Working in child welfare for any amount of time forces the rude awakening of the troubles we have in our society and the daily struggles that too many children have in the United States. There are children who are fatherless, motherless, or both. Many are taking care of their baby siblings even though they are babies themselves. Some can tell you how to prepare a crack pipe because they have witnessed it in their home. Others do not understand boundaries or safety because they have never been kept safe. Infants are born with the addictions of their mothers; or at least, the exposure of poor choices made while in the womb. If you do not believe or understand this, then I encourage you to spend a day with a child abuse and neglect investigator.
It is deeply troubling when I hear people dismiss children as if they carry no purpose. I have written about this before in my post Where is Your Treasure?
ALL children are vital to this world. ALL children are precious in the eyes of the Lord. He loves each one as if he or she is His only child.
They teach us to forgive quickly, to slow down, to laugh, and to dream. They see things through the lens of innocence. They have great purpose in this world. Not to sound cliché, but they are the future and the potential fulfillment of all things good in this world.
When I took this picture of my daughter above at a family get together, I could not help but think about what the life of a child should be made of. Their lives should be filled with love, silliness, warmth, and parents. Their lives should be enveloped in family, memories, shelter, encouragement, and safety. They deserve days filled with the warmth of sunshine, the laughter of playmates, and the sweetness of ice cream cones.
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Happy Birthday Bubby. I love you so much more than I will ever find the words to express. I am incredibly grateful to the Lord for choosing us as your parents. I know I have said that over and over, but I suspect I will not stop saying it until my life on Earth has ended. Just thinking about the person you are growing into, all of your strengths and sweet quirks, makes my heart leap with joy.
The night before you came to us, I prayed that the Lord would provide us with the opportunity to parent a baby. We woke up that morning not knowing that by the end of the day, our lives would be forever changed. He answered my prayer immediately. We quickly rushed out the door to head to the hospital after getting a call from the local child protective services saying “can you be there in 30 minutes?” Your first year was full of hope, tears, joy, fears, and the overall feeling of being a part of something bigger than ourselves. We were caught between loving you desperately and the commitment we made to help your birth mother get you back. We were sworn to protecting you; yet, we had to rely on others in your life to make the decisions on what was best. We were broken down and humbled by the plight of your birth mother while glowing in the enchantment of who you were and by the Lord’s gifting of you.
I was so happy to have him for his first Christmas.
Your second year held the mixed up feelings of grieving for your birth mother and her loss of you while experiencing pure joy at your adoption. Before your adoption, we did not know how long we would hold you. We said “love you forever” as often as we could. On that fateful day in May, we were given the blessing of you being ours forever. So much was revealed to us during this time of life. Your curly hair, sweet smile, and boundless energy kept us amused. People were drawn to you. Your charm and talkative nature took flight.
The outfit he was adopted in. We “tried it on” just a few days before his adoption to make sure it fit. Of course, he looked perfect in it!sweet curls for a sweet boy
Year three…well…let’s just say that year three was a wee bit challenging. Your God-given strong-willed determination was your shining accomplishment! You started to see more of the world with curiosity and fierce independence. Music also became something you were quite fond of. You welcomed a baby sister! You announced it. You told us that you would be getting a baby sister before we even knew. I can only imagine how your little mind must have been spinning when your baby sister arrived on our doorstep. You took it in stride. You noticed your friends’ mommies had babies in their bellies; and yet, you never questioned why your sister was delivered to our door by a nice lady with brown hair. You just seemed to understand that your mommy does not grow babies in her belly.
Age 3 with sissy He was so excited to have a baby sister!
Year four was the year of music, Legos, and all things super-hero. You often dressed up, grabbed whatever sword you could find, hop on your big wheel, and ride through the house in an attempt to beat the bad guys. Sometimes you even sang songs about being a super-hero. One of the sweetest things you said to me was “Mommy, you are my super-hero.” When at home, you seemed to always have a drum stick and your dulcimer in hand. Your songs were also about rock stars, Jesus, Christmas, God, and of course, mommy. You performed just about every night for us. You would jump out of the closet, proclaim yourself as a rock star, spin around, then sing and strum away. My favorite song went like this:
I’m a little rock star…for Jesus…for Christmas…for God…and my family.
