Water

33 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.

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.

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.

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.

I was en route to the river today, and I heard this song.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=coC6M7MFh9I

 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).

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.

Learning 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.


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.




"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


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.




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.


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.




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.




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.

This 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.
    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.
   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.
   2 of our 3 babies came home for the very first time to this house.
   This was our very first home. Our first big investment.
   We said yes to adoption in this house.
   We met lifelong, amazing friends in this house.
   We have changed in this house.
   We have witnessed God move mountains in this house.
   We learned the definition of love in this house.
    I learned how to cook in this house.
    I learned to dream again in this house. From those dreams.....children, a business, vision.
    We have filled this home with laughter for 9 years.

 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.
  
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.
 
  

Erma

It'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.

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.....

A LOT OF DAYS COMPLETELY SUCK. A BIG BUCKET OF SUCK.
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.....

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 INCLUDING CHURCHES AND ENTIRE CONGREGATIONS OF CHRISTIANS TURNED THEIR HEADS AND WALKED AWAY.

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.

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.

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?

 God reminded me today of my favorite quote.....

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

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.

Pray. About adoption and foster care. About that dream He helped you create. About being used.....and not just useful.

A 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.

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.

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.

Tomorrow may be Davids birthday, but we are the ones that have been given the gift.

Retrospect

I shared this memory with a sweet friend tonight.....

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. https://youtu.be/XD0cvWImVjA
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.......

That afternoon, I had some laundry folding time and quiet and I turned on worship music. Jesus Culture "Walk With Me" https://youtu.be/1SDfxmgM2JQ 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.

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.

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.

What 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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

A 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.

Some friends of ours gave us this book.....

http://www.amazon.com/From-Pride-Humility-Biblical-Perspective/dp/1885904371

...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)

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.

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.......

https://youtu.be/rmMZezhSI0I

"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......"

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.

Order the book, people. 31 pages.

Hosanna

I'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.

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?

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.

Love is a commitment.

Love says......

I will be here when everybody else leaves.
I will NOT enable you, I WILL teach you that you can do hard things.
I will back off, but I will NOT leave, when you need space.
I will forgive you when you can't forgive yourself.
I will pray, when you don't know how.
I will reach my hand out to you, and wait patiently as you decide whether or not to take it.
I will offer guidance, and accept when you deny it.
I will lead you to water.......and accept that I cannot make you drink.
I will always do what's best for you.....even if it doesn't benefit me.
I will show you right from wrong......
I will show you what it means to be humble and what it looks like to serve.....

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.

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.

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.

Victory for the People

Cole (n.) - Victory for the People

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Happy Birthday, sweet baby boy. You are loved more than you can ever know.

About Jeremiah

***NOTE: this is all opinion and what has been placed on my heart. I will NOT debate this topic.***


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.

"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

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......

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Emmanuel

My poor husband has to listen to a lot. His poor ears. Part of me thinks that he's excited for the day that he needs hearing aids so he can just turn me off. He's a real trooper. And I am a habitual over-communicator. It's how I process and how I deal. I can't work through stuff inside of my head space sometimes. It's just not big enough in there. But during the times when Jake isn't here, or when he's already listened to A LOT, I write. If there was such as a thing as "eye aids", some of you may choose to turn me off. Jake is at work this morning. The kids are fed and up to no good. And I need to process.

We talk to our kids a lot about choices. About how circumstances in their lives are a result of choices they've made. We can't choose things like the family we've been given or our eye color. We can't choose our personalities and we can't choose the details that God intricately designed us with. But God, when He so perfectly created us, designed us with free will. We choose everything from the way we react to someone to what we eat or don't eat all the way down to where we will spend eternity. God has provided all of the benefits of good choices for us. But we have to choose to take what is being held out to us. Our life choices are no different than that. We say so many times a week in this house "you can't control what they do, you can only control the way you react to it. Don't let their sin, make you sin."  And most days, that's a tough pill for kids to swallow. For us adults, it's like the impossible pill to swallow. We react every day. Keeping ourselves in check with our reactions and actions is a full time job. Self control is a full time job. Choices are hard. And sometimes in life, we WILL make the wrong choice. What's beautiful is that God is full of grace and mercy. He will not change. If we stray from His will, and if we return, He has not changed. He's the same yesterday, today and forever. He is the only true "home". Because "home" here on earth changes. And family changes. And sometimes, that's a direct result of our choices, or other people's choices. But for each choice, there is always a result. Always.

