A Prayer for Adoptive Families

How long must I wrestle with my thoughts…? – Psalm 13
Adoption awareness and orphan care have become a life’s work for us, a calling bigger than adding children to our family. It’s seeped into our faith, hearts, conversations, serving, friendships, and Instagram feeds.

Though our first steps in were tentative, three adoptions later, we are a family flying the adoption banner. We’ve compiled dossiers, read books, received grants, fundraised, waited, travelled, and attached. We’ve also served, bought t-shirts, spoken, written, advocated, and conference-d. We’ve started an adoption ministry, urged our church to offer an adoption grant, and served on mission trips. We’ve jumped onto the bandwagon and we’ve driven it too.

But just because we wear the t-shirt doesn’t mean we’ve got it all sorted out.

This year, this veteran adoptive mom found herself rattled by Orphan Sunday and National Adoption Month. I love the awareness it brings. It stokes the fighter in me who wants to shout at the world to stand up for vulnerable children. I pray that we’d all be outraged that families give up their children because they can’t afford food or medical care. That we’d not be OK with kids growing up in the US foster system or in the world’s orphanages. That the world would see the redeeming beauty of adoption.

But the truth is, I’m still in process with my thinking, and my understanding has layers now. I wrestle with how best to “defend the fatherless”. I wrestle with how to help in a way that doesn’t hurt. I wrestle with my role and my motives. I wrestle with my own apathy and my own helplessness. I wrestle with how much of my kids’ stories to share and with what words to use. I wrestle, and I pray you will too.

Our family was given the gift of three children birthed in China, and they are perfectly fitting puzzle pieces. But, I don’t think God intended them for our family or that we saved them. I wrestle with that thinking. Rather, I think He can redeem any of the losses or the traumas of this broken world, even parents having to give up their children. We are merely grateful that He chose us to receive these beautiful gifts. They are cherished children now, but we didn’t save them. As much as I’d love to believe that, we just don’t have it in us. It was us who were saved. Us who could have missed it. This life turned upside down by adoption and these glimpses into brokenness. This life less comfortable and full of heart checks.

We are just a crazy, under construction family blessed by adoption, redeemed by God, wrestling with how to see with His eyes and love with His heart. Like so many of you, we’re a big mess with rattled hearts.

---

---

I’ve come to realize that God is a fan of heart-transforming wrestling. I can say now that I’m grateful for how adoption stretches my trust, comfort and thinking. From the signatures on our first application, we wrestled to understand the wait, the red tape, the apathy of governments, and the sheer number of children without birth parents who can raise them. We just couldn’t fathom why adoption was so hard when so many wait. One side of my brain gets angry with God and the other knows to trust that He’s good. I pray that even with the hard questions, that I will trust His goodness. I pray you will too.


I don’t yet have tidy answers to my questions, and I don’t suppose I will this side of heaven. This is messy redemption business happening in a broken world, and I think grappling is part of the package. This questioning has forged a sweet, new understanding of who He is to us, to our waiting kids, and to the world’s fatherless.

Years ago, my fired up for orphan care self landed in Zimbabwe to serve kids in group homes. I arrived planning to serve and save and left unsettled and having not saved a soul. One afternoon, while painting strokes of blue paint onto the wall of a home alongside the teens that would inhabit it, I contemplated the words Save and Orphans written in giant letters across my t-shirt. Knowing they could read English, realizing that I was nobody’s savior, and seeing that these “hurting orphans” were not just a cause, but souls with beating hearts, thoughtful minds and stories beyond my comprehension, I felt differently about my well intended t-shirt. My mindset shifted, and though I still fail, I’ve been more carefully considering my words ever since.

Now as I parent three kids who know great loss, words matter. I don’t expect to always say the right thing. I don’t have that within me either. It’s just that I want to intentionally tell our story, while still protecting and honoring theirs. I want to consider first how my kids would/will hear my words. There are just too many complexities within parenting from adoption that I don’t have the luxury of ignoring. I’ve made mistakes in this, but I’m learning. I desire to honor God, protect the hearts of my kids, and “look after orphans and widows in their distress”, so it’s a dance I want to dance prayerfully.

---

---

Honestly, I’m just beginning to process how my need to feel good, matter, and belong within the adoption community might subtly sneak into my mindset when serving, advocating, and posting on social media. God’s given me passion, but I’m learning to pause before I act, speak or write. I’m praying that moment by moment, I’ll defer to His guidance in first shepherding my kids’ hearts.