Here he comes! (I promise he has some form of clothing on)
Year five seemed to slip away so fast. You took your first airplane ride, went to a strange new place called Disney World, rode rides that overwhelmed your senses, and shook with excitement when meeting Buzz Light Year! Painting became a hobby for you and we discovered your natural ability as a gymnast. You graduated from preschool, got glasses, spent extra time with your Papa fishing on the lake, and started Kindergarten. You started referring to yourself as a “school-ager”.
He was so excited to meet Buzz!
Sometimes, I just sit back and watch the videos of you throughout the years. My eyes well up with tears at just how special you are and also at how swiftly time has gone by. I wish I could back and push a button to slow down time. I wish I would have kissed you just a bit more before night-night, or let you sing me one more silly song, or picked you up one more time when you said “holdu holdu“. You are starting to show your growth in the way you get just ever-so-slightly embarrassed if I try to kiss you around other kids. But, at the same time, you still reach for my hand and put your head on my lap when it is just the two of us.
God has blessed us so much by choosing us as your parents. You continue to amaze us, challenge us, stretch us, refine us, and love on us daily. You, my son, are a precious wonder. Happy, happy, happy birthday my sweet one…love you forever…
Thank You, Lord, For Giving Us Six Years of Happy
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This weekend I had the privilege of riding in a cycling event called the MS 150. Every year hundreds, if not a thousand or so cyclists make their way to a small town in southwest Missouri to complete a 150 mile bike ride. This is done to bring attention and raise funds for Multiple Sclerosis.
This was my third year riding in this event. I always seem to walk away from it with a great sense of accomplishment. It is also quite humbling to be cheered on at the start line by people who live daily with MS. This year, a woman with MS said to us, “When you get towards the last few miles and your legs are burning, just remember me saying Thank You. Just remember that you are riding for many of us who cannot.” Then, at the finish line, the same man every year, bound to his wheelchair, holds his hand out with a medal dangling from it. As one reaches for his or her medal, the man gently says “thank you”. It is quite humbling and I hope to ride in future 150’s.
This year though had even more of an impact on me, but for a different reason. This is the first year that the ride took us back to Joplin, MO after the deadly tornado which claimed the lives of so many in May 2011. Last year, the ride had to be rerouted and completely taken out of the Joplin area due to the devastation of the storm. I had been there about a week or so after the tornado struck, and was silenced by what I had seen. Cars with windshields blown out laying on top of each other, buildings that looked like they exploded by the force of a bomb, houses upon houses crumbled up like sticks, and trees stripped completely down to the bark. It was shocking. Just shocking. The city I live in is close to Joplin and we are so lucky that the storm did not rumble its way towards us.
Although my work has taken me back to Joplin a few times, I usually do not drive through the area where the destruction took place. This year, the MS committee planned the route specifically to take us through some of the path of the tornado. Before I entered this area, my legs were screaming, my mind was off in some other place, there was pain tucked right in between my shoulders, and I was ready to be done. I had been in the saddle for about seven hours, and my own “saddle” was telling me it was time to get off.
However, this changed when I entered the area where that beast of a storm stole normalcy from the lives of so many. The few trees that survived were mangled. Their bare branches looked like hands reaching towards the heavens in desperation. Others bent over, all leaning to one side; yet, fresh green leaves bushed out from whatever spot they could find.
As I got closer to the eerily flattened area where houses once stood, I thought about the families and children who once lived there. I imagined kickball being played in the streets, children swinging from swing sets, families walking their pet dogs or washing their cars. All of this wiped clean. Sure, there were new houses being built and definitely the vision of new growth could be seen, but I just kept thinking about how much destruction took place on those grounds. The names of streets had been painted on the roads. The ground was completely stripped of grass. There were partially crumbled buildings still being torn down. It just went on and on.