I was 5 when my mom and stepdad started dating, 8 when they got married, and 19 when they got divorced. He's now referred to as my "dad" because "step" is just silly. He's my dad. He was there. And so was his family. They took us all in just like he did. Without hesitation. And I lived an awesome awesome childhood because of this addition of a new family (and it's a big one and I LOVED that). Holidays were always fully full. One of my absolute favorite Thanksgiving memories is trekking into NYC from my grandparents house in NJ to watch the Macy's parade. It was freezing. Legitimately freezing. And you had to get there before dawn to get a good spot. But we had our thermos and our thermals and each other. Cousins and aunts and uncles....all huddled up to see a parade and make memories that I will never forget. Most gatherings, there were so many people we couldn't move around in the house. I miss that. So much. The chaos. The drama. The warmth. As each year passed, more kids got added. Kids got older and people moved and the location of the holiday celebrations moved as well. And it didn't change. When my grandparents retired to SC, my grandma would invite random people over for holiday meals.....1 because she hated the idea of anyone being alone and 2 because the house felt empty with less than 20 people. The Scrabble board and the wine came out. The men watched whatever sport was on during that season. Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, random get togethers......they were always the same. They supported us as if the same blood ran through our veins. Sporting events and proms and graduation and sleepovers and cooking lessons and crossword puzzles and school projects. The whole deal! And then change started happening. I moved away to school and my parents chose divorce. I don't condemn them for it. It was THEIR choice. And at 19, I was old enough to be responsible and make my own choice.  I chose poorly.

It was a less than amicable divorce. And I took sides. And these people that had given me an amazing childhood full of love and experience and family got hurt. My dad and I were estranged for over 2 years. A lot happens in two years. He got remarried. I gave birth to a son. And bonds were broken. We made amends the summer that I found out I was pregnant with Zella. I remember the night after we saw each other for the first time after so long and I got in the car and just cried. Yes, I was pregnant, but I was relieved and hurt. Hurt that I let myself miss 2 years of this closeness. That Christmas, the rest of the family followed. We all met after probably 4 years for dinner and there were tears and it was awesome. The kids that had been littles were almost women. And this family took us in, again. Except for my grandparents. They deserved more. They deserved an apology. Before I was able to do that, my grandma passed away unexpectedly. I walked into the funeral feeling like I shouldn't be there. Because she went to her grave never knowing how truly sorry I was, and how much I loved her and appreciated her. It got better. And family gatherings happened more often and lines of communication opened and while things will never be the same, they were still good. We've separated ourselves a lot in the last year or so. It's kind of what happens sometimes in adoption and it's necessary. But even in being necessary, it's still painful and lonely. We have missed family gatherings and I've missed the closeness and even though they've stayed the same, it feels different.

This morning, after a long and courageous battle with cancer, my grandpa passed away. He's with grandma now. He's not in any more pain. He and I had made our peace. But I never said it. I never said sorry. I never said thank you. That was my choice. One that I will have to deal with.

If I could explain this to my kids today in a way that wouldn't terrify them, I would say, "In a moment, our choices may seem right. It might feel like we are doing what's best. If you're basing your choice on how you feel, it's probably wrong. Feelings can be prideful. They can be misleading. They can be a result of outside sources. Think about it. Pray about it. Then choose."

We are so imperfect. We do make bad choices. We hurt people. We create distance where distance doesn't belong. We carry our pride with us in these giant bags and force that baggage on the people close to us. WE are the ones that change. And then we accuse everyone else of changing.

Last night our family devotional was about the hurt that people feel at Christmas. That there isn't always joy for everyone this time of year. The expectation of the Christmas season is peace and joy and cheer and happiness. And if we try to find those things in the "things" of the season, the expectation is very often shattered. And we find ourselves frustrated and even more upset that a "time of year" couldn't even make us happy. But if we focus on the true meaning of Christmas, that we can have peace all year. Emmanuel. God with us. We were given a gift that would afford us the opportunity to make a choice that would give us a forever "home" and a forever "family" and an eternal Father. One that won't change. One that won't remind us of our regret. One that will allow us to enter into His kingdom forever and ever. It's our choice.

So today, while I mourn at home for a great man and for my dad who is mourning with his family, I find great hope in this sign on my wall. Emmanuel. He is with us. No regret or pain can change this gift. Nothing can take it away or estrange it. He is the same yesterday, today and forever. No matter how close or how far we choose to be.

This season, whatever this season may mean for you, I hope you find the same hope in this gift. Whatever your hurt, whatever your regret or distance from God, this gift is for you.

"But the angel said to them, 'Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today, in the town of David, a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah. The Lord.'" Luke 2:10-11

Not Flesh of my Flesh......

"Not flesh of my flesh, or bone of my bone, but somehow, still miraculously my own. Never forget, for a single minute, you didn't grow under my heart, but in it."

It's National Adoption Month. I think there may have also been a National Adoption Day, but I'm blessed that I remembered today is Monday so special days outside of the norm don't register in this mama's memory. And even though this adoption road has been quite bumpy, adoption and foster care are things I do still feel passionate about......though my perspective has changed a bit.

