One Year, or the Year of One

I have written a New Year's Eve reflection post for as long as I can remember and this is the first year that I have put it off until the last possible moment because the words just really aren't here.

2018 has been ... something. It's been beautiful, it's been hard, it's been scary, it's been rewarding, it's been a year of questions and hope and fulfillment and grace and mercy and uncertainty and insecurity. And based on my fb feed, it's been a similar sort of year of contradictions for everyone I know.

In some really important ways that I don't want to detail here, it's been a year of reconciliation and healing, reconciliation and healing that I'm not sure the second parties were even aware of, but I certainly was and I needed it. God has been so present and offered a balm to my heart that had been broken by some people really close to me. He also used Brene Brown's book, Braving the Wilderness, to show me that I was probably as responsible for some of those hurts as the other parties were. So this year has also brought some accountability to my own spirit and some much-needed correction by my Father.

My word this year was "one". I wrote this post last January as the Lord crystallized what He was calling me to over 2018 and it certainly was a year of "one".

I'm ashamed to say it publicly, but I spent more time in His Word and with Him (THE One) than I ever have in my adult life and it still wasn't as much as it should have been. However, new mercies and all, and I get to take 2019 to try and build on what we started together in 2018. And I will.

I was probably most successful with "one" in regard to my immediate family. The first six months together, which happened to be the end of 2017, were very much just blindly finding our way. In 2018, I have been able to really focus individually on each one of my six. I was able to be more intentional with them, we did the Love Languages test and figured out how to best love one another in the way each person wanted to be loved rather than the way that we most want to love.

Time with my extended family looked different this year, as my dad faced a pretty significant and extended health crisis. It was hard to walk through that with him and my mom, struggling to stay confident and full of faith for them when my own heart was so scared of losing him. It was really the first time in my adult life that I have faced the mortality of my parents or Kraig's and it's not something I am ready for, I realized. However, God was faithful and He has allowed all of us more time.

I had planned to spend the year collecting my previous writing and, I'm also ashamed to admit, it's one of the only things I have ever stuck to with such commitment. The second portion of that intention, though, was to write regularly and I failed pretty miserably at that. Again, new mercies. 2019. ;)

I had planned to see things as "day one" and not "one day", to focus on the right now. What I did not expect at all (do we ever?) was my own health scare, an event that forced me to live for over a month as if I only had this ONE day, because I didn't know what tomorrow held. A cancer scare prompted by a finding on my first ever mammogram that led to a second mammogram, an ultrasound, and then a biopsy meant that for one month, I lived with a huge and silent fear (I only told about three people about it). However, the most beautiful word in the English language, benign, was the final report (followed by "6 month follow-up", but I'm living in the moment, not a scary future).

I don't know that I would say I learned more about myself this year, but I think I finally accepted many things about myself this year. I decided that I was going to focus on some self-care this year. Not self-care like getting massages or going on great trips (2019? hello?), but knowing what I need in order to be at my best for everyone else and then making that happen. I made time alone a priority. I made sleep and increased water intake and decreased sugar intake priorities. I rediscovered my insatiable thirst for reading from my youth and read like a fiend this year. I leaned on certain friends and I allowed myself to pull away from others.

My professional life in 2018 is not one I will remember with great joy, but I believe that God is at work there as well. My fall 2018 Holocaust Literature class truly saved me this semester. I believe with all my heart that God placed each student in that class because He knew exactly what I would need from them and it was provided.

Mostly, I will see 2018 as a year of growth, and with growth often comes struggle and discomfort. My family grew up and we grew together. My marriage grew stronger. My faith grew intensity. My outside relationships grew discernment. My heart grew fortitude. It wasn't necessarily easy to grow all of those things this year, but it was necessary. I am thankful to leave this 2018 and to take with me all that it gave me, as well as to leave it unencumbered by some of the things it took away. God is good and we are blessed.

