Surviving the Chaos

Catch the Vision! (Part 2)

2012-02-01T13:38:00.002-06:00

To read part 1, go here.
To read about Almnesh, go here.

Let's see....we've driven into Wonchi Project, yes?

Let me back up.
I don't know exactly WHEN we drove into the project, except at one point Kasaun pointed out that we had entered. Mostly, I just noticed World Vision signs peeking out at me.

And that it was clean.

Don't hear me wrong, it was still dusty. It was still grimy. I still was breathing dirt and my hair was still filmy. There were still people walking and they were still the color of their surroundings because you can't help but be. But there just wasn't the refuse everywhere, ya know?

There was a widening in the road and Andreas swung into it and threw the vehicle into park. It was picturesque so my natural thought was that he wanted me to take a picture. It had become norm for them to hear me clicking from the backseat and offer to pull over. I guessed that he had just tired of asking first.

"Well, we're here," one of them said, and threw open the door.

Wait, what?? I knew this was what this day was about, but I wasn't prepared yet. We'd just driven into the project. And it was gorgeous. And where were we going? How far would we need to walk?

About 200 meters, it turns out. Back there, behind that "shrubbery" is a compound (for lack of a better word).

We heard them before we saw them.

(Again with the lack of camera. I'm such a dork.)

We could hear chanting and clapping and the distinct sound of rejoicing coming from behind a fence made of poles lashed together with another organic material (false banana bark? grasses? reeds?). And we ducked through an opening in the fence and stepped into a place most Americans don't really know exists outside of folk tales.

Why yes, that IS a circular mud hut with thatched roof that my sponsor child DOES, in fact, live within. Many of those people are, in fact her family, and do, in fact, live in it also. The rest of them live in the hut that shares the fence and yard with them. The yard where chickens roam. You can't really see it in the picture, but they've scattered reeds throughout the courtyard so you are no longer walking on dirt.

We stepped into a swarm of people dressed in their best clapping and singing....all for us. (They are not all in this photo. It was taken later, when I regained my senses.)

First we were greeted by Almnesh's father, then her mother, and then her. Kisses all around.

Ethiopians kiss greetings. I don't think I've mentioned that. Right cheek, left cheek, right cheek. Accompanied by a shoulder bump, while holding right hands. Three, not four. Though if you go for four, they forgive your Americanism and might proceed to six.

Almnesh handed me that gorgeous bouquet made of who knows what (false banana bark/leaves, grasses, palm, silk flowers is my guess) and then we were invited inside their home.

Again, we had to step up and over while ducking down to make it through the opening.

I'm not sure I can emphasize adequately how the next hour went. I know we were ushered into seats of honor at the table that was prepared for our coming. I felt like royalty.

They had gone above and beyond to make sure we felt welcomed. There were flowers. Cushy seats. Soft drinks. Popcorn. And candles.

The poor flash setting explains a lot of these photos, but they are precious to me, so you have to deal with some blurry mess.

If you can look, you will see that the floor in here is also strewn with grasses. It is dirt. The chickens do come in. The walls are mudded, and whitewashed. And covered with newspapers, I think to keep out the drafts.

I know I look stoned in this picture. There were no peace pipes being passed around. There were no lights aside from the candles and my pupils were reacting.

They only had one "closet" which was mainly shelves with their few possessions stacked on them. You can see that their injera baskets are hung on the wall with their few clothes and bags. Their beds (a very few foam mattresses) were stacked along the back wall. The room was probably 15-20 feet in diameter.

If you gaze over Kasaun's shoulder, you will see people squatted along the back wall. They came and went. We were the main attraction that day. They didn't dare join us, or try to speak to us. Just sat in our presence, but not quite. It was interesting, to say the least.

The ceiling. Amazing, no?

We were told before we went to Ethiopia that we could "bring gifts" but weren't really guided as to what that meant. Some missionary friends suggested fruit, so we went armed with fruit and a few other things. Brent's grandma had made dresses for us to hand out "where we saw need." We brought those with some shirts for boys, expecting to meet village kids. When we asked about it, though, our guide told us that it was best to give them to Almnesh and let her distribute them to the village kids as it would be a great honor for her. So we left those. But while I was digging around in the bag for the gifts we brought for Almnesh, her mother began talking.

A little background which I will expand on in my next post:
A) We have sponsored Almnesh since 2001. The Wonchi Project was formed in 2001. We were one of the very first sponsors. She was probably one of the very first children sponsored. A LOT has happened in Wonchi in 10 years. We were only a very small part of it, but we were in on the ground level.
B) This family has 7 children. There are probably six more sponsors.

(Insert very formal greeting that I don't remember exactly but probably went "Thank you so much for coming today. It means a lot to us that you've come. You have been very generous with us...." yadda yadda yadda)

"Before you sponsored Almnesh, we were very poor. We had nothing. We ate only teff. We lived day to day. And now we are rich."

(insert many more details and much more gratitude)

I was stunned. I am squatting in the dirt in a 15 ft circular room of a newspaper covered mud walled hut with 6 chairs, lit only by candles, where chickens are coming in and out and the lady of the house is crediting ME for making her.....rich.

Yes, there is a part 3, 4, and probably 5.

Where I Belong (Building 429)

2012-01-31T15:55:00.000-06:00

All I know is I'm not home yet
This is not where I belong
Take this world and give me Jesus
This is not where I belong

Catch the Vision! (Part 1)

2012-01-29T19:25:00.000-06:00

I've discovered that a lot of things that are important to me are never written because I don't want to get them wrong.

At the risk of getting it wrong, I simply must force myself to write this because I fear if I don't, it won't ever be written. And, since it was one of the highlights of my trip, that would be a shame.

I've written before about Almnesh. Well, after many calls and much string pulling (they prefer three months warning and we had three weeks), Brent and I were able to finagle a visit with her while we were in Ethiopia for court.

What an amazing day.

At 7AM, our World Vision hosts picked us up at our guest house for an hour and a half drive southwest out of Addis Ababa. The scenery was so varied.

Yes, those are highline wires.

What you've got to understand here is how we were in the city for a week at this point, where people were stacked upon people in an unending mass of people. There were concrete houses and tin shacks and dirt roads and people, people, people. But once we drove out of Addis, there were open fields, horse carts, boys walking cattle through fields, children walking miles upon miles to school (you could tell when schools changed based on the uniform color), people harvesting by hand, those incredible flat topped trees, circular mud huts with thatched roofs, lots of people walking and a funeral procession. Among other things. And I was struck by how much the landscape looked like home.

Minus the mountains.

We drove through lots of small communities and before we knew it, we were at Wollisso where we stopped for breakfast. (Why I have no pictures of this, I do not know. I guess I need a spy camera, because I seem to hesitate to pull out my camera and look like a tourist, as if there was any question in this situation.) We had an wonderful omelet--best I have EVER had--with, of course, delicious Ethiopian coffee. Our hosts had more traditional Ethiopian foods. Tibs. Wot. And something that looked like minced meat. The guy with tibs (Wosson) offered to let us try his food (we did, it was good). So Brent asked to try Kasaun's minced meat. He took some and as he raised it to his mouth, he asked what it was.

Stomach.

Anthony Bordain would be proud of my innard eating honey.

He didn't have a second bite.

Andreas, Kasaun, Wosson

We all shared a laugh over coffee. And then, I think Brent and I had the same thought.

This is our last best chance for a real bathroom today.

So we asked to use it before we left. Wosson took us out the door, around the restaurant, past some sinks and pointed towards some doors. Brent took boys, I took girls. Shocking, I know.

Oh dear. My first squatty potty. I had a nice tile floor that cupped into cement that ended in a hole. There was a broom (I presume to sweep solids towards the hole) and a bucket of water.

Yup.

The upside? Soap at the sinks. (Soap was in short supply in all parts of Ethiopia.)

Anyhoo...I'm game. There was a door. And I still didn't know that when I got to the World Vision compound that they would have running water. Frankly, at this point I didn't know I would see the World Vision compound and a hole in the ground behind a door was far preferable to a field of grass and I didn't yet know what wonders the day would hold.

Together we left the hotel/restaurant and turned off the last paved road of our journey. We crossed a bridge where I marveled at the trash strewn down the banks of the river/stream where people were bathing and filling their gas cans with what I can only assume was their daily drinking water.

Horrible.

And then we drove into Wonchi Project.

More soon! And it gets far more interesting! After squatty potties, the stories can only get better.

Friends and Facebook and Holdovers from another time

2012-01-27T12:48:00.000-06:00

I don't even know how to say what needs to be said.

I'm pretty sure "So, I have this friend..." doesn't do it justice.

I'm pretty sure the person who sent this won't want to be acknowledged.

But when I went to the mail on Wednesday I had this package from her that blew me away.
In it was this shawl. She coined the phrase "prayer shawl" which made me think "interesting....Jewish?"

No, while she made the shawl, she prayed for me. And my new daughter.

And journaled what, specifically, she prayed.

I have never, I'm certain, been the recipient to such a tangible expression of the love of God expressed through believers.

I mean, look at all that writing. Yes, a lot of work went into the shawl, but that is some tiny script. It's a lot of prayer.

And then today, another friend started the happy face hand, a remnant of middle school angst.

It made my day.

Again.

I am relatively certain that God has given me much better friends than I deserve. And in these instances from people I haven't seen in YEARS. Like 17 of them or more.

I know I'm going to make at least three people gag, but I am thankful for Facebook and the people it has returned to my life.

Especially the ones who've forgiven my thoughtless pre and teen angst and accept me for who I am now and will potentially be.

It Was Bound to Happen

2012-01-24T13:38:00.001-06:00

This morning I caught myself counting heads and coming up short. Very aggravated, until I figured out what was happening.

Yesterday in the library a friend of mine congratulated me on my 5th addition. I told her, "Oddly, it feels eerily similar to being the mother of four."

And then I went on to tell her not to judge me, but that I was OK with it. I was focusing on enjoying the four kids I could actually converse with.

I know. You can't believe I just wrote that, can you?

And then this morning it hit me. That all encompassing, heart gripping, stop me in my tracks, love for my little girl in Ethiopia.

Up until this point, well, after I met her and up until this point, I've been practicing the non-Biblical phrase "Love is a Choice." I was choosing to love her. Because, frankly, she didn't make it very easy. Everyone ELSE that meets her talks about how sweet she is. How kind she is. How puts others before herself. How easy she is to love.

I didn't see it.
That didn't come out right.
I didn't experience it.
That's a little closer.