As I drew nearer to the “end” of the destruction zone, I became overwhelmed with emotion. I thought about the mothers who lost their babies, the babies who lost their daddies and mommies, and all the others who never woke again on this Earth to see the sun rise. All I could think was “so much destruction, so much despair.”
But there in that moment on my bike with nothing but my own thoughts, I realized, or at least was reminded, that the Lord is not a god of destruction. He is not a god of devastation. He is not a god of despair. He is the God of regrowth, rebirth, restoration, and life. He lifts up our heads. He carries us through the storms. He gives us life.
The next morning as 800 or cyclists gathered around to start day two of the cycling event, small Joplin flags were handed out to each of us. We placed them in our helmets, on our bikes, or held them in our hands as we rode through part of what was named “Memorial Miles”. With just the sound of wind, the breathing of fellow riders, and the hissing-like noises from spinning our wheels, we rode in silence in honor of those killed by the Joplin tornado and in honor of the courage it has taken for the city to rebuild.
This year the road to Joplin became more than just a cycling event that I love to participate in. Yes, it was done in an effort to support those struggling with Multiple Sclerosis. However, I left the event with Joplin on my mind. This weekend turned into a reminder of the blessing of health, of love, of family, of home, and of our incredible Heavenly Father who restores, renews, and leads us to Life.
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Thank you so much to Steve at Words to Love By for nominating my blog for the Traffic Raiser Blog Award and the Super Sweet Blogging Award. The “nod” is very nice and I really do appreciate it! The name of his blog basically says it all. We could all use many words to LOVE by! I encourage each of you to check it out.
I’m going to cheat a little though…hope that is okay. Instead of nominating what would be a total of 28 blogs for these two awards, I just want to say thank you for taking a little bit of time out of your days to read my blog posts. I also want to encourage fellow bloggers to keep up the great work of writing. I’ve read so many wonderful blogs and continue to be inspired by people, their lives, their stories, their missions, their grief, their creativity, and their faith.
Just this week during a conversation with a co-worker, I reported that it has been really good to see how many people are “out there” in the blog world sharing their stories, encouraging each other in their faith, reaching out to the least of these, and walking towards a life that is closer to God and gratitude. I am also amused by the wonder of creativity and ability as evidenced by the incredible writing, drawing, and photography that has crossed my path through these past few months of blogging.
Thanks again to Words to Love By for nominating me for two awards. I sincerely appreciate it!
Blessings to all!
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I thought I would share my son’s prayer the morning before we walked out the door heading to his first day at Kindergarten. It has been a few weeks since he said this prayer, but it still lingers in my mind and on my heart. I asked him if he would like to say a prayer for his first day at school and he said yes. I waited for his cue to see if he wanted me to say it, but instead, he chose to lead. It went like this:
Dear God,
Help me to make good choices at school. I want to be good. Help me Lord.
Amen
The prayer was straight to the point, had few words, but so meaningful. He knew what he wanted. He simply asked for it. He stated his desire to be good. He acknowledged his need for the Lord to help him.
I think a lot of us adults could learn a lesson or two in this…don’t you?
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Here is a brief part from my memoir I have stored away on my computer. I am getting closer to making a decision about trying to publish it, but in the meantime, I am finding that parts of it inspire me to write blog posts that are not necessarily even related to my story at all. This section is part of chapter two where I talk about the medical aspect of what occurred, as well as, my stay in the hospital.
There was an aquarium on the pediatric unit at the hospital that housed a Newt. When I was able to, I visited Newton (not sure if this really was his name or if I called him that on my own) just about every day. Our eyes would make contact, and I would stare at him in his fish bowl world wondering what he was thinking. I wished I could have jumped in the tank with him and swam around to escape. I too had people staring at me probably wondering what I was thinking or if I really understood what had happened. My hospital room had become my own fish bowl.