When Jake and I first started this journey, I would read the above quote and sob at the idea of having a child that I could share those words with one day. A child that would embrace the idea of me as some ethereal woman robed in white with children bouncing on my knee with love pouring out of my veins and into the lives of all of the people around me. I was also delusional. First of all, I'm not ethereal. At all. Second, white makes me look like death. Third, no child, living a for real life, with for real people, will ever look at their mother with zero angst. So toss that romanticized version of "mothering" out the window, fast forward to actually having our child in his new forever home, and insert the ACTUAL reality.  Adoptive/foster parents are NOT saints. They are NOT perfect. They do NOT have it all together. They do NOT want you to put them on a pedestal. They ARE sinners just like every other Tom, Dick and Harry. They ARE still people. And people, people are just the worst.

Really. We are. And adoptive/foster parents suck at life just like non-foster/adopt parents. The ONLY difference between the two is one said "yes". One said "yes". And "yes" for us looks like this:

Adoption/Fostering is:

- like putting yourself on the fast track to sanctification. If there is anything awful inside of you, children, especially children from really hard places, will bring those impurities to the service for God to burn off.
- not always about the child. Very very often, the child is the last redeemed soul......while the rest of the family finds themselves closer to God than EVER imagined before.
- a deliberate, intentional proclamation to gut it out. To CHOOSE DAILY from the beginning of the paperwork and forward to fight the fight and do the character building and LOVE regardless of the hard, ugly, terrible stuff that might happen.
- an unpredictable path with only one road map and one compass......THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE WITHOUT GOD.
- a beautiful love story
- a tragedy
- heartbreaking AND heartwarming
- a step of faith
- a whipping post
- a physical reminder of how God can and will heal......

Don't tell me I'm amazing. When I'm getting screamed at or spit on or breaking up another sibling fight, I don't feel amazing. When I'm hiding in the closet with my husband praying for a breakthrough for a child, I don't feel like what I'm doing is anything greater than anyone else. But then......when someone asks him "what does it mean to be adopted?" and he replies "it means mommy and daddy loves me".........there is beauty in the ashes. There is fruit. There is purpose in this pain. There is a reminder that anybody can say "yes"......because WE ARE NOT THE ONES THAT HEAL. We are not the saints. We are just the sinners. The vessels. The ones that prayed some crazy prayer one day and asked God to break our hearts. He broke our hearts. Our family. Our idea of family. We have had 5 days of good. 5 days straight. In the last 13 months, this is a record. The days have been long. We've analyzed and questioned and wondered and pondered. We've prayed and we've disciplined and explained and explained again and hugged it out and prayed prayed and then prayed. And some days, the efforts felt in vain. Some days, we labor without remembering that God is laboring with us. Some days I swear God throws His hands up and says "great! Thanks for making My job harder!". But we plug away. Day by day. And why? Because God.

Because God.

Someone asked me just last week "why Ukraine? Why not adopt from the US?" and I quickly replied, "because when we prayed, God said Ukraine". Is a Ukrainian childs soul not as valuable as an American childs soul? I think that foster/adopt families will ALL agree that every child is worth it. The day that we start regarding children as disposable, or not worth the fight, is the day that we have to question our own lives. Why are we worthy of life and purpose if they aren't? I look at my life. At the ashes. At the shape that the potter is still molding me into.....and I imagine my children one day, changing the world, one super hard day at a time. Because they have seen how God works in HIS time. They have seen Him redeem and restore and renew. I know, that even today, day 5 of great, that my mind still has no capability of understanding what God has in store for those that love and serve Him (1 Cor. 2:9). I believe everyone deserves a chance to find out. And that it's our job to afford them that opportunity.

I don't believe this is a job for everyone. But I do believe, that anyone that says "yes" will be sustained and walked with and held onto by a God that loves them as the orphaned child they once were.

I don't know what today is.....national adoption day or ugly dog day or whatever day. But I know that today, my son told me that he chooses to love me. It's a hard choice for him to make. Trust is HARD. But God.

Thank you to all of the women that chose life for their children. They are not always flesh of our flesh or bone of our bone, but somehow they are still miraculously (by the grace of God) our own.

A Whole Year

I can't possibly go through today without acknowledging it's significance. Today (in about 2 hours to be exact) marks 1 year since David Benjamin Kubnick entered the US, became a citizen, and entered our home for the very first time. A whole year.

Years used to seem longer to me. When we started having kids and the speed of life started to mimic the speed of light, years got shorter. This year, however, has been different. It has been short and long. The best and the worst. The easiest and the hardest. We were driving home from Cole's football game today and I was on a scenic route through Bluffton, windows down, sun on my face, angry little girl in the middle seat, super angry little boy in the back seat. And in my head I was like "how is this my life?" And THEN, the cars in front of me started braking and I saw an SUV half pulled off the road about a half mile ahead. There were 2 people standing behind the car and I was all kinds of irritated. Why can't they pull all the way off the road? People are just the worst! And then all of the cars were going suuuuuuper slow. The kind of slow that allows you to sufficiently mean mug the people causing the chaos. As we drove closer to the car, a tiny little white haired lady was barely making it walking to the back of her car. She had on a perfectly pressed, bleach white cardigan sweater set and perfectly pressed slacks. Her hair had clearly been rolled recently as it was stiff and perfect. And she was STRUGGLING to walk along side her car. But she made it to the back. Just as I was driving up on her car. And this is what I saw......

