Disclaimer

I’m going to start throwing down some candid writing on my blog.  For me.  Because I need it and I need to process and I don’t journal but I will blog.  (Whatever)

Before I put it out there for my two readers, here are my disclaimers:  

I love my children.  Full stop.  Adopting them…. being their mom… is the greatest decision I have ever made.  I love being a mom and I love being a mom to these children.  I am incredibly blessed on every single front.  I adore them with my whole heart.  Even Zechariah, who came home just before turning 7, feels like he has been with me forever.  I birthed every one of them, as far as I’m concerned.    

So when I write about trials and hard stuff and my frustrations and my life, please don’t assume this means I have regrets.  Don’t assume I wouldn’t do it all again in a heartbeat.  Do not assume I don’t love every moment with these babies and every day of our crazy lives.  It’s just hard sometimes, okay?  Living life is often living in the grey.  The good and the hard.  The love and the pull-your-hair-out frustration.  All of it.  I love them forever.

Here we go….

Grace upon Grace

I got home from work and started to cook dinner.  The inevitable question came from Seth:  "Can we play Wii?"

 

I have a love/hate relationship with screen time.

 

Since it had been a few days, I relented. 

 

As I stood in the kitchen, listening to Seth and Zechariah shriek with delight as they conquered Mario Brothers, I suddenly heard, "OH, JESUS."

 

I nearly broke my pan.

 

Now, let's pause for a moment and acknowledge that I over-reacted here.  I own it.  I did.  But if there is any word/phrase/reaction that makes my skin twist up into knots, it's this one right here.  JESUS. 

 

I ordered the boys to pause the game.  I told Zechariah to go to his room and get his Bible out.  I screamed to anyone who would listen how WRONG and gross and ugly that was.  Gah.  I completely freaked out.

 

So I kept cooking and Seth kept playing -- now with Leah.

 

After cooler heads prevailed, I went up to Zechariah's room where I found him dutifully reading his Bible.  I sat on the bed across from him, now totally calm.  I explained why saying "Jesus" or "Jesus Christ" is so offensive to me and to God.  We talked about how it is similar to saying, "Oh my God" which was a previous lesson in our home.  I told him it scared me when he said it.  I also said that I understood that his friends say it, but that we are not going to do/say everything our friends do.

 

Once I finally took a breath, Zechariah burst into tears.  We spent the next 5 minutes huddled up on my lap, working through all the feelings about what he said and my {awesome} reaction to it.

 

And then we moved on.  We cleaned his gecko cage and went downstairs to finish dinner.

 

At least four hours later, the *event* securely behind me, I was putting the kids to bed.  When I jumped in Zechariah's bed to snuggle him, without missing a beat he said to me, "Mom?  I'm sorry I said that thing."

 

I almost vomited.  This dear, sweet, sensitive, wise and mature beyond understanding child had been thinking about this for hours.  And then he was brave enough to apologize to me.  I took a deep breath and told him I knew he was sorry.  I told him I was so proud of him and how much Jesus (and I) love his tender, precious heart.

 

Zechariah is such a gift to me and my other babies.  Lord, thank you for trusting me with him.

In Jesus' name.... 

Thoughts On Grace

I have so many thoughts about being more like Jesus as we head into Lent.

A friend was recently told, after making a very bad decision, that she could hang out with a person she considered to be a friend "if real change is coming." That is, IF she had stopped sinning. There are so many things wrong with this I don't know where to begin. Setting aside that we have all sinned and fall short of the glory of God, Jesus didn't tell the Samaritan woman at the well that they could talk "after she got herself together." He didn't promise Zaccheaus a dinner date "after he stopped his thieving ways." Jesus didn't tell Thomas to "sort out his doubts and talk to him later." No. Jesus said, "Come. Touch. See. Put your fingers in my side." Jesus took their sin and doubts head on and friended them "while they were yet sinners." Jesus meets ALL of us right where we are. As I try to be more like Him, and gloriously fail, I want to continue to sit in the muck and failures of people I love (and they in mine) because that is the best way I know to represent Him. And the best way to truly love.

Eyes Up

I have a great life.  I mean, really.  I don’t have much that I can complain about.  I have three amazing children; I have a great {and endlessly flexible} job; we have a fantastic new church; and late this fall, my friends and I launched a nonprofit, Pure & Faultless.  Things are very, very good.