I know, you look at that photo and say, "She looks like she likes you to me." I know. All three times she let me hold her, we got a photo. They are the ones we share.

Most of the pictures I have of her are taken with a telephoto lens because that is how close she let me much of the time. Except for right before we left each day and made her let us hug her. It was crazy.

I could tell that she was kind to the other kids. That she took care of those younger. That she would rather not be the focus of attention. And, don't get me wrong, she is a firecracker. She has spunk that will serve her well in a family of seven. She's independent. She's fierce. She doesn't take any crap.

Look at that face. She will not be someone's doormat. I love that.

But she isn't likely to let you know she needs you.

That's harder for this mama to take.

She let everyone in, but us. And I can rationalize it and see that she knows we're the parents so we are the only ones that "aren't safe" to let her walls come down. At least not yet. And I don't even fault her for it. Nor do I need you to tell me all the reasons this is healthy. My ego can take it. But it was a rough two weeks that I never want to repeat. It sucks to be the one person in the city that your kid spends most of her time avoiding.

Each day I woke, ready to fight for her affections and each day, eventually, I just quit trying. I'd fall into bed crying, wake ready to win her over, only to end the day discouraged. Over and over and over again.

And I won't lie to you, it made the goodbye much easier. She wasn't about to let me see her cry and since she held it together, so did I, almost. I spent a lot more hours crying over the rejection than I did over the goodbye.

But today?

Today I can't stand it that I have a kid I can't hug. (Not that I'm sure she'd let me hug her anyway, but that's a bridge we'll cross later.)
I miss her.
I want her.
I would even face her rejection day upon day just to be with her.
I'm ready to pull down that wall brick by brick.
So that these moments:

...aren't the rare ones.

What is a Trader?

2012-01-23T15:04:00.000-06:00

I don't know the group, but I like the message!
Off to check out www.rightnow.org

Visiting Kechene

2012-01-22T16:24:00.000-06:00

The Kids of Kechene Slideshow: Jamie’s trip from Hillsboro, Kansas, United States to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia was created by TripAdvisor. See another Addis Ababa slideshow. Create your own stunning slideshow with our free photo slideshow maker.

Looking through the photos of Kechene (and this is still just a smattering), I found myself pondering on a paragraph of Tom Davis' book Priceless.

"The hard part was getting them to act natural, especially the kids, who would pose like Ice-T, with a crazy gang hand symbol. I remember Mac saying, "Good God, of everything they could get from Western culture, the end up with gangsta rap?"

I didn't put in many of the crazy gangsta rap posers. Who wants to see an African child acting like they sell drugs on the corner?

But aren't these kids gorgeous? I mean, seriously, who could screw up a photo as long as the kid wasn't trying to look like a pimp?

We loved Kechene. The teacher oozed joy. The workers oozed joy. The children oozed joy. It was Genna (Christmas) Eve, so they had to scamper all over town to find all of our kids who had communication from their sponsors.

It was a radically wild day that I will never forget.

If you would like to sponsor a child through Children's HopeChest, there are many more where these came from. (I am happy to report that ALL of these children are spoken for!). Just visit www.hopechest.org and they will get you started.

Process

2012-01-22T14:53:00.000-06:00

I am admittedly a little horrified to blog about this today after my delightful post last night, however, at the risk of being a hypocrite of my own making....

Since my blog post "Nesting" got such a huge reaction--I'm not sure I've read the word "horrible" so many times in a single day before--I thought I'd post a photo of the process.

The "horrible" wallpaper (that, seriously, would have been gorgeous when it was put up) was obviously high quality. It came off easier than any wallpaper I have ever removed before. After the kids started it, I couldn't help but snitch a piece every time I walked past. It came off in sheets. Brent and our friend Mike got the rest off on Friday evening. Except for that scrap by the stairs you can still see. Brent recommended we leave it for posterity. Mike nixed the idea.

Two large walls are now painted. A couple small walls are as well. And the scaffolding that has been blocking my access to the laundry room all weekend is now down for another week.

Brent was feeling so good about the progress, that yesterday he and the boys started stripping their bathroom of the pink roses in there.

There are/were a lot of roses in this house. My boys don't think that is appropriate for a male dominated household for some reason.

Unfortunately, the pink roses don't want to come off and we will probably have to work on that in our off time all week while the scaffolding is down.

Yippee.

However, my mind in being occupied by nonsensical things and when I sleep, I sleep like the dead.

I can work with that.

Now She's Talking

2012-01-21T13:46:00.000-06:00

Nothing prepares you for Ethiopia.

Nothing.

Ethiopia is so much better than you would expect.

And infinitely worse.

Nothing prepares you for the dust that permeates your pores or the filmy feel of your hair at the end of the day.

For the feeling that you'd like to boil yourself in bleach before you go to bed.

Nothing prepares you for the joyful welcoming shouts of "ferengi" by a thousand happy little kids.

To hear a hundred voices sing, "Welcome! Welcome! So glad see you!" (No, that isn't a typo.)

And why? Because you are marginally associated with a group that made it possible for them to go to school all day.

Or to discover, long after you leave, that is the school your daughter would have attended.

Nothing quite prepares you to see a funeral procession as the day breaks. Not one of long black cars, but of traditional white gowns whipping in the wind and a stretcher and bare feet in the dirt on the side of the road.

Nothing prepares you to sit in the seat of honor as the ill man of the house sits on the dirt floor in the candlelit darkness in the rear of the room.

Or the amount of pleading it will take to get him off the floor and into the circle of light.

I was prepared to bring my own toilet paper and towels...and I'm so glad we tossed them in at the last minute. Something about the lack of them when we arrived made their appearance at our door the next morning so much sweeter.

Nothing prepares you for the first hug that goes on and on and on and on, but will be one of the last signs of affection you will receive, unprompted, for the next two weeks.

Nothing prepares you for the smell. Is it charcoal, incense, woodsmoke, roasting coffee beans and goat all wrapped up in one?

I don't know, but it is still present on the dirty one birr note we found in a pocket when we got home.

It smells like my sponsor child.

It smells like the mother with HIV who hugged me for a gift of what amounted to a date night for us but is life to her.

It smells like the mother of my fifth child.

Nothing prepares you for the people who selflessly serve you night and day, who laugh at your jokes that probably aren't funny, who bend over backwards to give you the comforts of home--and come up short, not for their lack of effort--when you can't even imagine what they might go home to at the end of their workday. When you realize that whatever you are complaining about, you are still living like royalty.

Nothing prepares you for the rage you feel when you see a fat man in the marketo, strolling past the swarms of beggars with nary a glance. How can you eat yourself into oblivion when you see this every day? How can you just go about your life?

That man, he is me.

Nothing prepares you for the cries of "sister!" from the mother on the side of the road with a suckling babe.

Or for the child who pops off his snack long enough to delight you with a smile and a grasping hand in the universal "gimme" signal.

What have we done?

Nothing prepares you to see a child of no more than four--my Charming--weaving through traffic stopped at an intersection, asking for handouts, while his mother looks on from the sidewalk.

Dear God.

Nothing prepares you for the rage you feel when the man sitting on the side of the road, listless, looks over his shoulder and, when registering the color of your skin, leaps to his feel to come running with his hand out.

If you can move like that....get a job!

Nothing prepares you for your judgmental reaction.

Nothing prepares you for the number of times you'll have to "muscle through the gag reflex" and fervently pray while eating foods for which swarms of people around you are grateful.

Please God, don't let this make me sick!

Nothing prepares you for children exhibiting animal like behavior in true Survival of the Fittest form.

Nothing prepares you to see a man whose pant's seat is completely worn out, and by that I mean GONE, who keeps walking, anyway.

Nothing prepares you for the all out street brawl you caused by handing an old airplane sandwich out the window of your van.

Nothing prepares you for the gentleness of a people who have little, but still receive you with a smile and make sure you know the name of Jesus before you leave their presence.

Nothing prepares you to meet the mother of your child.

To see the pain etched on her face.

To be told, "I've already entrusted her to you."

And to ask her for one more picture when it is clear she does not wish to have her picture taken.

Nothing prepares you for the unemotional, tearless, little girl who turns her back and walks away from your final goodbye, because you are just one more in a long line of people who have let her down by disappearing from her life.

And nothing, NOTHING, prepares you to come home.

To a thirty minute conversation between three entitled college students about the audacity of the Chilis Too not serving the full Chilis menu. (While you are sucking down your fifth Dr. Pepper because it has ice and is SO GOOD, while picking the lettuce off you sandwich so you can eat the first fresh veggies you've had in two weeks.)

To your cush bed you were certain needed to be replaced two weeks earlier.

To children who whine about participating in an organized sport because it gets in the way of their laying around time after you just saw children go euphoric over a new soccer ball and two old gas cans that would make a goal.

To people who talk, and TALK and, for the love, TALK and say absolutely nothing.

Lord, still my tongue.

Ten days ago I got on a plane absolutely baffled about why people "miss Ethiopia." I certainly didn't see the draw, aside from my child, to go back. But last Sunday, in the middle of a worship song, it hit me. I'm not even sure yet what "it" is that hit me but I'm going to take a stab at it.

It's because we are all dead men walking, but most of us in the states don't know it yet. We fill our lives with stuff--homes, jobs, friends, money, petty arguments, judgmental thoughts, decisions, volunteerism, ball games, politics--and rarely spend a whole lot of time pondering the things that matter, probably because if we did, we wouldn't be able to live with ourselves.

There's just something about being daily begged by the 63 year old HIV positive widower to find someone to take his nine year old twin daughters before he dies and leaves them, too, to make you focus a little more on the ones you love and a little less on the crap that consumes your daily American existence.

So, people seem to think I should want to talk about Ethiopia.

I'm not ready to talk yet.

Unless you are really ready to listen.

Because what I've got to say isn't pretty. There are beautiful things, yes, but you have to sift through a lot of HARD to get to them.

I recently heard someone describe the international adoption process as the hardest thing they've ever done and I thought, "Oh, come on. You haven't done much."

I was wrong.

As Brent says, "Even the good parts were hard. There was nothing easy about that trip."

Except for the one time I was able to flag down the coffee man at Kaldi's as we drove past. He walked down the alley, chasing down our van, to take our order (four mochas, two sugars), go back to the
store, get the coffees, and bring them back to us, all for a 10 birr tip.

That is the determination that will make Ethiopia survive.
That is the determination that makes Ethiopia beautiful.
And that is the reason I will go back.
Again.
And again.
And again.

