“I’m Helping the World”{my daughter’s 7 Billion Ones story}

For the past year or so, I’ve been involved in a movement born from the vision of a local professional photographer, Randy Bacon. The movement, “7 Billion Ones” is fondly referred to as the “YOU Matter” movement. Randy Bacon is the visionary behind it.

7 Billion Ones captures the stories of life and is accompanied by breathtaking portraits of the storytellers. I shared my own life story for the project and found that not only is Randy an amazing photographer, he is also just an all-around awesome human being who values each and every person he comes in contact with. I strongly encourage you to check out the 7 Billion Ones website. It is powerful, humbling, and completely confirms that we are more alike than different.

The week before Christmas, my 8-yr-old daughter came up with one of the most endearing and uplifting ideas she has ever had. I was moved by it but not completely surprised. She has always had a generous spirit and a soft spot for homeless people. I shared her idea with Randy and out of it, came a day that she and I will not forget.

7billiononesrandybaconhomelesshomelessness — Photo Credit: Randy Bacon (www.7billionones.org)

Here is the link to her story: I’m Helping the World Please take a moment to read it. I’m sure you will be blessed. I know I was. Spending the time with my daughter on that special day was simply incredible.

Children have a way of frustrating us at times, but they also have a way of amazing us. Her act of generosity did just that, and for that, I know full well what a blessing she is in my life and the lives of others.

“No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another.” – Charles Dickens

The Lamp and the Light

Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path. Psalm 119:105

I’m exhausted from the day. It is not that I’m physically exhausted, but emotionally exhausted. Our hearing was heard today to obtain custody of the precious little one who has come to live with us. I fret over his future, and yet, I love his birth mother as she too is a child I once carried around as an infant. My husband and I petitioned for guardianship of the baby because we love him and we love his birth mother, his grandmother, and his great-grandparents. We are all family, and family matters.

I’m exhausted from the day. I had to be on the witness stand to testify as to why I would be a good home for him. I had to prove myself, my experience, my relationships, and my stability. This is not the first time I’ve had to do this. Being a former foster parent felt like a constant attempt to prove myself as being worthy of being a parent. I have not cared for a single child that has come to me free of legal strings attached. I’ve had to testify and show the courts and other powers-that-be that I am capable of providing and loving on a child with-whom I’ve already taken into my home, cared for, and loved on. I’ve had to prove myself, and yet, the Lord already approves of me.

I’m exhausted from the day, but, I have this sense of inner peace. I know that my God loves this precious little one more than I can ever imagine. He commands this child’s destiny. He has written his past, his present, and his future. He sings over this baby, and He rejoices over his growth like a proud daddy. The Lord, and His word are the lamp upon his feet, and the light upon his path. Truthfully, He is the lamp upon all of our feet, and the light upon our paths.

I’m exhausted from the day, but also at peace knowing that the Lord would not set me and my family upon this path if any of this didn’t matter to Him. I sat in the court room today at the table with sweaty palms, quick breaths, and a rolling stomach. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and welcomed the Lord into the courtroom. I said softly to myself, “Lord, be with me.” Although nervous and uncertain what the Judge would think, I felt great strength knowing that God was with me.

I’m exhausted from the day, but not worn out. I know this fight, this passion to protect, and this path has been lit by the light of the Lord, and the choice to love the way He wants us to. I know that He is the lamp upon which my feet walk, and that each step forward may feel like it is in darkness, but not for long. I know that He will light the way.

Custody was granted for us today. This little babe that we love is with us for now at least. Custody may be temporary, and I may not know what the future holds for him or for his place in our family, but I know who holds his future. I know to trust the Lamp that will guide the child’s feet, and the Light that will brighten his path.

I know in the depths of my being that the Lord loves this precious baby more than I could ever imagine or fathom…now that is something that refreshes my soul.

Featured Post – Inspire a Fire website!