My National Adoption Month prayer is that together we’d wrestle with our role on behalf of vulnerable children. That we’d be shaken by what we’ve seen, what we know, and what we’ve been called to. That we’d wrestle with whom and how we’re called to love. That we’d openly celebrate the beauty of adoption, passionately advocate, and prayerfully consider how to do it well.

Saying Yes to My Kids More

I want to say yes more.

Yes to pitchers of lemonade.
Yes to one more lap around the neighborhood on bikes.
Yes to popcorn for dinner.
Yes to bowls of water carried outside for toy “car washes”
Yes to digging in the mud with my wooden cooking spoons.
Yes to little hands flipping the pancakes.
Yes to jumping on the trampoline for “ten more minutes.”
Yes to jumping on the trampoline WITH you.
Yes to “just one more” book read aloud.
Yes to staying up “just a little bit longer.”
Yes to the jar for collecting worms.
Yes to stopping for ice cream.
Yes to tables covered in brushes, paint, and masterpieces.
Yes to putting on swim suits and turning on the hose.
Yes to crumbly, gets everywhere Play Doh.
Yes to those alluring Rolos in the check-out line.
Yes to binge watching the Brady Bunch.
Yes to blanket forts.
Yes to playing outside long after bedtime.
Yes to the cousin sleepover.
Yes to decorating the table with flowers picked out of my flower pots.
Yes to looking into little eyes and listening to “just one more thing.”
Yes. Yes to being more intentional about finding things to say yes to.

This momma has found lots of reasons to say no far too often. Too much to do. Too distracted. Too much to manage. Too tired. Too messy. Too unhealthy. Too unsafe. Too hard. Too risky. Too time consuming. Or, I’m too grumpy.
 

I have four young kids. I am crossing very few things off my to do list beyond meals, laundry, and homework. I am not in the get ahead stage in my parenting life. I’m just squeaking by and trying to make it to bedtime without too many tears or too many household items destroyed. I know the season that I’m in, yet I still make an idol of order. I still expect so much productivity that I miss yes moments. Moments that would bring joy, but are avoided because I fear the chaos and dread taking off my “manager of all things” badge.

It doesn’t feel like I have margin for more yeses. It’s much easier to manage and control my kids with lots of nos. Because I am still tired, still have too much to do, and still can be on the grumpy side, sometimes saying yes is a stretch. But I still think there is more room for saying, “Yes, kids. Why not?”

Read the rest over at Ungrind Webzine. 

God of My Children

I had the opportunity to read this, which is a repost (originally published on Ungrind Webzine,) at Created for Care this past weekend at the "Chocolate, Chai and Chatting: Night at the Mic".  I'm sharing again here as "Medical Momma Toolkit" encouragement. 

...................................................................

Nil per os. A Latin phrase meaning “nothing by mouth.”

 
For six days, an NPO sign has been on my daughter's hospital room door. The sign will stay up for two more days. She is recovering from colorectal surgery, and her fragile system requires it. Dextrose, sodium chloride, and potassium flow from an IV bag to a PICC line to nourish and hydrate her tiny, 21-pound body.

 
It seems cruel and unusual punishment for a little person and this “show love with food” momma. With pleading eyes, she asks, “Loller? Mom, loller?” Her fingers make a W against her chin signing, “Water?” I melt inside, divert my eyes from her confused expression, and distract with stickers.

 

God sometimes allows our tender spots to be punctured. My heart is most fragile for my kids, and as much as I want them to be off limits, they aren’t. When they are vulnerable, this momma bear stands at attention. Slowly though, I’m learning to trust and release my grip.

 
As a new parent, I lived contentedly with the illusion that I could protect my kids. That it was me, myself, and I who met their needs. I planned their days, fed their bodies, and claimed full control of their little lives.

 
I let myself believe that I was their God.

 
Then, little by little, God pierced holes in my control bubble. First came surrenders to backyard scrapes and playground hurt feelings. Then to preschool classrooms and the deep end of the pool. I had to choose to release rather than hold tight.  

 
The Lord kept on pressing into my control illusion, increasingly asking for wider surrender. Next, a mission trip put an ocean between mother and her babies.  I labored over leaving, and planned every activity, outfit, and meal they’d have. To board the plane, more control was severed. And when I returned? They'd made their own plans, had a ball and created a new grandparent bond.  I wasn't so vital after all.