A homeless man was pushing a grocery cart full of bags. Bags in the cart and tied to the sides of the cart. He was filthy. And this little lady had pulled her car off the road in front of him. And she struggled her way alongside the road, and as I passed, she had her hands on him. Touching him. And her eyes were closed. She was praying over him. In her perfect, clean, white hair, white sweater, she didn't care if she stopped traffic on I-95, she was touching this man. And praying for him.

I drove the rest of the way home thinking about the struggle. About how sometimes, as Christians, and even as non-believers, we become numb to the struggle. We forcefully desensitize ourselves to the hurt, and we completely miss the opportunity that God is giving us to walk out of the struggle a new person. We start to accept the "hard". We just say "this is my life now" and we tread in stagnant water for the rest of our lives. We are given choices. We are handed circumstances. And we are afforded the luxury of grace, daily, and a do-over and another chance with each rising sun. And we just tread. And we drudge. Because "this is my life now". And I was thinking about this woman, in her old age. What has she seen in her lifetime? I can't fathom the burdens she has carried. I can't even stomach the loss she has suffered. She could have driven by that man today and chalked it up to safety or to the fact that it took her a decade to walk to the back of the car. But she didn't. She didn't just accept her personal circumstance. She chose to be better than her circumstance.

We walk through every single day of life like that homeless man today. Our carts are full of baggage. We've got baggage tied to the side and pouring out over the edges. But God meets us. In his bleach white sweater of perfection, with no need for us or personal gain amounting from meeting us, He does it. Right there in our circumstances. And He expects us to stop treading in circumstantial stagnant water, and start relishing in living water.

One of the greatest challenges of this year for me has been learning to love the way that God loves me. And the first thing I had to do was to understand that love is not at all a feeling. It's a verb. It shows up. It forgives. It humbles itself. It sacrifices. It puts itself dead last. It pushes through and perseveres. It fights. It endures. It does not feel all tingly inside. It does not give you butterflies. It does not kiss your forehead. It prays for it's enemies. It rejoices in suffering. It trusts that God's will is the only will. It does not fail.

I may not ever be capable of loving anyone in this capacity, but one year ago today, God loved David Benjamin Kubnick enough to put him in a family that would introduce him to the greatest love he will ever know. And God loves Jake and I so much, that every morning, when He tells the sun to rise, He gives us another day to break the cycle. He gives us another day to walk through the fire. He gives us another circumstance and another choice. We've had a year full of them. Our prayers have changed many times over this year. And tonight they will change again........my prayer for our family, and for yours as well, is that we do not let the "hard", harden us. That we continue to seek God's purpose in the struggle, rather than surrender to it.

It has been a WHOLE year since we stepped off that plane. A WHOLE year closer to each of us allowing God to make us whole.

Mom Things

When I was 18 years old, I spoke these words, "I am never getting married. I am never having kids." I remember what I was wearing, who I was speaking to and the circumstances surrounding the conversation like it was yesterday. If someone had told me that day, that in just a years' time, I would meet my husband and immediately start dreaming of a house full of kids, I probably would have showered them with expletives and quite possibly thrown a red snake skin boot at them. I was a different person then. Don't hate. Nonetheless, that's exactly what happened and now, 13 years later, here I am. Wife of 10 years. Mom of 3. Homeowner. Mini van driver. Stay at home mom. Cleaner of all things. Chef du jour. Dr. Kubnick. Excavator of all things lost. Chauffeur. The iron fist. Wiper of butts. I could go on and on because really, this is the hardest job I've EVER had. It has the longest hours and the customers can be wicked grumpy. The pay is chintzy and the HR department happens to be the same as the CEO,CFO and part time work force and they quit years ago.  I try to find the real and the really funny parts of this job and take them with gigantic grains of salt and huge doses of laughter. And as I've been laughing, laboring and lamenting through my week, I realized that I've never really written about these "mom things". Well, most of them have come up this week, so, you're welcome.

