Time is a Gift

Practicing is a discipline. Time to practice is a gift.

Anytime our children are in awe of a skill — say a drummer or crazy sports abilities or even when they see me type so fast on a keyboard, they’ll ask, “How do they do that? How do you do that?”  Our answer is always the same:

PRACTICE

So this is about how Day 2 of social distancing went in our house:

Short fuses, quick tempers, arguments turned-screaming matches, grunts and eye rolls at “family meal time.” Heaven forbid I suggest they get off their phones (snapping literally hundreds of selfies in their dark rooms looking at the walls to send to dozens of friends they don’t even talk to IRL) — to emerge and play a game together. 

I’m not a fan of “punishments” as my parents doled out. I believe it may curb behavior, but doesn’t necessarily get to the heart issue. I learned a lot about that as we prepared to parent a kid from a hard place. But, I’d had enough.  I gave myself a time-out after one more screaming match, took a shower and then told them to bring me their phones immediately and don’t expect them back any time soon.  

I’m sure it felt like a punishment to them, however this is what I said:

“You guys clearly need time to practice being kind and patient with one another. You need practice controlling your tempers and working together. You need practice being creative with your time, talents and energy. You’re going to have to actually negotiate KINDLY to figure out who gets to choose the next movie; who gets the PS4 next. You need to remember there is more to life than whatever is in that rectangle in your hand. You need to look up — away from yourselves and your four bedroom walls — and remember there are other humans around. 

It sounds a bit familiar to the Tower of Babel teachings I learned from the other day. The people had become so self-focused they wanted to “build a name for themselves.” That’s when God intervened and  “scattered the people and confused their languages.” He didn’t intervene when they invented the brick (technology,) but only when they began to use it for selfish purposes. He didn’t punish, condemn or curse them. Why? 

The teacher said, “In scattering and confusing languages, God gave them a new and redemptive project — causing them to grow into the kind of humanity that bears his image — a people that knows when to say “enough.” (Dare I specify? Enough social media, enough shouting to be heard, enough name-calling, enough ‘me first’.) A people that trusts the basic story of humanity; who can find a genuine place of rest instead of the usual rat-race. When God confused the people, He said, ‘the only way you’re going to succeed is if you learn how to work together.’ Teamwork requires lots of listening; less about self and more about each other.” 

No, I do not believe God caused this virus. I don’t believe we’re being punished. But I do see the chance to rethink what God is asking us to do on a daily basis. It can be another new and redemptive project.  I’m hoping this social-distancing from everyone outside our homes, leads to super strong family connections within our home. 

So much practice that from now on patience, gentleness, kindness, self-control are our first response all the time every time.  

Why Ethiopia?

It's one of the first questions people have about our adoption journey. Why Ethiopia?

I can tell you it did not start out that way. Brian says we sort of had the Forrest Gump Experience:  we just kept finding ourselves at different crossroads and we'd take one -- which would lead to the next and then the next. In the beginning, both of us felt that if we could help a child in our own backyard, so to speak, that would be best. (Sometimes we need to quit kidding ourselves that we actually have a clue what's best!)

In the summer of 2010, I attended an informational meeting about domestic adoptions. What I learned is that closed adoptions are almost non-existent. "Closed"means that the mother relinquishes all rights and identity and there is no contact once the adoption is finalized. Now what is common is that a birth mother will review a set of scrapbooks -- glorified marketing tools, if you will -- that have beautiful photographs of an adoptive family with lots of text describing why that family would be a perfect fit to raise her baby.  She chooses which family and she chooses the agreement about how much contact there will be.

When I talked with the director of the program after the meeting and told her briefly of our situation she said, "If this is what you feel led to do, don't let me talk you out of it. However, I feel I should tell you that in the 12 years I've worked here, I've never seen a birth mother choose a couple who had three birth children already."  Hmmm....

It began to become clear to me. Many of the couples in that room had no children and in fact had many failed attempts at fertility treatments over many, many years. I knew in my heart, if I were a birth mother reviewing the stories, I wouldn't choose me either.

So we took the lady's recommendation and went next door to the international adoption meeting.  At the time, our agency worked with maybe a half dozen countries. Each country's program had different requirements and policies.  For instance, to adopt from the Philippines, you must be part Filipino. News flash: we are not. Columbia requires you to live in-country for 6 - 9 weeks. We had three small children and Granddaddy at the time. Some countries only adopt out special needs children or older children. We just didn't feel like that was right for us. (Brian's heart is much bigger than mine, so by "we," I mean "I.") Due to corruption and the massive earthquake, Guatemala and Haiti had stopped their adoption programs all together. In reviewing their criteria and ours, we narrowed it down to Ethiopia.

Through subsequent education, we've learned much about adoption, our country, Ethiopia, our families and each other.

Our Country

"It seems to me, there are an awful lot of babies in need right here in our country," she said.

Yes, well since the proliferation of birth control pills and the Roe v. Wade decision, those numbers aren't nearly what you think they would be. There are many statistics out there, so I hope you'll do your own research. This from an American Progress article: "Abortion certainly played some role in the initial decline of the adoption rate when it fell from 19.2 percent for white women in 1973 when Roe v. Wade was decided to 3.2 percent 15 years later."

And this pie chart from a 2010 Guttmacher Institute profile really stood out to me. What does that make my chances of adopting one of those 14,000?






Our Family and Friends

"If that money were sent directly to the orphanage, think what a difference it could make," they nodded at each other.

Yes! I ask -- so, is your $30,000 check in the mail?

"Aren't you worried about raising a black child in a white family?" asked a blue million people.

