't done Bible study yet". God is using you. It takes character and boldness to speak up. And you have those. Don't ever lose them. I love the way that you are working, so hard, on being a good brother. Cole, I am so proud of you. Zella works your nerves hard some days. And you care for her so beautifully. And this last 16 months has been hard on you. You have lived through a lot of emotions and experiences that many adults couldn't handle. And you've done it. And every morning, on the way to school, when you pray for David to have a good day, even though it's hard for you to do, God sees that. He sees that you're praying for him in spite of your relationship with him. And I AM SO PROUD OF YOU. <br />
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This birthday thing is really hard for mom. It's hard to watch you grow up. It's hard and it's amazing. Parenting you isn't always easy. But so many days we get to see the awesome stuff. We get to see that you have been paying attention. We get to see that God is working in your life. We get to see a small glimpse of the incredible man you will be when you're an adult. And we are so blessed by you. We were smitten the first time we saw you. And still smitten two hours later when you hadn't stopped crying since your grand entrance. And still, when you hold my hand, when you curl up on the sofa under my arm, when you kiss me on the forehead, I'm still completely in love. And I hold onto every hand hold, every snuggle, every kiss. I know the days are numbered. <br />
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Thinking of you now, as a 9 year old, is completely surreal to me. You're my baby. My work buddy. My sidekick. You are also my inspiration. You are a catalyst. You are magnetic. You're my hand holder. My gentle soul. My scientist. My mathematician. My rule regulator. My time keeper. My number cruncher. My food network, Michael Jackson, praise and worship, Green Bay Packer, How it's Made, Lego, never ever wear jeans cause they're too stiff, love a pair of sweat pants, paper airplane, sketchpad and colored pencils precious boy. You're all of these things, and so many more, and still, my baby. My screaming, wild haired, first born. And you always will be. You will never outgrow my love for you. <br />
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When we named you (and trust me, it was a LONG process), we had no idea what your name meant. It wasn't until a while after you were born that we learned your name means "victory for the people". And it's so true. You are our victory. And you will be for so many people in the years to come. God has plans to use you that far exceed any plans of greatness you may have (you know, in case the NFL doesn't work out) and we are so blessed to get to watch them unfold. <br />
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Happy Birthday, sweet baby boy. You are loved more than you can ever know.<br />
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McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-89817479904669844452015-01-12T06:28:00.000-08:002015-01-12T06:35:15.502-08:00About Jeremiah***NOTE: this is all opinion and what has been placed on my heart. I will NOT debate this topic.***<br />
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I've been working on/pondering/mulling over the right words for what has been on my heart now for a couple of weeks. It isn't an easy topic. Especially since I'm a guilty party. But I know that it's been put here on my heart for a purpose, and that if God didn't want me to process it, He would stop planting it in my head. All day. Every day. I decided this morning, after praying and asking God if He was for sure about me feeling and writing this, while Curious George is teaching Zella about recycling, the boys are learning at school and my coffee is still hot, that today is the day. It's time to talk about Jeremiah. Not the man. Not the book of the Bible. But that verse. That one verse that seems to be everywhere.<br />
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<em>"For I know the plans that I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future'." Jeremiah 29:11</em><br />
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It's funny how when God walks us through hard stuff we grumble, yet without us realizing it, we are moving closer to God. My whole Christian life (which is certainly apart from my whole 31 years) I have known that God's goal for us was to further His kingdom. But I never ever considered what our goals, as Christians should be for ourselves. Until a few weeks ago. Our church did a 3 part series on these big words that don't often get presented in church: propitiation, justification, sanctification. Propitiation is the satisfaction of God's wrath. In dying on the cross, Jesus "satisfied" or fulfilled the wrath of God. Justification is the miracle through which God declares the sinner righteous through Him. And sanctification is the life long process of becoming more Christ like. The sermon on propitiation restored my faith in the gospel being delivered correctly. How many preachers are talking about the wrath of God in the feel good, American church? Not that many. But it's real. We cannot acknowledge the power and might and holiness of the God we serve without also acknowledging that our sin, which is a slap in the face to His holiness and power and might, produces wrath. He is graceful. He is patient. He does love us. He has also written guidelines and instructions for us to live by. Direct disobedience, much like between parents and children here on earth, breeds consequence. That's NOT what Christians today want to hear. BUT it's true! Then on the day that sanctification was broken down, the pastor said "we are working, our whole lives, to be worthy to sit in the presence of the Lord". I felt like a light bulb went off while simultaneously producing shame inside of me. I've been living with the goal of getting to heaven, for the personal gain of sitting at His feet, while all the while, I should be working toward the HONOR of being allowed to sit at His feet. That should be my goal as a Christian. A life full of this sanctification process (that includes the hard stuff that burns off the nasty stuff) in order to create in me a heart worthy of the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. How selfish I have been to want heaven, because it's just better than earth. So after I got that, I started trying to figure out how I got to that point. How did I ever imagine that the goal wasn't sanctification? What was it that made me reject the hard stuff in the name of it just being hard, instead of embracing it and thanking God that He was using this "stuff" to draw me closer to Him? And here's what I discovered......<br />
