On Birthdays {from the Adult Adoptee}

{{Disclaimer: This post is from my perspective as an adoptee. I am not going to "blanket" this on all adopted people, but I will admit that many I have talked to feel the same. I am also not writing this for any other reason than to educate. What I have learned about being brave and vulnerable is that my thoughts and feelings could maybe help someone else. So here I am. Here for the adoptee to not feel alone. Here for the adoptive parent to understand. Here for family to empathize. Please see it as nothing else. Also feel free to read more about other truths with adoption here.}}

Birthdays are traditionally a time of great celebration. There are gifts, stories, family, laughter, balloons, games, parties, and CAKE. Don't forget the cake. Birthdays are pretty special.

My experience with birthdays brought me great shame until my husband came into my life. He pushed me until I was able to put words to why my birthday was such a tumultuous time. And then at least I knew. And he would help in the best ways. Quiet, allowing tears, tolerating the lack of complete joy on turning the pages on a new year...understanding. I'm not sure if I even knew what a gift that was until now.

Birthdays are hard. They bring up thoughts of birth, birth mother, the story of why adoption is part of my journey. I don't know my story. I don't get to hear it each year as it builds up to the pivotal moment where mom holds baby, looks deep into her eyes, and forever is changed. I wonder if birth mom thinks of me on this day. Does she even remember this day? Does she even remember me? How does she feel about me? Is there shame? Was there doubt? {And truthfully, the questions don't really ever end.}

And so...about 3 days after Thanksgiving until the big day (my birthday is in early December), a cloud comes over me. It isn't life altering, but it is real. It never leaves, and it just makes the whole time heavy and sad. It fades...it really does. But that doesn't help those few weeks under a cloud.

I know something you're wondering...you're wondering how long it's been this way. And my answer is...as long as I can remember.

I specifically remember the year I got Rainbow Brite. I must have been 7 or 8. I remember the shame over feeling sad on my birthday. It wasn't right. I certainly didn't understand it. Here I was surrounded by my friends and my amazing smiling family. Those people loved me so much, they had a Rainbow Brite cake AND a new Rainbow Brite doll! Imagine the confusion of why I had to force a smile on such a joyous occasion. I remember my wish that year was that my birth mother would be well and remember me. I remember then being mad at making a wish I couldn't possibly know the outcome of.

I was a generally jolly gal. But birthdays HURT.

In college, my friends would try to just do anything to make my day fantastic and take away the sting. I have amazing memories. Chicago (the one year almost missing the last train out of town and running through several city blocks to get there), singing in the rain outside of Williams Hall, lots of fun restaurant birthdays with embarrassing songs sung for all to hear (and the occasional "yee-haw" @ TR), the time I turned 21 and they tried to literally drag me into a bar screaming and protesting. I didn't understand the "cloud" then. I am, however, incredibly grateful for the fun memories and intuition that my friends had to go all out for my birthdays. {Thanks, guys...you know who you are.}

Tonight I held and rocked my soon-to-be 7 year old as she wailed all of her fears out loud. She asked questions and demanded answers, and all of her "birthday blues" were laid bare for our ears. All I could do is whisper "I know...I've felt that way before...I'm sorry your heart hurts...you are so loved."

You guys...my heart is broken for my kids and their brokenness. I can't fix it, though. I can't. I can't even try. And to be honest...answers don't fix it either. This is just part of our story, and it's ok. It's sad, but it's ok.

Here's what I want you to know:

• The "Birthday Blues" are the worst. We already feel different than others. Now we grieve at birthdays instead of celebrate and anticipate like everyone else.
• This is not something we can control.
• We may never be able to put words to it until well into our 30s.

Here's what you can do:

1) Pray

2) Presence. (See that little period? But it's really a big thing. -- Presence, Period.)

3) Perception (Find a way to be comfortable with the hard questions and emotions while you're being present.)

4) Repeat Steps 1-3

Book Thoughts: Confessions of an Adoptive Parent

Guys. I am so honored to be writing this post. I was selected to be a part of the book launch team of a new book for adoptive parents. As an adoptee who is now an adoptive parent, I have an interesting perspective to bring to the table.

As a long time fan of the author's blog, I couldn't wait to get my hands on this book. They have such a beautiful family pieced together by adoption through domestic and foster care. They have also fostered numerous children to reunification. They live in the trenches of trauma.

As an adoptive parent, few resources are out there (especially written by other adoptive parents) that are specifically for us. This book is a quick read because it feels as if you are having a cup of proverbial coffee and sharing life with a dear friend who also experiences life as an adoptive parent.

There were several resounding messages in this book.

Hope. Such a small word with an impressive impact on our life...IF we hold on to it. It's easy enough to lose hope in the midst of caring for any children and the constant force of resistance we face when confronting life's challengers. Foster and adoptive parents face these challenges, as well as a slew of other challenges unbeknownst to those outside of our circle. On our journey of foster care and adoption, I have come dangerously close to losing hope several times. Hope is strung through every chapter of the book. Berry points us back to the place where we know, without a shadow of doubt, that hope never quits. And especially that you can find hope in the most unlikely of places.

Community. Though I believe this wholeheartedly, I haven't really taken full advantage of community until the last few years. There is power when burdens are shared and other like-minded, non-judgemental people can help you bear them. I have seen it time and time again. Berry gives lots of tips for how to immerse yourself in a community. Do's and don'ts that are pretty helpful (that I wish I would have thought through before sharing our story with some). The truth is, our realities are too harsh for some people in our lives. We can't share it all with everyone, nor should we. However, there is great power in the "Me, too" from another one who has stood or is standing in similar circumstances. I am so grateful for my people.