1. It has been about 2.5 years since I last dreamed. Not like sleepytime dreams. The other kind of dreams. The kind of dreams that fuel the most accomplished people in the world. I used to have dreams. When I was younger they were to be a doctor or lawyer. At different times in my life those dreams have ranged from authoring a book to owning a business in a certain industry to having acres of land with horses, a barn, tons of kids (adopted and bio) and dogs. Lots and lots of dogs. And my dreams have changed just as much as my hair color over the years and also like my hair color, I can't remember the original.  There has always been a crazy idea in my head. And about 2.5 years ago, this crazy adoption dream took hold of our family. And it consumed us. And in just over 1 week, David will have been home for a year. About two months ago, I started to realize how much I've lost myself in this mom thing. I do believe that God created mothers with the purpose of raising their children. But I also know that before we were mothers, we were all still God's creation. Becoming a mother doesn't negate all of the intricacy that God designed us with. And I think I forgot that. Or maybe I was just too tired to remember. But about two months I was having this moment and I started praying about God allowing me to dream again. I can't even lie, this last dream has not exactly unfolded the way that I imagined and there is a certain amount of fear in trying this whole stepping out in faith thing again. But God designed us to dream. He designed us to live with passion and to utilize the gifts that He handed to us. He designed us to faithfully pray about those dreams and about them lining up with His will. And He is faithful. He does have plans to prosper us. And not just the Mom "us", but the person "us". The one that He designed to fulfill His perfect plan. Mom thing #1 is this......God is allowing me to dream again. It's terrifying. And electrifying. And each of you should feel exactly the same way about said dreams. You should know by now that it won't be a quiet ride once they start to unfold (evil smirk). Grab your popcorn, kids.

2.  I was at the gym one day last week doing squats, trying not to cry in the rack.....here's why. Two months ago, I hit my squat max at 155 lbs. When I first started working out with Jake, I could barely squat the bar. It was a HUGE deal to me the day I hit that max. Because I spent so long thinking "I'm just a Mom". And I'm not. I am not just a Mom. I am a ninja. I'm a superhero. I am freaking strong, people. Like an ox. Every time I hit a max I want to "raaaawwwrrrr" and not because I think that women that can beat up men are cool, no. Because it's an accomplishment to see that even though I think I can't, I CAN. In the last two months, something has happened to my body. I'm weak. I was struggling to squat 85 lbs. STRUG.LING. That's a huge difference. Of course Jake was just befuddled. Ever seen a man completely confused? It was Jake, staring at me with a bar across my shoulders, almost crying. And I came home, defeated. Because I worked SO HARD to get to where I was, to now be where I am. And isn't that kind of a Mom thing? I started trying to figure out what had happened and the last several years started to unfold in front of me. The way that I just gradually stopped taking care of myself. The way that I took so much pride in putting my family first and literally serving them day in and day out but completely forgetting that if I don't take care of myself, I'm not able to serve them. I started realizing the brevity of my unnecessary sacrifice. Nobody asked me to stop fixing my hair, or to stop getting highlights. Nobody suggested that maybe a new outfit every once in a while was undeserved. Nobody told me to eat crap food out of convenience because the time needed to be spent on someone else. Nobody ever said that I should stay up way too late on Pinterest trying to plan the perfect crafts and meals for my family, while sacrificing sleep and subsequently my health. Nobody ever, not one person, said that I should forego having that medical procedure done that would increase my quality of life, because the recovery would mean I couldn't take care of every single tiny thing. I did all of that to myself. Mom thing #2........we are needed. But we aren't needed so much that our families can't function for 2 hours without us while we go out and take care of ourselves. A burnt out mama is no more useful to her family than an absent one.

3. You know. I like to laugh. I really do. If you do something dumb. I'm probably going to laugh at with you. I love stupid jokes. The kind that kids hear on the playground at recess. I also love sarcasm. And I know people that hate sarcasm because they feel like it doesn't have a place for Christians as we are called to be full of grace, but I'm not that grace filled, Proverbs 31 woman just yet. God knows that. Here's the thing......what has happened to Moms and Dads and their senses of humor? Am I the ONLY parent left that laughs at my kids? I don't do it to their faces. All the time. But seriously. Kids are awesome. And also, Kids are funny. They are ridiculous. They are us in small form and we all know how entertaining we are. So why are all these moms so uptight? Parenting is HARD. And you know what makes it even harder? Not being able to find even a single ounce of humor in it OR not being able to recognize when another mom finds humor in it. We all have different coping mechanisms. Don't be that mom that when someone tells you something funny about their kid, you go "awwwwww, I feel sorry for them". No. Don't feel sorry. Feeling sorry never helped any kid in the history of ever. Empathy can go a long way. Feeling sorry is not the same as empathy. Mom thing #3.......get your panties out of a wad, moms and dads. Your kid is just as dysfunctional as mine. Might as well laugh with me.