I think about the many challenges in parenting and find I could be worried about a lot of things. I know that helping my children be proud of who they are NOT by the world's standards is at the very top of the list. I want them to be known for their kindness, generosity, hospitality, gentleness, love and joy. In that, he will be learning just like my white kids. (This topic deserves many, many blog posts on its own and perhaps, some day, they will come.)

Ethiopia

Let me tell you what I knew about Ethiopia before this journey: they had a massive famine when I was in elementary school and we told ridiculous jokes about it. That is quite literally all I knew.

I learned that estimates currently waver somewhere between 3 and 5 million orphans there, because of political unrest (did you know it was under communist rule for almost 20 years? -- that's after having fought back Mussolini time after time in the first half of the 20th century) and the HIV/AIDS crisis (did you know that while we had access to life-saving medications, due to patent laws and other craziness, they did not?) Let me put the zeros on that: 3,000,000 to 5,000,000 orphans. I'm not sure it matters which number is more accurate. Compare that to the 14,000 number in the pie chart.

I learned that Ethiopia has one of the lowest number of physicians per unit of population in the world, so their child mortality rate is staggering. By the year 2010 there was only 1 doctor per 25,000 population, a figure far below the African average of 1 doctor per 5000. Compare that to 1 doctor per 300 people in America.

I learned that the Queen of Sheba hailed from Ethiopia.  (Do you know how many times I've referenced her over the years?  Mostly in wanting to be treated like her.  GRIN.)

I learned it's just below Egypt -- the very edge of the Middle East as we know it. And yet, so far outside everything else as we know it.

I also learned that they love their children -- including the orphans. They are not put 3 - 4 to a crib and tossed a bottle to fight over. They are not turned out when they are ten to live on the streets. They are swaddled, cuddled, smiled at, played with, fed well and clothed.

I read two great books about Ethiopia. One is about the orphan crisis specifically, There Is No Me Without You and one is just a great novel called Cutting for Stone, about a set of twins who grow up in Ethiopia to be surgeons.

I never thought I'd voluntarily set foot on the African continent, yet here we are weeks away from going the second time to bring our son home.

I guess I end up answering, "Why Ethiopia?" with, "Why not?" There is a need and I can help. Our path has led this way. Where is your path leading you?

A Letter to Sammie

I'm not good at words of affirmation. I wonder if my friends realize this about me? I can encourage in short bursts. So, if we only chat on the phone every now and then or I only see you a few times a week, you may not know this. 

It's become abundantly clear to me as I parent: I see what needs to be fixed or improved and usually only comment about that. Regular, specific words of encouragement are REEEEEAALLLYYY hard for me.  (I'm sure that was apparent to Brian long before we had kids!)

Anyway, we've really struggled with Sammie the last few weeks. She's so kind and forgiving and sharing to everyone outside our home, but has little patience or respect for those inside our home.  She knows the way to behave, words to say or not say. I'm seeing more and more that what she truly thrives on, I'm quite horrible at giving. How can I fill in that gap? So, I've been praying about what to do. Since I'm much better and writing my thoughts than speaking them, I decided to write her a letter spelling out the qualities I love about her. 

Dear Sammie,                                                September 18, 2013

      I wanted to write in black and white, for you to keep forever, how much I love you.

      I know you feel like we only point out what’s wrong or what you need to work on. We’ve tried to explain until we’re tired of hearing ourselves talk that it’s part of our job. I believe that is true, but I know I can do much better at reminding you of all the things you do well and encouraging you in all of your gifts and talents – of which there are many! I really am working on saying more positive things than pointing out corrections. Please be patient with me as I try to consistently grow in this way.

      You really are such an amazing blessing to me and to our whole family. You have such a generous spirit; always wanting to make things or do things for your friends. When this quality spills into your brother and sister, it’s like a sweet perfume filling our home.

      I don’t know why I still shake my head in amazement at your creative ability in the kitchen! You’ve been this way since you were a little, little girl. Always wanting to stir, add something else, try some new combination of foods. That boldness in experimenting will serve you well in life. I expect to see you on the cover of a cookbook someday! Sammie’s Sumptuous Suppers!

      When you create a new lotion, face scrub or lip gloss, I wonder, “Will she grow up to make women all over the world feel beautiful?” What a precious, precious gift! When you build a doll bed out of duct tape and cereal boxes or form an entire miniature Italian meal out of modeling clay, I wonder, “Will Sammie grow up to bring joy to young girls and their love for dolls and all things small?” That too, would make me so proud.

      Many people say, and have said since you were tiny, “She looks just like you.” And I’ve noticed as you’ve grown into the sweet young lady that you are, that you are like me in many ways. (Good and bad – sorry about that.) You and I can bless our friends in big ways by doing small acts of kindness and in the very next moment, snap at those dearest to us because our selfishness rears its ugly head. I imagine we’ll both have to work on that the rest of our lives.

      When you were 5, you sang “The B-I-B-L-E” at three different services in our huge church. I knew then you were gifted musically. Then, about five years later, I remember the first time I heard you singing, when you didn’t know I was listening. You weren’t singing to impress anyone. Just singing a meaningful song, from your heart, the very best you could. I got teary-eyed at your pure tone and sweet voice. The ease with which you’ve picked up piano, coupled with your sense of timing and pitch, make me wonder what God will do with these precious gifts. Do you ever wonder?

      Your outer-beauty should probably go without mentioning, but I can’t help it. You’ve been given your father’s beautiful eyes and you look so much like my mother when I look at pictures from way back then. It’s truly uncanny. Your quirky fashion sense only serves to enhance what God gave you naturally.

      What a treasure you are!  I’ll never say it enough, I know. But I hope to remind you more and more, so you believe it from the inside out.

                                    I love you,

                                                Mom

As I lay in bed last night, I thought of all the things I should've added. Like her graceful athleticism and sheer smarts at her age are impressive to me. I figured the world will boost her ego enough on those fronts, but also realized these messages could become a regular part of my encouragement to her.