One of my favorite chapters of the book is in the telling of the stories of some children (his and others he knows closely). It was especially good for this momma's heart, as our family has dealt with similar situations. The hope that was thread throughout their stories, even in the most hopeless of situations, was a light for this weary momma. You see, only those closest to us know that each of our three kids have deep-seeded issues and they come out in completely different ways. My husband and I often feel like failures and wonder how we will ever meet all of their needs...how we will ever be on the other side of this. We don't know the end of their stories, and while I sometimes wonder, these stories reminded me of this truth: their stories aren't over. And a reminder to not base my children's future on their current behavior. {All.The.Praise.Hands,Y'all!} This is a truth I can hold on to.

My other favorite theme running throughout the book is a reminder to find beauty right where you are. Sure, this journey is unpredictable. Sure, it's hard. Sure, we don't know how the story ends, but today there is beauty. It's woven through the trenches and laughter and sadness and pain. I love how the author (Berry) keeps bringing us back to hope. If we can hold on to hope tighter, maybe we could be quicker to notice the beauty.

In the midst of the struggles that can come with adoption and foster care, this book is our very own form of "Me, too." Berry reminds us that hope can be found in the wreckage, in the beautiful, in the silence, in friendships, in "me, too"s, and in the past, present, and future. Hope can be our anchor. And must be, really. Hope must be our anchor.

I can't recommend this book enough. If you're an adoptive or foster parent, get it! I promise you will be encouraged and inspired. If you love an adoptive or foster parent, get it for them. I promise they will be encouraged and inspired.

To watch the video book trailer, click here.

To preorder the book, click here. There are tons of goodies if you pre-order, including a video series, and several other freebies. You should totally do that! Get it at your favorite book retailer or mine (Amazon)!

Book Thoughts: Looking for Lovely

For inquiring minds, I will post reviews to books that I read this year. I just finished my first read of 2018, and it.is.lovely. Both literally and figuratively, the book is just...lovely.

Buy this book here.

I have had this book (and every single one she's ever written) on my wishlist since I first heard a podcast with Jen Hatmaker and Annie F. Downs. Who knew that this music gal would ever love podcasts, but I would say I listen to them as much as I listen to music nowadays. Starting with Jen's, which you can find in your favorite podcast provider as "For the Love with Jen Hatmaker." However, I anxiously await Annie's new podcasts each week, too. Find her at "That Sounds Fun with Annie F. Downs."

So now that we have that down, I want to tell you to read this book. I underlined things in the foreword, all through the book, the epilogue...and even the "thank you" section if I'm honest. So many of her struggles I relate to, and so sometimes it was as if I was reading my own struggles and thoughts in black and white (which is both scary and awe-inspiring).

Scripture is woven throughout the entire book. I love that she refers to stories, sections, people I know from the Bible. The chapter about tragedy was pretty much all underlined and read and re-read. Reading that sometimes looking for lovely in tragedy is about feeling the pain, calling hurt what it is, not pretending everything is ok, and just living without ignoring the hurt. (p. 76 loosely quoted)

She quotes Psalm 126:5 in another chapter, which I've read how many times but never has stuck out to me. But that day? Someone I loved was in crisis. I couldn't help. If you know me, you know that I cry when I feel anything, so I was doing a lot of prayer crying. It was perfect timing, or as I like to think of it - me being reminded that I am not alone, He sees, He knows.

She talks about music. This quote from p. 102 resonated so deeply with me about music:

"That's what music does. It holds you together when you think you'll fall apart. It reminds you of truth. It grabs your hand as you try to cross the finish line. It fills your ears with peach when it feels like there is no peace."

So good, right?

In another chapter, she reiterates the need for "your people." I need more people. I have some. I need to invest more in the ones I have and the ones God is laying on my heart. She talked about the story in Exodus 17 where Moses needed his arms held up because that's when the Israelites were winning, and how different people had to help because he physically couldn't do it after so many hours. So good.

One of my favorite quotes in the book...I could not underline it enough (may it be the cry of my heart):

"As I'm collecting these moments that matter, I'm actually just seeing more of Him. Because in the end, that's what it's all about. When you find Jesus, you have found lovely. He is everything we need."

Yes, yes, yes. All the praise hands.

Thank you, Annie F. Downs, for a beautiful introspective and honest piece of art. I can't wait to read all the others.

Sayonara 2017

I don't know about you, but I love a fresh new year. I do. I love the holiday season: Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years. My favorite days, though, are probably the ones between Christmas and New Years. The chaos of the holidays are behind and it's kind of a quiet week.

I typically spend a lot of time reflecting on my year. And this year? 2017 was a doozy. I mean...it was both amazing and not. I'm entering the New Year with lots of hope and also gratitude that 2017 is closing behind me.

Highlights:

• I met my birth mother, Sarah. It was a highlight of my life for sure. I'm so grateful for the blooming relationship with her and a visit this year where I will get to introduce my hubby and kidlets to her. And as a result of meeting her, I've begun a relationship with her two daughters which I am enjoying. One day I will write about meeting her.
• The kids turned 20, 6, & 11. They are both my joy and every bit of what exhausts me.
• I continue to love my job. I get to work with babies, toddlers, and their mommas. I get to work at my kids' school, on their schedule with amazing people and teachers. SO grateful.
• Mister and I celebrated 10 years. That's a long time. I am so grateful for his wisdom and leadership in my life. Cheers to 90 more.
• Studying the Word. I have diligently studied and copied the Word this year. I am so excited to continue this habit. I am so grateful for how God speaks to us through His word.

