Category: General

Don’t Lose Sight of Your Vision

Keep Calm

These past few weeks have been somewhat of a blur for me.  I went on a min-vacation with some friends, our school year has ended, and our summer schedule has begun.  In many ways, I’ve felt a little “blah” about most things.

Recognizing these feelings has caused me to do some introspection about my life. I’ve thought about ending this blog, disengaging from social media, and giving up on personal goals.  I’ve wondered where God is, and why in the world do I feel like He has not been listening to me, or perhaps, why I have not been listening to Him.  Oh, my.  We are vulnerable, aren’t we?

At a staff chapel this past week (yes, we have chapel at my job!), the Pastor spoke about having a vision for our lives, and  immediately, this caused my heart to stir.  He reminded us of the importance of hanging on to our visions, praying over them, giving them to God, and realizing that the Enemy wants to destroy our vision.  He also talked about spiritual warfare when it comes to our feelings of giving up what we feel God has laid on our hearts to complete in life.

Every time the Enemy is mentioned, I immediately go back to what I felt growing up knowing I would not have biological children, wondering about motherhood, and tasting the bitterness of confusion and despair.  It seems like a lifetime ago, but in reality, these feelings and thoughts were an ever-present part of most of my life.  I never believed I would ever tell anyone my inner thoughts about life, especially barrenness.  I’m not one to over-spiritualize everything, but man, I’m so glad that I happened to be in the office the day this Pastor came to share and encourage us.  It was one of those moments when you feel like the message was meant just for you.

I needed the reminder that we are engaged in a war.  This war is not a physical one.  It is a spiritual one.  There is an ever-present need for continual prayer for our children, our spouses (if married), our communities, our nations, our neighbors who are considered the outcasts of society,and for ourselves.

Over the past few weeks, I have not felt the need to write, and in some ways, lost the desire.  I’ve wondered if I’m done speaking my history of barrenness to the world, and if it is time to close this chapter of my life.  However, the reality is that in the end it does not matter the size of an audience, nor the popularity, likes, followers, and shares that  we have.  What matters is that we wrap our lives with authenticity, humility, and the tenacity to focus with the full measure of what it is to be a believer.  I’ve also been reminded that my children deserve for me to be faithful and fully present.

The Enemy tried with great effort to make me feel as though the Lord had forgotten about me, and that He was no longer listening to my prayers.  However, my heart continually submerges into the ocean of Grace, and I know that I am not a forsaken or jilted child.

And, neither are you.

Friends, if you have lost sight of your personal dreams, feel as if the Lord has forsaken you, have hit a wall with your creative pursuits, or if you are wallowing in despair, hang on to the Weaver of dreams.

Don’t give up.

Don’t lose heart.

Your story does matter.  Don’t stop telling it.  Don’t believe for one second that your life is not a testimony.  Share your dreams, your wonderful creativity, your eye for fantastic images, and your brilliance with words.  Don’t lose sight of your vision.

What’s God going to say to my questions? I’m braced for the worst.
    I’ll climb to the lookout tower and scan the horizon.
I’ll wait to see what God says,
    how he’ll answer my complaint.

And then God answered: “Write this.
    Write what you see.
Write it out in big block letters
    so that it can be read on the run.
This vision-message is a witness
    pointing to what’s coming.
It aches for the coming—it can hardly wait!
    And it doesn’t lie.
If it seems slow in coming, wait.
    It’s on its way. It will come right on time.”

Habakkuk 2:1-2

 

 

 

There’s Something About Grief

Today snuck up on me.  Or, maybe I should say that yesterday snuck up on me.  Yesterday, April 6th, was the birthday of my cousin Kelly who passed away nearly twenty years ago at the age of twenty-three.  To be honest, I’ve been a crazy person this week.  With activities for the kiddos, work stuff, and the regular rigmarole of life, I only thought of it being Kelly’s birthday a few times.  Until today.

There’s something about grief that doesn’t seem to go away.

It sneaks up on you, catches you by surprise, and for a moment, you are back in the world of reliving what life would have or could have been like if one of your favorite persons was still walking on Earth.

Grief caught up to me today.  In the car.  Driving on a busy road. Tears streaming down my face.  Wishing she was here so that we could scavenge the ground of parenting together.  I found myself longing to see her smile, hear her laughter, and giggle at the things that the two of us found so amusing.