But single parenting is hard – there are no two ways about it.  There is always something burning somewhere, some unattended need or want or “to do.”  Sacrifices are made.  Floors are dirty.  And we move on.  One of the reasons that I have been able to manage single parenthood is because I excel at task management.  Logistics are my “thing.”  I can line them up and knock them out like nobody’s business.  When the enemy wants to discourage me, the way to do so is not to send more logistics {although I’m not wonder woman; I do get tired….} but rather to get in the way of the completion of those logistics.  Don’t allow me to complete the check list or move the ball forward and I just may fall to pieces.

 Enter the last couple of months.  Starting unhappily on my birthday in mid-December, my life has been an up-side-down mess of undone or slowed tasks.  The Christmas season saw me mostly laid down, sick.  Influenza, strep throat, pink eye, …. and then my back went out.   Wonderful.  {sarcasm font}  In the midst of all of that, my very reliable Honda minivan decided to become unreliable and spend a week in the shop.  Logistical nightmare!

 Then it was time to prepare for Haiti. What an amazing trip in a gorgeous country visiting a fantastic ministry! We got home Tuesday night. By Wednesday around 5, it started.The nausea. The general upset. The intestinal rumbling. And then the never ending trips to the toilet. This went on for three full days through Saturday night. In the midst of it, I was tired, laid down and no-fun-at-all. Again! I was way past my close to my breaking point when I reached out for prayer and BAM. Done. Over. Thank God.  {prayer works; so does Cipro}

 As soon as that settled down, the snow started.  And it didn’t stop.  The news reports we got 19 inches.  Um, yeaaaa.  If 19 inches covers my children…. standing.  Either we got more at our house or my home is the apex for circling, blowing snow.   There is a lot of snow.  Nevertheless, this morning I popped up, got showered and dressed, cleaned off the back steps, and went to the van to go pick up our nanny whose car on the street was completely buried.  19 inches.  I very skillfully pulled it out of the garage and stuck it permanently in our alley.  No inch forward; no inch backward. 

 Have you ever heard the phrase “last straw?”  Yep.  That was it.  Right there in my vacant van I had a complete and total meltdown.  Whyyyyyy????  Oh woe is meeeeeee!!!  Someone hellllllp meeeee!!!  {crickets}  Yea, no one was quite as foolish as I was, so with the kids safely inside like all normal people, I spent 3 hours 20 minutes digging, salting, propping, rocking, digging some more, and eventually moving my van back inside the garage.  There would be no nanny today and no work from my office.  Wonderful.  Again.

In the midst of all of these gigantic pretty minor trials of late, I started to feel discouraged.  If only I had a husband to tackle some of this with me.  If only there was someone else around to play with the kids when I’m laid up forever for a season.  If only there was someone to hold me while I sobbed about just feeling like things are a little bit harder these days.  If only.

But in that same moment, I heard my very own voice speaking to myself what God had given me in the fall:  Eyes Up.  Eyes up, when your feelings get hurt.  Eyes up, when you face temporary impediments.  Eyes up, when the attacks come.  Eyes up, in praise!  Eyes up, when your first born brings out argument 287 for the day.  Just, eyes up. So we march forward.  Apparently healthy and now drowning in snow.  But eyes up.  Spring is just around the corner.

The power of Halloween

Halloween has once again dragged up questions among the Christian community about whether and how to participate in this particular "holiday."  The concerns about Halloween (to sum up) are its allegedly dark roots and what it means and how it might harm our kids.  Hmm.

I like Halloween.

Of course I'm not celebrating darkness.  And of course I'm not worshiping evil or the evil one.  What I am doing is participating in a silly American tradition.

I like the costumes -- silly and scary and beautiful; homemade, store bought, creative and pathetic.  I love them all.  And then, the "run around" that takes place on our street -- meeting neighbors, smiling, sharing, playing with friends, eating sweets (what could be better?!?!?!).  Handing out candy to people at the door -- smiling, shouting, recruiting more takers.

What's not to like?

Then there's the pumpkin carving.  The creativity of the designs shock me more every year.  I love seeing the photos and watching the competitions.  This year, our competition was off, but our fun was ON.  The kids had a great time carving their own (for once!).  