Nesting

2012-01-20T08:10:00.000-06:00

I came home from Ethiopia thinking we should never spend another dime on anything reomtely unnecessary ever again.

And then immediately went to the grocery store and bought Lay's Stax and Gummy SweetTarts because they just sounded SO GOOD.

Brent came home from Ethiopia in his eighth month of pregnancy. In urgent need to nest. While I was sleeping away the pain, he was plotting. Because His Girl can't come home to 1995 Rose wallpaper.

I give you Demo Day and The Children Who Are So Enthusiastic About Helping That They Cannot Get Themselves Out The Door To School.

Goodbye Rose wallpaper. Hello Mennonite Beige paint.

Life Partner Goodness

2012-01-19T16:49:00.000-06:00

Last night a had a very strange dream.

In this dream, I had left my husband (not Brent) to give this other guy (not Brent) a try.

Yes, I know both of them and No. *shudder*

In this dream I was desperately trying to figure out what was missing. I'd determined that this new guy was great to cuddle with--he just "felt right" (and incidentally was shaped much like Brent)--but he had no substance, but when I considered going back to my "husband" I couldn't get over the fact that he was just such a goober and I didn't know why I'd ever married him in the first place. Ugh.

In case you are curious, I suspect this dream was in direct relation to the conversation I had with someone last evening about people leaving their spouses for another flawed person and how it rarely makes life better for long because we are ALL such a mess...

Anyway, desperation in my dream.

Glorious awakening.

Wherein I laid one on Brent as if morning breath did not exist.

"I'm so glad I get to do life with you!" I told him.

"Where'd that come from?" Asked the man whose wife went to sleep treating him like they'd been married for 15 years. In other words, not overly enthusiastic about doing life together. Not mean, or anything, just, you know, routine.

Sometimes dreams work out in his favor.

And sometimes he has to deal with a mad wife whose dream husband picked a bitter dream fight with her.

Poor guy.

In the life partner game, I really lucked out.

Like my friend, Meg, says:

kiss.

No. Kiss.

Lay one on him like you LIKE him.

There you go!

To Put It Simply

2012-01-19T14:46:00.001-06:00

And if my pictures DON'T tell a thousand words, meet our new (and now finally legal!) daughter, Iris.
Not her legal name, but her blog identity.
Her legal name will be changed, too, but that's another day.
For all seven of you that don't tunnel in through Facebook. :)

Kids and Cookies.

2012-01-17T20:26:00.000-06:00

I give you...the child who "washed and guarded" our car while we were hiking up to see a rock church. He is in the red sweater.

This group of kids swarmed to get a cookie from us. But even in the chaos, sanity reigned.

They boy in the red sweater made sure his little brother got one before he would take one, even when it was evident that we were rapidly running out.

And, in true God fashion, the boy in the red sweater got the last cookie.

Each child present got one.

Loaves and fishes.

Words of Wisdom from Junior Fiction

2012-01-16T19:58:00.000-06:00

I think in some ways it's like that for all of us, living with the ghosts of things that used to be, or never were. We're all of us haunted by yesterday, and we got no choice but to keep marching into our tomorrows.

Keep marching, boys and girls. Keep marching.

From The Mostly True Adventures of Homer P. Figg by Rodman Philbrick

Remember these Kids?

2012-01-14T16:00:00.001-06:00

1. Balyo: Now Sponsored!

By the Day family!

2. Temesgen: Now Sponsored!

By the Foy family!

Foys: I'm so sorry. I can not find a picture of me with him. I believe this is the child whose sister took my photo to give to him when she got home.

3. Kazru: Now Sponsored!

By the Mathis family!

4. Rebka: Now Sponsored!

By the Siyajuck family!

5. Asamech: Now Sponsored!

By the Bernas family!

6. Habtamu: NOW SPONSORED!

By the Dalke Family!

7. Aman: Now Sponsored!

By the Brandt family!

8. Zekarias: Now Sponsored!

By the Dorazio family....who got to meet him themselves.

9. Algayenesh: Now Sponsored!

by the Gruner family!

10. Tderder: Now Sponsored!

By the Clemens family

This is not all I have to say about Kechene, but it will have to do for now.

Numb/Pain

2012-01-14T08:56:00.000-06:00

You know those pinpricks you get all over your arm when the numbness of sleeping on it in a really hard nap starts to wear off? You know how they hurt like fire?

There is a reason this song was written.

(Excuse the fact that the video goes all wonky because my blog is old and I refuse to learn how to program. Just listen and ignore the picture that is only half there.)

I got a call last night asking me to write an article about our recent experiences.

Me. Who writes about everything.
Me. Who never turns down a writing opportunity.
Me. Who for years called herself a writing prostitute.
Me. Who would write a phone book if asked to.

I told her, and I quote: I don't know. I'm not sure I can. I'll let you know.

This morning I ALMOST posted to my Facebook: Can anyone tell me when the numbness will wear off and when it does, how bad is it going to hurt?

But I erased it because that sounded way dramatic and frankly I didn't want the poor baby's that might result.

I guess this is when I need google+ and could limit the people who see posts to those who have been there.

I'm feeling the pinpricks this morning and if this is a smattering of what's to come, Lord help me.

Stuck in Customs; A Snarky Response

2012-01-13T17:12:00.001-06:00

The United States Customs questions could use some help, in my humblest of opinions. And the following is the reason.

Q1: Are you bringing soil into the US?
A: No.

What I wanted to say: Did you see the part where I said I was coming in from Ethiopia? Does the dust accumulated in my lungs, on my shoes, in the crevices of my skin, imbedded in my clothes count?

Are you bringing insects into the US?
A: No
WIWTS: Have I mentioned I was in Ethiopia with MANY children? Do head lice count?

Were you in contact with any livestock while on your trip?
A: Yes
WIWTS: Remember how I was in Ethiopia? Well, there are goats on every corner. In fact, we bought one, lashed its legs together, strapped it to the top of our van, loved on it for a night, slaughtered it in the morning and ate it for lunch. Melkam Genna to you.

Were you on a farm/ranch on your trip.
A: Yes

WIWTS: Again.....Ethiopia. It was my pleasure to tromp through my sponsored child's false banana grove, teff fields, coffee grove, and tomato fields. As it is winter in Kansas, I doubt I will cross pollinate, even in view of Q1.

Are you bringing foods into the US?
A: Yes
WIWTS: Does it count that I'm returning with food I took OVER to Ethiopia? And yes, there were the 2kg of green coffee beans.

Are you bringing more than $10000 US in goods/products?
A: No.
WIWTS: I just left a country where people are begging on LITERALLY every corner. Shame on me if I spent more than $10000 in freaking "goods" to bring home. Especially in light of the fact that I could have a 5 star candle light dinner for two for under $10. And that is counting the tip.

Just a taste of what is to come.

charming speaks

2012-01-12T13:05:00.000-06:00

From the couch:

Dad, I know who adopted you.

[Really buddy? Who?]

Grandma. And Granny and Gramps adopted Mom.

Silence is Golden

2012-01-12T07:58:00.000-06:00

There once was a girl named Jamie, who processed everything through her keyboard. The good. The bad. The ugly.

And then she went to Ethiopia. Where she couldn't get on blogger. And the one time she could, someone made her promise to not hit publish for three hours. And once three hours passed, she couldn't get on blogger anymore. And maybe shouldn't have said it anyway.

And now she has no idea how to say what needs to be said without saying what shouldn't.

The blog may become pictoral very soon.

And it may not.

Because there is another person and her feelings involved. And my feelings need to make way for hers right now.

If you aren't on Facebook and don't know: we haven't passed court.....yet. Nine families went. Eight passed.We were missing a document. I have been assured that passing is imminent.That it is sure to happen in "a couple days" for two weeks now.

Ethiopia.

For the Love of Boys

2011-12-23T07:20:00.004-06:00

It's no great secret that I adore my sons. I mean, look at these cuties.

Frodo has an artistic flair and is a very talented artist. He's been drawing since he could hold a crayon and I have pictures of him crashed out, asleep on a coloring book, holding a marker. He's gentle and really easy to get along with. He makes friends easily. He is also quite a politician. But lately I'm most proud of how well he's been playing with Charming AWAY from the TV.

Anyone who has met Mr. Charming knows what a character he is. He tells long, detailed stories and he really cares if you listen. He's imaginative and bright, and he's also obedient (when it really matters, like at Sunday school.) For some reason he thinks he's the boss of me and the center of my universe, but I'm pretty sure I'm responsible for that quality and a healthy dose of self-respect comes pretty naturally from his father. And, MAN, look at those dimples!

And my Eldest.....this child is a delight. My son. He has a servant's heart and he's a giver. Mercy, I don't even know where to start....He really detests the spotlight. He hates getting into trouble. And he's such a pleaser. He's strong willed, but has learned to channel that will into something that is immediately recognized by every teacher, every coach. He's just amazing. The fours and the eights were intolerable, but if this is what I get at 11 for enduring those years, I'll take it.

Lately I've noticed boys getting an awful rap. It seems as if every bad behavior is explained away as "boy behavior." A child is loud: He's a boy. A child throws something: Well, he is a boy. A child is naughty: That's a boy for you.

N.O.

Boys are rambunctious. Boys are active. Boys are daring. Boys can be nutty. Boys are risk takers. Boys might even be somewhat destructive.

But when boys are being rotten, they are being children. Rotten children who need to be disciplined.If you allow them to blame their gender for every bad behavior by doing so yourself, you are doing them a disservice.

If you ask my Eldest what his number one job is at school, he'll tell you (I think): Stand up for Princess.

Because boys are also protectors. Providers. Keepers. Rescuers.

IF you cultivate that in them.

Yeah, it takes time. Yeah, it takes energy. Yes, it does involve spending time doing the things they like to do. It requires taking an interest in the things that interest them. Which also requires constant statements like: "Here's a tip for life; girls don't like it when you fart around them. Keep those for your guy friends and take it to the bathroom when you are with mom." And: "Huh-uh. That's your sister. When a girl says, 'no' you get off, even when you think she doesn't really want you to stop wrestling." And, "NO HITTING. NOT ACCEPTABLE." And: "Finesse, not force!" And one of my favorites: "Kindness matters."

I'm not feminizing my boys, I'm preparing them to be decent adults. What gentleman do you know that farts at the bank and laughs about it with the woman next to him? What gentleman do you know that steals virtue from women? What gentleman do you know that goes around hitting people just because he is angry? What gentleman do you know that breaks things by being too rough with them? And what gentleman do you know that is consistently mean?