I'll ask her in 20 years if it mattered to her.

Are there gaps in your parenting style that your kids really need to thrive? 

What'd You Do Today?

I tell my kids all the time, "Don't be a hater."  Well, I use this word as honestly as I can. I really hate it when someone asks, "What did you do today?" Not that I don't want to answer. Not that I really did "nothing." It's just sometimes easier to keep it simple. Then, of course, you run the risk of sounding like you really do sit around eating bon bons. (What are bon bons, anyway?)

I can truly see why the kids often answer that question with, "Nothing."  It's just too hard to explain it all. Moms really do want to hear the details of their child's day, but does anyone really want to hear the details of a mom's day?

Monday, my plan had six simple things on it:

1) Clean porch.
2) Water newly-planted flowers.
3) Place final three bags of mulch.
4) Clean the kitchen.
5) Mop floors.
6) Make cobbler and ice cream for book club.

Instead of checking off my "to do" list, I got a wild hair and kept a "done did it" list.

My list doesn't really start until the kids get on the bus, but you know we do a passel of work to get them from bed to bus stop!

After that I:

1) Made Granddaddy's follow-up appointments from Friday's foot procedure.
2) Informed Grandaddy of his follow-up appointments. (He can't hear in person much less over the phone, so this takes way longer than you might think.)
3) Started first batch of ice cream.
4) Enrolled kids in their gymnastics classes on-line. (Helped gym discover their on-line enrollment glitches, so this also takes longer than you might think.)
5) Checked bank account to see if Homeland Security check has cleared so I can call immigration and nudge them along with our 3rd re-fingerprinting appointment. (No luck.)
6) Began cleaning paint splotches off porch. (Because no matter how many drop cloths you have, when you paint with children under 10 -- or Brian -- you will get paint where you don't intend to.)
7) Ran to answer phone (with some urgency since immigration should contact us soon) and spent the next ten minutes explaining to Grandaddy that THURSDAY is the 22nd and his appointment is not Tuesday.  But you said 8 and 22. Yes, I said that. But tomorrow is the 21st. No, it's the 20th, but you don't have an appointment tomorrow, you have it Thursday. But that's not the 22nd. Yes it is.  8 and 22. Yes. So, tomorrow is the 22nd? No, Thursday is the 22. Just go on like that for another ten minutes and you've got the gist.
8) Finished cleaning paint splotches.
9) Visited with good friend who only had a few precious minutes and I gladly gobbled them up!
10) Watered plants and put away hose.
11) Placed final three bags of mulch.
12) Started 2nd batch of ice cream.
13) Washed Chase's baseball uniform. (Always amazed at how dirty an 8 year-old boy can get.)
14) Returned something to storage room in basement and realized dehumidifier needed to be emptied. 15) Emptied humidifier.
16) Made giant Greek salad for lunch.
17) Watched 30 minutes of Adult Attachment Style training for our adoption education hours. (Realized I am an "entangled/dismissive" style and immediately begged for more grace and mercy to parent in a way so as not to ruin my children forever.)
18) Emptied trash. (Realized trash drawer was disgusting, so cleaned the trash drawer.)
19) Cleaned dining room table. (Realized all the kids' chairs were disgusting, so cleaned the chairs too.)
20) Swept and mopped kitchen and dining room. (It was so disgusting, I mopped twice.)
21) Took a shower and dressed. Decided to do my own manicure/pedicure. You're welcome, Brian. (Waiting for everything to dry was the longest 20 minutes of my life!)
22) Cleaned fridge doors of the 8 photos, 7 pieces of art, 6 reminders (from last year), 5 strands of chore/electronics clips, 4 square feet of hand smudges, 3 assorted schedules/calendars, 2 turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree.
23) Made peach cobbler for book club (to go with said ice cream.)
24) 4:15 kids got off bus. I focused on getting Chase started on a large snack (i.e. dinner)/homework/uniform donning/baseball gear gathering.
24) Then focused on getting the girls dinner/homework and lunches packed for the next day.
25) Made cucumber/cracker snacks and set up for book club.
26) Laughed until my sides hurt hosting book club.
27) I read for the last hour of the day. (Orphan Train, if you're interested.)

Tuesday seemed like it would be a treat, since I "only" had laundry to do. (When I recover from Tuesday's actual laundry trauma, maybe I'll write about it.)

So, don't feel too badly when the kids say they did "nuthin'" at school. We all know the truth.

School Fears

As my kids enter their second week of school, the real concerns about this adventure begin to surface.

Like any mom, I wonder if the new friends they make will be a positive influence or a negative influence. I wonder if they'll trade the healthy lunch we packed for someone else's chips and Oreos. I wonder if they will be bullied on the playground or will they turn into bullies.

As a homeschool mom, I'm concerned about whether I focused on enough of the "right" things. I focused on what I felt was important at a pace that worked for each of my kids, but that doesn't mean it will translate to where they are in a public school. How soon will they be able to tell that I spent more time on teaching my son to read than teaching him to spell?  Maybe 5th graders are already supposed to know geometry, when we spent a lot of last year doing fractions. Will my children single-handedly cause an investigation of the entire homeschool community?

I have absolutely loved hearing their stories at the end of the day -- what they liked, what they didn't, who's really goofy and what new friends they made. They raved about their teachers -- especially Sammie.

"Mr. May let us have snack as part of our activity!" Chase said.

"Ms. Cobb said I went above and beyond as a helper today," from Ava.

Sammie ran in Friday and said, "Mom, you've GOT to see this video Mrs. Publow plays for us every day."

Then it occurred to me what my biggest fear of all is with this public school experiment:

I'm afraid they'll like their teachers more than me.