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I took the feel good bait. I fed into the idea that God only has "good" plans for me and that my human, American, worldly mind was able to define "good". And I failed to remember that my mind cannot even begin to fathom the depth, breadth, width, height, span of God, so how can I possibly define what "good" and "prosper" and "not harm" mean? Am I able to see from one end of creation to the next? How do I have any idea what is "good" for me or what will prosper me? I don't. Because I'm not God. <br />
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And here's where my problem lies. Why is the American church promoting God in a manner that defines Him when clearly our minds aren't capable of doing such a thing? I know so many new Christians that are walking through hard hard things and as soon as "hard" hits they shake their fists at God and at the pastors that led them to the altar under the ruse that God was "good" and that His "good" was defined in the same manner that sinners define "good". How are we standing in church with hands raised and "heart abandoned" but we are still refusing to acknowledge that if we were Kingdom minded, we would recognize that the good plans God has for us, His way of prospering us, His way of not harming us, is not referring to our life here on earth, but it's referencing our eternal life? HIS plan for good for us is purifying us to spend eternity with Him. His plan for not harming us is to get us to eternity where harm can no longer be done to us. His plan to prosper us to put is into the highest place we could ever reach, next to Him. <br />
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I have said to people as they struggle "but you know God says He has plans to prosper you and not harm you". I need to stop saying that. Because what it does is it diminishes what God is doing in their lives and makes Christians feel like something is wrong when they are truly just walking through the process of sanctification. Life gets hard. Does that mean it's "bad"? Not always. As sinners, we are historically awesome at screwing up God's plans. But what about the people that ARE walking in His will and ARE walking in obedience and faithful to Him? ONLY God knows a man's heart and the things that need to change in it. ONLY God knows the plans that He has for the faithful. We can't extract one verse from the Bible and feed it to people to sell a God that people don't want to follow when the time for sanctification comes. And it does come. When people say to God, "start a fire down in my soul, God!", He will. When you say "break my heart for what breaks Yours, God!", He'll do it. And how many people will bow out after He does because they can't see the goal is not "good" here on earth, but good for eternity? A lot. I almost did. I have shaken my fist at God. I have argued with Him and distanced myself.......and then crawled back humbly and begging for mercy. Because GOD IS GOOD. But He is so holy, that our definition of "good" can't come close to defining Him.<br />
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If you're walking through something really hard right now, and you're walking in obedience, consider what it is that God wants to burn off of you. Consider what your eternal goals are. Consider how God could be sanctifying you to make you worthy of His presence. Because He IS working in you. It might hurt. It might not feel good. We are not immune to tragedy. Any of us. Life is hard and sad and gut wrenching and confusing. But our emotions. Our reactions. Our everyday childishness. None of those things change that HE IS HOLY and He desires for us to one day be with Him. But we have to be pure enough to enter into His presence to ever be able to understand what His good and prosperous plans look like. <br />
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A God that requires nothing of us does not exist. He offers us eternal life. And peace. And hope and joy. He is our Protector and our Ruler. Our Father. Our creator. He is all of the things that people that are lost and lonely and desperate need and want and are searching for. He's the light in the darkness. But He requires all of us if we ever want to have all of Him. And all of us, means everything changes, or nothing will ever change. Ouch. McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-7556170944805913122014-12-07T06:47:00.004-08:002014-12-07T06:51:37.592-08:00Emmanuel<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">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.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">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. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">"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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-13026702342521456232014-11-17T18:09:00.003-08:002014-11-17T18:09:34.205-08:00Not Flesh of my Flesh......<em>"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."</em><br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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:<br />
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Adoption/Fostering is:<br />
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- 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. <br />
- 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.<br />
- 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.<br />
- an unpredictable path with only one road map and one compass......THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE WITHOUT GOD.<br />
- a beautiful love story<br />
- a tragedy <br />
- heartbreaking AND heartwarming <br />
- a step of faith<br />
- a whipping post<br />
- a physical reminder of how God can and will heal......<br />
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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.<br />