Angela, our Beautiful Thing

In the mad rush of the middle school cross country state meet taking place on the Saturday before we left at 4:00 the following morning for our cruise, then getting back the evening before school started, then enduring the most hectic and insane week possible at work last week, I haven’t really had time to reflect on the season. The state meet signified, not only the ending of the cross country season, but the official end of middle school cross country in this house. Although I look forward to many more years of high school cross country, it makes me so sad to close the door on this chapter because it brought such beauty to our lives. Emma decided kind of on a whim to give it a go in 7^thgrade and I was so proud of her for being so brave and strong to try a sport that was unfamiliar to all of us and one that she didn’t necessarily have other friends doing. Kelsey didn’t even think twice as a sixth grader, knowing from the start that she wanted to join the team and gave it three years of her life, three joyful years of hard work. The girls got to run together in 6^thand 8^thgrade, which was a lot of fun. Then cross country provided a people and a focus for Roman in his first year in America and public school, and he and Kelsey ran together last year, as 7^thand 8^thgraders. Finally, this year, cross country gifted Angela with friends and a physical confidence that she had not had before. It was a blast to see my two youngest as teammates, running together for their 8^thgrade seasons.

Tonight was the middle school cross country banquet. The first award presented was the Coach’s Award, and almost as soon as Coach Thomas started talking, I knew who the recipient was going to be. One of the things she said is that she can see this particular person one day becoming a coach herself, which is exactly what Angela wants to do. As I listened to that beautiful tribute to and description of my girl, I couldn’t help but look back on the journey we have taken and I could so clearly see God’s fingerprints all over it. 

Last year, I begged Angela to run. She absolutely and stoutly refused. So every single afternoon, I went to CMS and picked her up at regular school time while Roman and Kelsey had cross country practice, Francisco had cross country, and Emma had volleyball. Every single meet and game, she dutifully accompanied me to cheer for the rest of the crowd. It made me sad to see her on the sidelines of everything, as Roman and Francisco made friends and connections. I was so worried that she didn’t seem to have any desire to find her niche. 

Then in November, we went to Vanderbilt to the International Adoption Clinic for what I thought was a certain type of testing but ended up just being a sort of counseling eval for all three kids. They each talked independently with the psychologist, then the psychologist, me and each kid talked. Although I was highly irritated that we had taken the time and miles to drive that distance and hadn’t gotten what I had asked for, a few valuable tidbits came out of it and one was from Angela. The psychologist, who had talked alone with Angela MAYBE 15 minutes, told me, “She said that it was really good and important to her that she got to be by herself with you in the afternoons while her brothers and sisters had sports practices. She really enjoyed those days and it seems like it went a long way in building a bond between the two of you.” I almost teared up right then and there. I’m tearing up now, thinking about it. What I had seen as a failure to connect had actually resulted in Angela feeling closer to me and more secure in our relationship. God knew that she needed one-on-one time and would never ask for it, and so He arranged divinely appointed afternoons for the two of us. We didn’t do anything huge on those days, either! We went to Target, Dollar Tree, Walmart, got ice cream, sat in parking lots and waited. And talked. And, apparently almost accidentally and certainly without my realizing it, bonded. Look at God.

And that bond has grown and grown over the course of the year since those afternoons. This year when it was almost time for school to start, Angela told me, “I’m running cross country this year.” Of course I was elated, and this season has been incredible for her. She has found a friend group and increased self-confidence. She has found motivation and a strong determination. Watching her run, I see the strength and resilience in her that brought her this far in her life. And as many times in the past, I see the self-awareness that she has that goes so far beyond her years. Halfway through the season, as her times were better and better and she was consistently running in the fourth position, I said, “See how well you’re doing? You could have done this last year too.” 

Angela’s immediate response was, “But Mom, I wasn’t READY last year.” ……… UM. Ok. I guess I still have a lot to learn from you, my girl. How much wisdom is there in that, to do things in YOUR time rather than when others want you to, when it feels like makes the most sense, when it would be the most fun… to wait until you’re ready. How much frustration could we all avoid if we would wait to do things till we are ready? And I know that God had other important work for the two of us last year, the work of building a relationship. If she had let me push her, in all of my ignorance, not only would she not have been ready to run, but we would have missed the opportunities we had last year to connect. 

But this year, she was ready… so ready. And she exceled. And every word Coach Thomas said tonight about her was the truth. When I look at Angela, all I see is Gungor’s song, “Beautiful Things”.

