7 Billion Ones {photography/storytelling project}

In the latter part of 2015, I had the wonderful opportunity of meeting photographer Randy Bacon, and his sweet wife, Shannon.  They invited me to be a part of their amazing movement/project/mission called “7 Billion Ones”.  Their goal is to excite others in believing that “Your Story Matters”, and to instill inspiration through images and words.

I am not a person who takes a ton of selfies, and I certainly don’t like to have my picture taken, but the purpose and validation through this cause was well worth stepping in front of the lens.  My purpose for being in it was this:  to share my story so that others in similar circumstances can be inspired to never give up.

Even if I only have an audience of one, but that one person is moved to encouragement by my story, then it is well worth it.  We never know how sharing ourselves with others can directly impact lives.

You can check out my story by clicking the link below.  Spend some time exploring all of the stories on the 7 Billion Ones website.  I promise you will find a great deal of inspiration from the multitude of others who have stood in front of the camera and told their stories.

7 Billion Ones Story

And, dear friends, keep telling your own stories.  Our lives, full of characters, drama, sadness, and joy, are what makes this big ‘ole world go round.  You never know how your story will affect others; even if it is only an audience of one.

Blessings,

Caroline

When Life Tosses Us Around {my dream last night}

I had a dream last night where I was driving in a van alongside a cliff, and suddenly lost control, rolled down the side of the mountain, hitting trees along the way, and screaming, “Jesus!  God!  Father!  Keep me safe.  Help me.  Give me a soft landing!”  As the van slid to a stop in a soft muddy pile, I was alive, barely bruised, and so incredibly thankful.  I told someone that I called out to God to save me and give me a soft landing, and He did just that.

I woke up from the dream, felt my body just to make sure it was there, looked at my husband, and wiped a slight tear away.  In the quiet aftermath of a loud dream, I soaked in what it meant, and silently praised the Lord for it.  And then it hit me.  The dream was so incredibly metaphoric of life.

We drive along, going about our usual way, when “BAM” the road gives way and we are just falling endlessly towards chaotic uncertainty.  Bouncing violently through traumatic and difficult times, it is often uncertain where we will land.  Our bodies scream out in pain, our minds are filled with terror, and our hearts anxiously await for the Lord to grab hold of us and softly place us back down on solid ground.

I thought about this dream all day.  Ever since early childhood, I have always had very visual and sensory-filled dreams.  Often, my dreams seem somewhat of the spiritual nature, or at least, a lesson of faith is learned from them.  Some have been incredibly calming, while others have called into question where my faith really stands.  Either way, I view them as a gift.  This particular dream reminded me that, similar to the battered van, our bodies, minds, and hearts can get torn by what life throws at us.  However, when life tosses us around, the Lord is capable of soothing our souls, carrying us through the storms, and giving us a soft landing.

Thank you, Jesus.  Thank you.

Psalm 3:4 -I cried aloud to the LORD,  and he answered me from his holy hill.  Selah

Psalm 34:17-  When the righteous cry for help, the LORD hears and delivers them out of all their troubles.

Psalm 50:15- …call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you shall glorify me.

 

Things I’d Like to see End in 2016

With the start of the New Year, I’m already seeing posts/memes/etc about what trends or things that need to end in 2016 such as the man bun, and the word “bae”. Honestly, I can think of more important things that I’d like to see end in 2016:

homelessness
domestic violence
terror
the orphan crisis (millions, literally)
physical abuse, neglect, and sexual abuse of children
meth addiction
broken homes
loneliness
prejudice
hatred
hunger
fatherless families
motherless families
cancer
random acts of violence
suicide
heroin usage
alcoholism
greed
poverty
hopelessness
spiritual depravity

So, yeah. I’m totally okay with the man bun, and the use of the word “bae”.

Dad’s War Story {in honor of Veteran’s Day}

DadBefore this week of honoring Veterans slips away, I’d like to say that I am proud of my dad for serving in the Marines during the Vietnam War. The picture is of my dad and sister.

I’ve asked Dad more than a few times if he would share his war story with me as I’d like to put it in writing, but he has declined. He doesn’t like to think about it, and in his words, “No one would be interested.” I’ll share just a bit of it, though.

At 19-yrs-old, Dad was drafted as a Reserve to serve in Vietnam during the TET Offensive. During his time in the jungle, he watched his best buddies die from dysentery, saw first hand what military assault rifles do to the human body, exposed to Agent Orange, and “slept” in a foxhole night after night during torrential rains.

During one night in a hole, helicopters flew over and dropped strawberries. The berries were not fresh, and not that safe for human consumption, but they were food. In Dad’s words, “We would crawl on our hands and knees in the mud to get the berries, and then crawl back into the hole. We knew as soon as we ate them, we would get sick, but nothing was going to stop us from tasting the sweetness of those berries.”