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Because God.<br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-49841673101152767962014-10-04T19:23:00.000-07:002014-10-04T19:23:15.876-07:00A Whole YearI 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.<br />
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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......<br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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. McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-28765755651729358932014-09-29T16:26:00.002-07:002014-09-29T16:35:07.032-07:00Mom ThingsWhen 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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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3. You know. I like to laugh. I really do. If you do something dumb. I'm probably going to laugh<strike> </strike>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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
<br />McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-40616850466412588032014-08-31T18:19:00.002-07:002014-08-31T18:26:07.881-07:00School, the Beach and Spirit FingersI'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.<br />
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SCHOOL<br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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THE BEACH<br />
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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, <br />
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.<br />
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SPIRIT FINGERS<br />
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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.....<br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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<br />McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-35748952754256099692014-08-22T18:31:00.003-07:002014-08-22T18:31:52.580-07:00My ALS ChallengeI 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. <br />
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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.....<br />
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<a href="http://www.bostern.com/blog/2014/08/15/what-an-als-family-really-thinks-about-the-ice-bucket-challenge/">http://www.bostern.com/blog/2014/08/15/what-an-als-family-really-thinks-about-the-ice-bucket-challenge/</a><br />
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The author says about ALS, "<strong>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!". </strong>I read that line over and over again. And it was like she was talking about my life.<br />
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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? <br />
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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:<br />
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<a href="http://capabeaufort.org/about-capa/mission/">http://capabeaufort.org/about-capa/mission/</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.nami.org/">http://www.nami.org/</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.woundedwarriorregiment.org/">http://www.woundedwarriorregiment.org/</a><br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-61816140364905822002014-08-11T17:50:00.000-07:002014-08-11T17:50:39.715-07:00May and MeA 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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<span class="passage-display-bcv"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong><span class="passage-display-bcv">Revelation 21 </span><span class="passage-display-version">New International Version (NIV)</span></strong></span><br />
<h3>
<span class="text Rev-21-1" id="en-NIV-31055"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">A New Heaven and a New Earth</span></span></h3>
<div class="chapter-2">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong><span class="text Rev-21-1"><span class="chapternum">21 </span>Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,”<sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NIV-31055a" value="[<a href="#fen-NIV-31055a" title="See footnote a">a</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Revelation+21&version=NIV#fen-NIV-31055a" title="See footnote a">a</a>]</sup><sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31055A" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31055A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)"></sup> for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away,<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31055B" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31055B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)"></sup> and there was no longer any sea.</span> <span class="text Rev-21-2" id="en-NIV-31056"><sup class="versenum">2 </sup>I saw the Holy City,<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31056C" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31056C" title="See cross-reference C">C</a>)"></sup> the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God,<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31056D" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31056D" title="See cross-reference D">D</a>)"></sup> prepared as a bride<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31056E" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31056E" title="See cross-reference E">E</a>)"></sup> beautifully dressed for her husband.</span> <span class="text Rev-21-3" id="en-NIV-31057"><sup class="versenum">3 </sup>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.<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31057F" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31057F" title="See cross-reference F">F</a>)"></sup> They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God.<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31057G" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31057G" title="See cross-reference G">G</a>)"></sup></span> <span class="text Rev-21-4" id="en-NIV-31058"><sup class="versenum">4 </sup>‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes.<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31058H" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31058H" title="See cross-reference H">H</a>)"></sup> There will be no more death’<sup class="footnote" data-fn="#fen-NIV-31058b" value="[<a href="#fen-NIV-31058b" title="See footnote b">b</a>]">[<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Revelation+21&version=NIV#fen-NIV-31058b" title="See footnote b">b</a>]</sup><sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31058I" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31058I" title="See cross-reference I">I</a>)"></sup> or mourning or crying or pain,<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31058J" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31058J" title="See cross-reference J">J</a>)"></sup> for the old order of things has passed away.”<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31058K" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31058K" title="See cross-reference K">K</a>)"></sup></span></strong></span></div>