All this pain
I wonder if I'll ever find my way
I wonder if my life could really change, at all
All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found?
Could a garden come out from this ground, at all?
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us
All around,
Hope is springing up from this old ground
Out of chaos life is being found, in you
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us
Oh, you make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us
You make me new,
You are making me new
You make me new,
You are making me new

When I think about that little 9 year old girl and all that she lost…. when I think about the pain… when I think about the chaos it must have felt like in the next couple of months… when I think about the walls she built, the ground of her heart that hardened, the dust of hopes and dreams she lost along the way…. And then I see this beautiful thing that He is creating, the hope, the smiles, the laughter, the silliness, the strength, the friendships, the joy…. I am so eternally grateful to have a Father who not only knit us together in our mothers’ wombs, but who will re-knit us together when the tragedies of this world tear us apart. He makes us new, and Angela is a living representation of how a loving Heavenly Father makes beautiful things out of us.

https://www.facebook.com/athena.b.davis/videos/10156758365374771/?l=2060203908736360991

Modern Day Prophet

On Sunday morning, our cruise ship docked in Tampa. I was wearing one of my favorite shirts, a shirt that was an adoption fundraiser for another family that says, "Be Brave". As we moved in a long line from ship to card check to passport check to customs check to passport check, an elderly customs official read it aloud and said, “I like that.” I smiled and nodded, kept moving. He took a couple of steps after me and called out, “I especially like it because it has mountains on it. I am a mountain climber.” I politely said, “Ooh, that’s really cool! Mountain climbing would be awesome!” and again, kept moving. There was a mad rush of humanity behind me who had been standing with luggage for 30 minutes, waiting on the doors to be opened and they did not have time for me to chat with the customs official. He reached out and grabbed my upper arm in an urgent sort of way and kind of turned me around to look at him. Then he looked deep into my eyes and said, “When I got to the top of every single mountain, do you know what I saw?” At this point, I realized this mattered, at least to him and me (probably still not to the hundreds of people behind me who were now stopped, waiting for me to continue dragging my million pound suitcase of dirty clothes that I have wrestled through the whole maze), and I came to a complete stop and looked back at him. “What?” I asked, expecting, “Beautiful views” or “Endless skies” or something. He pierced me with his gaze and said, “More mountains.” 

WHAT??? Are you kidding me right now? I stopped this entire line for, not something encouraging, but something PESSIMISTIC??? Come on, dude! I just kind of nodded and smiled and got a new death grip on my bag, shoving it ahead of me to the escalator. In the rush to get our bags to the shuttle, load everyone on the shuttle, hop off at the car and put the luggage rack on the back of the car, strap down all the luggage, argue over who was driving first, cool the car off, and assess how long it would be until we were home, his words kind of drifted out of my mind. 

{Also, ummmm…. MY PHONE WAS BACK ON. The world! Social media! Notifications! Texts! Emails! I had pictures to post and stories to tell!} 

It wasn’t until later when I was taking my turn to drive that his words stopped drifting and settled down in my consciousness like hailstones pelting from the sky. One at a time, sporadically,    

                    drop. 

                                                                          drop. 

                         drop.

It was then that I started to ask God, “What was that about? Did You send him with a negative message to me? Was he not from You at all, but from the enemy? Was it neither of the two, just an old lonely man who wanted to chat with someone? Show me what I am supposed to take from that.”

See, the night before had been an unexpectedly challenging night for me. Kraig had shared something with me in what he thought was just in passing but that had really shaken me up. Without sharing too much detail, I worry a lot about attachment and connection with our kids. It’s a serious fear in adoption, but especially in an adoption where you choose to love kids who are nearly grown. It’s another blog post entirely, but the link to this story here is that Kraig had told me something that made me realize that a connection one of our kids had to someone in the first country is still very present, even over a year after they have been home. And it spooked me. I had been in a real tailspin the night before, worrying about that and other issues that we have and are dealing with. God had given me a reassurance the night before (again, another post), so why on earth would He send this man to basically take that reassurance and throw it aside, instead emphasizing that, “And hey, once you get through this, there will just be something else. And something else. And something else. You’re never going to reach the top of the mountain just to enjoy the view.” What a discouraging word. 