4. I was sitting next to the tub tonight watching Zella (a.k.a. little ray of sunshine) splash and play as if there wasn't a care in the world. And I sat there next to her feeling completely defeated because upstairs, in his bed, was a little boy VERY angry with me.  I've been very transparent about our trials in the last year as we've welcomed David into our home. People know it's hard. I don't detail it because I know most people think we should be past that already. But here's the thing that I was made aware of in the last week or so.......I'm not the only one struggling. A lot of y'all have that kid that puts you to bed every night feeling like you failed God and at life and why in the world did God deem you capable of parenting this person? I thought about 3 different friends of mine that I had NO idea had these struggles.......1 that is struggling with the EXACT same issues with her biological daughter that we have with David. 1 that has 4 kids, all young, and can barely hold her head above water. And 1 that has a grown biological child that she struggled for years and years with. Behavioral, medical, psychological, developmental, etc. there are moms struggling with their kids in these areas every single minute of every single day and they are going to bed at night feeling completely alone? WHY, WHY for the love of all of the womanhood in the world, are we isolating ourselves like this? I share my story so openly because I know how lonely it feels over here sometimes and I just want even just one other person to know that their is someone that can relate. It isn't always bad. Parenting isn't always defeating. There is tragedy and there is triumph down here in the trenches. But you know what? God gave us these trials so that we can proclaim His glory. Is it glorifying to Him when we keep the trial secret, so then nobody sees the triumph? Here's what I know. God is working in Davids life. I posted a post two weeks ago on FB about how David was testing on grade level and how awesome is that after all he's been through and it got more likes than any other post in months......because it was the rainbow after the rain. If I had pretended like everything was roses and butterflies for the last year, that accomplishment wouldn't have had the same impact. Mom thing #4.......God wants to use our stories. The hilarious ones. The hard ones. And the amazing ones. And they all add up to be a vibrant, electrifying, powerful testimony. We have to stop subtracting the less attractive parts of the story. We don't write the story. God does. It's our job to tell it in its entirety. So that the world can see what He, in all of His faithfulness, has done.

There is more......there is always more. But someone needs to be wiped. Prayers need to be said and nighttime snuggles need to be administered.

Mom thing #5......at the end of the day. Pray over them. There is a battle happening for their souls that the love of mama and daddy can't win alone. Even if they feel like your enemy. Do it anyways. Even if you really really really screwed up. Do it anyways. Out of obedience. There is no power like that of a praying parent.

School, the Beach and Spirit Fingers

I've been meaning to write all 3 of these posts for a couple of weeks. My last post got bumped by the ALS challenge post so now I'm doing a Sunday afternoon cram session and squeezing 3 things into one. Take your Ritalin. You're going to need to stay focused.

SCHOOL

Tuesday will start our 3rd week of school. So far, we haven't been asked to remove any children from school. This is an achievement for the Kubnick crew. Last year we had one stand on the lunch room table and refuse to get down.....that was the week after a teacher had to barricade the door to the classroom with her body to keep the same child from escaping (while he was giggling). I'm not kidding. But in all honesty, both Cole and David have loved the first two weeks of school.

Cole is getting to do a lot of Engineering this year in 3rd grade.......which he LOVES and insists that that love was facilitated by watching "How It's Made" on the Discovery Channel (yawn). He's in a smaller class this year (which mama LOVES) and his teacher is, just like every year since Kindergarten, super cute and young and fun. And not saying that he's checking her out, but it doesn't hurt the education process. He's making friends and learning and the best part? He's sleeping at night. Praise Jesus. Sleep and Cole Harrison are like oil and water. Exercising his body isn't enough to get him more than 5 hours in a night, but exercising his mind and the kid is out like a puppy. It's awesome.

David is in Kindergarten. Again. And he is real quick to tell alllllllllllll the other kids in his class that he's already "taken this class". His teacher said he very much realizes that he's a step ahead. And I'm okay with that. Let him be a step ahead. As long as those steps keep stepping. He has done really well so far. His teacher is the same as last year and she's, well, she's a saint. She is an incredible communicator and she has spent so much time researching David's issues and trying to find ways to help him adapt and overcome. She's awesome. And it's super awesome that David knows exactly what is expected of him in her classroom. Since last school year, Davids math skills have improved tremendously. He can add and subtract up to sums of 30 and is working on reading. He's super smart. Sometimes too smart. But nonetheless, he loves school. And that's a blessing. He, too, is EXHAUSTED by the end of the day. Most school nights he's falling asleep at dinner because the rhythm of his chewing is lulling him to sleep. It's kind of funny to watch. But we never ever laugh. Ever. Never. Hopefully, his mind and body will adjust soon........or maybe they'll just give us a homework pass because our child literally cannot stay awake to do it.