I haven't said one word to my children about Halloween being dark or evil or unnecessarily scary.  I am as cautious on Halloween as I am on any other day.  And you know what?  My kids think it's fun and silly.  They think it's all about dressing up and getting candy.  And that's it.  If they veer off course in the future?  I'll steer them back, just like I will on the eleventy billion other things that could take them off course.

After all, not unlike every last thing in their little lives, our children will make of Halloween what we tell them of Halloween.  

Here was our Halloween 2014:

Does that look scary and dark to you?
Yea, me neither.

Yes, even in this

We all have a thing.

I have one.  Maybe two.  Don’t you?

You know… the thing that stops you in your tracks, makes your stomach hurt, and causes you all kinds of angst to convince yourself not to completely launch on the person who did (or didn’t do) this or that?  Yea, that.  

Abortion.

Child abuse.

International Adoption.

Cruelty to animals.

Politics.

Ethical adoptions.

Gun control.

Gun rights.

HIV advocacy.

Healthcare.

Diversity.

Theology (of all sorts).

Orphan care.

Women in ministry.

Homelessness.

Poverty.

Inner-city crisis.

The list is endless.

Those things that make your blood boil, your heart sing, and your passions ignite.  We all have them and they are all different!  {Isn’t it so absolutely awesome that God gave us all such unique passions?}  Ahhh diversity in the Body….

For me?  My number one “thing” is easy:  racism.  And everything that comes with it.  Racism that says, “I’m better than you simply because of the color of my (or your) skin.”  It says, “I deserve more; I earn more; I'm entitled to more; indeed, I am more.”  Racism says it's okay if we oppress "you" because, well, you're different than some {ill-defined} majority.  I despise racism of all types in all shapes and of all varieties.  Bleh.  Lord, continue to search my heart and purge me of all racist attitudes.

This issue hits close to home and even closer to my heart.  My brothers are black and were raised with our, ehm, then-decidedly white family in the ‘70’s, God bless ‘em.  My three babies also have beautiful brown skin, and I'm blessed with four nieces/nephews who share their gorgeousness.  In fact, my sister holds the only four white grandbabies in the family!

I often hear, it being 2014, that racism is a thing of the past.  Oh, if that were only the truth!  We don't encounter it much here in our highly integrated, three-blocks-from-Chicago's-west-side neighborhood.  And I'm thankful for that.  But it still exists.

A news article about racism recently went "viral" on FaceBook.  In it, the reporter discussed segregated proms that {apparently} still take place in some parts of this country.  As I read the article, I felt that familiar wave of nausea overcome me.  The worst part, in my estimation, was that the parents of the high schoolers were the ones perpetuating this awful tradition -- even paying out of their own pockets funds to ensure that a "white only" prom would take place at their school.  I had to resist the temptation to go on a rage-filled rant on social media or anywhere else someone might listen.

And yet.....

And.yet.

There is grace.  Even in this.  Grace.

I had this {difficult} realization recently while I was in a conversation with my sister.  Our passions -- my passions -- can be so all-consuming that we {ehm, I} forget that in Christ, in this, even in this, there is grace.  Were it not the case, what would this mean for me?

Gossip?  Yep.  {Slowly raises hand}

I can be prone to gossip.  It's ugly and the holy spirit regularly brings me to my knees about it.

I am a sinner SAVED by grace who is bought and paid for by the blood of Jesus.

My sins are covered, for all time.

And when I slip (which happens a lot), I am no less saved.  But I do feel that still, small voice whispering to me again that Christ wants more for me.  There is more.  

More like Christ.

So when my conversation with Lisa turned to our recent experiences of racist behavior, I was overcome by a wave of emotion for the people exemplifying these attitudes.  I felt grace.  Someone how in that moment, despite the passion burning within me, the holy spirit whispered to me that this is me too.  That I too am imperfect, saved by a mighty God who is holy, holy, holy.  Holy, holy, holy!

It's not as if my passion about this issue was resolved in that moment.  No way.  A fire still burns in me and I commit to gracefully confronting racism wherever I encounter it.  It was more that in the moment, I realized that Jesus died for all of us.  All of us.  And somehow that very personal realization -- in that moment -- allowed me to find words for people that I otherwise didn't think I had.  I could speak with love and I could -- if I chose to allow the Holy Spirit to work in me -- be grace.