Lowlights:

• Pain. Oy. It started at the beginning of 2017. It was a slow fade. Answers didn't really start until the fall, but I know my phlebotomist by name. So. Much. Blood drawn to find answers. I'm bringing in 2018 with some relief, but still a lot of unanswered questions. Living with chronic pain is NO JOKE. No one understands it except maybe those who live with you and those who also have chronic pain. Praying for answers, relief, and hope in the coming days and year. I have to put a plug in for my dear Mister here...he has pushed me to get answers and picked up a LOT of slack around the house, which I am ever so grateful for. I am really hoping for more answers and relief in the coming months and year.
• Parenting. The good news on this front is that I'm not alone. This has been one of the roughest years of parenting. Each of my kids has had unique challenges that have caused quite the struggle for me. I don't ever know if I'm doing it right (which really is the rally of parents, isn't it?), but the fear of failing these kids is just...so big sometimes. I'm not alone. It's hard across the board. It would help if we could parent them all the same, but you know...that's just not a reality. I will continue to love them with all my heart, seek the Lord for wisdom and grace, and take it day by day. My prayer is that I won't take it in my hands, but keep pushing them to Jesus. At the end of the day, that's all I really know to do anyway.
• Depression. Oh man...there was a very, very dark 8-12 weeks in the fall. I've never experienced a darkness quite like that before. I am so grateful to be on the other side of it. I completely had pulled away from any support that I had. Only my hubby and one friend even knew what was happening. 

Photo Cred: Megan Rockwell Photography

What I've learned:

• That whole "faith, hope, and love are the greatest of these" is legit. Without hope, it's pretty dark. Without faith...there is no hope. Without love, who would take care of you and pull you up and put hope in front of you and remind you of your faith?
• You don't need 47 friends. You need like 3. And only one deep one...maybe a few others to keep you grounded and real. Sometimes friends cross that line into "framily" and they become irreplaceable to you. So grateful for my framily...family that I got to choose. You are my light and my constant. I love you.
• There is no manual for being a momma to three completely different human beings. What works for one won't work for another. And sometimes my love and effort isn't enough to "fix" anything.
• God alone is my source of strength. What an honor to be loved by the Creator.

Cheers to the New Year! May 2018 be a time we seek Him first.

Raising a World Changer {aka joy sprinkler}

We spent 4 days in Chicago this past week. You get to know some of the hotel staff as you come and go. The manager at the fitness center (aka pool) {where the kids and I spent the days Daddy was in meetings} loved to interact with the kids. After a few days, he came up to me and tell me he thinks Ruby is a world changer...that even though she's young, he believes she has quite a calling on her life. This is not the first time I've heard this.

And now I officially have some thoughts to share on my blog. (It's been a while. Oy.)

Parenting a strong-willed child, as many of you know, is more difficult than I could have imagined. It can be lonely, confusing, frustrating, and entertaining....a whirlwind, if you will.

She struggles to build relationships, but yet encourages and includes people who might be considered "unseen." She sprinkles joy everywhere she goes.

I've had a lot of people just say we should "break her spirit," and she will eventually obey. I'm so glad we haven't done that, even though it might make our journey more difficult, isolated, etc. Sure...breaking her spirit would {possibly} give us obedience. Dare I say immediate obedience?

OR I can try to rough out the edges with grace, understanding, and patience. Is it easy? No. Is it trying? Um, yes. Do I feel like it most days? Nope. Do I see fruition after all this time? Yes...and THAT is awesome.

I watched her time and time again this past week sprinkle joy everywhere she goes. She made businessmen, fancy ladies, and pet owners in the middle of a big city smile and chuckle with her silliness. She drew people in when they didn't even know they wanted to be drawn in.

And that, my friend, is why I know she will change the world. Even if it's just one smile at a time. Because she already has made a footprint. Handfuls of people over the course of this week smiled over a silly girl who sprinkles joy wherever she goes. And this momma is tired but so so proud of her girl.

                     

The real heroes

 I hear lots of interesting things as a foster/adoptive momma.

"They're so lucky to have you." No, really...you have no idea. I am, indeed, the lucky one. And unfortunately, my 3 kids have experienced deep loss {and will continue to do so for most of their lives}. So...I'm not sure luck is involved here. I'd like to think I'm an answer to their prayers, as they are an answer to mine. My kids have given me such gifts in themselves. Resilience I literally don't comprehend, determination to live fully, compassion that comes out of their own injustice...they all give these gifts freely and walk on. I am so grateful to have a front row seat to their stories.

"I don't know how you do it." Um...how I...parent? It's hard. It kind of simulates a roller coaster, actually. I haven't known a parent that doesn't say the same. So. Many. Ups. And. Downs. Where are the praise hands, y'all? Is there one among us that doesn't have a rough day now and again? So that's how I do it. The power of parenthood. It cuts through any child-brought-on-crisis in 3 seconds flat with unconditional love. Hall-e-lu-jah.

"What a heroic thing to take in these children." You guys. I'm no hero. Not in any sense. Heroes save the day. Heroes rescue people from burning buildings. Heroes fight battles for people they don't know. And my heroes? They are my children...all three of them. To walk through and live in a world when they belong to another one...that's heroic. To smile and love and hug and dream and LIVE while sorting through the continual fog of grief...that's heroic. To lose so many important people {and even places and things} and then still keep going with a smile on their face...that's heroic.

I fear that we, as a society, fail to recognize the heroic measures these kids go through by keeping on. As for me...I see it. I live it. I walk in it {sometimes it's more like trudging in it}. I breathe it.

I will never stop praying for my heroes {and the hundreds of others that I know personally} to come face to face with their grief and work to overcome it. I know the One who holds tomorrow. I know He has a plan. And that is where I rest.

My heroes? They show up and live fully.

The Thing About Hope...

Hope can be so elusive...so far away. And yet, isn't it true that sometimes it's the only thing we have to hold on to?