It's Not You, It's Me

That's what I said to Facebook when I deactivated my account a few months ago.

It really was doing nothing but highlighting my worst faults.  I don't condemn or judge anyone who uses Facebook for the fun socializing tool it can be.  I just couldn't handle it. I'll confess the details only in hopes that my kids won't make the same mistake, not that it does my heart good to put it in writing.

There were several factors converging at once to give Facebook the power it had over me for a time.  The biggest is that I was lonely.  Plenty busy at home, mind you, but not a lot of one-on-one grown up interaction. It started out as a way to get out without getting out.

It was also feeding my pride: what can I say this time that will generate even more comments? And then, I'd check my computer every (you don't want to know how often) to see if anyone commented. Brian used the term "addicted" in all seriousness.  And, he doesn't use such finger-pointing words very often. That's when I really started thinking about it.  It did feed my spirit (I hate to write "ego" even though that's probably more accurate) to get comments, to leave comments and get more comments back.  Seemed like lots of interaction.

Then envy kicked in.  There's irony all over this part, because I LOVE MY LIFE!  Before FB, I couldn't have named three things I wanted to change about my ENTIRE life.  But I found myself giving a good "hmf" when I saw an old high school buddy was going to spend the day lounging beside her in-ground pool while her kids were at school. A twinge when girls I knew would talk about how they had such a good time last night or lunch the day before and clearly no one called me. A little heart ache to see moms talk about their kids' birthday parties that my kids weren't invited to. 

All of those examples are so real and so silly!  I wouldn't trade home schooling for a YEAR by any pool. I've never really needed a lot of girl time and it's not like we let OUR kids have big birthday parties! And yet there they were...seeds of discontent.

This is the kicker:  I realized that one of my good friends talks the same way to all her other friends as she does to me.  You see, before FB, I didn't have access to such interactions. I was actually a little hurt that I have a friend who is just as nice, sweet, loving, welcoming and caring to her other friends as she is to me. Is that not the MOST ridiculous thing you've EVER heard?

Without sounding too pitiful, I started to take stock in the phone calls that came in or knocks on the door.  Would you sing for this event? Would you teach this class? Would you happen to have this I can borrow? Would you keep my kids a while? Not a lot of "let's go out" or "tell me how you are."

Then I heard a teacher suggest that parents who give their kids cell phones with texting might be giving themselves the illusion of control.  And immediately the thought came to my mind that Facebook was giving me the illusion of relationship.  I don't want to live under any illusions...reality is hard enough, so I deactivated it.  And, not surprisingly, my email inbox was sparse from then on.

It was kind of a hard time, because it's not like this is the kind of thing you can talk to your friends about without sounding -- heaven forbid -- needy.  I am NOT the needy friend. Because of that, I could feel an even bigger lesson coming.

What I ultimately realized is that I don't have a need to be needed.  I've got plenty of people of who need me and (most of the time) I'm happy to serve and help people any way I can.  (So, I'll probably always watch your kids, teach the preschoolers and let you borrow anything I have.) What I realized is that I want to be wanted.  You know, just for me.  For who I am, not what I can do.

No hurt comes senselessly, so it wasn't long before I was off the computer long enough to remember that that's what God wants from us: to love Him for who He is.  He's done plenty to be deserving of our love, that's for sure.  Blessings, near misses, abundant grace despite our many screw ups. But to realize that He just loves us because of who we are, certainly not because of what we've done.  

Makes me think of that Casting Crowns song:

Not because of who I am,

But because of what you've done.

Not because of what I've done,

But because of who you are.

I am a flower quickly fading,

Here today and gone tomorrow,

A wave tossed in the ocean,

A vapor in the wind.

Still you hear me when I'm calling,

Lord, you catch me when I'm falling,

And you've told me who I am.

I am yours. 

Funny, it took the FB experience to help me see that it's enough for me to know that God hears when I call and I am His.

So, you see Facebook, you are fun and cool and hip and a great way to share photos and connect perfectly normal, sweet friends.  I, on the other hand, am prone to envy and arrogance and I don't need anything else to plant false seeds of discontent. 

Really. It's not you, it's me.

Apple's Business Model

It's well known that Steve Jobs is a devoted fan of The Beatles. He's referenced them during several keynote speeches and in a 60 Minutes interview. When asked about his business model during the interview, he replied...

"My model for business is The Beatles: They were four guys that kept each other's negative tendencies in check; they balanced each other. And the total was greater than the sum of the parts. Great things in business are not done by one person, they are done by a team of people."

I've referenced this quote during presentations and in several meetings at work. I also intend on talking to the kiddos about the quote when they get older because I believe it sums up nicely several time-tested, universal principles that are as applicable at home as they are in the workplace. 

To be continued...

Only You, In The Entire Universe

My brother shot himself when he was 15 years old.  I was 14.

If you've experienced such a tragedy or read much about it, you know there is a lot of guilt to pass around.  Lots of people, particularly those in the closest circle, wonder, "Should I have known?" "Were there signs and I missed them?"  They wonder, "Is it my fault?"

Probably the one who took it the hardest was my dad.  He was the Sheriff in our town.  A rule-follower from way back.  Follow the rules and you'll get ahead in life. Break the rules and suffer the consequences.  He was fair, but always thorough.  Few crimes went unpunished.  That's the job when you're the Sheriff and the Dad. 

If you remember, there are a lot of rules to be tested when you're 15 and Jody had been testing a lot of them.  How do I know?  Because, being the dutiful baby sister that I am, I told on him. A lot. For instance,  just the week before he killed himself, I came home and he'd been backing the pick up truck in and out of its parking space in our driveway.  I told on him.  He got in trouble.