I hope I never forget the way I felt during my conversation with Lisa this week because it applies to so many things in my life.  I can be a little (or tall) fire ball of passion, energy and emotion.  I can go from zero to sixty in about 2.3 seconds.  Seriously.  But just like the Holy Spirit whispering to me to slow down and see people, He is now reminding me, at my core, that grace is the order of the day.  Grace.

Do you see them?

“Mom! Mom! MOM! Look what I made! Look what I can do!! Look at my drawing!!! Mom, MOM, MOM!!!! Looooookkkk at meeeeee!!!!!!!!” I look; I study; I love.

I see them as I hurriedly race up the stairs from the train to my office. The elderly couple, going down the stairs . . . during rush hour. They are clinging to a suitcase between them, trying to navigate stairs while hanging onto the wheels…. I see them. He whispers, “Help.” I don’t.

I’m on the street now, the wind cutting my skin despite the calendar screaming that it’s late spring. I throw my hood over my head and notice the people around me. Jaws set; faces stern; many hurting. Do you see them? I hurry along.

There she is again. A woman struggling to walk, to get across the street before the aggressive Chicago traffic fills the lanes. Again, he whispers, “Help.” Again, I don’t stop.

She’s playful and needy. She wants me to chase her. Her mom is there too . . . at the park . . . busy talking to grown-ups. “Chase ME!” she shrieks. And so I do, while I’m chasing my three. A moment of playfulness with a stranger. I see her.

He’s angry. Upset by a late train or the treatment of a police officer. That’s all I can make out as I rush by him. The officer is listening; remaining calm. He apologizes. The man is not interested. He needs to be heard. The officer sees him.

He’s new to America – confused and afraid. He knows our governments don’t like each other, his old and his new, but he doesn’t know why. No one sees him. He becomes angry because no one will listen to his hurt. His pain. We don’t see him. So he hurts people. Now we see him.

The service was terrible – worst in a long time. We were disappointed, but maintained our cool. My brother handled the message delivery. The manager heard and responded. He saw us. We might return.

We are waiting on the exit ramp of a highway. He hobbles toward us, using crutches. He needs something, anything. I yell at Julie to grab some money; I grab mine. We give him what amounts to less than $10. But this time He whispered, I listened, and I saw him.

I’ve been struck, over the last week, by how important it is for my children to be seen. For me to engage them. To look at their {crazy} creations. And ooh and aah over them. To hug them and listen to them. But not far behind that revelation has been conviction about when I fail to see.

There is so much heartache and pain in this world and I wonder…. How badly do the ones who hurt long to be seen? Who will look at them? Who will see them? REALLY see them? What a different world this might be if we all took more time to see and hear one another. To stop and notice the good things our children are doing. To play with the needy child at the playground. And, for me, to start listening to that still-small-voice whispering, prodding me to “Help,” because nothing else is really all that important. “Stop rushing,” the Holy Spirit begs. “Slow down. Be still. See people. Really see them.”

And so, I see.

Things I've learned since becoming a {single} parent

   Patience is a virtue.  You can never have enough patience.  While God has certainly grown my capacity for patience since becoming a mother five years ago, it’s never quite enough to cover the 200^th “why” question of the day.  Or to ignore the 10^th toy you’ve tripped over.  Patience is a virtue…. and one of which I *always* need more.

  Love multiplies.  Exponentially.  My love for Seth has done nothing but grow since he came home on November 16, 2007.  I think most of us would expect that.  But what is unexpected is how love multiplies.  Now, with three kids, I have three times the love walkin’ around outside of my body.  It’s incredible!  And it grows.  Daily.  

   Love is a choice.  Bonding doesn’t always happen immediately with your kiddos – whether adopted or born of your body.  I’ve had friends tell me that they have nothing in common with their biological child and difficulties bonding with him/her.  Also true in adoption.  But, see number 2:  love grows.  With all three of my kiddos, I love them more today than yesterday.  I expect to love them more tomorrow.  I pray so.

      Yelling accomplishes little.  When you up the ante, so do the kids.  Whispering is far more effective but a million times harder.  For me.