So, in keeping with something I am trying to make more of a discipline in my life, I just asked God, “What am I supposed to take from that?” and sat quietly, waiting to hear an answer. I can’t say the answer was anywhere near as clear as the one I had gotten the previous night about a different situation, but I did feel that He was gently reminding my spirit that our journey in this world WON’T ever be easy, or complete, until we are passed from this world. And, also, that easy isn’t the point.

I think the message the sweet customs man was trying to share with me and the one that the Lord wanted me to take is that it’s not about the mountainous journey, the treacherous pathways, the rocks that tumble in front of us, the beautiful vistas along the way, the storms, the sun, the exhaustion, the peak, OR THE NEXT MOUNTAIN. It’s about being brave enough to carry on. It’s about the strength we find in Him through our weakness. It’s about the fellowship we share with Him when we are in the darkest place and no one could understand or maybe they could but you can’t even tell them anyway. It’s about His sweet whispering under the rock ledges as we wait out a rainstorm. It’s about the joy of creation spread out before us and taking such delight in what He has made while simultaneously knowing that He made us with the same care and delicacy that He made the canyons and the cliffs. It’s about sweating through your clothes as you wrestle an overweight suitcase (and an overweight 40 year old body but that’s another story) up and down ramps and escalators, only to be stopped in your tracks by a modern day prophet dressed in a US Customs uniform. 

Kelsey and the Land of Enough

I’ve got this amazing kid who lives in my house. Well, I have five amazing kids in my house, but this post is about a certain one. My Kelsey is coming to the end of her last middle school cross country season. Kelsey is one of those kids who was blessed with a tremendous work ethic and incredible heart, but not as much of that gift that some people have of a natural ability that comes effortlessly. She has to push and work for everything she gets in the classroom, in the swimming pool, on the cross country course, and on the volleyball court (a sport that she decided she didn’t have enough love for to make the effort worth it—a fact I greatly respect and one that shows her self-awareness).

The other day, Kelsey came home telling me about the people she is recruiting to the swim team. As she is talking, I feel this twinge inside because I know the chances of these people being better than her at swim are very good. It’s the same twinge I felt when she was encouraging people to join cross country. And when she insisted that Angela run… the sister who beats her by a full minute in every race… the sister who has never run on a team before… the sisters who love and support and encourage each other. And when, after sixth grade volleyball, she begged friends to try out the next year… friends who made the team and she didn’t.

The thing about that twinge is that it illustrates precisely the difference in me and Kelsey, a difference that proves she is a better person than I am.

We live in a society that operates in a philosophy of scarcity. It’s an economic concept, a philosophical one, an ecological one, a political one, and a psychological one. It shows up at our workplaces, in our elections, in our friendships, our bank accounts, on our teams, and… dare I say it???... even in our churches. Whether we openly admit it to ourselves or not, we have a belief that there is only so much of everything—success, money, power, popularity, jobs, relationships, luck, goodness—to go around, and so if you have it, then there isn’t going to be enough for me. Not only is this completely false in almost every aspect, it’s not biblical. The fact of the matter is that we have enough. And there is enough to go around. The New Testament church lived by this system and the Body of Christ is called to it today.

Brené Brown has studied and written extensively on the concept of scarcity and the ways it impacts our daily living. She wrote, “This internal condition of scarcity, this mind-set of scarcity, lives at the very heart of our jealousies, our greed, our prejudice, and our arguments with life.” That is exactly the root of our complex relationships with the desires listed above—success, money, power, popularity, jobs, and relationships.

So what’s the answer? It’s what Kelsey has already, and did at a very young age, figured out and somehow manages to live by. It’s what her 40 year old mom still struggles with every time she sees someone else achieving or receiving what she wants. The answer is to realize and live in the Land of Enough. When you operate from a place of enough, when you live in the Land of Enough, you know that there is always room at the table for you. You want to write a book? You don’t have to feel twingy every time you hear that someone you know is writing one. Their book doesn’t edge out yours. There is always room on the shelf for more books! Your friends made the volleyball team and you didn’t? There are two other sports you love and enjoy. You have enough sports in your life. Your sister runs faster than you? Cross country is all about beating your own PR. It’s somehow both a team sport and an individual one, and the stronger each individual, the better the team. So having a fast sister on the team means that the team does better! Those strong finishes are enough.