Recently, I wrote a submission to the Inspire a Fire website editor in hopes of it being accepted for publication. I want to share my story in many ways in hopes of inspiring people who are struggling with infertility, and also to bring glory to God. My submission was accepted, and you can read it by going to the website: http://www.inspireafire.com or by clicking on this link: My heartbreak, His expression

Thanks to all who read and I hope you feel inspired today!

Blessings!

Caroline

New Year’s Road

Taken with my iphone as I rode my bike in a 150 mile ride.

This past year was one full of discovery for me. Through blogging, I have been reminded that everyone truly has a story to tell. We are all story-tellers in our own ways. Art, in its purest form, also speaks volumes of insight and revelations about the world we are living in. Some speak through poetic ramblings and short-stories. For others, the lens of a camera captures images that their eyes first took notice of. Each photograph tells a story. Writing really has become my therapeutic release, my story-teller, my window to the world, my humbling remembrance of how blessed I am, and an extension of the yearning to live out my faith in Christ.

I continue to learn that parenting is an art form. Like most artists, parents don’t just figure it out with one stroke of a brush. Mistakes are made, and often, we are our own worst critics, Parenting is also something that love and passion is poured into. I have yet to meet an artist who is not passionate about his or her masterpieces. Children are the masterpiece that we are always working on, and for that, I am grateful for “do-overs”, grace, and the simplistic forgiveness of children.

Throughout this year,I have been made keenly aware of the tightrope we all walk when it comes to protecting children in our own backyards, and around the world. Not to sound cliché, but they really are our greatest resource for the future. Through this blog, I have been able to express my deepest desires for my children, and for others as well. I have also been able to connect to the child I once was.

I began this road of writing because I felt I had a story to tell. I felt I needed to speak of infertility. I knew there were others out there suffering from the sadness that comes when the desire for children is not fulfilled. I also felt that my story of barrenness includes the incredible journey that is adoptive parenting. I may stray from time to time from the topic of infertility with the posts I write, but it is never too far from my thoughts and my heart. I am deeply compassionate about others who continue to search for answers, and who live daily with the unfulfilled longing for children. I hope my words will encourage each of them to believe in joyful beginnings and happy endings.

I am not sure what the Lord has in store for the road I will walk in 2013. Will I be inspired to venture into other areas of writing? Will there be heartbreak and heart-joy in this next year? Will some doors open while others shut? There is no way to tell what is destined to happen, but my faith in the Script-Writer of our lives is greater than the unknowns of the future.

May this New Year’s Road lead you all to delightful discoveries, faith-building experiences, and life-affirming moments that bless your sojourn in the world.

Around the Fire

Last night we had the privilege of spending the evening around a bonfire in the country. Hot dogs, roasted marshmallows, the sound of crackling wood, a gorgeous full moon, the chatter of folks, and gleeful screams of children playing in the field next to us made up our evening. Fires are so good at catching one’s eye. I sat and stared for a long time at the majestic wisps of flames as they flickered their way up to the heavens.

With the scent of fall in the air and the comfort of a blanket over me, my thoughts immediately went to the reason why we were all out there under the stars. Out of the eighteen or so children present last night, around thirteen of them were adopted out of foster care. Let me say that again….13 out of 18 or so children present last night were adopted out of foster care. Most of the children were siblings of some sort, but not all. A handful of families adopted the siblings. Honestly, it was kind of nice to be at an event where my children were not a minority. Usually when we go to “get-togethers”, or anywhere in general, my kids are typically the only ones adopted; especially out of protective services.

There is something comforting when being around fellow parents who have experienced the journey of being a foster parent and adopting. We are able to swap stories of our experiences and compare notes. We can relate to the challenges sometimes experienced when raising children with histories of abuse, neglect, prenatal exposure, or separation from family of origin. We can also talk about resources that may come in handy if future issues should arise.

Last night, I took a moment to look out in the field at the children playing. The image of glow sticks in hands, glow-in-the-dark balloons bouncing up and down, and the sounds of laughing children running freely through the field filled my mind and my heart with gratefulness. I thought about how their young lives were interrupted by the ways of the world and the poor choices of their birth parents. I thought about the losses every single one of them has endured already in life. I thought about the adults around the fire who took them in. I thought about the opportunities they have because of permanency in their lives.