Hope that we won't always be in a certain situation.
Hope that we won't always be sick.
Hope for a deep, soul-quenching friendship.
Hope that tomorrow will be a bit brighter than today.
Hope for a change in our children...a change of heart, behavior, etc.
Hope for rest and relaxation.
Hope that a new job will come along that will meet our family's needs {soon}.
Hope for new life...a fresh-smelling baby to join the family.
Hope for our significant other to notice us again.
Hope for encouragement {from anyone...anything...any song or Word}.
Hope for a vacation in the next few years.
Hope for a family member's salvation.
Hope to find/meet "the one."
Hope for a decent, safe car that can get us from Point A to Point B.
Hope for a good, solid night of sleep.

Truthfully, these are all things I have hoped for in the recent past. Every one of them. Maybe you can relate. If not, add yours: hope for [fill in the bank].

And another honest statement: though the above mentioned quests were great, no matter how long they had been hoped for...there was still something else to hope in. The next thing, if you will.

The truth is, the only hope I will find is in Jesus. These situations are great. Fresh-smelling baby that you'd prayed for for 5 years falling in your lap...I mean...you can't beat that. But hope? That's literally the business Jesus is in.

We so easily lose hope. By we, I mean all of us. Every single one of us. Some of us are maybe more prone to it than others. But we all lose hope sometimes, whether it's in a particular situation or in general.

But Jesus...

Hebrews 6:17-20 paraphrase {by me}: We have this hope as an anchor: Jesus paid it all. He literally handed us the rights to God's love and heaven. The end.

It's not about how good we are {though we try to be good}.
It's not about how much we've done in His name {though we try to do things in his name}.
It's not about what we do or don't do.
It's not about what we believe or don't believe.
It's not about who we love.
It's only Him.

So my hope...I keep trying to redirect it these days. It's in Jesus alone....Jesus alone. In Him I will put my hope. And that's a hope I can cling to.

On telling their story

I am surrounded by adoption. When I mean surrounded, I mean sur.round.ed. My sister has 6; I have 3; One roommate from college spends her days matching families, supporting birth mommas and new adoptive parents (check her out here); My best friend has 3; My "people" where I live all have adopted children. You could say we just kinda...gravitate toward each other and need each other and our experiences.

Each of those families is filled with adopted children, biological children, step-children. And each of those children have their own story.

One of the concerns adoptive parents often have for their child is how to tell their story.

Many have been warned not to tell ANYONE. It's not our story to tell. However, those of us who have adopted transracially or globally will often be asked {by strangers sometimes} about our family. Advice: have a blanket quick-tell of the version of the story that most involves you. Maybe share why your family chose to adopt. Read on for more advice, but I promise it's not to keep it all a bit fat secret.

Many are wanting to keep adoption private. Often there's so much loss involved in the decisions made around adoption that some people prefer to keep it quiet. You do that. Advice: please know...there are so many of us out here that can help support you. We can hold your hand or hold you up. We can whisper promises that God has set on our hearts through our journey. Sometimes it feels better that we aren't the only one walking this road.

Many are proud to tell their family's story. Maybe even eager. You want to spread all the news to all the people. You want your story to maybe push another family into this journey of love. You want to share, share, share. Advice: Do that. Be eager about your adoption. Tell the impact it's had on your family. Tell the way it has blessed you personally. Be careful, though, about personal details you share about your child's family and past. This is especially important in foster care, where there is so much grief and loss in losing a parent (no matter how long they had with them).

While I offer no judgement, I can offer my experience {for what it's worth}. I was adopted domestically through an agency, and now as a grown adoptee, I am now an adoptive parent through foster care (for now). We have three children who have all blessed us in more ways than we can tell.

The truth is, adoption is hard. It's beautiful. But it's hard. Bonding is hard. Loving kids from hard places is hard. There's so much loss (often on both sides) that makes it hard to navigate. On the "telling of their story," it's not ours to tell, parents. It's just not.

As a child, I remember being told "you don't have to tell people you're adopted." Somewhere along the way, even though it wasn't part of the language my parents used for adoption, deep down, I felt it {being adopted} was something to be ashamed of. As if the loss and abandonment feelings aren't great enough.

My story is amazing. My parents are amazing. My family is amazing. My life has been amazing. Being adopted is part of who I am. I wanted {needed} to tell people. I did. And not everyone does, but it's not our jobs to tell the stories of our kids.

People want to hear them...boy howdy, do they. But I say a lot..."That's not my story to tell." So what they hear instead is my portion. 

As a parent, my story is full of gratitude that he/she is mine. I am broken and sad about the loss they have encountered. And I am hopeful of the plan God has for all three of my children....simply because He's already ordained so much.

As an adoptee, I am an open book. My experience and loss and grief might be able to help someone along the way. Ask away. My story is full of Gods timing and grace and humor and the best family I could ever ask for. ❤️

The truth is - adoption = the gospel. It's messy and ugly. It's redemptive and beautiful. It's hard to grasp, and so full of love that you can't contain it. So let's tell our story...not theirs. When they're ready / able / willing...they'll tell theirs.

Adoption: The Truth About Our Hurt

I have a unique perspective. As an adoptee who has adopted, I get both sides. The only leg of the adoption triangle I'm missing is the birth momma.

Adoption is this...amazing experience I have had the pleasure of knowing so intimately. It's who I am. It's my past and present and future. God gave me this amazing family who nurtured me and led me up in Christ. I was loved. I am loved. My family is such a gift. And now I get to love and nurture three souls that I have been hand-picked to parent through foster/adoption.

To say that this road is all roses and butterflies would be...untrue. And to be honest, no parenting road is smooth sailing. If someone claims that it is, perhaps they haven't hit certain stages yet. Or maybe they're lying. 😜

The truth is, parenting kids from hard places is both incredibly challenging and terribly sad. It's hard.

So...in the essence of true transparency, I thought I'd write a little about the hurt and pain we adoptees go through. Please read this with no judgement and no "psychological answers," because the truth is...it's there. The older I get, the more I feel like one day (or year) it will go away, but it doesn't.