Kelly would be forty-three-years-old this year.  Who knows what her life would be like, but I’d like to think that it would be one full of children (she loved them, so).  She would probably have a gaggle of kittens and pups that she rescued.  Her yard would be covered in tulips (her favorite flower).  I’m sure she would still enjoy a big ‘ole iced tea and the Sunday newspaper. In my mind, she’s still twenty-three, wearing baby doll dresses, hitting the flea markets, rooting for the underdog, loving tulips, and struggling with the issues she faced.

There’s something about grief that keeps us locked in time.

Shortly after she passed, I had a dream.  The two of us were driving, windows down, music blaring, huge smiles, and no words.  It was our “Thelma and Louise” moment.  Kelly, dressed in all white, the sun kissing her face, her eyes sparkling with light, and the wind whipping through her hair, looked at me, looked towards the sun, and smiled a smile that kissed her cheekbones.

It may sound odd, but I’ve prayed about dreaming of her again.  I’ve longed to see her alive in my dreams, to converse with her, to share laughter, and to just be us.  But…these dreams have not come…not since 1996.

Forty-three years ago, my cousin, one of my first friends, and my best friend was born into the world.  Twenty years ago, she left.  My last visual of her was in the dream, smiling, laughing, happy, and free.

There’s something about grief.  There’s also something about life.  Each time I see a tulip, I think of her.  I think of life, and how precious it is.

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Finally! (little meme about a big announcement)

 

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Our youngest child has finally decided that he is done with diapers, and moving onto bigger things…like pull-ups and going potty in the Pirate Potty Seat!  I had to announce this.  No more diapers for this Mama to change!

For all of the Mama’s out there still changing diapers and/or starting the process of potty-training, I salute you.  Hang in there.  Our little guy will be four in July.  FOUR IN JULY…and just started potty-training.  With Kindergarten in the not-too-distant future, I was starting to get a little anxious.

My “babies” are all growing up.  It is so incredible and challenging to watch children bloom into themselves.  What an honor and a reminder that parenting needs to be intentional, full of determination, and saturated with humor.  ‘Tis the reason for this meme…

We.Are.Straight.Outta.Diapers.  

Yay!

 

 

5 Things Every Adoption Social Workers Wants to tell to Hopeful Adoptive Parents {Adoption.com article}

Recently, I wrote an article for Adoption.com regarding five things adoption social workers want to tell to hopeful adoptive parents.  It was really difficult to list just five things, as there are so many facets and nuggets of wisdom that social workers can share with families!

From my experience both working in the field and as an adoptive parent, I narrowed down to the five things that I feel are most important for hopeful adoptive families to be aware of and consider.  You can read the article by clicking on the link below:

5 Things Every Adoption Social Workers Want to tell to Hopeful Adoptive Parents

If you are a social worker in the field of adoption, what advice do you give to adoptive parents?  If you are an adoptive parent (or hoping to be one soon), what is the best advice you have been given by a social worker?  I’m curious to hear your thoughts!

Blessings,

Caroline

Family Whose Video Went Viral Shares Their Story {Adoption.com Article}

Have you seen it?  There’s a video of a couple meeting their adoptive newborn son for the first time floating around on Facebook, and boy, it is quite moving.  After watching it, I reached out to the adoptive agency the family worked with, and asked if I could contact them for an interview for an article on Adoption.com.

The family agreed, and the link below is for the article.  I absolutely loved hearing the backstory to the emotional and loving video.  It confirmed to me what I have always known.  Behind every story of adoption, there is loss, fortitude, hope, and love.  

Take just a moment to read it:

Family Whose Placement Video Went Viral Shares Their Story

Blessings,

Caroline

This is how I remember Childhood {illness doesn’t do that}

The breeze, the sun, the smell, and the blanket.  The blue skies on top of me, and the green grass below.  This is how I remember childhood…laying down on a blanket surrounded by the outside and looking up in the skies.  The warm sun kissed my face, and the breeze wrapped itself around my skin.  My eyes full of wonder as I imagined dragons, birds, and all sorts of things formed by the billowing, fluffy clouds that captured my sight.