My sister thinks she remembers him saying not long before, "I should just kill myself" and she never said anything or did anything about it. Though she admits she's not so sure and wonders if the guilt just put that memory there.  

That morning, Jody had a quiz in French class and he was caught cheating.  That sweet teacher did what she was supposed to do and told our folks.  We all knew he was going to get it.  I remember Mrs. M.'s eyes being red and puffy for weeks after.

That evening at Wednesday night church, he'd been behind the building experimenting with stuff he shouldn't have.  He was with someone else and I didn't find out until a couple of months ago who it was.  That guy has never mentioned a word of it and I can't help but wonder if he's felt guilty over the years.  

The premise of "The Shack" is about a father coming to terms with a tragedy that happened to his daughter.  Eventually the father breaks down admitting that he feels like it was his fault. Like he should've been able to save her, to protect her and feels the guilt so heavily.  He feels the turmoil of the final moments of his daughter's life wondering if SHE was saying, "Where is Daddy?" And, he even feels the shame when he's with the rest of his family just knowing that they feel the same way. That he should have protected her.

It seems so simple, but this line the Holy Spirit-figure speaks hit me like a ton of bricks: 

"Only you, in the entire universe, believe that somehow you are to blame."

I always dismissed the guilt that all those in my brother's close circle might have felt, thinking that was so silly to think they should've or could've done something differently, yet the guilt that I felt was so real and painful and smothering.

In reality:

Only my dad, in the entire universe, believed that somehow he was to blame.

Only my sister, in the entire universe, believed that somehow she was to blame.

Only the French teacher, in the entire universe, believed that somehow she was to blame.

And, only I, in the entire universe, believed that somehow I was to blame.

So, where does all that guilt come from?

"A thief is there only to steal and kill and destroy. I came so that they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of."  John 10:10

The enemy has stolen a lot from my family over the years, but I'm learning to recognize it for what it is.  I want that better life Jesus talked about, don't you? Are there any lies you've been believing? 

Fill Me In On The Last 20 Years

This has been the frequent request as I catch up with old acquaintances on Facebook.  I've written versions of the following so many times in the past few months, I thought I'd post it here.  20 years of life in 500 words or less.  (Sort of.)

*********************************************************************************
After high school, I went to Western Kentucky University to major in music. I don’t know that I took full advantage of the college experience in the best way, but I did graduate with honors and some very good friends for life.

My mom talked me into going straight to grad school (even though I didn’t want to) by saying, “I just don’t think you’ll be reaching your full potential if you don’t.” Since I was too chicken to sing and did not enjoy children enough to want to be a teacher, I settled on a program in Arts Administration – the business side of music. The closest program to home was in Bloomington, IN at Indiana University, so off I went.

Again, I didn’t love the school part, but to this day I have dear friends from that time in my life. (For example, I worked at the opera house ticket office for a fantastic guy. He and his wife just shared a mess of beans from their garden. THOSE are friends worth keeping!)

I fell in love with a boy at IU, so after my internship in Washington, D.C., I moved back to Bloomington to start a career and continue that relationship. (Turns out I didn't enjoy children until I found a guy I thought would be a terrific dad.  From then on, my perspective changed dramatically about kids.) I took a job as an account executive at a very fun advertising agency called Hirons & Co. It was a crash course in the corporate world.

I learned so much in that short time. Not only about work, but how to work through a broken heart. It seems like Bloomington is where I grew into myself. My choices, my decisions, my mistakes -- but they were all mine. Not influenced by my family or a lifetime of “this is what so-and-so is doing.” Again, friends were the highlight of that time. Some now in California, Texas, Illinois and a few, thankfully, still in Bloomington.

During the transition from that job to working as the press secretary for the Bloomington Mayor, I met my man, Brian. Two things that I remember: I remember feeling so honored that the Mayor sought me out for that job when I wasn’t even looking for a change. And the other thing is that in the small group of people introducing themselves that day, I remember thinking, “Oh, he works for the OTHER ad agency in town.”

Brian and I met at church among a group of young, single professionals. It sounds much holier than it was. There was a time that I thought, “Oh my goodness. I’m going to have to tell my children I met their father in a bar.” I’m glad I don’t have to.

The next two years were a whirlwind of milestone after milestone.

• Started a new job.
  
• Bought my very own condo.
  
• Found out my father had colon cancer.
  
• Married Brian.
  
• Found out Dad’s cancer was terminal.
  
• Quit my job.
  
• Sold the condo.
  
• Moved to Louisville.
  
• Helped take care of Daddy until he died.
  
• Started a new job.
  
• Finished building a house that someone else had started.
  

Happy. Sad. Thrilled. Devastated. I cried a lot. And grew up some more.

While Brian worked at that other agency’s new office in Louisville, I worked in the marketing department at LG&E Energy. It was fun to commute with my hubby and work so close together we could meet for lunch. When we finished our house, our commute from little Sellersburg, IN was a third of what it was in Louisville proper.  

A little dream of mine came true while I was taking piano lessons from the fantastic John Bizianes in Louisville.  He and his twin brother had a band called "Double Vision" (get it?) that needed a female lead vocal and they asked me to do it.  I LOVED it.  I got to sing songs I loved, dress in fancy clothes and they even paid me for it. Memories I'll treasure for a lifetime.  (Click here and scroll down to the Double Vision listing.  You'll see a pic of the band from back in the day and you can even hear a snippet of me singing!)

The fun really began when we had our first baby girl, Samantha, who is now 6 (and a half, she will quickly tell you.) Brian had a job working out of the house then, so he took care of the baby while I went back to work for a few months. I stayed home for good when she was about 7 months old and have never regretted that decision.