And remember: this doesn't mean we don't love the life we've been given and blessed with. I'm just hoping to let light in to your adoptee's mind...even if they can't put words to it.

There are days when we're sad and we don't know why. Only to realize later that it's because we didn't sleep last night as we thought/dreamt/imagined our birth family and how life maybe would have been. Does it mean we want a different life? No. {For me, never.} But does it mean we wonder? Yes. We do. And then our feelings drift to why? That "why" will hang over our heads until we get the chance to ask the ones who can answer it, which some of us never will.

Birthdays are much harder than one would think. Not because we're growing older. No. It's because we can't stop wondering if the proverbial "they" are thinking about us. Do they remember this day? What are their memories/feelings/regrets about this day? Or is it just another day for them? Do they remember? Do they miss me? Do they wish they knew me?

There's a lot more guilt than we talk about. We wrestle with our desire to want to know more (everything) about our heritage/birth family/genes. We worry that will make our adoptive family think we love them less. We don't. But we need to know basic things that most people automatically have given to them upon birth into a family. Let us explore. Let us search. Let us meet. Let us love and be loved by both of the families who made us who we are. Without abandon. And maybe help us along the way.

Don't assume gratitude. This is a hard one for me to type. I am impacted greatly by gratitude; I believe we all are. But don't assume that we should be grateful for the life we've been given. Especially in those teenage years, when all we search for is autonomy, sometimes all we can think about is how life would/could be better/different. Don't say to me, "You should be grateful for the family you have." I am grateful. We are. We adoptees are. But why should we assume that our life is greater without our "roots?" That's a hard pill to swallow for us.

I look into my 3 kid's eyes and I sometimes even admittedly think that. That I wish they'd be grateful for the sacrifice and love and hard issues we sludge through with them. But the truth is, I know they are silently fighting a battle that they don't even want to be in.

And so in our home, we provide safety and (hopefully) transparency. We talk about birth family and birth parents as fluidly as we talk about our own. We talk about what could have been, what might have been. We talk about how all of our family has shaped who we are. We talk about how we have to choose which way to lean....how to pick the good parts of all of it and learn to be comfortable with who we are. We talk about how hard birthdays are. And sometimes, when relaying our conversations to my husband, tears are shed. Because I don't want my children to know how I understand both sides now. I get them wanting their roots. And I also get me wanting to protect them from whatever possible harm there could be in their roots.

We celebrate big days (birthdays, gotcha, adoption, etc) with the realization that the only way our family can celebrate these days is because our child has experienced such a great and devastating loss. That can not be forgotten or left out.

Similar to life itself, great beauty rises from the ashes of hurt. And though no family is perfect, mine was perfect for me. I pray when my three are grown, they will say the same of us.

And most importantly, the beauty outweighs the hurt. Always.

                       

The Power of Presence

I have been working on this post for a long time. Years, actually.

We tragically lost my in-laws two winters ago...42 days apart. Before that, we went through job loss and unemployment (for months and months). And really since we've been married, we've suffered with infertility. We've had fall out from lifelong friendships. We've walked through dark days when friends had to say goodbye to their own child.

The truth is...life is hard. Like...*really* hard.

Not that we should expect anything less. I am positive if we asked people to list their hardships, it would be hard to pen. But {sometimes} worse than the hardships themselves are the {well-meaning} people and their...phrases.

I know I'm not the only one here who is tired of all the clichés and phrases. You know the ones.

"God'll never give you more than you can handle."

"Everything happens for a reason."

"He/she is in a better place now."
"He gives the hardest trials to the strongest."

"God needed another angel."

"God brings us through trials to make us stronger."

"Forgive and forget."

...and the list goes on and on...

One cliché I have found to be true: your true friends do come out in the darkest of days. The people who will just come and sit. The ones who go out of their way to love you. I must say the people that have loved us through our struggles are my favorite people to this day.

The power of presence. It's a phrase I've been blowing around in my mind for a while. I'm not sure if I heard it somewhere or what. But boy. There sure is power in presence. I wish I had known sooner. I wish I had been more "there" for people I love when they were walking their darkest days. We all get caught up in how uncomfortable it is and what will we say and how will we smile ever again to them...

The truth is sitting with them is what they need. Maybe a listening ear. Maybe someone to whisk their children away so they can sleep. Maybe meals, maybe words, maybe hugs, maybe flowers. But for sure presence.

Presence is powerful. Don't ever question that...from one who has experienced it from all the angles.

Presence. Is. Powerful.

Adoption + Dory

I have to tell my side. I have to. I feel like everyone and their mother (literally 😂) has something to say about Dory & adoption. Please hear my perspective as both an adoptee and an adoptive momma. 

My family was able to go see Finding Dory the day it came out! What a blessing!

I will preface this by saying that I didn't do much research about the movie beforehand (which is honestly rare). We have much anticipated this film since Nemo, as it is one of our favorites. So when we got cheap tickets, we were in our seats, popcorn in hand. 

I'm sure you've seen all the reviews and {almost} panicky parents warning us to be careful what we expose our adoptive/foster children to. And while I agree, you will also hear me pleading with you to not shelter them from feeling the things we need to feel. They're a part of who we are. 

I use "we" because I am one of them. I am adopted. And I feel all those feelings. I felt them at 4 and 10 and now at {ahem} 35. And no matter how hard you try as an adoptive parent, you can not feel or even know or even partially comprehend the thoughts/feelings/emotions that we go through on a daily/weekly/monthly/annual basis. We don't speak of them. For many reasons, but they're there.

Here is my response to the many reviews and posts on Adoption + Dory. 