I didn't say "man," I said "gentleman."

The difference? Parenting. And yes, personality, but I'm convinced that the men who grow up to be large undisciplined, disrespectful boys in big bodies were allowed to use "boy behavior" as their excuse for too long.

Boys are wonderful. For the most part, if you keep their tummies full, they will love you to their dying day. There are no emotional games to play. Very little back-stabbing. They are genuine, through and through.

Don't diss on my boys.

Which brings me to another point: Of the 100 children for which 10 of us bloggers were trying to find sponsors, most of the ones left are boys.

In Africa.

Where AIDS is rampant.

Who do you think is spreading this disease?

You have the opportunity to pour into a boy, to tell him monthly that he is valuable and cherished. To tell him that he can make good and honorable choices. That he doesn't need to take from women and leave behind sickness and disease and contract it himself. He, like the girls being sponsored, won't have to sell himself for food. He won't have to take to the streets. He can get an education and use it for good. He isn't a destructive little taker. He is made by God to do Great and Mighty things, if only someone will give him a chance.

This is your opportunity to love on a boy like I love my sons. Will you take it?

*update: ALL of my kids are spoken for. There was such a rush in the last 24 hours and the person running the show is off for Christmas, that we aren't sure who got these precious boys. I will let you know ASAP when I know who is their sponsor. Meanwhile, if you missed out on these boys, but would still like the opportunity, visit Megan's blog. She still has several! Let's find sponsors for all 100 kiddos!

3. Kazru: Now Sponsored!
By the Mathis family!

8. Zekarias: Now Sponsored!
By the Dorazio family!

Look at all that sweetness.

I promise you, this experience will bless you 100 times more that you could EVER bless these boys.
$34/month = one boy loved, fed, and remembered.

and... I WILL GO VISIT THEM FOR YOU. But we are running out of time. I need two more sponsors before Monday. Can we do it? I believe so. For the love of boys.

Are you a blogger who would like to advocate for these children by taking on your very own 10 Kids?
Email JWilson@hopechest.org

A Day in the Life of a Boroite

2011-12-21T07:18:00.000-06:00

Yesterday morning I woke in a full on panic.
I had a to-do list a mile long with things on it like:
renew Arbonne consultant thingie.
Verify airline tickets.
Print out lists

But I had a list specifically for tearing around the 'Boro.
Return Rio
Return Library books
Deposit money
Drop off journals
LP gift certificates
Beads out
Get school party snacks

So, right around 9, Charming and I took off in the ice storm to get the list taken care of before we got ourselves snowed in.
(The snow just never really hit us. If we got 1/2 inch, I'd be surprised. But that is beside the point.)

First we headed for the bank (thinking: if I start at the grocery store and we get snowed in, I'll be stuck telling my kids "no" until they have consumed NINE boxes of Little Debbie snacks and FOUR cases of Capri Suns. And who wants to do that?) At the bank, I signed several checks, filled out the deposit slip and pulled up to the teller.

Sounds boring, no?

Wait for it....

When the teller opened her little drawer I told her, "I believe you have a $24 check in there for me."
"Oh! I do! (XXXXX) told me (XXXX) didn't know what (XXXXX) was buying but here it is."
I held up the journals, and put them into the drawer. Took out the check, signed it, put it back in the drawer with my deposit, and drove away.

Two things done. And all in the drive up at the bank.

This was Brent's favorite story. But it is not the only one.

There is the one where the daughter of the woman I usually talk to at the grocery store checked me out. I presume her mother works mornings and the daughter works evenings. Sounds really familiar, right Mom? (I decided school wouldn't be cancelled after all.)

Or there's the one where I go to the hardware store to drop of my UPS package only to pull up and find the UPS truck sitting out front. When I walk up to the store, the UPS man comes out of the gift shop down the street loaded up with purchases only to see me on the street with a box and offering to take it off my hands. (I handed it over.)

There's the one where....you know what? I'm going to keep that one to myself, because I don't want to get him into trouble. But it's a goodie. And it ended with me clicking my heels in public.

Love the 'Boro.

All in a day in the life of a Boroite.

Hey! Don't let my fluffy posts fool you. I'm still very serious about combating poverty. Come on over to my 10 for 10 post. I still have three kiddos that need a sponsor. Is it you? I'm so excited at this opportunity. I grew up in a time when sponsorship was brought into question and people weren't really sure they were sponsoring an actual child. I feel so privileged to be on the ground and verify that these kids really do exist and are being cared for. Join me!

The benefit of insomnia

2011-12-19T21:49:00.000-06:00

I got to watch the full lunar eclipse. I woke the kids for the end of it. They are the ones that reminded me to get a camera which is why you only get the tail end.

And yes, I got to see this doozy.

Of course anyone with a job could have seen both as it only really requires a 6:30 wake up. But if, by 6:30 I have already had time to imbibe a couple cups of Joe, read my Bible, pray and fret and can just sit and absorb the sunrises. Yes, with butterflies in my stomach and often with a to-do list. But lately, with quite a bit of awe.

How To Make A Grown Woman Cry

2011-12-19T21:17:00.000-06:00

Acknowledge her paper pregnancy.

Adoption Bug

2011-12-17T09:02:00.000-06:00

Adoption Bug is doing the 12 days of Christmas giveaway. Today's challenge is to blog about them and tell the one thing we'd like to win. My item is this:

Though I also like this:

And this:

Oooo, and I love this:

I pretty much love their stuff and if you've seen me, you know I sport several of their t-shirts on a regular basis.

Hey, don't forget my 10 (now 7!) kids! If you can't sponsor one of them, join with me in praying their families will find them!

Things I've Learned About God From My Kids (Take 814)

2011-12-14T21:53:00.000-06:00

Actually, this should probably be entitled Things I've Learned About How I Treat God From My Kids, but that isn't the series I stared a zillion years ago. This comes close enough.

It's the sweetness factor that saves his hide.

So, Charming has been going through this I Must Play With Mommy All Day phase. We're going on five years now and I don't see it coming to an end any time soon. And the game of choice is Cars. Not just any old cars, oh no. CARS cars. Lightning McQueen. Chick Hicks. The King.

We set up elaborate sets for the Cars to act out their scenes. We have Radiator Springs scripts. We have Racetrack scripts. Sometimes we go off script and Lightning is the bad guy (but ONLY when we use "mad lightning." Never when we use "happy lightning." And Sally never cheers for Chick, even when mad Lightning is on a rampage.)

But I'm starting to catch on to the kid. He doesn't really want me to play. He wants me to be present. He wants me to watch him play. He might even make a demand of me every now and then. Be the Girl Cars on command. "Say, 'Go Lightning' Mommy!"

"Go Lightning!"

He likes to tell me it is time to find the racers. He puts me to work building the town out of Legos. He wants me to dig out the obscure Tokyo Guys so we can be modified and go harass Mack. But does he want my input? N.O.

He keeps up a steady stream of conversation with me, but doesn't usually listen for my reply. Except when he wants one and he says, "Are you listening, Mommy?! I said, 'Aren't I awesome?!'"

"Yes son, you are awesome."

Yes, this was during our "We are going to Africa, so we should paint the kitchen" phase. Ignore the background.

He wants me to push the cars, but only when he tells me to. He wants me to be the girl cars, but they don't get to play a part unless he says so. No girl cars get to talk until I've been informed that they should.

It doesn't matter if my ideas would make the game a whole lot more interesting. It might just revolutionize how his game is played. Nope. Not interested.

And as I was perched on my floor, cross legged in the midst of Cars galore, drinking my tea and thinking about everything and nothing because I didn't really need to be engaged, just present I had my "Ah-ha! moment."

Wow. This must be how God feels with me.

Hi God! Wanna come play with me? No, no. Don't tell me what to do God, for crying out loud, I have got this game under control. Just watch me play. Aren't I awesome? HEY! GOD! Are you paying attention? I asked you to do something! Why didn't you do it? Wait, wait, wait.....No. Not that way! You're doing it all wrong! Here. Let me show you how you should do it. Wait! Where are you going? I thought we were playing here! I know I was ignoring you, but that doesn't mean I didn't want you present. Well.....not that present. Give me some space. You know. Just...there. In case I decide I want you involved. Would you play the part of the friend today? Never mind. I didn't really want to play with you. This other thing caught my attention. Carry on. See you later. If I decide I want you, that is. And I'll expect you to drop everything and be there for me.

10 For 10

2011-12-13T21:34:00.018-06:00

One thing I've discovered about international adoption is that getting very emotionally involved in another country's well-being becomes a by-product.

In addition, we need to remember that adoption is based on loss. The loss of a child, parent, country, village...any number of things. Yes, it is beautiful, but we must never forget that it first began with a loss.

My friend, Missy, and I have "talked" extensively about how to help reduce that loss. HOW to we help a mother before she loses hope? Until the only choice she has is relinquish custody or watch her child starve to death? HOW do we keep a child with his family? HOW do you help a country that is starving to death? We came up with this. And by "we," I mostly mean Missy, but I have fully jumped onto her bandwagon.

And with that intro, I will let her speak:

Last night, my daughter fussed after I put her to bed, telling Mama that something wasn't right. I went in to check, and found a wet-diapered little girl who was trying to fall asleep in a big wet circle of spilled bottle, shirt soaked through.
I let Daddy deal with diapers and fresh PJ's while I handled the sheets. As I tugged off the wet ones, my heart sank. I thought of all the big wet puddles on the crib sheets in the Enat Elam video, and the newborns with bottles propped up against blankets learning to self-feed...

I thought of my own two adopted babies, waiting for me in a care center in Ethiopia, rocking themselves to sleep. My babies.

I'll be honest. I lost faith for a moment.

The immensity of the AIDS and orphan crisis finally did what it does; it punched me in the stomach and told me that anything I can do is not enough.
As I scrambled to pull myself together and manuever crib sheets around bumpers, I prayed that God would keep my candle lit. I thanked Him for fresh sheets. I asked Him to handle the dark voice that did not belong to Him and remove it from my brain. (He did, because He does.)

I am battling that dark voice every day. We all are. The one that tells us that we are not big enough to make a difference, because the problems of this world are too overwhelming.

So we do nothing.
And yet we have a responsibility as Christians.
It's right here in black and white. Actually, it's in red lettering.

What EXACTLY does GOD say about our responsibility to the hungry?
To those in Africa who are "sentenced to die" by starvation?
Well, it's harsh, and you aren't going to like it. The first time I heard these words on Daily Audio Bible, I was floored:

¹¹ Rescue those who are unjustly sentenced to die;
save them as they stagger to their death...