Talk about growing up! Nothing like marriage and a new baby to make you realize all your shortcomings. I met a terrific lady while I lived in Sellersburg. She is a few years older and her kids are in the next stage of life ahead of mine. She is my friend and mentor. Everyone needs one. If she hasn’t been there, she’ll help me figure out what to do anyway. Her friendship and wisdom permeates almost everything I do. If you don’t have one these, go shopping for one RIGHT NOW! I found mine at church…it’s a great place to start.

Grandaddy came to live with us while I was pregnant with Chase. Read more about that by clicking here. For those of you who knew my dad, you might like to know we named our son after him. You can read about that here.

Since we can’t seem to stay away from a challenge, Brian was offered a job back in Bloomington at Cook, Inc., so he started up here while I stayed back to have a baby and sell the house. Then we lived in a furnished, rental condo for six months while we built a house up here that would accommodate an elderly person and a growing family. Here’s what I always say about building a house, “If Brian wants to build a second house, he’ll have to do it with his second wife!” Some people love the process and I am not one of those. I tend to care more about living my life than what color the switch plates should be. Crazy, huh?

Chase was such a good baby that Ava followed very soon after. Chase just turned four this past June and Ava will be three in September.

Grandaddy is still with us and very healthy. He fixes his own breakfast every morning. Samantha will be starting 1st Grade in just a couple of weeks. (Click here to read about why we homeschool.) Chase is more handsome and sweet than I could’ve been smart enough to ask for. And, our little, red-headed Ava keeps us on our toes, but mostly follows whatever mischief her big brother and sister are into.

I could not be happier with my life. I love teaching my kids and learning from them, too. I love that I get to know my Grandad in a whole new way in these very golden years. I love that I get to share the joys and challenges of life with a wise and loving man who cares more about the character of our family than the kind of car we drive.


I’m still a huge Elvis fan and I’m reminded of the first stanza of an old hymn from one of his gospel albums.

Why me, Lord? What have I ever done 

to deserve even one of the treasures I’ve known?

Tell me, Lord? What did I ever do 

that was worth loving you or the kindness you’ve shown?

Now, fill me in on the last 20 years of YOUR life!

Either He Is or He Isn't

I wrote a few weeks ago about discovering I'm still a little miffed at God for taking my Dad before I was ready.

I was going through a short study on the life of King David.  The teacher had said if we're wondering why the next great thing hasn't happened in our lives, maybe we have some work to do in the present.  (The next great thing can mean different things to different people.  A new adventure of some kind.  A new job.  A new baby.  Finding your soul-mate.  Finding peace in singleness or finally figuring out your calling, whatever that may be.)

I'm not waiting for the next great thing, because I truly feel like I'm in the middle of something great rearing my children and caring for Grandaddy, but I also knew she'd struck a chord about me be devastated by God.  I don't want to have my heart break every time I think of my Dad or other losses.  I know I'll always miss them, but I don't want to be mad about it, for heaven's sake! Faith is NOT defined by God doing what I tell him to.  Otherwise, it's not faith at all.

In studying God's Word, I was taken back to some Biblical truths like:

God is good.

God is holy.

God keeps his promises.

God is unbelievably gracious.

And, what God does is always consistent with who He is.

Not only does He say all these things in His Word over and over, my LIFE is living proof of these truths.

Sometimes I need to hear the truth said in different ways by different people with different illustrations. At the same time this study was going on, I finally read "The Shack" by WM. Paul Young.  My heart and mind were challenged on almost every page.  To quote a beloved friend, "It bent my brain!"  I hope to write about other things I wrestled with in the book, but regarding my need to move on from my broken heart, I'll share some excerpts that opened my heart a little.

The main character goes through a devastating loss and has the chance to say to the God-character, "You may not cause those things, but you certainly don't stop them." (Hhhmmm..this sounds familiar.)

The God-character answers:

There are millions of reasons to allow pain and hurt and suffering rather than to eradicate them, but most of those reasons can only be understood within each person's story....your choices are not stronger than my purposes, and I will use every choice you make for the ultimate good and the most loving outcome.

In other words, God is bigger than I am.  I know, I know.  It's an old precept.  God is bigger. His ways are higher.  As well they should be if He's a god worth His salt! We cannot possibly understand how each person's story and choices and circumstances intertwine with hundreds of others. It made me think of those trillion piece puzzles where it looks all fuzzy up close, but when you stand back you can see a beautiful scene.  I am a puzzle piece and I can only see a couple of dozen puzzle pieces from my little dot on the map.  But, it's God that sees the beautiful scene.  He's the ONLY one who created all the pieces, holds them in His hands and knows where they all fit.

On the next page, He goes on to say:

The real underlying flaw in your life is that you don't think that I am good. If you knew I was good and that everything -- the means, the ends, and all the processes of individual lives -- is all covered by my goodness, then while you might not always understand what I am doing, you would trust me. But you don't.

So, for me it comes down to this: Do I trust that God is trustworthy or do I trust that He is not?

We were asked to consider when Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, "Would Lazarus question why he died in the first place?"  NO!  He walked out of that tomb and rejoiced!  I want to rejoice even when I don't understand, don't you?

Faith never knows where it is being led, but it knows and loves the One who is leading. Oswald Chambers

I do love the One leading, because He first loved me.  (I John 4:19.)

If You're Readin' This

Even though we all say it's highly unlikely, I always write a letter to my children when Brian and I leave on a trip together just in case something happens to us.  It's incredibly important to me that my children know how much I love them.  So, before we left for Spain, I did it again.  I figured why save it for when I'm dead? I want them to know I love them while I'm alive, too.  

***********************************************************************************

Dear Samantha, Chase and Ava,

If you're reading this it means Aunt Tracy has decided you're ready to hear from us, and that something happened on our trip to Spain. Some parents would never leave their children for fear of something happening to the kids or themselves.  The truth is: anything can happen. Any time, anyplace to anyone.  God does not want us to live in fear!