 
Then came hurts that couldn’t be treated by Tylenol, infections not cured by Amoxicillin. First was elbow surgery for one daughter, then two bladder surgeries and a neurosurgery for another. Walking away from my child lying limp under anesthesia in operating rooms filled with computer screens, instruments, and doctors in sterile scrubs, left me utterly helpless and fully surrendered.

 
I had to consider who I think God is to my kids.

 
I tell people I trust the Lord, proclaim His miracles in our lives, but do I actually trust Him with my kids? Believe He’s a more powerful force in their lives than I am? In my head, yes. But in my heart, I can’t honestly say yes just yet.

 
He pushes my control buttons, but doesn't just leave me floundering. He asks me to yield authority of my kids, but He makes His presence known. Weakness is replaced by strength and unexplainable peace comes. My small faith grows. It's roots spreading wide and deep into my motherhood.

 
Now again, here, I must surrender deeper still. I’m sitting with my NPO daughter listening for God’s voice. Truthfully, my heart cries out, questioning why this. My girl is sustained from an outside source, fully beyond her parents. She’s suffering, and I’m stripped of control. I offer only arms to comfort. I blow bubbles, give sponge baths, push the IV on slow strolls, and take vitals on baby dolls.

 

Though I’m rendered helpless, a sustaining source flows. She’s plugged into an IV bag steadily streaming strength. I see the lesson being whisper-shouted into my heart. There is a sustaining Source we can release our children to. One stronger than IVs and ourselves. We parents tend to spin our wheels, worry, hover anxiously, and scramble for plans, trying to be the God of our children.  We underestimate His role.

 
I’m not savior to my kids. I'm limited, weak and just don't have it in me. 

 
I am put in my place this week. Reminded to unclench my fists. Reminded that her Father in Heaven carried her before we ever did.  Reminded that when she was born a preemie with multiple birth defects, He was there.  Reminded that He carried her through surgeries and hospital stays when we couldn't.  His grip is stronger than ours.  His nearness deeper.    His strength greater.  And He's always there.  Just as near as the IV. Just as powerful. Enough, moment to moment.

Perhaps I can worry less, and let my role be band-aids, nail polish, chocolate chip cookies, prayers and hugs.

 
Jesus' promise in John 6:35 means something new to me.  “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

 
And John 4:14, “But whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life”.

 
When I unclench my fingers, anxiety recedes, hope returns, and I can stop striving.

 
The uncomfortable truth is that my children will face challenges that render me helpless. But my trust has deeper roots now.

 
Day six nil per os and her heart still beats. She still smiles and sleeps. So, when the NPO sign is removed, and broth and noodles served, I want to hold onto the lesson.

I’m not a stronger momma now, I am a decidedly weaker one.

...................................................................

Courage, dear hearts. 


This is post six in the series, "Medical Momma Toolkit: A Tips, Tricks and Encouragement Series". 

 

God of My Children

Nil per os. A Latin phrase meaning “nothing by mouth.”

For six days, an NPO sign has been on my two year old’s hospital room door. The sign will stay up for another two days. She is recovering from colorectal surgery, and her fragile system requires it. Dextrose, sodium chloride, and potassium flow from an IV bag to a PICC line to nourish and hydrate her tiny, 21-pound body.

It seems cruel and unusual punishment for a little person and her “show love with food” momma. With pleading eyes, she asks, “Loller? Mom, loller?” Her fingers make a W against her chin signing, “Water?” I melt inside, divert my eyes from her confused expression, and distract with toys.

God sometimes allows our tender spots to be punctured. My heart is most fragile for my kids, and as much as I want them to be off limits, they aren’t. When they are vulnerable, this momma bear stands at attention. Yet, slowly, I’m learning to release my grip and trust more.
  
For my first years of parenting, I lived contently with the illusion that I could protect my kids. That it was me, myself, and I who met needs. I planned their days, fed their bodies, and claimed full control of their little lives.

I let myself believe that I was their God.

Then, little by little, I’ve surrendered them. God pierced holes in my control bubble. First came surrenders to inevitable backyard scraps and playground hurt feelings. Then to Kindergarten classrooms and the deep end of the pool, watching from afar. We mommas must choose between hovering overhead to insulate them from bruises, bee stings, and bullies or releasing them to the adventure of fields, trees, swing sets, and new people.