¹² Don’t excuse yourself by saying, “Look, we didn’t know.”
For God understands all hearts, and he sees you.
He who guards your soul knows you knew.
He will repay all people as their actions deserve.

-Proverbs 24:11-12

Soul-crushing, right?

So what can we do?
Where is the solution for this impossible situation?
After reading this post by author Tom Davis, I read his book, Red Letters. I found an answer, amidst all of the statistics that reek of death...

It lies within our five small barley loaves and two small fish.

The disciple Andrew asked:
⁹ “Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far will they go among so many?” John 6: 1-14
The boy had faith.
The disciples had statistics.
Don't let Satan use statistics to trick you into thinking that you should not offer Jesus your small lunch because it won't make a difference.
Have faith. Be the boy.

Ready and willing to help? Confused about what to do?
I understand. I am, too.
I will never fully figure this one out.
Not everyone can adopt.
Not every child is adoptable.
I know that.

How about sponsoring one?
How about being the disciple who tells a lonely child of God that they are not forgotten?

The benefits of sponsorship go both ways. You and your family can write letters telling that child that Jesus has not forgotten them, and neither will you. You can back those words with a year or more commitment to sponsor them in education and health care.

Jamie Says: HOLY MOLEY she looks like my little girl!
You get to watch God work.
And He DOES.
Want to see what your tiny fish and barley loaves can do when placed in the hands of Christ?
Want to see Jesus feed the 5,000 all over again?

Do you want to be the one to hand over your lunch while everyone else stands around asking questions?

Do you want to see what He can do with your tiny fish...

And your 5 barley loaves?

Offer it to Him.
(He still puts on a show.)
Why am I doing this today, when I am sure we would all prefer a nice post about homeschooling or a walk in the garden?
Because I have a 6 month old, 9 pound daughter...
(I have a waiting 6yo the size of my current 4yo)

who will not grow up sitting in the dirt begging for water,
and a son who will never beg for food.
Because I have prayed and searched for the right charity to point my readers to, and I believe in this one, because sponsorship programs allow you to impact one person's life in a way that can change the future.
Any of these kids could have been ours.
And I mean all of ours.

These are God's kids, and they belong to all of us.
We must mark the lives of the lost
with the love of Jesus Christ.
We must TEACH them LOVE.

These photos are the proof of lives changed through
Children's HopeChest

You can be the hero by doing something that will give you more joy than you have ever known.

You can tell them you remember.

You can be the one to love "the least of these."
- Matthew 25:40

Today, you can a part of this miracle.
The blog hosting this guest post is joining together with 9 other bloggers to find 100 children their sponsor families.
10 Bloggers x 10 Kids = 100 children.
100 children loved, fed, remembered.
The children pictured below were chosen specifically for this blog.
Choose your child today, and email JWilson@hopechest.org with your child's name in order to request their sponsorship package:
Once you do, let me know and
I WILL VISIT YOUR CHILD FOR YOU.

*update: ALL of my kids are spoken for. There was such a rush in the last 24 hours and the person running the show is off for Christmas, that we aren't sure who got these last two precious boys. I will let you know ASAP when I know who is their sponsor. Meanwhile, if you missed out on these boys, but would still like the opportunity, visit Megan's blog. She still has several! Let's find sponsors for all 100 kiddos!

1. Balyo: Now Sponsored!

By the Day family!

2. Temesgen: Now Sponsored!

By the Foy family!

3. Kazru: Now Sponsored!

By the Mathis family!

4. Rebka: Now Sponsored!

By the Siyajuck family!

5. Asamech: Now Sponsored!

By the Bernas family!

6. Habtamu: NOW SPONSORED!

By the Dalke Family!

7. Aman: Now Sponsored!

By the Brandt family!

8. Zekarias: Now Sponsored!

9. Algayenesh: Now Sponsored!

by the Gruner family!

10. Tderder: Now Sponsored!

By the Clemens family

I promise you, this experience will bless you 100 times more that you could EVER bless these children.
$34/month = one child loved, fed, and remembered.

Says Jamie: Commit to one of these children before December 26 and I WILL GO VISIT THEM FOR YOU. Every one of them is within driving range from where I go to court. I will deliver hugs and letters and love and I will bring it back in return. Commit to one of them AFTER and I will still deliver hugs and love and will bring them back, but it will take a couple more months before I can do so. ;)

Are you a blogger who would like to advocate for these children by taking on your very own 10 Kids?
Email JWilson@hopechest.org

-Missy

Twinning

2011-12-12T06:52:00.000-06:00

I had a most wonderful experience last Wednesday. I got to see my kids in secret.

They were sitting next to each other.

By choice.

In a room full of peers.

Sometimes I find myself so disgusted with my kids and their lack of respect for their siblings. It is totally NOT ALLOWED in our home, and yet they try it. Every. Day. They are constantly being ~~lectured~~ reminded about the gift they have in their siblings. And they humor me most days and give the right answers, but the disrespect for one another in the car on the way home from school....ugh. I get 17 hours a day to overcome the 7 they spend with their friends and it takes all 17 to keep them on the right track.

I remember being a kid. All of my friends "hated" their sisters and brothers. They were "so annoying." That was all there was. It was expected. It was practiced.

And then I grew up and realized that my sister were the best friends I would have on God's green earth. Wha....?

I don't intend to let my kids waste their years together and figure that out once they are far flung. I would have LOVED to walk into school with an ally. Since I piled so many kids into our family in such a short amount of time, my kids should have built in allies. If they will just take advantage of it.

And another thing: I hear a lot of c-r-a-p about "artificial twinning." So much so that I have begun to feel a little guilty about accidentally doing it. And yet, it appears that I will be accidentally doing it again. But hey, my twins are cute, don't ya think? And they like each other.

It's a gift.

Thoughts from Wichita

2011-12-09T17:26:00.000-06:00

1) I have reaffirmed that I am not a mall person.
2) It's official: I'm too old for Old Navy. So sad. It was fun while it lasted.
3) It's really all about Target.
4) What is WITH the lack of KU stuff in this part of the state?
5) My four year old makes a great shopping companion. I considered trying to harass an adult to accompany me, when it occurred to me that I would then be forced to ask them where they needed to go. Charming keeps up a steady stream of conversation, there are no awkward quiet moments and he goes where ever I want to go as long as we end in the Cars aisle in Target.
6) It is far more fun shopping for a child that I don't know and haven't heard all sorts of greedy requests from in the last 11 months. I highly recommend it. (There are still plenty of angels on the tree at the bank.)
7) Going only five miles over the speed limit qualifies you for the grandma lane.
8) I despise Rock Road.
9) I am always so relieved to turn onto the 13 mile road where there is more air.
10) And, to return to number five: From the backseat:

Charming: Are we still in the 'Boro?
Mom: Nope.
C: Are we in the middle of nowhere?
M: Yup
C: The middle of nowhere still has combines and farms and stuff.

Yeah, kiddo, it works for me, too.

Tradition! Tradition!

2011-12-06T13:09:00.001-06:00

FYI, this is a musical accompaniment to the theme of the post, if you should so choose, it is not something I am suggesting you watch.

I am discovering, in my first year in a new home, how many traditions we had that I wasn't even aware of having. But the LACK of them has left a void.

For example: the all Christmas music, all the time radio stations from October 31-January1. Is there one here? Maybe. But I haven't found it. When I found myself lacking in Christmas spirit I put on some CDs, but boy, it's like they've been though a grinder. When did my CDs get all scratched? That, and I'm missing a few of my favorites. I have since discovered that KLOVE has an all Christmas music all the time player on the web. If I can get over the tinny sound of music coming through my computer, I might adjust. Not that it is available in my car. And it competes with all the music on various sites I visit. But it does work when I'm painting my kitchen (another post, another day).

Another example: I'm not insanely busy going to obligatory parties. Are there parties going on? Likely. But I don't know about them. And I find that I simply do not care. Which leads to:

Party food. No parties. No need to find interesting party food to bring. And another thing:

White elephant gifts. Do you have any idea how hard it is to come up with unique ideas for multiple parties every. single, year? I have not a one. NOT ONE. Oh, the freedom. Oh the available mind space.

I have one child in one Christmas program. I drop her off on Tuesdays after school, pick her up an hour later. The program will be on a Sunday.

Beautiful.

I do not have six programs to attend. I do not have to come up with donations for silent auctions. I do not have to work in the kitchen. I do not have to make soups and chilis and dips. I don't have to make frantic trips to the grocery store. I don't have to work functions. I don't have to feel guilty about not taking my kids to see the Plaza Lights and I don't have to answer that we choose not to spend our money on cold carriage rides. I don't have to make conversation with strangers that are masked as friends. Oh, the liberty.

So I have developed some new traditions:

I wake up early. Every day. An interesting aside, this is WIDE awake long before the alarm is set to go off. I often startle awake with a to-do list a mile long, but I attempt to ignore it when I shuffle downstairs and flip on the Christmas tree lights and the fire and the coffee pot. And I spend time with God in the glow of the lights or the fire. I reset my priorities.

I check my email for news about my girlie. A hundred times a day. I respond to emails that need my attention. Most do not. *sigh of relief*

I made my alternate gift giving party and annual event. That occurs before Thanksgiving. (Why didn't I think of THAT before?) It is long over before the stress of December rolls in.

Wait....what stress?

I sing with my kids. Just for fun. I sing to my kids. Just for fun. I annoy the heck out of my kids. Sometimes they laugh.

Wait! I almost forgot! Family! We're spending LOTS of time with family!

And we are hopefully....HOPEFULLY....making Christmas less about the stuff of the season and more about Jesus.

That's a tradition I can get behind.

So blessed.

2011-12-02T13:37:00.000-06:00

I have children on opposite ends of the globe.

I get to spend Christmas with all of them.

How fortunate am I?

It helps that Christmas is celebrated by their respective countries two weeks apart.

I am one blessed chick.

I Know

2011-11-30T19:48:00.001-06:00

I have a hunch I have some people really irritated with me that I haven't been bubbling over with EXCITEMENT! and HAPPINESS! and GIDDY GIGGLING STORIES! about the PHONE! CALL! (that didn't happen). But the truth is, I've spent the last three days just trying to not cry in public. And, because tonight I'm feeling marginally more sane I may muster up the energy to be giddy and excited. We'll see how this post pans out.

So, the PHONE CALL.