Although this is from a section of my story about the time in the hospital, I cannot help but think that we are all living in “fish bowls”. We tend to watch each others’ actions and form opinions based on how others are swimming around. When sad times make their way into life, we sometimes stand by and watch the reactions of people. Often, their reactions affect our responses.
What if instead of just standing there on the outside of the “tank”, we would all make a more committed effort to jump in and swim around a bit with those who are going through a difficult time? I wonder how many people could be eternally impacted if Christians would walk alongside people we differ from, or people who are grieving, or lonely, or homeless, or orphaned, or guilty, or addicted, or whatever else makes us think we are on one side while they are on the other.
I know it is cliché to say “what would Jesus do?”….but seriously, “What would Jesus do?” His life, as written in Scripture, depicts a Savior who walked with people most of us would stray from. His love is for everyone….everyone.We are all living life in a fish bowl. We watch others, and more importantly, others are watching us. I think it is time that Christians (including myself) stop wading in the shallow end of the pool with only those we are like, and jump in head first with those we are least like. After all…”What Would Jesus Do?
“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” – John 13:34
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Hello, it’s me again. You know…the little girl you once made to feel inadequate, the teenager you once strived to isolate, and the adult you almost accomplished stealing joy from. Well, I’m here to tell you what you cannot do.
You cannot diminish moments of laughter that echo in my mind for days following. You won’t determine my capacity to love other people and children. You no longer make me feel less of a female or parent or anything else you once tried to convince me of.
You don’t stalk me like you used to. I don’t think of you when I see babies anymore. I actually enjoy going to baby showers now. You used to tag along uninvited just to make me feel uncomfortable. You are not invited, anymore.
You no longer cause a wedge between me and the loving Father I believe in. You used to do that, you know. I used you as an excuse to not listen to Him. He is bigger than you will ever be. He reminds me what His plans are for my life, not yours.
You cannot take away forgiveness. You do not replace hope. You obviously offer very little grace, but I do not look to you for it anyway.
For the most part, you were one of my darkest secrets. I hid you away for so long. Funny thing now is that I’m exposing you to the world. You have become my motivation to write, to reach out, and to love.
At one time, I was incomplete. You filled an ever-growing void with even more sorrow, but not anymore. I will never use you again as a way to justify my lack of purpose or meaning in this life.
Dear infertility…this is not goodbye. I can still use you to be a more passionate person. I can still reminisce of you as a reminder to try and love my children more each day than I did the day before. I see you trying to pull others down and I recognize you right away. I use this as motivation for being a more genuine and empathetic listener. The tears I cry now are not for me, but for those of whom you are trying to take over.
Dear infertility…you have not stolen my ability to have a bountiful life. I have a full, rich life that involves children despite your attempt at taking that away. My life is no longer barren. You did not create a wasteland in me. Oh, I won’t forget you. How can I really? You have traveled with me the vast majority of my life, but you are not my life. Ironically, you have caused me to view life as being precious.
Dear infertility…this is not goodbye. This is me saying hello to all the things that you will never be.
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My children, if I could give you the world, I would. I would grab hold of the Earth, squeeze out the sourness, cruelty, hatred and pain, and then wrap it up in a tight bow and hand it to you. I would take an extra measure to carefully hand pick all the beauty and wonder that makes up the land we call home.
I would make sure the leaves of the trees are so fresh and green that you could smell them. The flowers would always be in bloom and the ocean would be filled with lavish fish that reflect the colors of the rainbows. The mountains would stand real high for you and the valleys would invite you to come explore them.
The sands of the desert would spell your names when you walk by. The tall grass of the plains would blow just enough in the wind to make you think they are whispering to you. The snowy and icy parts of this world would be comprised of the perfect snowman-making kind of snow. The jungles would be ripe with magnificent flowers made up of all your favorite colors. The animals would fill your eyes with splendor.