The Lord has pressed into my control illusion, increasingly asking for wider submission. Next, a mission trip put an ocean between mother and children. I labored over leaving, and planned every activity, outfit, and meal they’d have. To board the plane, I had to sever more control. And when I returned? I found new independence, new appreciation for me, and new connection with grandparents.
  
Then came hurts that couldn’t be treated by Tylenol, infections not cured by amoxicillin. First was elbow surgery for one daughter, then spine and two bladder surgeries for another. Walking away utterly helpless from my child lying limp under anesthesia in operating rooms filled with computer screens, instruments, and doctors in sterile scrubs, left me defenseless.

Each experience challenges who I think God is to my kids.

Read the rest over at Ungrind Webzine. 

A Time to Laugh (Ungrind Webzine Post)

With her wrinkled hand cupped over her mouth, her floral dress would shake as she giggled. My childhood memories of summer weeks spent at my grandmother’s meager Tennessee house are filled with the sound of her laughter and chicken fried crispy in an electric skillet.

She never took me to a theme park, and we didn’t frequent toy aisles. We never had kitchen dance parties, and she spent most of her time cooking and cleaning, but she had a silly streak. She was a storyteller, and her stories comedies. The memories now treasures.

Together on her rusted, metal porch glider, she named the ants that marched near us. Stories of Belinda and Oscar’s ant life made us howl with joy. And the bird on the telephone wire? She whistled and it whistled right back. In her own way, she played with me. She shared her delight and it became mine. She laughed, so I did too.

Now, grown up with a houseful of my own, I’m the family barometer, just as Grandma was.

My heart longs for childhoods filled with laughter, both theirs and mine. Giggles and silliness was always a part of who we are, until somewhere along the way, the seasons changed and I took a detour. Graciously, five-year-old authenticity shook me out of myself just in time.
She beamed about my scrambled eggs. I listened as my sweet Claire spoke precious words about me in a church Mother’s Day video, smiling at her familiar wiggle, and teary at her sincere love for this flawed momma. Then, when asked what makes me laugh, the sting of truth pierced my heart, jolted me to attention, and left guilt spilling wildly out.

“Mommy doesn’t laugh.”

Alongside embarrassment, anger swelled. Despite my sacrificing, I’d been called out. It had been a challenging year for our family, busied with the adoption of two children, and weighted with concern for a medically complex child. Sure, I was distracted at every level and bone weary, but my four kids left the house dressed in almost matching clothes, ate remotely healthy meals, and arrived nearly on time for appointments. Every ounce of myself was spent managing it all, but my little people were still having play time and play dates. Play wasn’t on my concern radar.

“Mommy doesn’t laugh.” It was a flashing yellow caution sign, demanding attention. After tallying excuses for my lack of laughter, still I was guilty as charged.

Sharing the rest at Ungrind.

Brave Pants

We thought water slides required a set of brave pants,

but diving boards? 

All kinds of bravery must be put on. 

While at the water park in Florida,
Mark did this...

So Sophia wanted to too. 

Wait.  What? 

Our girl can be a bit timid.

Sometimes though she floors you with some random bravery.

 

First came this long slow walk out to the edge,

and we (being the pitiful, doubting parents that we are) thought

it would end there. 

Nope.  The finger went in the mouth,

but with a smile...

Seconds later...the brave pants went on.   

Which resulted in a big one of these,

followed by a victory lap.

Bravery must have felt good, because she stepped off AGAIN!

Her wooping, clapping, fuss-making cheering section

voted this baby a perfect, gutsy ten. 

 

What sweet joy it is to see your child overcome. 

 

 

Several of you have clicked over here during September. 

Why not you?  Come on now. 



Ballerina-tard

The experience was filled with moments when the sight of her caught my breath.  When I held back sweet tears as I watched her
becoming
before my eyes.    

Signed up for ballet camp, days before she begged to try on the hand-me-down "ballerina-tard".   It was pink with a skirt that twirled and slippers made only to dance in.  The twirling went on for days. 

 
And then I saw her in a room filled with preschoolers
becoming little girls.  All in pink. 
Our girl, conquering fears and stretching herself.

Giddy on performance day, she carried in her princess costume, just a bit older, a bit more confident.  From over her shoulder she let me know that she "couldn't talk to me" during their dance later that afternoon.
She was a ballerina with a dance to do. 

We arrived and watched her, a princess among princesses,
relishing all the imagined. 