I thought about how they get to have a childhood free of abuse. I also thought about how lucky we are to be a part of this. Adoption out of foster care is not a second best choice. It is not reserved for only those who cannot afford private adoption. It is not just for couples who are unable to have biological children. It is a blessing to parent a child whose beginning to life automatically put him or her in the category of the “least of these”.

It is a blessing to meet other adults whose lives have also been impacted by the decision to become foster parents. We are all connected in some way to each other by the children playing in the field. We are all a part of something bigger, something more eternal, and something better planned for these children.

As I watched the fire burn and looked around, thankfulness filled my heart. We were all brought together by the one true God who brings light into dark places, hope into hopeless situations, and love into the lives of all of us.

Radiant Possibility

Photo taken by Sarah Carter (http://sarahcarter.is/)

“Every child born into the world is a new thought of God; an ever-fresh and radiant possibility.”

-Kate Douglas Wiggin

This is the quote we used for our daughter’s adoption announcement back in 2010. We picked it because it reminded us that despite our daughter’s not-so-lucky start to life, and despite basically being abandoned; her life is one of hope and possibility. She is a gift from the Lord, and He has wonderful things in store for her.

I wanted to share it to remind fellow parents, parents-to-be, or those struggling to become parents that we all have lives of radiant possibility. Our children or future children also have the opportunities to live lives of radiance. Despite what we are going through or have been through, we have the ability to live the kind of life that breathes love.

The Lord knew His plan for our daughter. He scripted her tiny little life right into our home. He knows His plan for us. All of us were on His mind when He was on the cross, and we are on His mind today.

I hope this blesses you and lifts you up during your struggles. I hope you see your life as being one with God-given radiance, hope, and possibility!

Road to Joplin

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.

Writing My Story

A few years ago I felt the urge to write. It seemed as though the Lord was telling me to write my story down; although, I had no clue how to start the process. The last writing class I took was in 1992 or so when I was in college. My friend knew my desire, or perhaps the Lord’s calling on my heart, to start writing so she bought me some journals. I carried them everywhere and would write down different thoughts or words that sparked my memories or pertained to my history. I even used my iPhone to record thoughts that came to me when writing was not possible. Gotta love technology!

I had no idea as to where this project was going or if there was really anything important to say. The fact is that everyone has a story. All of us have a uniquely designed existence that is of no greater matter or significance than the other. We are all significant in the eyes of the Lord. I personally feel that the most inspiring stories are those told from people who come from the most humble situations.

As I started writing, it felt as though my heart and my mind were pricked. Suddenly, there was this release of all of the captive moments, long forgotten thoughts, and stifled persuasions that I had carried around for nearly my entire life; or at least, my life after age eleven. Words were pouring out of me that brought me to tears.

Soon, I turned to my computer to start writing. I craved it. Early mornings and late evenings were often accompanied by the patter of my fingertips on the keyboard as I delved into my solitary world of infertility. I had to reach out to others during this time for feedback, their memories of my story, and just plain old support. However, for the most part, it was me, my computer, my memories, and the Lord’s prodding.

I finished the manuscript within a few months. Once I started writing, I could not stop until I got it all out. I grieved for the child I was who became so ill. I fretted for the teenager who, despite seeming and acting like every other teen girl, held within her dark glimpses of despair. I felt the anger of a young woman in her twenties who was torn between wondering if her future career would be her “baby” or if she was ever going to have a baby to call her own. I celebrated the woman who ran to the Lord after years of ignoring Him. Lastly, I shed tears of joy for the foster-mother whose life was impacted for the better by the humbling refinement that is foster care and adoption.

I still have the manuscript on my computer. I do not know where it is going or what it is supposed to be. That is okay though. There is great cleansing in writing one’s life story even if no one reads it. Writing my story down has brought about a desire to continue to bring to life the words my heart feels but often my lips cannot form. Writing my story has also revealed the incredible essence of survival, faith, mercy, grace, and hope.