<span class="text Rev-21-5" id="en-NIV-31059"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong><sup class="versenum">5 </sup>He who was seated on the throne<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31059L" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31059L" title="See cross-reference L">L</a>)"></sup> said, “I am making everything new!”<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31059M" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31059M" title="See cross-reference M">M</a>)"></sup> Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31059N" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31059N" title="See cross-reference N">N</a>)"></sup></strong></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong><span class="text Rev-21-6" id="en-NIV-31060"><sup class="versenum">6 </sup>He said to me: “It is done.<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31060O" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31060O" title="See cross-reference O">O</a>)"></sup> I am the Alpha and the Omega,<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31060P" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31060P" title="See cross-reference P">P</a>)"></sup> the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31060Q" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31060Q" title="See cross-reference Q">Q</a>)"></sup> from the spring of the water of life.<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31060R" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31060R" title="See cross-reference R">R</a>)"></sup></span> <span class="text Rev-21-7" id="en-NIV-31061"><sup class="versenum">7 </sup>Those who are victorious<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31061S" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31061S" title="See cross-reference S">S</a>)"></sup> will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children.<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31061T" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31061T" title="See cross-reference T">T</a>)"></sup></span> <span class="text Rev-21-8" id="en-NIV-31062"><sup class="versenum">8 </sup>But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31062U" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31062U" title="See cross-reference U">U</a>)"></sup>—they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur.<sup class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-31062V" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-31062V" title="See cross-reference V">V</a>)"></sup> This is the second death.”</span></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong><span class="text Rev-21-8"></span></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong><span class="text Rev-21-8"></span></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="text Rev-21-8">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). </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="text Rev-21-8"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="text Rev-21-8">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.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="text Rev-21-8"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="text Rev-21-8">Praying for Christians being persecuted throughout the world tonight. And for so many that don't know what hope means. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="text Rev-21-8"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="text Rev-21-8"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong><span class="text Rev-21-8"></span></strong></span><br />
<span class="text Rev-21-8"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<span class="text Rev-21-8"></span><br />
<h3>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span> </h3>
McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-15140379238655703312014-07-27T18:15:00.002-07:002014-07-27T18:19:31.207-07:00A 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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
**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. <a href="https://www.attachmenttraumanetwork.com/mylife.html">https://www.attachmenttraumanetwork.com/mylife.html</a> **McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-20987667956033018272014-07-13T18:07:00.002-07:002014-07-13T18:07:28.676-07:00The Big MoveSeveral 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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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). <br />
<br />
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. <br />
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Yesterday I saw this quote on a FB friends' newsfeed: "Real faith is birthed in times of transition, contemplation and confusion." - TD Jakes. <br />
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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. McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-63212621571363195872014-06-14T19:40:00.001-07:002014-06-14T19:40:12.274-07:00DadsI 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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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. McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-45402657359231932622014-05-31T19:33:00.003-07:002014-05-31T19:33:48.542-07:00The Kitchen SinkThat'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......<br />
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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.........<br />