If I could go ahead of you each step of your lives to clear the path, I would. I would make it to where you never had to feel the sting of pain, the loss of love, and the agony of despair. Or if you did, it would only be the kind of pain that stretches and grows you into more whole beings. Your good dreams, the ones that leave you breathless with joy in the morning, would come to life and every spark of imagination would light a fire in you to create, live, and be anything you want to be.
You would find friendships in all places. Kindness would be the only word used to describe your interactions with others. Everyone would greet you with a smile and tell you how much you mean to this world. Empathy would be common-place and you would always have a shoulder to cry on. You would never struggle with addictions or anything else that diminishes who you really are. Faith, hope, and love would wrap around your bodies, encompass your hearts, and defend your minds.
I suppose I’m just like most mothers. I want to believe that I will always be just one step ahead of you leading and loving you along the way. I hope that the fond smells of home and the love you feel will never be far from you. I pray that visions of you dancing, laughing, and playing will always reflect in my eyes.
My children, if I could give you the world, I would.
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Hey, scar on my belly, you do not represent me. A doctor called you a “horror show” one time, but his words do not describe me. You are long and just plain ugly, but you do not characterize me.
You are a visual reminder of the war waged on me in my youth, but you do not represent me. You are simply flesh ripped apart and sewn back together by human hands. You depict a battle for my life, but I won. You are just one part of my infertility, but not the most important.
You have been with me nearly as long as I can remember, but you do not define me. I have been embarrassed of you. I have wished you away. You have reminded me of all of the pain I have been through, but you do not speak for me.
Your outward appearance does not hint to the inward conflict that has taken place physically, spiritually, and emotionally through the years. You do not speak, you do not breathe, and you do not love. You are just a symbol of a fateful moment in time long ago; a physical remnant of my life-changing event.
Hey, scars on His wrist, you represent me. Hey, wounds on His feet, you are because of me. The pain inflicted on Him should have been mine. He was scoffed at, called names, and torn apart by a battle not of His own. I have wished Him away, not trusted Him, and raged at Him; but still, His heart welcomes me.
Hey, scars on His wrist, you embody the physical, emotional, and spiritual freeing of me. His scars delineate a world not deserving of His grace. The ugliness of His death portrays the beauty of His forgiveness. His wounds speak of great passion, and His pain screams mercy.
He is the past, present, and future. He is the most important moment in time. His words were of compassion, and His breath of love.
His Love,
His Life,
His Scars,
His Sacrifice,
His Forgiveness,
His Resurrection,
my gain.
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God deserves an Oscar! The way He scripts, produces, and directs our lives is better than just about any Hollywood version of the latest headline or novel. He has written us with great richness. His works are emotive. His set (the world) is extraordinary, and his story-lines are filled with drama, passion, love, and loss.
I love the thought that adoption is a predestination set out by God Almighty. It is truly awe-inspiring to know that while I was still being formed in the womb, He had already written the script of my life and my children were written into it. Talk about having a purpose and a design! It is almost unfathomable to think about it. Yes, sad and tragic things had to happen in all of our lives so that we would be together, but God knew what He was doing. The fact is that we all are together and that is good enough for my soul.
I am filled with wonder every time I think about my children and their lives. How are their lives going to affect others? Will they adopt or foster children? Will they trudge through uncharted territories to reach the “unreachable”? I hope so. If their mission field is here at home or in a far-off corner of the world, I pray they grow up with the knowledge that God has designed them with a passion and the whole word in their runway.
For the most part, this aspect of my life – the medical/barren part – has always been something I’ve kept to myself. I’m learning though that the more I speak about it, the more I write about it, and the more I share it with others; the more God reveals to me…not just about myself but more importantly about Him. I used to wonder what my purpose was. Why in the world would He allow me to lose the ability to have babies? I don’t think that anymore. I know now that my story – better yet – His story written for my life, is exactly what it is supposed to be. My children are proof that God’s plan is perfect, His will intentional, and His mercy never-failing. My God has truly blessed me through all of the suffering.
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BARREN TO BLESSED 