Kelsey has learned that when you live in the Land of Enough, you become a thankful giver. You can encourage others to join your teams and activities because you know that there is always enough to go around. You give others affirmation, time, encouragement, and YOU. This is what is so magnetizing about my youngest girl, the reason people are drawn to her and love being around her. It is emotionally rewarding to be around someone who is fully invested in YOU because she isn’t always trying to look for an angle or be on the alert for a way that you may somehow one-up HER.

Kelsey writes something on her wrist before every race, and it’s so appropriate for the way she lives her life. She writes “relentless”. I think she got it from a Missy Franklin book she read and she fully embraces the idea of pushing herself to her limits. The beautiful thing about Kelsey is that she knows she can be relentless in her pursuits without walking over others. She knows she can achieve her own personal best without being threatened by the personal bests of others. I have so much to learn in this life, and I should start by learning from those in my own house. Enough. We are, we have, ENOUGH.

Cited:

https://eewc.com/scarcity-vs-abundance-moving-beyond-dualism-enough/

Brené Brown's Daring Greatly and Taming the Wilderness

Those Who Keep Fighting

A couple of months ago, our family purchased a new direct-to-garment printer for our small business. We started a screenprinting and vinyl business quite a few years ago. I can’t remember what year we started, but I can tell you that enough time has passed for me to completely forget what it felt like to be learning. I have forgotten the orders that had to be completely thrown away and restarted due to an error, causing a lost profit. I have forgotten the vinyl sheets that were ruined when the Sihouette was at the wrong setting and I didn’t know to check it every single time I told it to cut. I have forgotten the times the heat press was at the wrong setting and the vinyl messed up, the times we ordered the wrong vinyl and it ruined a shirt, the times Kraig was learning screenprinting and had to do and redo orders. I have forgotten what it’s like to be on a learning curve.

And since I have forgotten what it feels like to be at the beginning of something, I’m comparing our new printer beginning to the much more advanced level we are with screenprinting and vinyl. And I’m frustrated and mad. Every time I go to work on shirts upstairs, something goes wrong. Sometimes it’s small, like colors being off or a shirt printing crooked and having to be rejected. Sometimes it’s big, like not being able to figure out how to create in photoshop or illustrator. And sometimes it’s huge and sickening, like pressing an entire order of over twenty shirts at the wrong temperature, creating marks on them, thus losing the time spent and the profit earned thanks to having to do them over again. I’ve grown to hate the room where that beast of a printer lives, that dragon that breathes fire at me every night until my hair is wet with sweat and my clothes are sticking to me.

And then every now and then, things go right. Every now and then, everything works like it should and I get a glimpse of what it will be like once I am again past the beginning.

As I have wrestled this black hunk of machinery night after night, I’ve looked at and reflected on a quote that hangs in the craft room, a quote by Jon Acuff that my friend Melissa Barnett framed for me. It says, “Don’t compare your beginning to someone else’s middle.” How many times does this apply to aspects of our lives other than making tshirts? How many times do we look at those around us who seem to succeed and achieve effortlessly, we feel resentful of or amazed by them, and yet we haven’t seen their struggle? We weren’t there when they were wrestling and failing and losing. All we see is the fruit of their labor rather than the sweat and blood and thoughts of despair and failure that went into it. I look at other parents sometimes and wonder how on earth they came out so clean, so unscathed, so untouched. Then I find out in the rare instances that we are actually vulnerable with each other that their parenting journey is no easier than mine is. I remember being a young teacher and thinking that everyone else had it together, that veteran teachers never had to deal with the sort of disrespect I was facing. Now that I’m one of the “veteran teachers”, I know that the struggle doesn’t end when you get tenure. Sometimes those tough years and tough classes and tough kids are going to come, no matter how long you’ve been at it, but you have learned over time how to cope.

I think we would be much more content if we could just remember that the battle isn’t to the strong or the swift or the talented or the smart, but to the ones who keep on fighting.

Small Town Dreamin’

It seems like lately I’ve been inundated with dreams. Not the kind you have at night while sleeping (that I have vividly and can somehow go in and out of again and again, no matter how many times I wake up), but rather the kind that keep you up at night and keep you going all day or, maybe, the kind that you keep pushed down so deep that you don’t think of them too much.