      Kids learn from you.  I know this is obvious, but it becomes painfully so when you are a parent.  My kids mimic nearly everything I do.  Talk about intimidating!  And, see number 4, they tend to mimic the things you would rather they NOT mimic.  Nothing breaks my heart more than hearing Seth yell at his siblings…. Because he heard me do the same to him.  Ugh.

      Kids listen.  An obvious theme of our family is adoption and caring for kids without parents.  The good part about this is that my kids have HUGE hearts for kids who need mamas.  Unfortunately, this means I get bombarded by them nearly every day begging for another child to be added to our family.  But I’m done.  We are full. 

      Older is wiser.  I’m very thankful that I waited to have my kids until I was a bit older.  Sure, I would have had more energy to chase them when I was 25, but instead, I had the chance to learn from others’ parenting what I wanted to do and not to do.  I had a chance to live out my life as a single woman before bringing on the responsibility of kiddos.  My age has been a blessing.  

      Parenting is hard.  Especially single parenting.  What job is right; which house to purchase; how to save for college; how many activities are too many; need a tutor?; school selections; church choices; discipline techniques; dating….  And the list goes on.  Parenting with two adults is hard enough.  Making all of those decisions alone can be daunting.  Don’t enter single parenting lightly.  It’s a big job.  

      Time management is paramount.  Finding the time to parent, have a job, keep up a house, exercise, attend a Life Group, and be a grown up every so often is work.  Managing “free time” in your day is key.  Can you read on the train to work?  Does quiet time need to happen before the kids are up or after they are down?  Can you grocery shop while one child is at ballet (thus making it easier since you have two rather than three with you)?  Can you change batteries {in innumerable toys} while the spaghetti water is heating to a boil?  Can you answer six emails while the babies are putting on their jammies and brushing their teeth?  

    Comparing never ends well.  My kids are not like anyone else’s, so don’t bother with the comparison game.  It’s not worth it and only leads to frustration, competition or worse.  My children are all beautifully and wonderfully made.  Full stop.

    Your kids will hurt you.  I don’t think they mean to, at this age, but one day they may.  Zechariah asking to go back to Uganda {every day} drives a knife into my gut.  I try to remember he is adjusting and it’s not personal, but remember number 2?  He’s already part of my heart outside my body.  Love is beautiful and it can hurt too.  

    Forgiveness is ready.  I screw up with my kids . . . a lot.  I need forgiveness . . . a lot.  At least with my kids, forgiveness comes fast and easy.  When I raise my voice {number 4}, whether necessary or not, I often beat myself up far longer than my kids even appear to remember it.  Having said that, Lord help me not to abuse their forgiveness because, as we all know, they will sit in a therapy chair about it one day.  Ha!

     My attitudes about food will be passed along.  I’ve noticed that what I say and do with food, my children say/do about food.  Just yesterday I heard Zechariah telling Seth, “If you don’t try new things, you won’t know whether you like them.”  Huh.  Wonder where he heard that one?!?!  I already feel worried about my gorgeous daughter and what jacked up warped ideas she may get about her body from this society.  I pray that God will help me instill healthy exercise/food priorities in my kids starting now.  

  It's not about me.    And yet, it is.  Parenting, for me, as been one of the most refining things in my life.  I have to constantly evaluate myself, my choices, and my behavior.  I see myself in them -- the good, the bad, and even the ugly.  God made me a mother so I could learn how to die to myself every.single.day.  And in a sense, making it all the more for HIS glory and my submission.  Even still, I'd do it all again in a heartbeat, if He asked me to.

Disclaimer:  This was something fun for me to write…. for ME.  If you are taking it personally or making it about you, you have misinterpreted what I was trying to do here.  I’m not sending a message to anyone and not talking about anyone but me and my family.  Okay?  Okay!

HE is Risen!

H alleluia, He's Risen!

Faithful God (Part 3)

About a year ago, I wrote a couple of posts entitled, "Faithful God."

If you're interested, you can read them here and here. 

Of course I know that God is faithful, even when it seems like He doesn't work out the details of our lives.  But the last twelve months have been a flurry of answered prayer.  Even prayers I didn't know I needed to pray.

April 2, I started a new job.  A job I love with a boss who is amazing.

Last summer, I got promoted.

God chose Zechariah for our family.

He came home in record time.