Later my momma's heart broke just a bit when all eyes were on her and she froze...searching the room for rescue. 
I didn't stand and she didn't cry. 
The sweetest of instructors took her by the hand and danced with her. 

And so with this experience behind us,
fears have been conquered, crafts made, new ground taken,
and sweet memories made. 

Dream a Dream

I plead with you to dream a dream
that is bigger than you
and your families and your churches.
Un-diefy the American family,
and say boldly that
our children are not our cause;
they are given to us to train for a cause.
They are given to us for a short season
so that we can train them for the great
causes of truth and mercy and justice
in a prejudiced, pain-filled, and perishing world.

John Piper

Hearts First, Paperwork Last: Re-Adoption

This little one has been waiting for such a long time for paperwork to catch up with what our hearts knew long ago. 

Paperwork is part of the process.  Application, home studies, physicals, background checks, fingerprinting, USCIS approval, agency change, special needs checklists, PA, LOA, TA, adoption certificates, follow-up home studies and more.  In the very beginning, that paperwork process seemed overwhelming.  In reality, it turned out to be quite easy.  Each signature, each paper, just a stepping stone across an ocean.

We fell in love with her four years ago.  Long before taking that first pen to paper.  We saw her face in February of 2010.  We held her in our arms on August 30.  Today, she was officially readopted.  It took four years for the paperwork to catch up with our hearts. 

Several months ago, we were assigned a judge.  That judge only sees adoption cases every so...hardly ever.  We were not surprised.  It was a battle (through every possible extended wait) to get Claire into our arms.

Our girl had no idea what was happening today. 

She was just along for the ride (and the animal crackers). 

She sat almost silently (except for the sound of munching) in the courtroom. 

As we waited, we witnessed three marriages end in divorce, and four people change their names (one to Jalloh, pronounced "Jay-Lo").  

In that courtroom, hearts were being both united and divided. 

We were the only people smiling.  Love not divided, but multiplied. 

Today paperwork caught up with our hearts. 

We don't believe that any part of this process was a mistake.
God has done a mighty work.  Not random at all.  We were carried by faith, changed by a loving Father, and prepared for a little girl who needed a mommy and daddy. 

"For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God."  Ephesians 2:8.

Awake Enough

"There are charmed moments, all the time,

in every life and in every day,

if we are only awake enough to experience them when they come

  and wise enough to appreciate them." 

~The Gift of An Ordinary Day by Katrina Kenison

I've been distracted lately.  Distracted with many good tasks, but  distracted still.  Countless little moments have passed without me. 
This thing called motherhood is a high calling,
and I want to do it fully awake. 

Today on this cloudy day.  I was awake. 

Claire's Dedication

A few weeks ago, was baby dedication at church.  It was with great joy that we dedicated Claire. 

Our church did a beautiful job of honoring children and families.  Before the day, we were asked to attend a "Legacy" parenting class.  This was about more than just logistics of the event, as we actually had the opportunity to discuss and journal about ways to be more intentional in our parenting. 

On the dedication day, we went on stage with 12 families, with each family being highlighted.  When we were called forward, they displayed some of our family photos and played audio of a letter that we had written to Claire.  It truly was a special moment.  After we left the stage, we were given a framed family photo with a copy our letter enclosed.

Something that made it more special was that Hailey and Hayden were dedicated as well!  It has been such a gift for our two families to do life and adoption together over these past few years. 

We topped it off with some SERIOUS good eats with a fish fry done by Jay's parents.  Fried fish, hush puppies, french fries, cole slaw, and banana pudding=F.A.B.U.L.O.U.S!

A Tale of Two Sisters (And Their Momma and Daddy)

Bonding.  Adjustment.  You think that you understand what those things are going to be like, but in reality, there is no way to prepare.  When people ask how we are, I have been saying "grateful, hopeful, and shell-shocked).  It would be impossible to go through such an emotional journey, and just come home to an easy happy ever after.  We have two  little ones that are still emotional and needy from all that the last few months have brought.  We had a lovely honeymoon period, but are now in the challenging stage.   They are very much fascinated by each other, and have lots of sweet moments (like sharing the beloved tiger chair post-bath), but these last few days have not been easy. 

Challenge number one has been getting a photo of the two of them looking and smiling at the camera....impos-e-blay.

Claire: She had a few days with lots of tears and unexplained tantrums, but is now becoming more at peace by the day.  She is blossoming, and it is a beautiful thing to see.   Every day brings more smiles and a stronger little body.  She thrives when lots of other kids are around.  She clearly loves being loved. 