My AP class just read The Alchemist. It’s a phenomenal book, one that brings up some great conversation about dreams (phrased in that book as “personal legends”) and life. It’s a cool time to have those discussions with seniors as they are making college decisions right now and are at a place where they are deciding if their dreams are going to stay dreams or if they are going to actively pursue what their heart is leading them to. Every year when we read it, it causes me some self-reflection and I always tell my own story of how I became a teacher. And every year, I am also confronted with other dreams I have had and currently have. 

Last week I did a webinar on writing with Emily Freeman. She said two things that struck me:

“The thing you long to do is the thing you were made for, and it’s what you were meant to do.”

“The world needs what makes you come alive. And if that thing is writing, the world needs you to write.” I left that webinar conflicted because, while writing is what I long to do, I seem to be in the worst possible season of life in which to do it. Just during the hour and a half webinar, 4 out of 5 teens and one husband came in multiple times with multiple needs. I’m torn between spending my extra time following another more practical (and let’s be honest—immediately lucrative and necessary) family dream with our small business versus writing. And to be totally honest, most nights my biggest dream is just to come home from school and sporting events and after school activities, eat dinner, and just fall into bed until I have to get up and do it all over again.

But then, in the midst of this tiring life and a schedule packed to the brim of event after event and deadline after deadline, there will spring another reminder of dreams. On Friday, it came in the form of our CHS Hall of Fame induction ceremony. The speeches this year were absolutely AMAZING and there were two really clear themes that showed up over and over: dreams and hard work. A couple of times, one speech seemed to contradict another, unless you were listening closely for the connections that could be drawn even from the juxtapositions.

Over and over, the kids were exhorted to work hard. They were reminded to follow their dreams. And then Elizabeth Dale threw this kicker in and said, “Maybe don’t follow your dreams, follow your capabilities.” She told them dreams can be impractical, but your capabilities will lead to mastery of a craft. Then she reminded them to work hard at something, or a few things, till they mastered it. Drew Helmstetter upped the ante with, “Do what you’re good at so you can do what you love.” Sometimes you have to work at one thing in order to make room for the dreams. And finally, Tanya Mazzolini brought it home when she said, “You may have to do some dirty work on your way to your dream job.” She also pushed the fact that you are NEVER stuck and you don’t have to know right now or at any point what job you will have for the next fifty years of your working life. It’s always ok to change paths. 

I left that ceremony reminded, challenged, and inspired. I mulled those points over all day and night Friday and all day Saturday. Because not only am I in a place where I need to consider my dreams, I’m parenting a boy who has some big decisions to make over the next few months and he’s not your textbook senior. He’s making decisions about things he doesn’t even know about, playing a game without the full instructions. It’s daunting and overwhelming to me to help lead him down this gauntlet, especially when many factors are beyond any of our control and depend on governments and paperwork and choices we don’t have enough information on. Tanya’s speech gave me great encouragement for him that one path may lead to another which leads to another which eventually is the best one. 

Then came last night. If The Alchemist was the seed and the webinar was the water and the Hall of Fame speeches were the pruning, last night was the bloom. I sat in a dark auditorium last night and I watched one of my favorite people from high school do what he was born to do. I watched him show mastery of a craft. I watched him exhibit the results of a lifetime of hard work. I watched him glow and smile and laugh and be the physical embodiment of a dream become a reality. I got to see what it looks like when your capability and your heart’s greatest desire happen to be the same thing. I saw what Coehlo would call someone living in his “personal legend”, someone who didn’t listen when the world and society said, “Your dream to be a musician, ok, but what do you want to do for real? What do you want to do for money? Being a musician is a pipe dream.” 

As I watched Todd Parks play in the Sam Bush band, I was filled with a most palpable sense of pride. I was inspired. My heart was bursting. It’s a little awkward to acknowledge it, in a room filled with drunk bluegrass fans and sitting beside my dad, but a tear slid down my cheek once or twice. Is Todd just one of the lucky few for whom it all falls together? Do the rest of us get a shot at the kind of joy I witnessed last night? Or is it that he’s one of only a few who are brave enough to say, “I’m doing it. Whatever it takes, I’m doing it.” Or is he one of only a few who are strong and committed enough to give their dream what it takes? I don’t know. I just know that I was sitting in the presence of a dream fulfilled in the most magical, beautiful, joyful, and incredible of ways and the energy swept me along with it. I came home with a little bit of the glow from him and I’m ready to see where it takes me. 