I would like to share an excerpt from it if you don’t mind. I have already inserted a few lines from the manuscript from time to time into previous blog posts. Even though this is just a glimpse, I welcome any comments. I may share more as I feel the need…

I do not remember much about the week I was in the hospital prior to the doctors discovering what was ravaging my body. My memories are more like flashing images from a movie. I do however remember waking up at one point with my dad and a doctor looking over me. My dad simply and courageously stated “You can always make love, but you will never be able to have children.” Or, did he say that? I remember hearing it, but not sure if it was said to me or about me. Nevertheless, in my hazy mind, I tried to comprehend what he was saying. Make love? What does that mean? I had not even kissed a boy yet. Have children? It really had not crossed my mind much. But, I heard him loud and clear. I knew something big had happened. This event that occurred forever changed who I was and the path my life would take. There was not a choice – it was either my life or my organs. Oh, the agony my parents were feeling. What irony really…the organs with which life begins had nearly destroyed mine. I was eleven years old, I had never had a period, and now I was forever infertile. I had just been thrust in to the world of infertility. Trapped in a little girl’s body was a pre-menopausal woman.

Best Teacher Ever

Here in my little corner of the world, school is getting ready to start back in session. My son will begin kindergarten this year and, needless to say, I’m filled with excitement and a little bit of dread all wrapped up together. We get to meet his teacher next week and I hope I see in her or him the kind of energy my son thrives on and that every parent desires for their children’s teachers. I do know one thing though, the school district will be missing a great teacher and counselor this year.

Mr. Martin retired at the end of the 2011/2012 school year after 30+ years of teaching and counseling kids. He was my 6th grade teacher and turned out to be one of the best teachers I have ever had. I remember getting him for my 6th grade year and being so excited about it. Male teachers seemed to be a little bit of a rarity back in the early 80’s. Looking like he had just stepped off the college campus and into our classroom, it was always exciting to see how he was going to try to teach us.

I became ill early in the school year. The morning that my illness struck, Mr. Martin noticed that my color was not right. I was normally a talkative girl, but on that day, I was quiet and different. He sent me to the nurse’s office to be checked out and the decision was made to call my mother. Not long after this, I was in the ER and, of course, the rest of my story unfolded.

Mr. Martin came to the hospital nearly every day after school to check on me and keep me up to date on school work. He was ever-present and truly wanted to know what was happening and if I was recovering. He provided support to my parents and family members as well. If it had not been for him I would probably have had to repeat the 6^th grade. After all, I was only in school less than a week or two before I became ill. I ended up missing between nine and twelve weeks of school due to it.

He tutored me while in the hospital and at home while I was recovering. I laid in bed the whole time while he read the lesson plans to me. He would stay at least an hour at a time twice per week. I was so ill that I do not specifically remember each time he was there, but I just knew he was. It is like my subconscious has always known. The image of this teacher sitting by the bedside to teach a gravely ill child brings tears to my eyes. How lucky I was to have him.

During my recovery, he gave me the book “The Littlest Prince” by Antoine De Saint-Exupery as an assignment to read and write a report on. Inside the front cover, he wrote a note to me that this book had always been special to him and to make sure I paid attention to what the fox says. I remember reading the book and writing my report but to be honest, I really did not understand it fully.

Many years later, I found the book among the trinkets of my childhood and reread the conversation between the fox and the little prince. “Goodbye,” said the fox. “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” “What is essential is invisible to the eye,” the little prince repeated, so he would be sure to remember. “It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.” “It is the time I have wasted for my rose” said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember. “Men have forgotten this truth,” said the fox. “But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose….” “I am responsible for my rose,” the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

A few years ago, I met with Mr. Martin at his school. It had been nearly 30 years ago since everything happened. I had run into him from time to time throughout the years, and gave him the standard and very brief update that I was doing well and what my job was at the time, but I really did not discuss much. This time though, I purposefully sought him out. He is a part of my memories of this time in my life. It would be an incomplete history without him.