As an adopted person, I'm gonna be honest. Finding Dory was both an awesome and terrifying experience for me. I felt all the feels, right alongside Dory. I had all the "issues" come up that are mentioned in the reviews, and I am a grown woman who has now adopted 2 (almost 3) of my own.

During the movie at one point, my adoptive son was letting me hug him (which is rare on any given day). There's this one scene where Dory says all the hard stuff, "What if they don't want me to find them? What if I find them and they don't want to see me? What if they're mad at me. What if they think this is my fault?" 

And I was sobbing. These questions are real and hard and heart breaking and silent in our lives. No one dares say them aloud. And I'm not even from foster care. I don't have great or horrible memories with my birth family. But that doesn't mean I still don't wonder what life would have been like (even if I wouldn't change a thing).

I still think about these questions every day. And until they get answered, they will be asked. And I dare say most of us adoptees think these same thoughts are are quite possibly comforted that someone said them aloud. 

So far, my kids haven't really talked about any issues that came with this movie, but I'm certain it brought stuff up. I'm certain of it. So instead of shielding them from it, I will be here, ready to talk, ready to listen, ready to say, "this sucks feeling this way. I'm sorry you're feeling this way." 

And I will hug them and be comforted that a movie said my/our feelings aloud, and even though they're hard to hear, is actually kind of awesome. Yes. There are things to process. As an adult, and for my sweet,sweet children from hard places.

So, adoptive/foster parents, let's do that. In a non-threatening way. I would be more concerned about making sure my child can always say exactly how they feel (about adoption/foster and the myriad of emotions it wells up at the most random of moments in life). I would hear the hard things and love, love, love. I would save my tears for when they can't see so they don't try to keep their feelings from me.

Because who else are they going to tell? I want to be the one. And so I will try. 

#adoptionisbeautiful #itsalsoreallyreallyhard

The Other Mother

I think of her today. A lot. Both of hers. All three of hers.

She's probably missing them...these kids I have the blessing of loving day to day. She probably wonders about them most days, but I suppose Mother's Day is difficult for her to face. She can't escape this holiday. It's everywhere...swirling all around.

And I'm sure swirling with all the flowery praises we all give our moms, she drowns in shame that she is not there beside her (amazing) children. She wonders where they are, what they're doing...who they are. 

I assure you, sweet birth momma(s)...they are amazing. They are sure, happy, and stubborn. They are well. They are talented and funny. They are bright and have many dreams. They are loved. Through and through. By so many.  

And I also assure you that they're thinking about you on this Mother's Day. I know this because we've talked about you today. I have made sure they know that this mom is grateful for you. I even think and wonder about my own birth mom on Mother's Day. And though I've never asked her, I'm sure I cross her mind on this day. 

You are not forgotten, birth mommas. We  hope and pray that you know this...that you rest in this. And please know that this quote rings true in my heart and life. 

                             

From one mother to the other mother: our kids need both of us. And you are not forgotten. 

Hello, 2016

Hello, 2016.

Hello, fresh start. Hello to new resolve, goals, and blank calendar pages. Hello, memories to be had. Hello, songs to be sung. Hello, new people to love. Hello, feelings to be felt.

I do a word every year, with the exception of 2015, for many reasons.

This year, I can't choose between 2 words, so I'm picking them both. They are both/and. They are essential for growth is so many ways. They are where.I'm.at. And they go together on multiple levels.

Self-care & Prayer

That's what they are. No fluff, no fru-fru...and really no words needed to explain.

I must take care of myself. I need to do that spiritually, personally, physically, as a parent and wife, friend, homemaker, and a children's director at my church. I need to put up firmer boundaries. I need to be able to prioritize and fight battles that matter (instead of all of them). I need to take care of me so I can take care of those who need me. 

2015 was essential in my spiritual growth, especially in prayer. It was such a dark year. "Valley of the Shadow of Death" we call it around our home. Through prayer, I saw answers that I have never quite seen, and I have prayed prayers I have never quite prayed. Between the War Room and a new focus in my prayer journal, I have seen God work in my heart and those around me. I was brave when I used to struggle to seek the answers to hard things. I was tested in seemingly every way, and on the other side, I realized that through prayer, I sustained.

I didn't thrive. But this year I will. Sustaining can often be as important as thriving, I think. But this year, I will thrive. I will seek. I will find. And I will use this verse to guide me:

So, hello 2016. It's me. 

Ruby's Adoption Day

Today is not just any day.

It is Ruby Grace's Adoption Day.

We've had her since birth. We're really lucky like that.

But that doesn't mean these four and a half years of waiting was easy. At all.

There were days of doubt where we weren't sure if she was forever going to be ours. There were days of sickness where I wondered if I'd always be the one taking care of her...there for her in the night...rocking her to sleep. There were moments of sheer terror...moments where we love her so much but aren't sure what the future holds.

 

There were moments/hours/days/weeks of peace. Peace that I didn't understand, but peace that I so desperately needed. And then just when we thought our journey was almost done, a new wrench would be thrown in to the mix. And the flood of uncertainty would be overwhelming us once again.

 

She will love being the lime-light. She thinks everyone who she knows (at all) will be in attendance at some point on her day. She calls this her "Dee-Option Day" and we've had a countdown on the wall due to the sheer excitement that's built up at our house!

Today we will all write a blessing in her blessing book...the one she will keep for all her days. Where words and scriptures are written specifically for her life. And we will be thankful. Our hearts will be full. Fuller than normal. Because this day...this celebration...this adoption....it can't be taken from us. It's ours forever.

Today and forever - she will be a Keathley. It's a piece of her that no one can take away. And though I'm adopted myself, I'm not sure I ever understood the importance of Gotcha Day until I had kids to "gotcha" myself.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Adoption=The Gospel. Our journey is brutal at times....harder than we'd ever imagined. It's not fair. It's steep, and to be quite honest, there are days when you don't know if you're going to make it through to the next day.