While I was out of the country, my parents sold my house.

The day after we got home from almost six weeks in Uganda, I purchased a house.

And in very fitting fashion, we moved on December 31, 2012.

PHEW.

What a year!

And the blessings keep on coming.

During my search for a home in Oak Park (over the last two years), I have been fixated on one elementary school and finding a house in that area.  It's a great school and we would have done well to land there.

Instead, our house is in a different part of the city.

While I have loved a couple of the houses we considered during our search, this is our home.  We have small rooms (individual) for everyone.  We have space for our nanny on a different floor (a blessing for her and for us).  We have room for people to stay in the basement so we can meet ministry or personal needs.  We are blessed.

This week I went to the local elementary school to talk to the principal about Zechariah and what makes sense for his schooling.

I was blown away.

Not only is she awesome (AMEN!) but the school surpasses every expectation I could have dreamed.

The special education department for the district is housed there.  Sure, they go out to all of the schools, but their base is here.  Two blocks from our home.

When we discussed where to place Zechariah in terms of grade, the principal explained that it doesn't really matter because they do multi age classrooms at this school.  HUH!?!?!

Yep, that's right.  Kindergarten through second grade in the same classroom. A one room schoolhouse of sorts.  So he can join K-2 and work fast or slow or whatever he needs to catch up.  Jesus!!!!

Today was his first day.  I was a weepy mess.  Not because I thought he couldn't handle it but because in a real way, he's my baby and we are still bonding.

Zechariah, however, was so excited.  He packed his backpack like a trooper and got up early (with prodding).  He ate breakfast like a champ and walked to school with me.

I love his teacher.  She had a second grader there to help Zechariah get settled.  (wisdom)  Within two minutes, they were holding hands.... Sweet Jesus of mine.... THANK YOU.

His first day was great -- and he only went for a half day.  He's already asking to stay all day.

Easy on your mama, little man.  Give me a sec to breathe....

And.... we're off!

Let the adventure continue!

Eternal Perspective

In my 20s, I dated a man who regularly (as in, every time I showed the slightest amount of stress) reminded me to have an "eternal perspective" about things.  I found these reminders to be pretty irritating overall.  (ha)  Yes, I love Jesus.  Yes, I know that this earth is not my home.  Yes, I know that something better is coming.  And yet, sometimes this world is just plain hard.  I didn't think it was fair to suggest that I be anything other than "real" about my emotions in the moment.  In those moments. 

As I think back on those conversations, I think we were both right.  My friend was right that I needed to see the bigger picture of what was happening around me.  And I was right that God understands that we are human and will fail in our abilities to get it right the first time every time.  Indeed, God became wholly man and Himself begged to be spared His cross....

Last week I was having lunch with a friend at work.  As is often the case with this friend, our conversation turned to my faith and questions about a God who would allow children to be killed in Connecticut or allow evil to reign on earth.  My friend regularly questions me on these issues, I think because he is hoping for a silver bullet answer that will quiet his heart.... and mind.

There is no such answer.

As I reflected on Christmas this week, I thought about my friend and his questions.  There is SO much anticipation in getting ready for Christmas and purchasing gifts and doing advent activities and having parties and going to church.....  The build up is incredible.  And then, faster than the year before, the day *Christmas* is here and gone.  I can't help but feel a let down after another year has passed, wondering what I might do differently the following year or how I might do it all better....

But there is another Christmas coming.  Christ's second arrival on earth.  The day when the trumpet will sound and we will come into HIS glory forevermore.  And the anticipation for THAT day will never end.  There will be no "day after" depression.  There will be no let down.  There will be only holy rejoicing forever.  Forever!

And that is eternal perspective.  That's the perspective that understands that God WEEPS with us when 20 children are murdered in school and welcomes them home, into His arms.  The perspective that knows God is angered by the use of orphans as pawns in Russia because He is a God of justice and HOPE -- the same God who is comforting children even as they suffer in their earthly bodies.  The perspective that appreciates that at the end of the day -- the real end of the day -- it does not matter much who rules on this earth because He is LORD of all. 

Yes, evil happens and in many ways, appears to reign.  But when I lift up my eyes and get a new perspective, I know and believe that a better day is coming, no matter how dark it can seem here in this life.  And that day will never end.