What's that you say? You didn't get a phone call? Why no. No I didn't. And why? Because it was THANKGIVING. And NOONE works on Thanksgiving. BUT I DO have a director that checks his email on Thanksgiving. Which was a whole day earlier than our latest "don't expect anything a minute earlier than Friday and that is BEST CASE and if you want to maintain your sanity don't even expect that" date. So, Thanksgiving morning I'm calling my sisters and my mother and crying because the day just feels ALL WRONG without any of them here and no one to shop with Friday and the food isn't right without mom's stuffing and waaaah! when I walk past my computer and hit the send receive button which brings down all these emails from my online community that say things like "court date" in the memo line. When I see on from Jim. That didn't come through the loop. And it has "court date" in the memo line. So I say to mom, "Hold on a sec mom, I have an email that says "court date" and she says, "OK" and I say....

OHMYGOSHMOMI'MGOINGTOAFRICAON
CHRISTMAS!
BRENTWE'REGOINGTOAFRICAFORCHRISTMAS!

Brent, who was outside putting up Christmas lights apparently turned to his dad and said, "That better be a court date. Otherwise the house is on fire." At which time I came flying out of the door and leaped on my husband and made a spectacle outside for God and all the neighbors to see. The neighbors were presumably somewhere else for Thanksgiving lunch because not a single one came out and stared and the screaming, crying woman who flung herself into her husband's arms and toppled him.

Meanwhile, my mother who was on the other end of the phone this whole time finally said, "Honey I can't understand you. What happened?" And I said, "I'm going to

AFRICAFORCHIRSTMAS!

Which she couldn't understand either, but I couldn't stop screaming. So I got off the phone. After I assured her that the house was not on fire.

My two younger sons sat on the couch for the entire encounter. I'm sure that speaks to my parenting tactics in a less than favorable light. Oh, that's just mom screaming. She must be excited about something.... (Actually somewhere in the recesses of my mind I have a vague notion that someone followed me outside and Brent told whichever one it was that we had a court date, resume life. They were both on the couch when I came back in.)

And then I called my two eldest children who were already at their Grandma's house, and told them to run around the pond because I had something to tell them. The story goes that Princess said, "I bet it's a court date," and Eldest replied, "She just wants us to carry something over." Princess came running at me with arms outstretched. She's all in on the crying screaming mess that is her mother.

And that's my story. No phone call. After all that wasted adrenaline.

Pray for us, if you would. Going to Africa at Christmas is not easy under any circumstances. Any that have a budget, that is. People are less than happy with us. Plane tickets are approximately 30% higher because we have Christmas coming and going with new year in between. And there is a whole lot of non-adoption related stuff going on that is also all consuming. We're really excited, but the excitement is being overshadowed by a LOT of crap

A Day To Remember

2011-11-28T22:11:00.000-06:00

Eldest: Dad, how long did it take for them to build Big Ben?
Dad: I don't know. I don't even know when Big Ben was built. I know nothing about Big Ben.
*pregnant pause*
Mom: Mark it on the calendar, son. That is one thing you won't often hear your dad say.
*conspiratorial look from dad*
Eldest: What? That he doesn't know about Big Ben?
Mom: That he doesn't know anything about something.

Meanwhile, Dad, who is searching for plane tickets online suddenly opens another browser, presumably to look at where Gojjo Ethiopia is, when what to my wondering eyes should appear but the Wiki page for Big Ben.

Mom: Oop. Too late. The time has passed.

*later*

Mom glances at calendar to see what tomorrow holds. Today's date says, "Dad doesn't know something."

Blue Friday

2011-11-25T07:45:00.001-06:00

Last year I didn't go to bed on Thanksgiving and it was one of the most memorable nights of my life.

Last night I went to bed telling Brent that this morning I would wake up $500 richer. He doesn't like my math, but that doesn't make me incorrect. Five hundred dollars I didn't spend is $500 richer no matter now you slice it. It doesn't mean that I don't have some regrets this morning, but frankly Black Friday shopping is only fun if you are with someone you love to shop with. And with Caramel Brulee Lattes. And when you know your way around the stores. Which would require a 2.5 hour drive just to start. And, frankly, there was just nothing I needed enough to justify spending $100 in gas to get it. But I'm still feeling a little nostalgic and left out this morning.

And I didn't sleep anyway.

But it's all good.

It is all I can do to stay in my pajama pants and not make the 25 minute drive to Wal-Mart to see if they have any Cars PJs left for Charming (who needs NONE). But we don't NEED any of the stuff. Our house is overflowing with last year's Black Friday deals.

My problem is that I'm addicted to the good deal. So, as any good addict should do, I'm having a coffee and blogging about my withdrawal rather than caving.

Yay me.

I just published this and then realized that you don't know this is all tongue in cheek. I feel AWESOME. GREAT things are going on. Which I am now going to blog about under a different heading. Stay tuned....

COURT DATE!

2011-11-24T11:06:00.002-06:00

A Word from Tricia Goyer

2011-11-21T11:04:00.002-06:00

Remembering You

By Tricia Goyer

In the last ten years since I started interviewing veterans for my WWII novels, most have passed away. Some of them—realizing their days on earth were coming to an end—returned to Europe one last time with their family members to walk along paths they've never forgotten. Those trips inspired my most recent novel, Remembering You (http://www.triciagoyer.com/contemporaryfiction.html#RememberingYou).

One of the most amazing experiences was when I received an email from a woman named Hana. She'd heard of my book and knew I'd interviewed some of the veterans. She asked if I'd interviewed any medics. Then she told me an amazing story. Hana was born on a cart just outside of Mauthausen. Her mother had survived being a prisoner of another camp and was transported to Mauthausen at the end of the war.

Hana was just three weeks old when the Americans arrived, and she was very ill. Because of the filthy conditions she got a skin infection and sores covered her body. No one expected her to live. Yet one of the medics saw the small baby and knew he had to do something. Even though it took most of the day, he lanced and cleaned all Hana's sores, saving her life. Over the years she'd wanted to find the medic, but didn't know where to start.

I was amazed by Hana's story and told her I knew one medic—maybe he remembered who that man was. I gave Hana the contact information and I soon heard the good news. My friend LeRoy “Pete” Petersohn was the medic who'd saved her life! The two were soon reunited! After all these years Hana was able to look into the eyes of the man who saved her and thanked him. After all these years Pete was able to meet the woman he saved. “Baby!” he called out when he met her.

Remembering You is a work of fiction, but the experiences of the men are true. The experiences of the main character, Ava, are also true-to-life. I was busy with life when God pointed me to an amazing story, and to even more amazing men. I'm so thankful I took time to listen and care. I'm so thankful I allowed these men to share what … and who … they remembered most.

Tricia Goyer is a homeschooling mom of four and an acclaimed and prolific writer, publishing hundreds of articles in national magazines. She has also written books on marriage and parenting and contributed notes to the Women of Faith Study Bible. Tricia's written numerous novels inspired by World War II veterans, including her new release Remembering You. Tricia lives with her husband and four children in Arkansas. You can find out more information about Tricia at www.triciagoyer.com.

Remembering You by Tricia Goyer

2011-11-18T20:16:00.003-06:00

I'm am privileged again to help spread the word about fellow adoptive mama Tricia Goyer's latest novel, Remembering You.

About the book:

35-year-old Ava Andrews' dream job is interrupted by an unusual request--fulfill her 84-year-old grandfather's last wish by joining him on a battle site tour of Europe. Ava is sure her boss will refuse her request. But, instead, he gives her a directive of his own--to videotape the tour and send it back as mini-segments for the show she produces.

As if juggling these two things isn't hard enough, Ava is soon surprised again ... twice. First, Ava and Grandpa Jack arrive in Europe, only to discover the tour is cancelled. Unwilling to let down her grandfather or her boss, Ava and Grandpa Jack head out on their own. Then, while they're on their way, the pair soon meet up with Paul, her grandpa's best friend, and his grandson Dennis. The same Dennis who just happens to be Ava's first love.

Before she knows it, Ava and Dennis are swept down memory lane as they visit the sites that are discussed in the history books. And even though Ava's videotaping old soldiers, she can see their youth, their hopes and fears, and their pride in their eyes. Soon Ava learns the trip isn't just for them ... it's for her too--especially for her heart.

Read an excerpt, watch a video and find out more here.

You know, this isn't a Tricia Goyer standard. Hmmm...well it might be. But it wasn't the twisty-turny several points of view heart pounding wild battlefield ride that I became accustomed to in my first introduction to her books. So, don't expect that. This is a present day visit to a vet's life through the eyes of his granddaughter. There's a bit of mystery to be revealed. A bit of romance. And a lot of growing respect for our WWII heroes and the stuff they endured and the baggage they carry because they chose to serve their country. It is a bittersweet novel that will occasionally make you want to knock the heroine over her head.

In other words, if you are looking for pulse pounding, stay-up-all-night reading material, this isn't your book, BUT if you like the idea of an aging WWII hero tribute with a splash of romance, this will be right up your alley. Happy endings never hurt. ;)

About Tricia:

Tricia Goyer is the author of thirty books including Songbird Under a German Moon, The Swiss Courier, and the mommy memoir, Blue Like Play Dough. She won Historical Novel of the Year in 2005 and 2006 from ACFW, and was honored with the Writer of the Year award from Mt. Hermon Writer's Conference in 2003. Tricia's book Life Interrupted was a finalist for the Gold Medallion in 2005. In addition to her novels, Tricia writes non-fiction books and magazine articles for publications like MomSense and Thriving Family. Tricia is a regular speaker at conventions and conferences, and has been a workshop presenter at the MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) International Conventions. On Tricia's weekly radio show, Living Inspired, she shares stories of inspiration and encouragement. She and her family make their home in Little Rock, Arkansas where they are part of the ministry of FamilyLife.

For more about Tricia and her other books visitwww.triciagoyer.com

Tricia Goyer is celebrating the release of her novel, Remembering You, with a KINDLE Touch Giveaway for you ... and for the friend of your choice. Then on 11/29 she'll be wrapping up the release of Remembering You with a Book Chat Party!

During the first half of the party Tricia will be chatting, sharing a sneak peek of her next book, and giving away a ton of great stuff. Then she'll head over to her website for a Live Chat! Readers will be able to chat with Tricia via video or text.

Don't miss your chance to win a Kindle Touch for yourself ... and to "remember" a friend this holiday with a Kindle Touch for them!

Read what the reviewers are saying here.