And then you do...by the grace of God. And that grace? It's where we live. The ups and downs and ugly and beautiful...grace surrounds us always. And though my story looks so different than the one I had planned...I'm so grateful.

For it is so.much.better.

Adoption: What Not To Say (Pt. 2) - Foster Care Edition

I've been meaning to write a "pt. 2" to my original which was inspired by this blog post a few years ago. So here we are.

National Adoption Month has me all fired up for my passion in life. Like it or hate it; I'm going to write about it.

To start, in case you aren't familiar with my family, we have 3 children that we have adopted {or will adopt} through foster care. This road is hard and messy and unpredictable and full of paperwork and waiting (much like most adoptions). There are so many hands and opinions and court cases and hurt and pain spattered throughout your child's journey. And every.single.bit of it is out of your control.

So this blog is going to address several statements that are made to us about foster care. Some of which are from people that we love dearly. Some of which are idiots on forms of media. And I promise - in my next post, I will give you various ways to support adoptive families (specific to foster, being that is our journey and what I know). Here we go: What not to say: Foster Care Edition.

So, um. How much do you get paid every month to do foster care?

Well, frankly, that is public information (should you really want to know). That will avoid me looking at you like you just informed me I had 7 eyeballs. But really.

It's really not something we talk about. And the sheer amount of money spent on clothing, furniture, equipment, and appointments new adoptive/foster parents have is outrageous. Not to mention the fact that the state actually allots every single penny to something specific (ie: allowance, furnishings, clothing, housing, etc). The (very little) money received is not at all what it takes to raise a child, let alone one with special needs. And let it be known: all foster children have special needs. {But that's a blog post for another day.}

So really....just...let's not talk about it. It makes us {fp} feel like you {the curious friend} think we do this for the money. Which is not the case. So let's just not go there.

So, um. What's wrong with your child? Also - similarily: What happened? Where are the birth parents? Why are they in foster care?

You know what? There is so much wrong with my child/ren. They have endured trauma you and I can literally not imagine. And I will not tell you about it; that's their story. They may not want it known. And secondly - DO NOT ask me about this in front of my sweet, sweet children. It immediately puts them back in that place. It regresses behavior. It makes them curious. It often makes them start asking questions about their own worth.

I realize that you have no idea that your innocent and curious questions can cause something like this, but it does. Please don't. Love, pray, take my kid out for ice cream and to a playground. Giggle, joke, color with them, and spoil them. Remember their birthday. But don't ask them {or me} these questions.

Why is your adoption taking so long?

I appreciate you understanding that we are in waiting {still} after 4 years {and no, I'm not kidding or exaggerating}. I agonize over this daily. I question foster care because of this. I have to tell someone every.single.time I take my kid to the doctor, dentist, etc {or I get in trouble}. I have to write down every.single.time I give my kids meds {and I'm supposed to write down every.single.time I discipline them, how I discipline them, behaviors before and after, etc - #right}. I have to ask permission to go visit family and friends outside the state lines. I have to tell them our whereabouts every second of every day. I have to ask permission for my kid to stay the night with a trusted friend {And my trusted friend has to go through a background check. I kid you not.}.

But I'll tell you why this is taking so long. A million reasons, but the core is this: our system is broken. Families are broken. I'm trying to love through the brokenness, but it's all broken. Case workers have too many cases on their load. Agencies are overwhelmed. I can't even imagine the horror, embarrassment, and shame a birth parent must be feeling. And the children...they're so broken.

I can't fix it. I can only love this child {and potentially his/her family if I'm able}. So I don't know why it's taking so long, but it sucks. This you should know.

**Update: We have an Adotion Day scheduled for December 2015! Wahoo!!!**

What if they're messed up? What if they have issues? What happens if you don't connect with them? {Thanks to Pat Robertson for some of his idotic comments about adoption on these.}

1) We are all messed up, no matter how you wanna cut the cookie. That's an unfair question.
2) We all have issues, even if they're secret ones we don't want anyone to know. No one is perfect. No family is perfect, biological or not.
3) Connecting is an issue for a whole 'nother blog. But to be clear, a lot of times, connection will happen over time with education (on the parent's part) on what the child needs most.

Listen...I'm not going to lie. My three kids come with their own personality, strengths, problems, and gifts. {Which is also how your biological kids come, too.} What is different with my children is they had life experiences which were caused by another human being that has altered {and turned up side down} their world. No matter what they've been through, how they see things, who they truly are...when I take them in my home, I must remember that these consequences are not my child's doing. It is their reaction to a hard, difficult, and dark situation {that I can't possibly understand, even if I have heard it with my ears}.

Some days are so very difficult. There'll be a flare up, and you'll have no idea where it came from. A {song, idea, thought, dream, book, sound, memory} has thrown them for a loop, and I don't know which way is up {or worse yet, how to turn it back up for them}. Sometimes the weirdest things offend them.

And then there's the growth. The absolute growth. That gentle, un-wavering, whispering love that can break through walls. And we do. And we enjoy when those days happen. And sometimes, we look at our three kids and can't imagine loving any 3 other human beings as much as we do them. They truly are gifts from God. Each of them have taught me more about myself, about the Gospel, about God, and mostly about grace than I have ever learned elsewhere.

There's no perfect child. There's no perfect parent. There's no perfect family.

Foster care isn't for everyone, that's for sure. But everyone can do something. My next blog post is about just that. I will share it within a few days.

Until then, love a foster parent. Love a foster child. Smile. Be grateful.

Remembering Larry

I'll tell ya what. That whole..."time heals all things"...that's a big lie. A year later, we miss him deep; we miss him wide. And we still wonder who we're supposed to call when the car breaks down or if we run out of gas. We still wait for his phone call every time there's a siren {every.single.one}. We often will respond in "Larry" fashion to a song, story, or antic. We roll our eyes anytime anyone talks about Nascar.