I asked him why he assigned The Little Prince for me to read. He said, “It is a book that was always special to me and has meaning that translates to different moments.” It is not just a book about survival, but a book about overcoming and transcendence. I get it. I may not have gotten it as a child, but I get it now and what great insight and foresight he had to assign this book to me. I now see the great meaning behind seeing truth with the heart and not the eyes. My rose, the one that I am responsible for, the one that I have spent time on, the one that I have tamed is really not a rose at all. It is the way I have handled my life – the goodness and the tragic. I am responsible for all of it the rest of my life. My rose is myself.

I learned that the other children asked about me and were told I was recovering from surgery, but were not aware of all the details. He described me as being girly, but like a little tough bull and seeing me one day like this, and the next minute close to death was difficult. He recognized that I had to deal with adult issues and that “strange time” of my life was taken from me. By strange time, he meant when our bodies are changing and puberty is starting.

The most important thing for me to accomplish when meeting him was to tell him that he was the one teacher I will never forget. He was the teacher who showed care, kindness, and empathy to me and my family during a very difficult time. We all have that one teacher who inspired us, who mentored us, or who held us accountable. Mr. Martin was all of these things, but for vastly different reasons. I could see how it would have been easy to either totally disengage while I was in the hospital or to just pass me along out of sympathy, but he did not do this.

He got paid a stipend for tutoring me and with the money he bought a clock for his mantle. He told me he would have never let anyone else teach me, and regardless of where I needed to go, he would have followed me. The clock, kindly referred to as “Caroline’s Clock”, still sits on the mantle of his fireplace. His family knows this and refers to it by my name as well.

Mr. Martin’s teachings were more than just academic. His actions showed more to me than any school lesson he could have taught. When we talked about this time back in our lives, both of our eyes welled up. I had been wanting to reach out to him for years and let him know how thankful I was and still am for what he did. When I told him how I felt, he responded “a part of teaching is showing your heart and once in a while a person or kid comes along that is special that you share your heart with, and you were one of those persons.”

I think he basically summed up why he was the best teacher I ever had and why he has left an endearing imprint on my heart and life, and I am sure, on the hearts and lives of many other children he has taught.

Happy Retirement, Mr. Martin. Thank you for the positive influence you have made in the lives of hundreds of children throughout the years.

Very Inspiring Blogger Award

I have been selected for the Very Inspiring Blogger Award by Transformed by the Journey and by greenlightlady. Thank you so much for this! Head on over and check out their blogs. Both are unique, inspirational, and give all glory to the Lord.

I appreciate the encouragement between fellow bloggers. It has amazed me that so many people blog and write out their worlds for others to see and feel. I’m amazed even more though that the Lord continues to bless my journey; not just my writing journey, but this journey of life. Per the “rules” of being nominated for a blogging award, I have to disclose a few more things about myself.

Here they are:

1) I get told I look very young for my age all of the time. This used to bother me, but now that I am 40, it does not bother me anymore!

2) I really hope to travel back to England one of these days. I went when I was 12 years old, and would love to experience it again.

3) I once had a dream that I died and went to Heaven. Jesus put His hand on my shoulder and said “Caroline, you are going to be okay. I will take care of you.” The next morning, I woke up with tears rolling down my cheeks and I could feel the imprint of His hand on my shoulder.

4) While in college, I used to drive around between classes and look for lost pet signs. I would then scour the neighborhoods searching for the animals. I actually reunited a very old dog who had gotten lost with her owner!

5) I am blessed to have a mom and dad who have been married for over 40 years…to each other.

6) I am a sinner.

7) I am saved.

I’m passing this award on to the following blogs that I find inspiring for a variety of reasons. Some inspire me to be more steadfast in my faith while others inspire me to be creative and to dream big. They are definitely worth reading!

SheLovesIsaiah

Infertility Awakening

Dr. Jeff Krupinski’s Blog

Bucket List Publications

Love Letters 2 Christ

With All Joy

foster full

Chopstix for Six