One grand prize winner will receive:

A Brand New Kindle Touch and a Kindle Touch for a Friend (winner's choice!)
A copy of Remembering You by Tricia Goyer for each

Enter today by clicking one of the icons below. But hurry, the giveaway ends at noon on November 29th. Winner will be announced at Remembering You Facebook Party on 11/29. Tricia will be hosting an author chat (on Facebook and Live from her website) and giving away copies of her other WWII books and gift certificates to Starbucks and Amazon.com. So grab your copy of Remembering You and join Tricia on the evening of the 29th for an author chat, a trivia contest (How much do you know about WWII?) and lots of giveaways.

Don't miss a moment of the fun. RSVP today and tell your friends via FACEBOOK or TWITTER and increase your chances of winning. Hope to see you on the 29th!

Blog tour schedule: go see what others are saying!

Community

2011-11-16T12:49:00.001-06:00

This blog post has been months in the making. Here's hoping that I finally have enough pieces to make it worth reading. It began when someone I had thought was on my wavelength had disappointed me in some form. The post at that time would have been about the false sense of community we create for ourselves. But the more I think on it, the deeper, the more involved, the subject matter is.

This last weekend, I was in Kansas City hosting my now annual Bead for Life party. I had SO MUCH FUN. It was a weekend of reunion, reconnection and establishing new relationships. We hung out with friends. I saw people I haven't seen in a decade. I met a lady who is adopting though the same agency we are. And I LOVED all of them. It was the weirdest mix pf people I could imagine being in the same place.

I was on a high, but by Monday evening, my rationale kicked into gear.

Last year my bead party looked so different. It was the same eight or ten people that I saw once or twice a week, for the most part. What was different?

I left.

When you live in the same city, you always have the assumption that people will be there later. It's just SO MUCH work to actually make plans to see people. I was guilty of the same.

One of my bridesmaids lived in the same city, but an hour away. You know how close an hour looks when you are staring down a full three? CLOSE. Suddenly a bead party is a chance for a reunion. Same for college friends, old Bible study partners, people who have changed churches. Oh, the laughter.....what a great day. Every time the door opened, I found myself screeching, "HEY!" and running across the room for a hug.

It was utterly delightful.

We went back to our old church on Sunday. I got hugs. Lots of hugs. From people who would have never ventured to hug me before. People just aren't huggers, for the most part. But once those hugs aren't available, they become something precious. A chance to say, "I love you! I miss you! HEY! YOU are MY friend." My love tank was filled to overflowing.

People are so precious. I think we forget that when they are available all the time. We take them for granted. They become something that is an obligation. Someone else who needs something from us.

And then, sometimes, we lose them. It almost hurts to see them again once they are removed from us. It's a reminder of that which we lost. A piece of ourselves that we won't get back. Pieces of me are scattered all over the planet right now, and I'm homesick for them.

I have dear, dear friends that I have never met. I have a writing community who know my struggle with what I have the opportunity to write and that which I desire to write. They grant me the title of "writer" and include me in their groups even when I have no physical evidence that I belong there. I have been in situations where I believed that I was wasting my time with people in my real life because they didn't get it. They let me down. And then one day we deviated from writing on our writer's loop and someone let me down. The pain that followed I still carry. But my IRL (In Real Life) friends were there to pick up the pieces.

Funny thing about community.

Right now I have another community: the adoptive community. When we adopted Eldest, our community was microscopic. Most people didn't get it. We had one set of friends that held our hands throughout the ordeal and I still describe them as dear friends even though we haven't talked since I was pregnant with Frodo (now 8). This go round I have made friends that I can't even tell you where they come from. They GET IT. I find myself wishing I could sit down to tea with them. But I suspect that if we spent much time together, they would let me down. Just because THIS passion we share, it doesn't mean we share them all. But I want to engage in email dialogue, if for not other reason than because I'm sure my IRL friends are sick, sick, SICK TO DEATH of listening to me talk about the details ad nauseum.

I don't even want to talk about the details, to be frank. I want to talk about changing the world. Making a difference.

What does everyone else want to talk about? Christmas shopping. I opened a Walmart add today and wanted to vomit. I kid you not. Physical reaction so strong I'm surprised nothing came up. Don't get me wrong. I want people to come to my next Bead for Life party and Christmas shop until they drop. I like to give a good gift as much as the next guy. But when I think about how much money goes into plastic in packages that will be forgotten by January 6 (particularly by my children) I just wonder what we are thinking. Thank the LORD He is giving me a community of like minded friends in that area as well. And from the most unlikely of sources. But sometimes even they let me down.

Right now I want my community to care that children are starving. Am I asking them to adopt? Not exactly. But how about buying them a sheep? Really. Is that too much to ask? $30. Last week I shared a image on facebook of a child's foot and a pair of shoes. For $10, you can provide a child with shoes so they don't get those parasites that make walking painful. But it gets better. Those $10 are paid to a person on the ground in Uganda to make the shoes. It gets even better than that. That $10 buys the supplies to make the shoes from a farmer in Uganda. Total people helped? THREE. (PLUS all their family). I made a comment on the photo, "Who wants shoes for Christmas?" I made a deal with myself that I would buy a pair of shoes in Uganda for EVERYONE who "liked" or commented on that photo. Not a single person. So sad.

Community. Sometimes they let you down.

The only one who won't let you down? Jesus. His people will, but he won't.

But I love my community. My online community. My adoptive community. My writing community. My old church. My new church. My family. My friends. My Bible study girls. My facebook friends. My bloggies. The people from my past life that should hate me for being a prissy bitch and love me and my new self anyway. I love the women I pray with on Tuesday and I love their children. I love that my old scientific mentor is now all in for poverty eradication. I loved him then. I love him now. I love KU. I love HHS. Did bad things happen in both places? YES. But good came out of it. God makes beautiful things out of us. Our fears. Our failures. Our successes. Our peeps. Our community. Even when they let us down.

Thank you for being part of my community. Please forgive me when I let you down.

Memory Triggers

2011-11-15T11:44:00.003-06:00

One of the things I love about being "home" are the memory triggers.

It's also one of the things I hate about being home, but we're not going there today.

Today as I was driving over to have coffee with my parents I glanced at a street sign which also happens to be the street Brent lived on when we were in high school. It was almost humorous, the rush of feelings that followed my viewing of that street sign.

Sometimes, and I know this is a surprise for you, after fifteen years of marriage you start to take the presence of your beloved for granted. Kisses aren't savored and are sometimes given begrudgingly.

I remembered this morning how giddy it used to make me to just be in his presence. How I would ponder kisses and think about the next one. It made me eager to come home and have lunch with my husband, whom I get to have lunch with every day and also who, as often as not, gets the brunt of my irritation for that. (You want to eat AGAIN? Can't you make your own lunch once?)

Today I will savor a kiss with lunch. And attempt to be giddy about cooking for him. ;) Maybe I'll even play Our Song. As if we could hear it over Mario Cart.

Thought for the Day

2011-11-15T08:01:00.000-06:00

I wonder if God is calling you to spread your wings over someone. A person who might not look like you, think like you, or shop where you shop. You may not have to go to Africa or Brazil to find them; he or she may live next door or be related to you. Either way, it is time for us to give of our lives as Boaz gave of his. If we clutch our possessions and ease of life, we will do so at the expense of a wealth of Ruths who not only need redemption, but who might one day be the true saviors in our own stories.
--Kelly Minter, Ruth

Friday, Friday....

2011-11-11T08:30:00.000-06:00

My phone just rang. Actually it rang six minutes ago. And I'm still shaking.

It's Friday.

It's 8:30.

I do not yet have a court date.

And I'm going to have a good day. ALL. DAY. LONG.

Depraved Indifference

2011-11-09T09:05:00.000-06:00

Nothing I could say is more important than this.

Overdue

2011-11-08T13:44:00.000-06:00

What I know of pregnancy, and particularly about being overdue, I learned from my Princess and my Frodo. Charming, as always, made his own path and even gives me a My Midwife Didn't Believe I Was In Labor Until I Was WAY Into Labor story. Nevertheless, I have a theory.

Women don't go into labor until they give up hope that the baby will ever come out.

Last night, as I was laying on the couch attempting to escape reality by ~~wasting my life away~~ watching crappy TV, the thought came to mind, I'm never going to get a call. I'm not going to Africa before Christmas. I'm dreaming to think there is even a chance for a call any time in the near future. It simply isn't going to happen. I may never go. That is all. Time to get on with life.

It was eerily similar to the thought I had with Princess when I was three days overdue and with Frodo when I crossed the five day mark: This baby is never coming out. I may as well get used to being the size of a water buffalo. I will never again recognize my feet. That is all. Time to get on with life.

With both of them, I was in labor within 12 hours.

I am under no delusion to believe that giving up equals a phone call, or labor for that matter. I truly don't even expect one. This morning was the first in three weeks where I didn't even glance at the clock and count down the minutes until 9 AM (my phantom, if I haven't been called I won't be called cut off time period). I really, really, really might not get a call until February. It is completely out of my hands. I need to give up on the plan to buy all my Christmas gifts in Ethiopia and just start figuring out what piece of plastic crap won't drive me crazy OR into the poor house. I'm going to shop for my Operation Christmas Child boxes because the odds are, I won't be delivering my own version of it to the orphans in our care center.That is all. It's time to get off the I'm Holding My Breath Until I Turn Blue wagon and get on with life.

Laundry is calling. A holiday season is bearing down. Charming wants me to watch him play. And, besides, I like oxygen. I might as well inhale now and again.

It is a new day. I'm gonna seize it.

Thankful....

2011-11-07T17:20:00.000-06:00

For this moment and many more like it.

Last night, we were watching House Hunters International when a woman said, "I can dip my toes in the Mediterranean Sea. How many people get to experience that?" I turned to Brent and said, "I did!"

Not only that, I got to smooch in a Med Sea sunset.

Life is good.

Waiting Purgatory Stolen Excerpt

2011-11-07T12:08:00.000-06:00

Friends, I want you to read this.

But because it is a novel, I'll just ask you to read the first half. (The half that begins after the Halloween costume leader.)

And for those of you that won't do that, either, I give you this, completely plagiarized excerpt from Jen Hatmaker's blog in the hopes that it will whet your appetite to AT LEAST read the first half. :)

Jen, if you google yourself and discover I have plagiarized you.....um.....I have no excuses. It just needed to be re-posted.