Claire was very much undernourished, most likely having been given only rice cereal and formula.  Her test results revealed two conditions that many orphanage babies have: giardia (stomach parasite from unclean water) and anemia.  Both are being treated, and should be resolved soon.  She still breathes loudly, but we hope to get an explanation for that at our craniofacial appointment on 11/10.

She does not even register on the American growth charts for an 18 month old.  During her first few days at home, we realized how truly weak she was.  She had almost no muscle tone, which leads us to think that she spent most of her life in her crib.   She is now growing stronger and stronger by the day.  She walks without falling, and can even do a semi-run.  It is hard to get a photo of her as she is always on the move!

She is sleeping very well in her crib.  She takes cat naps in the car, a three hour nap, and sleeps about 12-13 hours at night.  She comes to us for comfort and likes to be held.  She does not like to be snuggled.  She pushes our hands away if we wrap our arms around her.  She just isn't used to being loved on in that way.  She has learned sign language for milk, more and eat, but doesn't use them regularly yet.  She does lots of babbling and pointing.

Sophia:  She had talked about Claire for well over a year.  She had in her mind all of the things that she was going to teach her new little sister.  The reality is that being a big sister to a fragile semi-toddler who doesn't communicate is hard.  She spent the first two weeks trying to hold, hug, kiss, teach, entertain and play with Claire.  About once an hour, she said, "I like being a big sister."  Or, "I think Claire is happy to be home."  These last few days; however, have been rough.  She has been very, very emotional and has spent lots of time in time-out. 

Bringing an 18 month old home, is a much different experience than bringing a baby home.  Sophia didn't get the experience of gradually becoming accustomed to a newborn who sleeps 17 hours a day.  She didn't get to hold her, watch her grow and help take care of her.  Claire is not a baby, but also isn't a toddler that she can play with.  I think either case might have been a bit easier for her.  She has become very frustrated with not being able to either care for or really play with Claire.  Claire is fascinated by Sophia, but doesn't want to be loved on or handled.  She laughs at her big sister, but doesn't yet understand how to play hide and go seek, how to blow bubbles, or how to color.

Whenever one of us leaves, Sophia asks if we are coming back.  She misses her grandparents who cared for her, and she craves our attention.  She is processing through, and actually talking about, becoming a big girl.  We think she is mourning the passing of her own babyhood.  She is also asking lots of questions about Claire's birth mother and about Claire's orphanages.  She is a smart little cookie who truly thinks about things beyond her age.  Her poor little heart and mind are struggling to make sense of it all. 

We are just taking things day by day, giving her lots of extra love and attention.  We've done lots of artwork, read lots of books and spent a great deal of time snuggling.   We are eating simple meals, and are just spending our time with our girls.  The beauty of this is that it is GOOD for her.  We don't want her to think that she is the center of all things.  We WANT her to serve, care for and love on others.   Ultimately, this will be a major blessing in her life. 

Us: Still feeling quite shell-shocked.  We can't believe what we saw.  We are angry with how undernourished and unhealthy Claire is.   We are coming down from the most intense emotions of our lives.  We are learning to have two kids.  We are walking through the bonding process.  (This post sums up some of what we are feeling to some degree.)  We are processing and wading through new territory.  More on all this to come...

So, the state of our union is fragile, but solid and hopeful.  We trust that this rough stage will pass.  We learned through the journey TO Claire that we are not in control, and that we can't do this thing called life on our own.  Now we are trying to live that out while we navigate into our new journey WITH Claire. 

I Have Decided to Quit Speeding

I have learned to quite speeding through life, always trying to do too many things too quickly, without taking the time to enjoy each day's doings. I think I always thought of real living as being high. I don't mean on drugs-I mean real living was falling in love, or when I got my first job, or when I was able to help somebody, or watch my baby get born, or have a good morning of really good writing. In between the highs I was impatient-you know how it is-life seemed so DAILY.

Now I love the dailiness. I enjoy washing dishes. I enjoy cooking, I see my father's roses out the kitchen window, I like picking beans. I notice everything-birdsongs, the clouds, the sound of wind, the glory of sunshine after two weeks of rain. These things I took for granted before.

When I stop speeding through life, I find the joy in each day's doings, in life that cannot be bought, but only discovered, created, savored, and lived.