Todd.... you are amazing. Watching you do what you do was something I’ve always wanted to see and I’m so thankful I came last night. Even though I wanted to back out at the last minute because apparently I never want to leave my house when I don’t have to. Which might be another issue I need to work on. Haha!

Even If...

Even if you don’t..... I’m sitting in my car right now, all alone, in a parking lot. I need to go in and grab a few groceries, but MercyMe’s “Even If” is on and I can’t get out. This whole weekend was the story of “even if you don’t”. The fact is, as Pastor Lipsey so eloquently and yet so simply explained on Saturday night, sometimes the scales are unjustly tipped against us. Our kids at Royal Connection have had terribly unfair and unjust and horrible things happen to them, through no fault of their own. God can step in at any point and completely change any situation. Sometimes He does. But sometimes He doesn’t. Sometimes parents die in typhoons. Sometimes dads attack their daughters. Sometimes big brothers prey on younger siblings. Sometimes uncles sexually assault kids. Sometimes parents are drug and alcohol addicted and forget they even have kids. Sometimes CPS is called, sometimes DCS, sometimes the police, and sometimes nobody. But even if things don’t get “fixed”, He’s still there. Even if we are the ones messing everything up, He’s still there. Even if you feel alone, He’s still there. 


I was walking by the pond this weekend and I almost missed this bloom. It was almost lost in the middle of rocks and dirt and mulch and pebbles. But there it was, a beautiful bloom on a strong vine, thriving in a most unlikely place. That’s what God does for us. He gives us roots and strength and blooms, even in the most unlikely of places. Even if those places aren’t made beautiful, we still are. Even if.

DMV Angels

The DMV is among the last places I ever expected to see an angel, but lo and behold.... I'm pretty sure I did.

Last week was a rough one on all levels. I was stretched too thin, everything was bearing down on me, there are paperwork deadlines approaching faster than we can figure out what the ever-loving heck we are supposed to do in regard to the post-adoption bureaucracy, and we had an issue to deal with regarding a school situation with one of the kids.  In the midst of all of that, SOMEONE (hint: it was Kraig) thought it was a fine time to go to the DMV with 4 kids and get government-issued photo id's for the new three and have Emma and Francisco take their driver's permit tests (that they hadn't studied for one second for, mind you). 

Once I had checked the 3 high schoolers out and he had checked Angela out, we met at the DMV (during my planning period, not like I needed it for... you know... PLANNING). As we start the avalanche of paperwork, sifting through the tsunami of documents stuffed in brown envelopes, we realize that we don't have the social security number for the child who has been in our care the LONGEST, as in, SINCE BIRTH. I had reminded Kraig to bring it, but he had not. (I'm not throwing him under the bus, this is important for the story later.)

I left the DMV and drove home to get it, entertaining thoughts on the way of, "I could just get on the interstate and head north and drive till I got tired of driving or hit Maine. Someone else can deal with my classes the rest of the day, someone else can deal with the kids and deadlines." {Thank goodness I quelled that impulse because it turns out I had left my wallet AT the DMV, so I only could have driven till I ran out of gas and there's really nothing much interesting in Riceville, TN. Plus, it wouldn't have been a very dramatic run-away.} By the time I got the number and headed back, I was more rational but still very on edge.

I walked in the DMV to find Kraig and the agent just laughing and carrying on with each other like they had known each other for 55 years. She was a short African-American lady with close-cropped hair and a deep, no-nonsense voice. When I walked up, she said, "You look like you done." I told her that she actually had no idea how done I really am. She then said, "He's the one doing the work here" and I explained to her that I had driven all the way home and back because HE didn't bring the card I reminded him to bring. She then told me that "He still doin' all these papers" and I retorted that I was going back to the school afterward to continue dealing with a situation while he went back to a quiet and calm office where his family life didn't invade his work life.

At that point, this DMV agent set aside all the papers she had been holding and leaned over the counter to us. She said, "How old is the kid who isn't here?" We told her 13, and she said the following: 

"Every one of those kids is old enough to be home alone. They got phones?"

I told her they DID, until I took the phones of the two who failed the test.