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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......<br />
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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.......<br />
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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. <br />
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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.)McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-60800915913377645812014-05-04T18:37:00.000-07:002014-05-04T18:37:02.683-07:002 years and 7 months.....It's been 2 years. 2 years ago since we said "yes" to adoption. 2 years ago today Jake told me that he had been praying and felt like God told him that there was a 5 year old little boy waiting for us in Ukraine. 2 years since this journey began. In those 2 years we've fundraised and prayed circles and cried and dealt with frustration and we've played tug-o-war with God over control and "the plan". We've argued with Him and we've stomped our feet and we've shaken our fists at Him in the hard times. We've cried tears of joy over the miracles performed in paperwork and government meetings and really angry orphanage directors that need a change of heart. We've watched God work in a passport office and at oyster roasts and yard sales and we've seen a little boy fight us, just as hard as we have fought God, and cling to us, just as tightly as we cling to God. And 2 years ago today, we voluntarily walked into all of this, because He said "come". <br />
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7 months ago today, David and I walked hand in hand, after 24 hours of traveling, into the airport terminal to see "Welcome Home" signs and our families and our church family all there, crying tears of joy for not just one less orphan, but because God did it. He got us home. As a family of 5. <br />
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And I'm writing all this out tonight because that's what we're supposed to do right? When we need desperately to see God, we have to look. I've made it no secret that the last 7 months have been hard. In that hard though, God has been there. And so tonight, when I need to see Him, I will look for Him. And find Him. <br />
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When we first got home.....<br />
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- David had never seen toilet paper. He had no idea how to use it or even why we would use it. <br />
- His fine motor skills were so underdeveloped that he couldn't hold an eating utensil. At 5 years old he was unable to use his pincher grip, hold a crayon tight enough to color, pull clothing on or off by himself, etc. <br />
- His muscles were so underdeveloped that he was unable to stand for long periods of time because his legs would literally give out. <br />
- He was not fully potty trained and if there was an accident, he was content with sitting in it as that was customary at the orphanage.<br />
- He did not know how to be held. We would pick him up and he was straight as and as stiff as a board. He didn't know how to hug back. He would just be lifeless in our arms. <br />
- He had been so sensory deprived that he would gag himself on food, because he had very little feeling inside his mouth. He would pack it so full of food that he couldn't swallow it, because he couldn't feel how much was in there. <br />
- He was unable to drink from a cup. The first time we tried he almost drowned. I'm not at all exaggerating.<br />
- He had never taken a warm shower or bath. Bath time was miserable. Because he was used to it being freezing, he was terrified of it. <br />
- Bedtime was the worst part of everyones day. Hours of screaming and crying and fist throwing.<br />
- He would rock violently and chant all night long. Never sleeping. He would use only a tiny portion of the bed because he was so stiff that he would never move. <br />
- Out of fear and anxiety he would harm himself. Clawing at his face and arms and anything he could touch at night. Because night time at the orphanage is when horrible things happened. <br />
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I could go on and on. But I'm seeking God's goodness tonight.......<br />
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<span style="color: red;">7 months home.....</span><br />
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- David had never seen toilet paper. He had no idea how to use it or even why we would use it. <br />
<span style="color: red;">I am officially no longer "wiping" :). While we do have the occasional cleanliness reminder.....he's a 5 year old boy.</span><br />
- His fine motor skills were so underdeveloped that he couldn't hold an eating utensil. At 5 years old he was unable to use his pincher grip, hold a crayon tight enough to color, pull clothing on or off by himself, etc. <br />
<span style="color: red;">David is writing....and coloring....and learned very quickly that he's right handed and prefers to use a spoon instead of a fork. It took him about a month to master feeding himself. He gets himself dressed and undressed every day and has now learned to put on his belt, button his shirts all alone, zip his zipper and tuck his shirt in!</span><br />
- His muscles were so underdeveloped that he was unable to stand for long periods of time because his legs would literally give out. <br />
<span style="color: red;">David asked Santa for a bike for Christmas. And Santa delivered. The first time David rode he could not push the pedals because his legs were so weak. He now zooms up and down the sidewalk right alongside Zella. </span><br />
- He was not fully potty trained and if there was an accident, he was content with sitting in it as that was customary at the orphanage.<br />
<span style="color: red;">David has not had a potty accident since his 1 month home mark!!! Not even in the bed!!!</span><br />
- He did not know how to be held. We would pick him up and he was straight as and as stiff as a board. He didn't know how to hug back. He would just be lifeless in our arms. <br />
<span style="color: red;">He learned how to hug very very fast. It didn't take him long to understand that we weren't going to drop him when we picked him up......and that it's much more comfortable if he relaxes :)</span><br />