And Zella. When I left my super comfy desk job in May of last year, one of the sacrifices that we made for me to be a stay at home mom was Zella's "school". Cole was always more of a homebody. He wanted to be home with Mom and play by himself and organize his Matchbox cars by size and color for 13 hours straight. Zella is the polar opposite. She craves social interaction. She wants to talk. All the hours of all the days. Talk. She desperately missed school and engaging. And yes we did play dates and yes we saw other kids and yes she plays with her brothers when she isn't pestering them but it broke my heart every time we drove by her "school" and she would say "everyone wave to my school!!!! Mommy, I really miss my friends." SO......we made a way. Zella started back to 2 day a week pre-K the same week that the boys started school. When we were fundraising for our adoption, I started painting signs to raise money. And that kind of evolved into people ordering things from me. And that evolved into Carolina Girl Creations (check out our FB page!). Which has now blessed us enough that either Zella HAD to go to school two days a week, or I HAD to stop taking orders. Funny how when God gave us a new son, He gave us a new business to compensate for our lost income, too! He's pretty awesome how He works like that :). BUT, Zella is LOVING being back in school. 2 days a week is perfect for her and so far her proudest achievement is eating all of her lunch (if you have ever eaten a meal with Zella......this is a big deal). She tells everyone in the house "check my lunchbox! I ate it ALL!" Maybe next we can work on anything NOT related to food? She is mine though, so maybe not.

THE BEACH

Every summer, parts of our family descend on Myrtle Beach like Marines on the beaches of Normandy. And it's awesome fun. Last year we couldn't go because we were half way across the world in Ukraine. But this year, we went. And I was a nervous wreck because well, our family isn't quite the same as it was for previous trips and I can't even lie, I had no idea how things would be handled. It was a short trip. We drove up on a Saturday  morning and came home on Monday afternoon. But it was a good trip. It was not without hiccups. But considering some of our current issues, the 2 out of 3 awesome days that we got, were just that. They were awesome. And I hated to leave. Because I miss my sister. More than anything I miss my sister. No matter where we are, she feels like home to me. And things have been stressful and my heart has been torn and well it's just been a hard year, and just being in the same house with her, it felt like home. A much needed 3 days of home. The kids played in the sand, and played more in the sand. I'm pretty sure that Triston buried every cousin in a hole that was half way to China. We ate and ate and ate. The kids played in the rain. We all got a little burnt. We had sand in our cracks and sand in our drinks and we didn't care a bit. We laughed. And laughed. And disciplined. And laughed. I looked out over the sand on our first day there and there were 9 kids. 9 of them. All completely different from the one playing/running/eating next to them. On the beach there were 5 moms. All of us completely unique to the children we were given. All of us with a different struggle and different triumphs. This last year has been hard because I let myself feel judged in my parenting of a child that has never been parented before. And I was reminded that day on the beach that there is no room for any of that with moms. We're all barely keeping our heads above the waves. Give that lady marching down the beach, yelling at her husband because her kids are sucking the life out of her, a break. She's no different than the one handing out umbrella shaped homemade pimento cheese sandwiches to her 3 kids in matching embroidered swimsuits. We're all the same. And just for a small taste of how different we all are........here's my favorite story of our little getaway. Because if you know our kids, you have a full visual as you read. So the surf was SUPER rough the first day on the beach (which was day 2 because it rained on day 1). The undertow was insane and we were really really cautious with the kids and their longing desire to be professional boogie boarders. (That, and I could hear Granny crying on the phone to me before we left about how  much the water scares her and don't let any of her babies die). So the kids didn't spent too much time in the waves on day 2. On day 3 it was a little calmer so we let them loose and off they went. Well on Day 2, Colton had gotten stung by a jellyfish. No big deal. He's the biggest and toughest of the crew and we rubbed some mud on it and went on our way. In the back of my mind though, I knew how potentially bad this could be. We were getting ready to pack up on day 3 and start our drive home. Cole, Colton, Aubrey and Peyton were on their boogie boards (Triston.....still digging to China). And we hear Colton come up......he got stung again. And then Peyton, dragging his leg. And then Jake. And then Aubrey, limping and whimpering. And all I could think was "dear Jesus, not Cole. We will have to amputate". As the thought ran through my head,
I look down the beach and see a woman jumping out of her beach chair and running down to the waterline to what looks like a heap of convulsing skin. Cole Harrison. I ran down to get him.....more because I needed to claim my mom of the year award than anything.....thanked the nice lady that attended to my sobbing child that didn't pay attention to the current that had dragged him down the beach, and started coaching Cole through what is sure to go down in his memory bank as "the reason I will never ever ever go in the ocean ever again". Again, 4 other people, all fine. Cole, dying. There was a guy sitting next to us that had a bottle of vinegar in his bag (is that the ONLY thing I didn't bring?!!!) so Jake poured it on all the kids and off they went. Guess who talked about his vicious jellyfish sting and how vinegar smells really bad the whole 3.5 hours home?  I love my Cole Harrison. Bless his heart. It was a good trip. Next year, we're staying the whole week. Let's book it.