~Olive Ann Burns, Taken from Mitten Strings from God: Reflections for Mothers

Sometime, somehow, I decided to stop speeding. I hit the brakes and decided to stop. Hear God. Savor my family. Love on people and covet stillness.


I am so grateful for the opportunity to work part-time, but even with part-time (with my personality), I work full-time. I went back to work from summer break last week. From the moment that alarm went off on that first Monday, it was full speed ahead. Work all day, computer and work bag work all night. During this busy week, a former boss asked me to come and get paid extra to do professional learning at her school. My heart skipped. "She wants me?" My driven, ambitious brain thought, "YES, YES, YES!" This opportunity would equal career connections, opportunity, and just generally more, more, more.


That my friends, is a problem because that is not me anymore. I choose to slow this life down. Our culture suggests that productivity is the key to happiness. It says that bigger is better and that more is preferred. I know better.


In reflecting on all this today, I made a decision. I reminded myself again, that for me, my family, my friends and my faith, I choose not to speed.

I'll probably have to remind myself again tomorrow.

On the Nightstand

Sophia has made our hearts swell over the last few weeks by randomly reciting her version of the beginning of the "Our Father" prayer. Mark has always said this prayer with her as part of their nighttime routine. At some point, she started saying a few of the words along with him. Now, as she is playing, she'll start softly saying her "Our Fadder" (occasionaly with a random EIEIO inserted). Nothing has ever made us more proud of our girl. At the same time, nothing has ever made us realize more what an important gig parenting is. She listens. She watches. She mimicks. That is heavy stuff. It is about more than changing diapers, washing sticky hands, putting on socks and reading Brown Bear, Brown Bear 1,000 times.

We believe in parenting with a purpose. We believe that Sophia is a gift to us from God, and that she is not ours. We are blessed to have the opportunity to care for her and guide her. We are blessed by her giggles, snuggles and joyful, energetic little self. The bigger blessing; however, is to be her example and her guide. Not to make her believe everything that we believe out of force, but to help her figure out for herself who God is. For right now, we are her only model. Again, heavy stuff.

I recently asked a few of my favorite mentor moms for some parenting advice and book suggestions. I take this gig seriously, and try to keep studying up. The inspirational Donna (fun, realistic, faith-filled, homeschooling mom to a handful of kids, one being a sweety adopted from China) suggested this "get ya' thinking deeply" book.

The premise of the book is that we are to disciple our kids just as Jesus discipled his 12 disciples. It is Biblical, and is food for the parenting soul. Here are some quotes:

"Each of our children has been given a specific personality and a particular set of circumstances that will give shape to God's purpose for his or her life. It is our priviledge and responsibility as parents to help our children understand their particular fit in God's plan."

"We must strive as a family to keep our focus on the eternal, not the ordinary."

At the end of each section are verses to look up and questions to ponder. Some of them, really get us thinking. Like...

Write out a list of your child's characteristics (personality traits, etc.) that you believe God can use for His purposes.

Write down what tends to irritate you about your child and sometimes keeps you from showing God's gracious love. Pray and make a plan for how you will respond more graciously in those situations.

This is good stuff, folks. Deep thinking, deep studying and deep prayer about being good parents. It is the least we can do in return for the big gift we were given 21 months ago.

Anybody have other books to recommend?

Psalm 127:3 Beloved, children are a heritage from the Lord.

You Know You Have a Toddler When...

....these are normal sights.

(her "sunglasses")

When your little one sings "Happy Birthday" to herself over and over again all day long.

When you have more sippy cups than regular cups.

When you stand by a slide cheering for almost an hour while your little lady goes down it over and over. Confirmation comes when she would MUCH rather go alone than with a parental.

When you read books to someone ELSE while they sit on the potty smiling at you.

When you cheer when someone goes to the potty.

When you use the word "potty" in a blog post or in adult conversation.

When the little person in your grocery cart screams, "Hi, guys!" at the top of her lungs to everyone she sees.

When you can't walk through a grocery store without a little set of eagle eyes spotting "DORA!!!!" on every balloon, soup can, yogurt container or bag of chips. (Holy cow, that is an enterprise.)

When you have memorized every board book that has ever been printed.

When you find yourself humming "The Wheels on the Bus" while you sit at your desk.

When you can't see a scribble drawing without smiling.

When you have the joy of watching your little peanut walking around the house having a full conversation with "Daddy" or "Papaw" on her play phone.