My dad was blown out of a bunker by a grenade, and landed on the jungle floor with a broken back. He was there, helpless, for almost a full day before anyone could get to him. Can you imagine? At 19-yrs-old? He ended up in a military hospital in Europe for several months until he was able to come home. Dad earned a Purple Heart for his service.

My Dad does not use the computer very often, and is not on any form of social media. I’m pretty sure he would roll his eyes at me (and maybe share a few choice words) if he knew I was posting this, but I think his story matters.

Vietnam Veterans did not get the credit they deserved when returning upon war. My Dad is one of the lucky ones. He came back to his family, was able to work, made a living as a professional fisherman, and eventually started his own business. We all know there are way too many Vets (especially Vietnam Vets) who are homeless, and were never able to enjoy the things in life that my dad has. Surely, there is more that this country can do.

The next time you get frustrated by the rain, or upset that the fresh fruit you just bought at the local store isn’t that fresh, just remember, at least you are not sleeping in a foxhole.

The Marks of Life {Our Stories Matter}

I came home after tending to a foster/adoptive parent recruitment booth at a local church’s celebration of Orphan Sunday, and found my husband squirting something around our wooden dining room table.  I paused for a moment and said, “Um…is that toothpaste?”

20151108_185122Before he could answer, I saw what was under the paste.  Our 3-yr-old apparently decided that the table needed a little “design” to it, and decided to draw swirly marks up and down the entire table with a black, permanent magic marker.

My husband was furiously scrubbing the paste into the wood in hopes that the ink would lift.  The paste lifted the ink a bit, but you can still see the markings.

Surprisingly, I really was not that upset about it.  Even now as I stare at the table, I kind of think the marks give it character, and adds to stories I can tell in later years about the antics of our children.

I cannot help but to think about the comparison of our marked up, slightly battered, but full-of-character dinner table to our own stories as human beings.  There are days when all is well.  Not a mark is left on us, and we rest our heads in peace. There are other days when we stumble into the paths of others whose intent is to hurt us, thus leaving marks on our hearts.  We revel in good health, and wonderful relationships, and then suddenly the good health and the people we love leave.

Although healing does come, scars have been left on our lives.  The pain fades, but there is still that twinge of remembrance that is left on our souls.  Our stories involve so many moments where our lives have been interrupted by trauma, hurt, sickness, loneliness, and despair.  However, our stories also embrace moments of laughter, kindness, courage, love, and hope.

Within each of our stories are moments that completely capture the essence of what it is to be human.  This, my friends, is what I see as the beauty of life.  Like the markings on my table that might never fully go away, the nicks on our lives also may never leave us, but they definitely enrich us.

Do not be afraid of your marks.  Share your stories with others.  Celebrate your ability to overcome and endure.  Do not be ashamed.  The scars of your lives might just carry the determination that others desperately need.

More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. -Romans 5:35

This Mountain {It is Well}

20150910_113703I tend to over think things at times, and often find metaphors in unlikely places, things, and activities.  In September, we had our roof replaced.  Our roof was very worn by the years, and in desperate need of attention. As the laborers started to scrape off the worn and damaged shingles of our roof, I noticed how loud it was.

Piece by piece, shingle by shingle, the old roof disappeared leaving the bare exterior below.  The act of removing the roof was a nuisance and disrupted our morning routine, but I reminded myself of the new roof that we have to look forward to.

As I left our home and headed out of the house, I looked into the dumpster and saw this pile of what was once our old roof.  I thought about the “skin” of old wounds, troubled times, and heart-breaking circumstances that we have all had to rid ourselves of.  It is painful to permanently remove the war-torn parts of us, and it is a challenge to dig out the crud and waste of the remnants of our despairs.

We scrape.

We rip.

We weep.

We toil until, piece-by-piece, the wound is gone and in its place, newness is revealed.

Before I snapped the picture of the mountain of old shingles, I shared the song “It is Well” by Bethel Music on my blog’s Facebook page.  The song is so incredibly moving.  Every time I hear it, I pause for a bit and soak up the full measure of God’s faithfulness.  There is a particular section of the song that tends to both remind me of what I’ve been through, but also infuse my soul with the truth and promise of God’s grace:

“Far be it from me to not believe,
Even when my eyes can’t see.

And this mountain that’s in front of me,
Will be thrown into the midst of the sea.”

This mountain….my mountain….YOUR mountain…whatever it is, will be moved.  It will be tossed out of your vision.  It will no longer block the beauty that yearns to be revealed.  God’s faithfulness and sovereignty is a promise for all of us.

Like the old shingles of my roof that have faced many storms, our past hurts, if tended to, honored, and eventually removed, not only reveal the softness of what is within us, but can also become a foundation for what is to come.