Mom’s baked goods coming fresh out of the oven. Sweet morsels filled with sugar, and love.  This is how I remember childhood…knowing that I was deeply loved, and that Mom could whip up just about anything out of nothing, but it all tasted so good.

Dancing, the smell of the studio, tights and leotards, blisters on my feet, and the laughter of my dancing friends.  This is how I remember childhood…sweet memories of performing,  and dance teachers applauding and critiquing.  Dancing filled my head with dreams, and my soul with passion.

The records, the station wagon, Friday nights at the skating rink, and racing Big Wheels up and down the street.  Neighborhood streets with children playing kickball, the sound of crickets, and coming inside when the sun kissed the Earth goodnight.  This is how I remember childhood…carefree, adventurous, independent, and fun.

Sickness, needles, doctors, machines bleeping, white sheets, blood, in and out of consciousness, surgery, more surgery, bad news, terrible news…this is also how I remember childhood.  Strength, prayer, the power to overcome, the persistence of parents, and the love that enveloped my life before illness took hold, and after, also depict the script of my life.

When serious illness strikes a child down, it sure does its best to erase the goodness that came before.  It doesn’t, though.  All of the cherished times become just that…more cherished, sweeter, and fondly remembered.

In my life, when I think about my childhood, my mind does not automatically go back to the hospital and illness.  No.  It goes back to the warm breeze, the sun, Mom’s goodies, the dance studio, the rink, and the streets filled with children and crickets.  This is how I remember childhood.

I suspect, or at least I hope, that the same is for anyone who has experienced a traumatic illness in childhood.  Illness cannot capture all that came before.  It does not do that.

Remember that.  

Remember the good, the great, and the laughter.  Remember friendships, family, and fun.

Remember that illness does not dictate who you truly are.

Remember, illness doesn’t do that.

 

 

Just Another Open Letter to Mr. Trump

Author note:  I try not to get political on social media or with this blog, but right now, I just can’t let this not escape my heart.  

Mr. Trump,

I keep hearing you say, “Let’s make America great again!”  No offense, but seriously, if there is anyone who can say that America is not great, it certainly is not you.  After all, you inherited a fortune that most of us hardworking individuals will NEVER earn in our entire lifetimes, you have multiple homes, successful businesses, and every luxury one would want at your disposal.  You even have the audacity to say that you could shoot someone and still find support.  The rest of us could not say that…nor would we.

I also hear you remind people, a lot, that you are rich.  Well, sir, we know that.  We understand that you are wealthy, but are you rich?  How do you count your riches?  If I counted my riches by the standard of yours, then I am certainly impoverished.  However, I do not.  I count my riches by the depth of my relationships with others, the faithfulness of my husband of nearly fifteen years, the love of my children, the faith that I cling to, and the moments of generosity poured out by many.

At my children’s school, there are refugee children from Myanmar (Burma).  My daughter has shared with me many words of their native tongue.  She is learning about their culture, why they needed to come to our county, and has become close friends with one of the girls.  Recently, at the school book fair, she asked me if I could buy her friend a book.  I agreed to do it, and walked with her to give the book to the girl.  Upon seeing it, this little girl with broken English, grabbed my daughter, hugged her tightly, and smiled from ear-to-ear.

This is what I count as wealth.  This is richness.   This is what makes America great.    

I fear that if it were up to you, Mr. Trump, then my children would never have the opportunity to experience the gift of meeting others who seek a safe harbor in our country. I fear that if you become our leader, the mantra of greed, what we should consider as wealth, and the rhetoric of bullying that you seem to love, will become our language.  And, this is leap years away from what I want my children to learn.  You are not who I want my children to look up to.

You keep saying, “Let’s make America great again!”  Well, I believe our country is already great, and it has been for a very long time.  We have problems, of course, like any other country, but we are still a great nation.  Those who have forgotten this should consider truly walking in the shoes of many in far off lands who struggle.

Our greatness is shown when we welcome others who are different than us.  It is witnessed when we step out and worship how, and if, we choose to.  It is evidenced by how we, as a nation, stand together during tragic times.  It is exemplified time and again when we navigate into troubled waters to pour into other people through the spirit of volunteerism and empathy, and it is demonstrated by the hard work ethic that our country has.

When I hear you boast about your richness, I shake my head.  There are many of us who are choosing each day to NOT live in fear, to walk with LOVE, to WELCOME others, to invite PEACE over violence, to LISTEN instead of yell, and to EMBRACE the DIVERSITY of this blessed nation.