- He had been so sensory deprived that he would gag himself on food, because he had very little feeling inside his mouth. He would pack it so full of food that he couldn't swallow it, because he couldn't feel how much was in there. <br />
<span style="color: red;">There are still a few textures that David isn't very sure about....but his sensory integration has improved amazingly in 7 months of being exposed to different foods and textures and tastes. He loves food. All food. Even vegetables (that makes 1 Kubnick kid!). </span><br />
- He was unable to drink from an open cup. The first time we tried he almost drowned. I'm not at all exaggerating. He was also unable to suck out of a straw because the muscles in his mouth were so underdeveloped that he had no sucking ability.<br />
<span style="color: red;">He has mastered the art of the sippy cup and straw. It took no time at all! We finally figured out that he couldn't drink from a cup because he lacked the appropriate reflex. Thanks to the trusty garden tub and the shower, we've worked on him being able to open and close his throat. He was drowning when he was drinking water from a cup because he was trying to breathe it in! I watched him tonight in the shower, face in the water, breathing like a champ :)</span><br />
- He had never taken a warm shower or bath. Bath time was miserable. Because he was used to it being freezing, he was terrified of it. <br />
<span style="color: red;">Within a week he was loving warm water. He is now able to tell us that he got one bath a week and that it was always cold. No wonder he hated it!</span><br />
- Bedtime was the worst part of everyones day. Hours of screaming and crying and fist throwing.<br />
- He would rock violently and chant all night long. Never sleeping. He would use only a tiny portion of the bed because he was so stiff that he would never move. <br />
- Out of fear and anxiety he would harm himself. Clawing at his face and arms and anything he could touch at night. Because night time at the orphanage is when horrible things happened. <br />
<span style="color: red;">The rocking has continued, but it's no longer violent. It's a self soothing mechanism. He now rocks quietly. The self harming has greatly reduced and he sprawls out all over the mattress. I'm pretty sure I heard him snoring last week! His bed has become his safe place. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;">- David started Kindergarten in January. He tested out of the ESOL program because his English is so good. He's able to do basic math and is learning to tell time. His teacher constantly marvels at how quickly he picks up on new skills. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">So why am I giving you all of these details? Because adoption and parenting and just well, life, sometimes it is hard. Because when we spend our weeks juggling therapy and school meetings and all 3 kids are battling different demons, its HARD to look at things and say "look at what God has done". That's all I wanted to do tonight. Look at what God has done. </span><br />
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<br />McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-10113490507953962532014-04-19T22:38:00.005-07:002014-04-19T22:38:58.980-07:00Easter TimeZella refers to every occasion, event, holiday, etc. as "___ time". The last few weeks as we've been out and about she has noticed that Easter time is on its way. Easter this year has been a little different for our family. It means a little more and the kids are a little older and they've started asking questions. And more importantly, they've started listening when we answer. But so in the last few weeks the puzzle pieces have started to form. I'm not saying I've connected any of the pieces, but I'm starting to see that all of these pieces might actually go to the same puzzle. <br />
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We were in the grocery store one day and Zella started talking about Easter. I asked her if she knew the real reason that we celebrate Easter and she gave me her "go-to church kid" answer......"Its Jesus' birthday". As we shopped, I started explaining to her.....Palm Sunday, Good Friday and Easter Sunday. I wasn't being loud. I was leaned over close to her as I pushed the cart and she sat face to face with me with her eyes huge with wonder. I could have been Cinderella talking the way she was looking at me. Like she was in love with the story of a man that died for her. A man that's madly in love with her. I can see it in her. She's smitten. I talked through the whole shopping trip. Feeding her more. And I was getting scowls from passers by. And I kept talking. But it hit me that day......this is the world I'm raising these kids in. A world where I get scowls for what a lot of people say is polluting kids' minds. What am I polluting them with? Hope? Then I will keep on contaminating. Day in and day out I will add to the sludge in their minds that I strategically concoct with joy and discipline and selflessness and servanthood and love and faith and hope. <br />
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I was painting tonight and I thought back to the first painting that I sold. It was an anchor, painted on a cutting board. "This hope we have as anchor for the soul is both strong and steadfast." Hebrews 6:19. That was the first fundraising effort we made for adoption. God knew. He knew that one day, in my seeming hopelessness, I would remember that. He knew that He would bring us full circle.....from selling the painting to someone who needed a reminder of hope, in an effort to bring hope to a child. all the way around to needing hope that He is strong and steadfast and will complete His work in us. He delivered on that this last week. You know, it's hard for a lot of people to understand why adoption is hard. I think sometimes people assume that these children will feel rescued and look at us like we are their heroes. And it's just not like that. Regardless of the conditions that any adopted child was living in at the time of adoption, they're still being torn from their familiar environment. They are still being taken away from the only people they know. They are still being thrown into a new environment with expectations and people oohing and aahing over them and new sights and smells and sounds. They are still, at any age. having to completely reframe every part of their