 

I hope when you choose a mate, you'll realize the great importance of maintaining a strong, relationship between the two of you even after - especially after the kids come along. This is what your Daddy and I were doing in Spain -- strengthening our oneness.

 

I want you to know how much I love each of you. You are so precious to me.  I never really knew what a calling was -- what it meant to have a passion for something, until you came along. What a gift!

 

Samantha, my first born.  You are everything they say in the books about first-borns! You are so smart, independent-thinking, brave, industrious and creative. You already show signs of being a great mama the way you take care of your baby brother and sister. Your literacy teacher, Mrs. Barnhill, pegged you right on when she said, "Samantha is so excited about everything."  You love to cook, experiment, create, draw, paint, eat out and learn new things. You have your Grandad Logsdon's beautiful blue eyes. You are my favorite Samantha and I love you very much.

Chaser, you have so many nicknames, its hard to choose which to use! I have never known a sweeter boy.  You were such a good baby (which is why Ava is so close to your age!) Right now, you look up to Sammie like she hung the moon and you two play so well together.  (She used to read to you in your playpen.) You are also a brave and strong boy! You once pushed a boy down because you thought he was hurting Ava.  God built it in you to protect the weak. That's a gift -- use it well.  I love that you narrate our life as we go -- giving us the play by play of who is doing what and often adding fictional characters and events that make us laugh and laugh. (Ask Grandma Scheurich about the wild pigs!)  You are my favorite Chaser and I love you very much.

 

Wee Little Ava -- that's what Daddy always calls you. Everyone notices Sammie's blue eyes, that Chase looks exactly like Daddy and Ava's red hair.  They say red-heads are fiesty, independent and strong-willed -- that nails you completely, my darlin'. Don't let anyone tell you those are bad things. It means you also have the gift of tenacity. Coupled with the Lord's wisdom, you will be a mighty warrior for His kingdom.  Grandaddy wasn't so sure about me having a third child and now he loves you so much he's passed on his own nickname to you -- "Shorty." When we talked about his hesitation the other day, he said, "Shows what I know!" You're my favorite Ava and I love you very much.

 

Aunt Tracy and Uncle D. will take care of you now. If ever you question that decision remember this: I do not believe they are perfect, but they are perfect for us and perfect for you.  They loved you from the moment you were born and so did Parker, Kenna and Logan. They will always choose what's best for each of you -- trust in that.

I never had the freedom (or wisdom) to ask so many things of my mother and Daddy.  Please, please, please ask anything of Aunt Tracy.  She will be completely honest with you even if it's hard to understand.

I feel a burden to share some Biblical wisdom, but I am no Bible scholar. I do believe that the son of God walked this earth and died for me. I look to him and his word to guide me in this life. And while there is much I don't understand, I believe that when you call him your Lord, I will see you again.

To quote one of your (current) favorite characters: "God made you special and He loves you very much."

So do I, sweet darlin's -- so do I.

Mom

*********************************************************************************

Don't leave your children, spouse or parents wondering how you really feel about them.  No doubts. No regrets. Help them remember and know that they know that they KNOW you love them. 

Turns Out, I'm a Little Miffed

I was reacquainted with a friend a few years ago and she said to me, "You're not as funny as you used to be." Firstly, I don't remember being all that funny. Secondly, I thought to myself (to myself mind you, so I wouldn't smack her), "Life's not as funny as it used to be."

I'm doing a short study on the life of David.  The teacher last night said we had to move past our devastation with God in order to move on.  Huh?  I had to think on that.

If any of you have ever heard me talk about my Dad, you know that I can get teary pretty fast. When Brian and I were having some trouble in our first few years of marriage, I blamed him (Brian) for EVERYTHING.  I sought out a counselor who determined I had some unresolved grief issues, the bulk of which is a story for another day.  Daddy died of colon cancer the first year of our marriage (no wonder I was in counseling.) Anyway, I dealt with those things in that process. 

Or, I thought I did.

A few weeks ago I heard a woman tell the story of her own physical healing, followed by another story of a friend with cancer.  She said they prayed earnestly for her healing, but she died.  And when her youngest child crawled in her Daddy's lap, she said, "I don't understand, Daddy, we asked God to make her better." He answered her by saying that God made her better in a different way.

A dam was let loose in my heart and it all flowed out my sad, brown eyes.  I hate crying.  You know, the ugly cry...in front of people.  Yes, it's my pride all over again, but I still hate it. I thought I DEALT with it! What's with all the tears?  I discovered I'm still a little more than miffed with God about that.  

My Dad -- he was one of the good guys.  Wanted to do what was right by everybody.  He wanted us kids to do the right thing.  He was a genuinely nice person and made everyone feel not only loved, but liked.  (Except for my boyfriends.  He did a nice job of intimidating them.) He was even kind to the prisoners he took to jail -- said everyone deserves respect no matter what they've done. I know my opinion is biased and I can't sum it up in just a few sentences.  

I guess we're never ready to let someone go, but this was not fair!  He was too young.  I was too young.  I miss him.  I miss him spoiling my kids and playing the "hoopdedoo" game with them.  (You have to see it in person to get it.)  I think he would come by on Saturday mornings and have coffee with me.  I think he'd help Brian clear the woods.  I think he'd tell me my Sammie looks just like me and my Ava acts just like me when I was their age.  I think he'd puff up like a bull frog about Chase's name and probably call him "Charles" just to make a point.  I think he'd lavish on Chase all the boy stuff he didn't get to finish out with Jody.