I remember so much about him.

                                            

The way his eyes twinkled when he laughed...

The way he took great delight in all of his grandchildren {and spoke of them constantly}...

The pride he had in all 4 of his children...

The joy he got in a single phone call {didn't matter who was on the other line, he was happy}...

His love of muscle cars...

His {sometimes embarrassing} hillbilly ways...

His stories...constant stories of his buddies and sometimes his siblings...

How he wanted to know where we all were at all times...

How protective he was over those he loved...

The questions he had about heaven and grace...

His fondness for very weird food combos {chili hot dogs, slaw dogs, macaroni & tomatoe paste, potatoes with EVERY.thing}...

The assurance that He loved Jesus and wanted to be in heaven one day...

 I remember how much he loved his grandchildren. That's honestly the thing that sticks out most about this guy. He knew everything there is to know about these babies. He worried and fretted about them night and day.

I remember how much he loved to make his grandkids' day. Below is one of my favorite memories of him ever. So proud to take little D out in his buddy's hot rod. It is, to this day, the first and last thing Dillon always says about his Pa-Paw...that guy loved his cars!

I remember how big he loved, how well he loved. I remember if there was any question in his mind that we {any of us who loved him} could possibly be upset at him, he wouldn't sleep until it was resolved.

I remember being a little nervous...unsure of how he would respond or react to us starting our family with adoption {via foster care}. Every person reacts differently, and this was a guy who would likely see my child multiple times a week. Was he going to accept our children? Was he going to love them fully? Was he going to hold back and be awkward?

But that day we told them we were going to be parents, all those fears were put to rest. In October of 2009, he took those 8 printed out pictures of his future grandson and he put them in his pocket. Every.Single.Day he asked about him. "When will we get him? Why is it taking so long? What does he love? I can't wait to meet my Dillon." And when they discovered a mutual love of cars and all things "manly," they never had a dull moment between the two of them. 

As we packed up their belongings, I found those pictures, well worn and faded. They were in his dresser with other important papers. With big fat tears, I thanked God for a father-in-law who not only loved me but loved my babies, big and small. Each time we told them of our new addition...with great enthusiasm and love, he opened his arms. He loved so fully.

I see so much of him in his 4 kids and all of his grandkids. My deepest hope is that they, too, will love big like their pa-paw, take time to help other people, and be friends with everyone. I remember lots of anxious conversations by his bedside in those last months. He would fret that his grandkids wouldn't remember him. He wondered if they would know how much he loved them. He pleaded with us in desperation to make sure and tell them. 

And we do. As often as possible. And we will. Always.

Show 'N Tell: My Office Corner

Due to the chaotic nature of life, I rarely get around to my gargantuan to do list.

Today, however, I wasn't dealing with real life. I have a few extra days with the kids, so I thought I'd knock one out.

To start, I'm begging you not to judge. My house is almost always in a state of upheaval (I must find balance one of these days). So...you know...just ignore the mess. :)

This is the BEFORE corner. We have our "office" in a little corner in the living/dining/family room. It's walls have been bare since we made it the corner office. I have collected and saved things that I wanted to put up there (mostly from our old "office" space, which was Ruby's room - and is now Molly's). Please note the painting tape in the top corner. Yes we've lived here for 8 years, and yes...we painted before we moved in. So...we can just not talk about that, mmmkay?

Then after hours of moving, unhooking all the electronic stuff (which, btw....so.many.chords), I have a somewhat blank canvas. I cleaned baseboards I didn't even know were there. And...yuck. But I digress.

Here is the AFTER. And yes. I'm in love. But then again, I did make most of these things, so it's a bit of a piece of me on the wall. I proudly admit that I did remove that piece of painters tape, though it is not shown in the picture.

I love the mish mash of it all. It's so much like our life. Cheap calendar, cute dog frame, handmade goodies, words of inspiration, pictures of the ones we love the most.

My favorite piece is our family motto: be kind always. I threw this together to fill a hole there. Just a visual reminder of what we say all the time in these walls (which is a blog post for another day).

                              

Welp...now there's one whole corner of my house that is both clean and presentable. That's asking a lot. Thought I should show it off.

Gotcha - Ruby Grace

I haven't graced these here blog pages for suuuuuuch a looooong time.

Eh. Life.

But today I had to write.

It's hard to believe that 4 years ago, I was walking in to work the Farm Progress Show with my very tired hubs when we got the phone call. It was short. It was sweet. It. Was. Life. Changing.

"Dillon's birth mom had a baby. Do you want the baby. We have to know within the hour."

Um...YES!!!! We didn't know if the baby was a boy or a girl, but we did know that she was an answer to prayers....groanings & desires of the heart...

These 4 years have been hard. Good. Hard. Heavy. Uncertain. Tiring. Joyful. Sad. Questionable. (Did I mention exhausting? Because that's a thing, too.)

And 4 years, to the day, I'll be walking in with my now 9 year old to work that same Farm Progress Show with many of the same people who shared so much joy with me that first day.

In the adoption world., Gotcha Day is a big deal...Mine's January 16th, and my parents almost always call and make sure I know how much I am loved on that day. It's like a 2nd birthday. And thus it must be celebrated.

So tomorrow, we'll retell her that story. The one God weaved for our family (and is still weaving, really). We'll remind her how much she is loved and how much she has changed our family. We'll reflect on the pure joy and the pure insanity that her life has (at times) brought us. And most of all, we'll be thankful.

I don't understand God's ways. I don't know if I ever will.

But I, for one, am glad this little spit-fire, sassy, smiling girl is all mine.

**And there'll be another celebration soon when we make her officially ours!**