Mr. Trump,

This is what I count as wealth.  This is richness.   This is what makes America great.  

Sincerely,

A concerned Mom who decided to write just another open letter to you

Effort and Empathy

During our foster parenting years, people would often say to me, “I don’t know how you can do this…how you can love the babies and get attached while not knowing if they are going to stay.”

I didn’t have the most eloquent responses back then, and I’m not sure if I even do now, but I do know that it is possible to love, and possibly let go.  It is possible to show care, concern, and respect to biological parents whose children you are caring for.  Not only is it possible, it is essential.  It is also essential to remember that children in foster care should return to their biological families if it is safe for them to do so.

While fostering our children (that we were able to eventually adopt), I always kept in my mind the thoughts of how I would feel if I were in the biological parents’ place.

Would I want to know that my children were being cared for in the most loving manner?

Yes.

Would I want to feel supported?

Yes.

Would I want foster parents to know that the goal of reunification is vital?

Absolutely, yes.

My mantra became, “It’s not about you.”  I spent many nights praying for all involved in their cases (biological parents, case workers, attorneys, court officials).  I also got up each day knowing that everything I offered to the children should be the best of who I am and what I believe.

So, I guess, this is how I did it.  This is how I survived the unknowns, ups and downs, and day-to-day challenges of my foster parenting journey.

In life, effort and empathy are essential.  In fostering parenting, they are as well.

Trust. Do. Breathe.

I’ve been feeling a little under the weather lately with a typical, and seemingly annual, February upper respiratory crud that gets passed around my family.  Instead of letting it get to point of being really sick, I preemptively went to my doctor in hopes of getting medicine to combat this looming illness.  The visit started a little bit like this,

Doctor:  “Caroline, what is going on with you?”

Me:  “Well, I have this cough and congestion, and I’m just so busy right now with work, running the kids to their various activities, going out of town for gymnastics meets, training…I don’t have time to be sick… and…”

Doctor:  “Okay, stop.  Take three deep breaths…”

Me:  (inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale)…”I know…I know…”

Doctor:  “You seem a little stressed.”

The rest of the appointment was spent discussing how moms sometimes let ourselves get run down because we are, well, just running too much.

This morning, as I was getting ready for work and loading up my snacks to take the office, I noticed my “to-do” list hanging on the refrigerator.  I paused for a moment, flipped to a new page, and then wrote:

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It seems rather simple, doesn’t it?  To simply and devotedly trust God not just in the big things, but also in the mundane acts of life is essential, but often fleeting.  To wake up with the desire to do the best we can, only to be met with the weight of comparison and the exhaustive feelings that more can be done, deduces us to consider if we are really giving it our best.  To breathe…deeply…is also so needed, but oh my, how quickly and rapidly the errands of life can cut our breath short.

I wish life could be as simple as the “to do” list I wrote today.  Maybe it can be. Maybe, just focusing on these three things each day will spill over into other experiences.

Trust.  Do.  Breathe.

Instead of writing out the things I need to do on my list tomorrow, perhaps I will write:

REPEAT

 

 

Embrace What Is

I’ve had this thought a lot lately:

“Don’t yearn for what should or might have been. Embrace what is.”

Random, I know, but relevant.

Do you yearn for what should have been? Do you wonder what might have been? Do you find it hard to embrace what is?

It is easy to get caught in this trap of “should have, would have, could have”, but I believe that kind of thinking tends to lean us away from God, not towards Him.

Sure, there are plenty of moments in life where I have thought about what might have come if I had made different choices, or had not experienced my illness and subsequent barrenness, but I don’t ever want to yearn for those things.

Instead, I choose to embrace what is. I’m alive. I have a family that consists of a faithful and able-to-handle-my-craziness husband, and I have three unique, spirited, and precious children that I am truly blessed to call mine. I want to continue yearning for the Lord and what He is teaching me during my walkabout on Earth.

“Don’t yearn for what should or might have been. Embrace what is.”

This is a challenge, my friend. Look around at your life. Consider how all the puzzle pieces seem to fit together. Rejoice in the orchestra of life that the Lord has created and conducted just for you.

Hold with hope what is to come.

Embrace what is.