mentality. They have to learn to trust at a very basic level and depending on the circumstances and background that can take a very long time. And the families that are fighting through these trust issues are literally in the trenches. They wake up every morning ready to go to war because that's what it is. It's war against a world that scowls at us when we tell our kids about Jesus in the grocery store. Its war against an enemy that used someone to destroy a child. Its war against the lies spoken over that child that the enemy reminds them of every single day. And there are GREAT days. There are also hopeless days. Days when Jesus is all we have left. No tears. No sweat. No want to. Nothing left but Jesus. And hope. We have hope, because of Jesus. And that's enough. That's enough to get up tomorrow and fight again. Because what we are delivering, and running on, is the same product. Hope. Last Sunday we were driving to church and I look in the mirror and Zella and David both had their hands raised and eyes closed just lost in worship music. I turned it down and because I know that nobody had ever explained it to him, I asked him "David, do you know why we lift our hands when we sing these songs?" and his very quiet voice responded, "yes ma'am. Because we are singing to God and reaching for Him." I turned the music back up and let the little tear run down my face in silence. I screw up. I am NOT "the hands and feet of Jesus" to this child every day. I have asked God so many times why He chose us to fight this battle. And He has reminded me SO many times, He has already won this battle, LET HIM FIGHT FOR ME. And listening to David say that, it just reminded me of Gods power. Of the pure, raw power of hope. That just tiny little doses can be more hope than one person has ever had. That just hearing the name of Jesus can start to melt a stone cold heart. I held onto that this week. And needed it.....badly today.<br />
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That's the way this parenting stuff works. We have good days and bad days and days where our kids just absolutely hate us and days where they want to be our BFF and that's just the way the dice roll. Zella has this new thing that she does with Cole where he will talk to her and she will completely ignore him. And she's pretty strong because she will hold out for up to an hour and he gets fuming mad. I've never seen him as angry as he was today with her. It happened right before we were getting in the car to run some errands and when I got in the car I saw that he had his Bible in his lap. I asked what he was reading and he said he was looking up scripture about anger. (I'm totally cheesy smiling right now. Proud mama!). And him looking up that scripture led into some questions about theology that are pretty deep for an 8 year old but that also prove to me that having him sit in and listen to the sermon with us on Sundays is super beneficial. He was asking questions about the Trinity and about God's "bigness" and to each answer their was a follow-up question. He asked me "I just don't understand, if Jesus walked on the earth, and people could see Him, how could they still not believe?" And I thought back to our Pastors Good Friday service sermon. He said something like this........there's all this talk about whether or not Jesus died on the cross. Did he walk the earth? and the thing is that people don't want to believe in Jesus because if they admit that He died for them (and He did), they will owe Him their life. And I brought that up to Cole and he retorted with "but how can we die for Jesus?" and I looked in the mirror and saw David, in his seat, furiously angry. The scowl on his face was just plain ugly and mean and I could feel the crossbars on my shoulders. And before I could answer, Cole said "is that kind of what it means in Luke that Pastor Jamie talked about where it says to take up your cross daily?" Oh sweet boy. Yes. And that was my hope. That I have felt like an absolute failure of a mother in the last several months. But you know what? God has my back. He's still working in these kids. And isn't this my commission? He's still walking me through it every step of the way and proving to me that I'm not totally failing. The song "Children of God" was playing and Zella was lost again as the words sang "we are the saints, we are the children, we've been redeemed, we've been forgiven, we are the sons and daughters of our God". I felt like God poked me and said "just hold on". And I know what He meant. He meant to let Him work. He meant to keep praying over David even on the days when he has been mean or hateful and on the days when he's happy and being a 5 year old little boy. God meant to let Him fight this battle. My hope is in Him. And He will bring us full circle. These past few says, at Easter time, God has reminded me that He, however many years ago (my Bible knowledge needs a little refresher) He crushed the head of the enemy under His heel at Easter time. That He defeated death. That He died that I might have life to the fullest. And not just me. The scowlers. The Davids and the ladies at the grocery store with "I'm judging you" written all over their faces. Everyone. And that is hope. That is the anchor. And it is both strong and steadfast. My prayer is to be not just a taker of that hope, but a deliverer as well.<br />
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<br />McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3846716740254758727.post-72629840889517937592014-03-12T06:30:00.002-07:002014-03-12T06:37:31.657-07:00JobI've been hesitant to write this. Very often when I write or post or blog or even speak about certain things, the devil uses those very things against me. He is predictably awful. I know its coming....and it still knocks the wind out of me. At the risk of being derailed, I'm sharing this anyways. Maybe someone needs it today. I know I can use it every day.<br />