Do not allow your history to determine your future, but do not deny that history, either.  Our histories, hurts, and heartbreak are each part of the symphony of our lives, and are a part of who we are.

After all of the dust has settled from a life interrupted by illness, challenges, and loss, my heart continues to sing:

“Far be it from me to not believe,
Even when my eyes can’t see.

And this mountain that’s in front of me,
Will be thrown into the midst of the sea.”

To listen to this amazing song, click here:  It is Well Bethel Music

Do Not Fear {in the midst of barrenness}

During a sermon at church a few months ago, my pastor told the audience that he had met someone during the week who is really close to “giving up on God”.  When he asked her why, she said, “infertility.”  She then went on to say that she questions why God would allow infertility in her life.

When he said the word “Infertility”, I felt a chill of sorts run through me.  I stiffened up a bit, and wondered if any eyes were looking at me.  The more I listened to him, the more I was reminded that not only is infertility an emotional and physical battle, it is also a spiritual battle.

What is it about that word that makes me still feel so uncomfortable?  I suspect that it feels like a label of sorts.  My efforts in earlier life to understand what all barrenness encompasses was dreadfully challenging.  People who have been diagnosed as infertile understand that it is more than just a diagnosis.  It is an uninvited guest in their lives.  It is consuming, and holds power.  It sweeps the rug from under their feet.  It becomes their new normal.  And, it is painful; woefully painful.

I recall feeling that God must surely have thought I would make a horrible mother.  I also remember questioning, with sorrowful confusion, about why I was left out of the incredible gift of pregnancy and birthing a child.  I used to think, “I only have one life here on Earth, and I am missing out on one of the most beautiful endeavors that a woman experiences.  Why would God allow this?”

Growing up in the midst of barrenness taught me so many lessons about life.  It also tried to form a wedge (and succeeded for a while) between me and the loving Father that I had come to store my faith in as a child.  I truly feel infertility is one of the most misunderstood, all-consuming, complex, and spiritually challenging experiences that one faces in life.

As I sit here on the other side of life without kids, I now know that barrenness is just a technical part of who I am.  It is just a blip on the radar of what my life really is.

Medically speaking, I am barren, but spiritually speaking, I am now far from it.

The adoption of my children and the path that led me to them drew me closer to the Lord, not away from Him.  It took many years to get me here, though.

If you know someone who is experiencing infertility, pray for them.

  • Pray for clarity in their situation.  
  • Pray for fortitude as they face so many unknowns.
  • Pray for them to see, feel, and hear God in the midst of their distress.
  • Pray for their sweet spirits; may they not be dampened by their despair. 
  • Pray for a miracle – I still believe in them.

If you are experiencing infertility, my hope and prayer is that one day it will all make sense, and that you will look upon it like a distant memory of your life.  I do not know if adoption is the right choice you should make, but I do know that is it your choice and your right to decide if and when you are going to jump into adoption.

Adoption of my children definitely fulfilled my life-long quest for an answer and happy ending to barrenness.  I no longer grieve.  Instead, I find delight in the story that was written for me, and for the incredible, emotional journey that carried me to my children, and to a deeper understanding of our Savior.

Friends, I wish the same for you.

So do not fear, for I am with you;
    do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
    I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

-Isaiah 41:10

Is my Daddy here, yet? {innocent words caught up in corrupt world}

I was heading back into the office after lunch and ran into a foster mom dropping a little girl off for a visit with her biological father.  The girl, with big eyes, curly hair, and absolutely adorable, caught my attention.

“Is my Daddy here, yet?”

This little girl, not more than five-years-old, asked repeatedly if her daddy had arrived.  She then said,

“Is my Daddy here, yet?  I need to find him.”

After hearing that, my heart and thoughts immediately began to ring out: “This is not the way it is supposed to be.”

I have thought about this precious little baby all day.  Still thinking about her.  I’m not even sure if her daddy showed up for his visit, and honestly, I don’t want to know.  I don’t want to find out if he, for whatever reason, could not come.  I’d rather think that he did show, and that he played and loved on her with the time he was allowed to.

I’ve heard that child welfare workers like myself build a “wall” to what we witness.  I don’t know if it is a wall, or not.  I do know that whatever it is that we build…resilience, wall…whatever you want to call it…does not keep us from feeling the heart-break of the work at hand.

This isn’t how it is supposed to be.  Babies should not be asking where their fathers are.  It is upsetting to be a first-hand witness to it.  It is far easier to think in terms of case numbers, but when I am face-to-face with the actual face of a child going through it, I feel anger.  It makes me sad.  Quite frankly, it pisses me off.

No wall, or defense, or resilience, could ever prepare or secure our hearts from being a little punctured when we witness what we witness, and when we are faced with what our eyes and ears experience.