So back to David.  God loved him -- man after His own heart and all.  David decided to bring the ark of the covenant back to Jerusalem, so the presence of God would be at the center of everything, but during the journey and celebration, someone mishandled the ark and he died on the spot.

The Bible says David was angry because the Lord's wrath had broken out against Uzzah. And, in the next verse that David was afraid of the Lord that day.

Aha...that's me. Angry and afraid. Has God done anything in your life you're mad about?  Are you just waiting for him to hand down the next hard thing?

Why didn't he save your marriage?

You raised your children in the church.  Why are they so far from him?

Why did he leave you in there high on coke when you really wanted out?

Why is your grandmother suffering still with alzheimers, as confused as a child?

Why did that boy choose that over me?

Why did my best friend alienate me? 

Those things are enough to make a person angry.  If you're wondering why the next GREAT thing hasn't happened in your life, maybe you've got to move past your devastation with God.

Unfortunately, I haven't gotten to the second part of the lesson, so I don't have good answers on how to move past it yet, but that's where I am today.

Think about it.

Inner Voice – Friend or Foe?

In my mind, the most important purpose of this blog is to collect stories, inspiration, memorable moments and wisdom for Sam, Chase and Ava. Some posts will be more significant than others. To me, in terms of wisdom that I can impart to the kiddos, this is my most important post yet.

A friend of mine told me about a habit he developed years ago as a high school golfer. He called it being "your own biggest fan." I don't remember his wording exactly, but essentially his method was to tell himself that he was going to succeed, what happened moments ago was a thing of the past, what others think doesn't matter, with more and more practice he could get better and better, etc. He always tried to accentuate the positive, so his inner voice was/is his friend, not a foe.

It's clear to me now that my inner voice – for reasons I can write about in other posts – is a skillful foe, not a friend. For example, I've realized that I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about my mistakes and very little time thinking about my successes. It's as if I feel more comfortable being a critic than a fan.

The happy ending to this post is I've come to see it's not too late for me to change my mindset. And, because of my own personal struggles and the progress I'm finally making, I hope I'm in a better position to teach the kids the value of a positive inner voice. 

Some Things I'd Rather Forget

So the very reason I didn't join Facebook is the very one everyone used to convince me of its greatness: it's a great way to connect with people from your past.  YIKES!

Here's what I thought:  If I connect with people from my past, they'll be reminded of old times. Old times were not so good for me.  I was a schmuck really, in a lot of ways.  And those are the times I remember.  As more people ask to be friends on FB, I realize I have forgotten many things and many people.  I honestly don't even recognize their names and then when their faces don't ring a bell, I wonder if I was in a memory--erasing accident or something.

When I was in high school, like a lot of teenagers, I wanted to be liked -- to be in the popular crowd.  When I did hang with the popular group, I felt like I was only there on the coat tails of someone else or because they felt sorry for me because of a family tragedy.  And, I did some dumb things thinking they would make me more popular.  I'm ashamed of the way I let boys treat me back then. When I hung with the not-so-popular crowd, I actually felt more like myself.

In college, I masked my insecurity with loudness and boy-crazy stunts that are really heralded among many "finally free" young adults.  I was a music major and as I look back I realize I only did that to please my Dad.  My heart wasn't in it. I was there to make the grades and get the degree. Looking back, it's a wonder I didn't get myself in so many un-doable messes. Now they're just un-doable memories.  

After grad school, I started making better choices.  I fell in love and got my heart broken.  So THEN all my choices were an effort to keep from getting my heart broken again.  I masked the heartache in fake confidence and very controlling behavior. I'm ashamed at the way I treated men in those days. 

In short, I was selfish for a lot of years.  For so long it was all about me -- what would make me happy, who would give me the most attention, what did I want out of the day or the relationship.  Always looking for that other half that would "complete me".  What nonsense!

Now that I'm married (to my perfect match), I know that no one else can complete me (even him) and the source of greatest contentment for me is  letting other people know they are loved and they are special. Why does it take so long to learn such things?  Or, why did it take ME so long to learn?

So, here I go on Facebook.  I really am excited to see what old friends and acquaintances are up to, but I've already sunk my head in shame a few times and it's only been a couple days of friend requests.  I'm building up thick skin so I'll have the courage to apologize when I need to.  

One of my favorite things about God is that he gives second, third and fourth chances.  If given another chance, I hope I'll be a better friend this time around.

Tent City

Have you heard anything about the tent cities popping up across the country?  I saw a report about one in Sacramento.  Apparently, people are losing their homes and just pitching tents in empty fields.  There is no water supply, no power source.

Some of the people have been there for months. The journalist interviewed one couple and the wife said they'd been there for over a year.  Did she have family?  Yes, one son.  Does he know you're here?  No.  Why not?  I didn't want him to worry.

WHAT?!?!?!?

Even more surprising to me, is that was a common theme.  Many of these people have family, but don't want to ask for help.

Where is the common sense people!?!?!  We have such gross extremes in our country.  There are 38-year olds still living at home on mom and dad's dime.  There are grandparents raising their grandchildren, because the parents don't want to grow up.  And, now I'm learning there are people who don't want to worry their children, so they live in a tent.

Infuriating and sad all at once.  In many other countries there are cousins, aunts, and grandparents all living under the same, very small, roof.  It's normal.  There's a lot of family and not a lot of space.  Is it pride?  Shame? Guilt?  What keeps someone from standing on their own two feet when they absolutely can or asking for help when it's truly needed?

Wouldn't you WANT to know if your mom was living in a tent?  Of course, I'd be worried.  Of course, I'd want to do something about it.  Of course, I'd want to help and I'd make sacrifices if necessary to help.  Isn't that a good thing?  Isn't that what family is for?  

Please, lady.  Tell your son.  Let him help you.  You gave him a roof over his head when you could.  It's his turn.