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It's no secret that I have struggled in the last few months. Please, if you're reading this, don't interpret that to mean that there have been no good days. Of course there are good days and good times and memories and laughter and jokes. We are not without hope or joy or light over here. BUT, we are very much battling. And being in the trenches sometimes means that those jokes and the laughter and the joy, those things don't carry us as far as they might if our circumstances were more desirable. Through every trial, God is revealing to us that His desire is for us to have those things, joy, hope, laughter, in spite of our circumstances. And for our circumstances to be superficial while our faith that the seasons will soon change again, is deeper and unwaivering. We have found that through each trial, God is revealing His power to us, by revealing to us our weaknesses. <br />
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Monday morning was challenging for me. I struggle so much in the mornings with the kids. Zella NEVER stops talking. EVER. Cole dances and sings and the hand motions.....its like a stage performance of Fame every morning in our house. It is not possible to dress yourself, eat breakfast, brush teeth and walk the dog while performing said routines. Just sayin. And David moves at the speed of smell with intention. If I gave him 7 hours to eat breakfast and get dressed, it would not be enough time. So I read that blog about the mom that swore she would never ever again tell her free spirited daughter to hurry up or move quickly. I am not that mom. I am married to Jake. Marine Jake. And in this family, we are on time. Early is on time and on time is late. Being tardy to school is not an option. So there is a lot of "please try and move quickly......I'm setting the timer for you to eat breakfast......please turn your body away from the mirror so that you can brush your teeth instead of watching yourself dance.....please put your shoes on......please put your shoes on.....WHYYYYY are your shoes STILL not on?....." and around and around we go. EVERY morning I wake up and spend a little time with Jesus and sip my coffee and say "I am refreshed! Today is going to be a GREAT day!" and then the kids wake up and that optimism is completely shot within a 45 minute window. And the common denominator. Its me. Ouch. It's totally me. The kids haven't changed. They are actually protesting change. I'm the one that has grown less patient and a lot louder and maybe not as chipper in the mornings. And so how do I fix me? I have to figure out the problem and go from there, right? The problem is control. That I can't stand and it makes my skin crawl that I can't manipulate their tiny little bodies to move at the pace I am requiring of them. It drives me insane that they are just as independent as I am (wait.....didn't I pray for that once?). I have a problem with control. So Monday morning, Jake took the boys to school and I opened my Bible. I had NO idea where the Lord was leading me and its a very rare occasion that I just say "show me what you have for me in here". But on Monday, I did. I was too worn out to even have a plan. And the Lord led me to the book of Job. <br />
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I know this story. Who doesn't know the story of Job. Greatest man in all the land. Blameless. Supremely blessed. Satan approached the Lord after wandering the earth and he asked about Job. He asked God if Job feared Him for just reason or not because he had been SO blessed by the Lord. God had never taken anything away from him, how could he truly fear and honor God when only good things had happened to him. So the Lord allowed Job to be tested. But this is not the part of the story that I felt led to on Monday. Chapter 38 the Lord speaks to Job "out of the storm". Chapters 38, 39 and the beginning of Chapter 40 are God speaking to Job of His great works. He details the majesty and wonder of His perfect creation.....<br />
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"where were you when I laid the earths foundation? Tell me, if you understand. Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know! Who stretched a measuring line across it? On what were its footings set, or who laid its cornerstone - while the morning stars sang together and all the angels shouted for joy? Who shut up the sea behind doors when it burst forth from its womb, when I made the clouds its garment and wrapped it in thick darkness, when I fixed limits for it and set its doors and bars in place, when I said 'This far you may come and farther; here is where your proud waves halt'? "Have you ever given orders to the morning, or shown the dawn its place, that it might take the earth by the edges and shake the wicked out of it?" Job 38:8-12<br />
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There is so much more past these verses. Keep reading. I felt like a kid again. The imagery and intricate detail and beauty.....its all there. And God is reminding Job of the things He has done, to lead to this......"Do you have an arm like Gods, and can your voice thunder like His? Then adorn yourself with glory and splendor, and clothe yourself in honor and majesty. Unleash the fury of your wrath, look at every proud man and bring him low, look at every proud man and humble him, crush the wicked where they stand. Bury them all in the dust together; shroud their faces in the grave. <strong>Then, I myself will admit to you that your own right hand can save you.</strong>" Job 40:9-14<br />
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God led me to this scripture to remind me......my own desire for control is STUPID. Why would I not want the creator of the universe to have control when He alone, can save me. I am powerless without Him. My own right hand is useless to me, if it isn't holding His. HE alone can crush the wicked. He alone would become a man and redeem me through death on a cross and HE alone, would subsequently crush evil under His heal. I can do none of those things. Who am I? I am loved. I am fought for. I am upheld by the same God that gave the stallion its mane. The same God that threw things into orbit and put snow caps on the mountains. The same God that created me in my mothers womb and knit me together perfectly. The same God that knit my children together, perfectly, in all of their slowness. I must allow God to control my life, so that my children will know that it is not Mom or Dad or themselves that must control their lives, but God. I must exhibit humility and surrender, in order for them to exhibit the same character. <br />
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Touche, God. Touche.McKenzee Kubnickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11881655116829168263noreply@blogger.com0