SPIRIT FINGERS

This is the most honest part of this post. Because you know I just know I can't be the only one. But here goes. I have really really REAAAAALLLLLLYYYY (in Ace Ventura voice) been struggling in church lately. For real. I think back to the me that was in the same church a year ago and I was arms raised, sobbing, touched by the Holy Spirit during worship and Amening through every sermon and I felt like God had put the words in the pastors mouth just to deliver them specifically to me. And in the last several months, I'm just not that girl. And it's driving me CRAZY. We go to a spirit filled, Pentecostal church. This is the church that when my Southern Baptist Granny first found out we were going there she said (please insert country grandma voice), "that's the place where they throw snakes on the floor". First of all, no we don't. Second of all, for the first 3.5 years there, I was so lost in worship that if there had been snakes I wouldn't have noticed. We're a hand raising, tambourine playing church. There's people dancing and rejoicing and "THANKYA JESUS!" during worship. And I notice because growing up, in the Baptist and Presbyterian church, this was how it sounded to me......open your mouth and make a deep, monotone "uuuuuuhhhhhhhhh" sound. Now very slightly manipulate your mouth with that same tone and sing "Praise God from Whom all blessings flow. Praise Him, all creatures here below......". That's how it sounded to me. Dead. And in the last few months.....that's what I'm hearing again. I was sitting in church today and there was a person over my right shoulder that wouldn't stop clicking their pen.....click click click click.......the entire sermon. Over my left shoulder was a baby and a toddler (mind you, I have 3 kids sitting with me.....kids should NOT bother me) and all I could hear was the mom doing the gritted teeth whisper "STOP IT RIGHT NOW". There were people up and down and in and out and a cell phone ringing and kids crying all over the place and GAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!! And this is every Sunday. And here's the thing, it's not the church. It's me. That burns a little. And here's where the spirit fingers happen.....

The associate pastor at our church is a BIG dude. He's probably 6'5" and about 280 (REAL sorry if those numbers are off. oops.). He's one of those people that makes you feel imposed upon in an elevator. Until he talks. I always joke when he takes a mic that I feel like I need to do a high kick and throw up spirit fingers. He is literally overflowing with enthusiasm. He talks like he's got a megaphone attached to his mouth and it's not because he's just loud it's because he's really that excited about life. He makes me tired just to watch him preach. And that's awesome. He was on stage today and he came running up there and grabbed the mic and called for an encore from the band and he was singing his heart out and meaning every word up there for the whole world to see. And I know this guy. I know some of what his family is walking through and has walked through in the last few years. And it's A LOT. He and his wife were going through their second adoption process and he was talking to us one night and was like "YEAH! WE STILL NEED TO RAISE ABOUT $20,000 BUT WE AREN'T WORRIED ABOUT IT CAUSE GOD IS GOOD, ALRIGHT!" That's all in caps because that's how he said. Expectantly. Enthusiastically. Without unloading the burden on me......because he had unloaded it on God. And I was watching him today, up there in his Clemson orange shirt (bless his heart) and I was like "that. THAT is worship. I WANT THAT." You know we all go to different churches. We pick and choose based on Biblical teaching and musical style and whether or not a preacher delivers the sermon the way we like. But when it says in Psalm 16:11 "You make known to me the path of life. In YOUR presence there is fullness of joy; at Your right hand there are pleasures forevermore." Fullness of joy. THAT is worship. And in Matthew 5:16 when it says "In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven." THAT is worship. The let the light shine. To stop worrying about "the worship experience" and the hand raising and all of the things that we as Christians think have to go on the light shining checklist, and literally be overflowing with the fullness of joy that comes with the presence of God. THAT is worship. To me at least. And that's where I think I've died a little. Maybe where we've all died a little. That we get so wrapped up in the preaching style and the music style that we forget that we are designed to worship God, not to be entertained by Him.......regardless of whether or not we feel our church needs are met. Does everyone need to be in a church that feeds them? YES. But sometimes, the biggest problem under the steeple, is the hearts inside of all the people. Worship isn't just music. It's everything we have to give back to God. Everything. Let me clean these toilets today as a form of worship. Let me discipline my kids Biblically as a form of worship. Let me be a better person than who I was yesterday out of gratitude and worship for the ONE who loves me even if I fail in my attempt to do that today. Let me be so full of God's love that everyone around me feels like they need to throw up spirit fingers when I talk. THAT is worship. Am I saying that I won't still hear the man clicking his pen next week? No. I will definitely still hear that (for the love, man, stop with the pen). And this will take me some time. I'm cynical by nature. I'm not a pom pom girl. But my prayer is that as I learn to worship God on my own, in my own time and in my own way, that I won't be so codependent on Sunday mornings, so if I get distracted, I won't feel completely drained when I leave. My prayer is that I learn to worship enough on my own, that church becomes a supplement to the base, and no longer the base to a very neglected supplement.

Here's to your extra day off of school this week (packing lunches is the devil), a few more days spent at the beach ( I love SC weather) and spirit fingers and megaphones and poms poms for everyone.