Her: "Take them kids home and turn on the tv. Tell them not to open the door no matter what, to sit there and watch something on tv. Then YOU--" {at this point she turned right to Kraig} "take HER out. She needs ta' get out. Take her to dinner, make some time. She need some time."

I sort of chuckled and she rounded on me and said, "I ain't kidding. I know that look. You need ta' get out and take some time."

It was funny, it really was. It was also sobering to think that this lady who doesn't know me from Adam, this DMV government worker, sensed how close I was to full on breaking apart (not just cracked), and she reacted. She put aside everything she was doing to impress upon us how serious she was.

Here's the crazy part, though..... When Francisco went back up to get the results of his test, he was called to a different counter number. A different agent waited for us there and this lady was GONE. Vanished. In fact, the agent asked me where his paperwork was and I pointed to the counter where we had been and said, "She had it." The agent looked around, confused, and asked me who, acting like there had never been a "she" at that counter. I told him the paperwork was there, and it was, in a stack. He went over and got it, finished our transaction, and that was the end. 

No lie, I think she was an angel. Seriously. And today I told this story to a friend whose kid was also not successful on the permit test (she has been to the DMV NUMEROUS times with him) and she told me she had NEVER seen a lady who fit this description. 

So I guess the moral is, you may entertain angels unawares, or they may meet you at the DMV and give you sanity and relationship advice. Whether or not you take it? Well that's up to you.

cracked

Last week I found myself in a book. More specifically, I discovered the wording for the way I have felt for a very long time, about 8 months, in a book. It's a line from a book called Behind the Beautiful Forevers by Katherine Boo, and the line says, "She has a crack in her-- she's cracked, you know this." 

I sat and stared at that line, stunned by the depth of connection I felt with it. I have had such a hard time putting into words (and have struggled with whether I even should try, if I had a right to) the ways I have been feeling since January. But finally, there it is....

cracked

That's exactly how I feel. I'm not going to get into the why's and how's and what's, although I do think I have some logical answers for it. Those things don't matter in this forum, at least not right now.

What matters is the relief I felt in finally having a word to connect to it and then what I discovered as I did some digging into that word. See, I can't change how I feel. I can't fix what is breaking me because, honestly, I don't even know for sure what it is. But I can find some peace in defining my condition.

I'm cracked. I'm not broken apart, I'm not shattered beyond repair, I'm not destroyed. I'm cracked.

And the thing about being cracked is that, while you aren't any of the things listed above, nor are you whole. For that matter, nor will you ever be, at least not the way you once were. So I need to find ways to bear with my cracked-ness. Ways to strengthen my weakness.

So I started doing some reading and research on being cracked.

The first thing I found is a parable that was credited to several original sources, but the site I found it on was a Jewish parables and fables site. The basic story is that a woman had two water cans that were attached to a yoke. Every day, she carried that yoke down to the river and filled the cans, walking back to her hut. The whole can was always full when she got home, but the cracked can was always nearly empty. The cracked can always felt less than in comparison to the whole can. One day, he apologized to the woman for being defective. The woman smiled and said, "Did you think I didn't know that you had a crack and water dripped from you? Look at the path from the river to my hut. Do you see all the beautiful flowers that are growing on that side of the path? Those are the flowers I planted there, the flowers that you watered every day as I walked home from the river."

I then did some reading on Kintsugi, the art form in Japan that restores cracked vessels with gold, leaving the piece more beautiful than it started out. The word means "golden joinery". The idea behind it is not to hide the ugliness and brokenness, but to use gold to make it shine and illuminate and expose the damage. The piece, at the end of the process, is even more beautiful for having been damaged.

Finally, I started digging around in the Bible about what the Lord has to say about broken vessels. There are so many references to potters and clay, vessels and oil, torches and vessels. From Elisha to Gideon to God and Adam, the overall message the Bible makes in reference to cracked pots is that cracked pots aren't unusable to Him. Instead, they are beautiful and they are often how the light inside is revealed.




I'm not feeling all shored up with gold tonight. I'm not sure that it's been His light that has been shining through my cracks. I'm doubtful that any flowers have been watered as a result of my weakness. But I'm feeling thankful for it to have a name. I'm feeling hopeful that, one day soon, my cracked-ness will have a purpose.