After thinking about this little girl looking for her daddy, I started to think about my relationship with my Earthly Dad, and my Heavenly Father.  My Earthly Dad has supported me, and as I have grown through the years, I have become mightily aware of just how important this is.

When it comes to my Heavenly Father, I have often wondered, “Where are You?  I need to find You.”  And now that I’m fully immersed in child welfare, I still find myself thinking this when I consider all of the horribly wrong situations that so many children and families find themselves in.

The truth that I feel in my heart is that the Lord is present in each of these moments, but I still wonder why He doesn’t intervene when we wish He would.  I question why He would allow for children to go through what they go through, why there are orphans in this world, and why adults find their only refuge in drugs and despair.

As a Christian, as a mother, and as a child welfare professional, I am always in a place of growing, stretching, and yearning for what the Lord is trying to teach me through the burdens of the day.  I seem to be always “waiting on Him”, but then I am brought back to the Cross.  I am fully reminded that He is already all I need.

The fact that my job demand is based on the abuse and neglect of children weighs heavy on my heart.  I suspect other child welfare workers feel this way, as well.

“Is my Daddy here yet?  I need to find him.”

These innocent, yet heartbreaking words from a precious little one caught up in the turmoil of this spinning world, stuck to me.  How could they not?

“Where are You, Daddy?  We need to find You.”

Perhaps, this is what we should all be speaking.  

How Adoption Fulfilled the Restless Spirit in Me

Hello, friends!  I was recently asked to write an article for Adoption.Com regarding what adoption has fulfilled in me.  I thought long and hard about it, and came up with several things that has fulfilled my heart, and has satisfied my soul since becoming a parent.

Considering it all, I decided to write about how adoption settled and fulfilled the sense of restlessness in my spirit.  The article is linked below.

“With the final pounding of the Judge’s gavel, my restless spirit seemed to take its final breath. It poured out in the tears that streamed down my face while the Judge announced that this child was mine.”

http://adoption.com/how-adoption-fulfilled-the-restless-spirit-in-me

What has adoption fulfilled in you?

Oh, You of Little Faith {big things can come from small beginnings}

It was just a stick with a few leaves (and that may be generous to say) when my husband planted what he called a “tree” in the ground.  I laughed at it.  I said, “That stick is not a tree!”  My husband watered it, spoke of high aspirations for it, and tried to convince me that with time, and once the roots have dug in, that little stick would become a tree.

This was several years ago, and indeed, that little stick with just a few leaves grew into a healthy, and vibrant tree.  My husband likes to remind me of how little faith I had in that tree to ever settle roots and grow into something of beauty.

When I look upon it, I often think about our own lives, and how we sometimes possess little faith that anything of substance will grow out of measly beginnings. When we look at people or situations that seem deprived of any hope, it is quite hard to imagine how powerful, beautiful, or strong that person or situation just might turn out to be.

I also think about the necessity of nurturing roots. This necessity does not just stop with plant and tree life.  It also is vital for the growth and development of human beings.  How many times have we all said, “That child will not grow up to be anything”, or “That person will not change”?  

How many children are trying to survive in soil that lacks nutrition? 

God’s Word says,

 And he told them many things in parables, saying: “A sower went out to sow.  And as he sowed, some seeds fell along the path, and the birds came and devoured them.  Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and immediately they sprang up, since they had no depth of soil, but when the sun rose they were scorched.  And since they had no root, they withered away.  Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them.  Other seeds fell on good soil and produced grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty.”

Matthew 13:3-9

Scripture not only instructs us on the importance of setting roots in good soil, it also speaks to us about the importance of faith.

He asked them, “Why are you afraid, you who have little faith?” Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm.

Matthew 8:26

When facing difficult situations in life, it is important that we do not dwell on the beginning.  We should be encouraged to consider the future, but consider it with hope.  Something I have learned throughout my life, especially dealing with the trauma of my illness and subsequent barrenness, is that if we knew the outcome to every situation, or if we could know what happens in the future, faith would not be important.

Where would faith be in our lives?  Or, better yet, what would faith mean to us?

I suspect that our faith would become a secondary commitment, or more like a hobby, instead of a necessity.  I question if it would even exist.

When I look upon that tree that my husband planted many years ago (I can call it a tree now), the words, “Oh, you of little faith” tend to ring out in my ears.  I remember the planting of that nearly barren stick, my laughing at my husband’s hope for its growth, and how my husband tended to it.  And, I am reminded time and again, that from the most destitute, insignificant, broken, weak, small, and seemingly meaningless beginnings, people can grow into incredible creations.  Desperate circumstances can become turning-point moments in life, if we all just loved a little more, whispered aspiring dreams, and possessed a grounding of faith in them.20150714_172203

That little stick grew into a tree – a wonderful, pretty, and full of life tree.

Isn’t this what the Lord wants for all of us?