Your friends are adopting. They’re in the middle of dossiers and home studies, and most of them are somewhere in the middle of Waiting Purgatory. Please let me explain something about WP: It sucks in every way. Oh sure, we try to make it sound better than it feels by using phrases like “We’re trusting in God’s plan” and “God is refining me” and “Sovereignty trumps my feelings” and crazy bidness like that. But we are crying and aching and getting angry and going bonkers when you’re not watching. It’s hard. It hurts. It feels like an eternity even though you can see that it is not. It is harder for us to see that, because many of us have pictures on our refrigerators of these beautiful darlings stuck in an orphanage somewhere while we’re bogged down in bureaucracy and delays.--Jen Hatmaker

And, yep, that about sums it up. Except, of course, the REST of the post.

Expectation

2011-11-07T09:08:00.000-06:00

It occurred to me yesterday that I'm living counter-culturally these days.

On Friday, I could not get off the couch. Charming and I watched three full length movies. I stood in the corner of the library and cried the ugly cry as my boys picked out even more movies. But by Sunday evening? Laughing, singing, dancing.

The difference? On Sunday night, the Ethiopian courts open.

I'm on to my moods now. Hopefully that can keep me in check. My heart is another matter. My phone rang at 9:30 last night and my heart was racing so hard that my hands were shaking. Again this morning at 8:05.

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. Heb.11:1

Apparently, I have a great amount of faith that my phone will ring any day. Fridays signal a three day silence and are therefore something to be endured. Mondays begin five days of hope and therefore are something to celebrate.

Counter-cultural.

And a bit nonsensical.

I'm still sad that my sister has moved, but it doesn't seem as earth shaking as it did on Friday. Now I can see the benefit of having a relative within driving range of many places I'd like to visit.

But you may want to ask me again on Friday. ;)

If there was a theme song for today, it would be titled, "The Woman Has LOST it."

Expectation Failure

2011-11-04T13:14:00.000-05:00

The last time I was this addicted to my email inbox and my ringing phone, I was waiting for a rejection for my novel.

The phone could ring any day with news of my impending visit to Africa.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to plan for a trip that will likely occur over the holidays without knowing when or if it actually will occur?

I spent hours on the phone yesterday trying to set things up. Doctor's appointments that have to happen before December 11, but no earlier than December 11, with a Doctor who works 2.5 hours from my current location. And visits to my sponsored child who lives in a country that celebrates Christmas on January 27 (but the organization's workers still celebrate on December 25 and close their offices "the second half of the month of December and the early part January."

I woke yesterday in a cold sweat wondering if I would still get Christmas cards from people if I don't send them this year, considering I sent none last year, either. And then I remembered that most people don't even know my address, so of course I won't get any cards unless I send them. And is TODAY too early to send cards if I am indeed going to be out of the country next month? And if I do send them today and DON'T get a date next month, will I feel dumb?

And DARN IT, why won't that phone ring?

My sister moved half a continent away today. And I've got a cry headache and an inability to contain my tears. And a good friend's marriage fell apart and things just keep getting worse. And I could just use some good news.

And DARN IT, why won't that phone ring?

Except when it does it is stinkin' Directv. As if I care.

So, I'm having a Pixar day.

FYI, Cars 2 makes me want to go to Italy guilt free and Toy Story 2 had a preview for Toy Story 3 which made me cry.

I need some Chocolate Chip Cookie dough and a spoon. Which reminds me of another story. Today when I asked Charming if we should make some cookies this afternoon, he informed me that he brought two cookies home from Grandma's yesterday, one for me and one for Daddy.

Interesting....

Smart Seasons

2011-11-04T08:05:00.000-05:00

This morning, as I helped Eldest and Princess study their spelling words, I had a flash of nostalgia. The word was compliment. Which Eldest spelled with an "ie" because he was fretting so much over which one should be used, and Princess spelled with an "e."

It took me back.

For all my joking Wednesday about losing the Krebs cycle, I do sometimes mourn the days when people thought of me as smart. I miss knowing that complement is a chemical involved in a rapid immune response. And I miss the certainty of knowing that. Because today when I typed complement into dictionary.com to verify that before I typed it, dictionary.com didn't bother to even list that in it's definitions. I'm sure I could get out an old immunology text and find out for sure, but I'm just....too tired.

I sometimes miss the days when I was full of information that I mistook as knowledge and I was regarded for it.

Now, more often than not, I get the You-are-so-dumb look from my kids. And Brent, who is far more knowledgeable about many things athletic than I, goes even farther and tells me in his lecture voice how I'm doing an air squat wrong when my thighs are on fire.

I want to be smart again.

But I will choose, today, to be knowledgeable.

All of my life, in every season, You are still God, I have a reason to sing.
I have a reason to worship.

With Great [Knowledge] Comes Great Responsibility

2011-11-02T19:23:00.003-05:00

The problem with knowing stuff is that you can't un-know it. Sometimes you can forget it. I've forgotten the Krebs cycle. I used to know it frontwards and backwards. Now all I can remember is that CO2 is a byproduct and I'm not even certain of that. But I've forgotten it because it became unimportant to me. It isn't something I have to regularly visit and, frankly, I never cared much about knowing it after the exams.

But there are other things I know that sometimes I wish....I didn't. I'd like to go through a day and ignorantly participate in life and just be normal. Except, knowing what I know, I don't really want to not know it. Lack of knowledge does not necessarily also mean lack of accountability. Just because I don't know a "J" turn is illegal doesn't mean the police officer won't give me a ticket.

I can't pretend to not know the sinister things that go on beneath fun children's holidays. I can't pretend to not know the way the more popular forms of birth control work. I can't un-know the current actions of Hershey and Pepsi. I can't un-know that my daughter's care center has a waiting list of malnourished babies to take her place as soon as she and her friends are cleared out of there. And I can't un-know that a child could be fed, clothed, sheltered and schooled for a month for less money than I spent on candy for a holiday I don't even celebrate.

And I am disgusted.

One of the awesome things about adopting is the instant community you find yourself in. One such person posted on her blog that the group she sponsored a child through in Ethiopia would let you come visit when you go for your adoption (I know World Vision does as well). She also said she had become the advocate for 10 other children in the school to help them gain sponsors. And my first thought was "I'm sponsored out."

You betcha. There's my compassion in a nutshell. It ain't pretty, is it?

But something in her message grabbed me. She referenced Tom Davis whose book I'd reviewed a couple years ago and my curiosity got me. I linked through.

Only one child of the ten was left. His name was Setotaw and he had a tooth out of alignment and his zipper was undone. And I looked in his face, thinking, "How many $35 monthly commitments can I make?" When I saw a vision of my receipt from Target a couple days prior. All we'd gone in for was the bag of candy each child is allowed to pick at the end of October for our Reformation Day party. Let me just say my receipt MORE than covered Setotaw's care.

CANDY.

I can't un-know that I spent more on CANDY in October than it would take to care for a child.

What have we come to?

A friend of mine posted last week that Americans spent 6.7 billion dollars on Halloween this year. (Or maybe that is last year's figure. Someone else commented that this year it was closer to 7.) Gee, I don't know people, can we think of something better to do with SIX POINT SEVEN BILLION DOLLARS?

In case you are interested, I immediately inquired about Setotaw. Because how on earth could I stand before God someday and say, "Well, the candy seemed more important at the time." And by the time I'd emailed her, three other families had stepped in to lay claim to him. He was the last child of her 10 sponsored and he became the prize. I am saddened that my hesitation lost me out on his sponsorship. That precious boy.

And if you are still interested, she's already posted 10 more in need of sponsors. It would appear that I might be able to hand deliver letters and gifts to your child if you were so inclined.

HA! Interesting....I was just revisiting the blog and ran across this. Use it as you will. Or better, should. :)

Shopping as a Virtue

2011-10-31T09:05:00.000-05:00

Parent teacher conference week means long weekend, which is flippin' awesome. Setting my alarm last night was torture. That is all I'm going to say about that.

So, I used my long weekend to make a mad dash to KC to "help my sister move." See the quotes? That is because.....apparently I'm not much, um, help. Not by most definitions. I'm just not a take charge personality. My sister is type A by the strictest definition. I pretended to be type A until I turned thirty at which point I embraced my inner freak and fell all the way past B to C. There isn't a C? Come over, watch me, and prove it.

Sooooooo basically I followed her from room to room while she sorted stuff I am incapable of sorting, and taped up boxes when she finished packing them and watched as she had to untape them to put another thing in or take another thing out. Yeah, helpful, I know. And then I and my four offspring unpacked five sleeping bags and pillows so we could sleep there and "help" the next day....wherein I watched her hold her supremely tired little girls.

I really would have packed for her, but in each room she was down to The Crap Which Must Be Sorted. (Note: Type B: throws in box a deals with it a year later. Type A: Sorts and packs.)

Anyway, at some point in this process, I mention that while I'm in the city, I intend to take my Eldest shopping for a winter coat, seeing as how it is getting cold and the child doesn't have one. My sister gets a hopeful expression on her face and asks if I will take Teen Girl 2 shopping for a coat also. I say yes, we move on to another room where I do nothing and she sorts.

Eventually it is time for sister to leave to pick her husband up from the airport. I and my offspring leave to have lunch with a friend. By the time we all return, her husband is there and she is flat booking it through the sort/pack. I get Teen Girl 2 and head to the mall where Eldest spots the coat he wants (green and black) in 0.04 seconds and is Done With All Things Mall (and can NOT believe that I don't have anything in my purse to entertain him while his cousin puts a little more thought into her coat selection).

An hour and two coats later we return to sister's house where she now has a friend there to help her. Who is apparently Type A as well because now the kitchen is in boxes, my sister is moving at the speed of light and the single most important thing I can think of to do is get myself and six children out of her house. So we leave.

When I got home, my husband asked me How Did It Go? and Was I Any Help? And all I could think to tell him was that it seemed my purpose was to hold my sister together until helpful people could show up. Because apparently the most helpful thing I could do for her was to go shopping.

Which she confirmed later in a most eloquently worded thank you email in which there was profuse gratitude expressed for just such a service.

So, there you go. Next time YOU move, let me know and I'll go shopping for you.

OH! And the song. Traveling forces me to flip radio stations. On the way home I got to rehear this oldie but goodie that I intended to sing to my beloved for our wedding, but chickened out. I still know every word. And considering my husband now talks my ear off, it has a whole new meaning to it. ;)

Have a great Monday!

And sister, if you read this, please don't take offense. I'm poking fun at ME not THEE.

Undone

2011-10-26T19:05:00.004-05:00

When Princess was six months old, I attended a Women of Faith conference on an anonymous donor's dime. I'd signed up to go not knowing how I would pay for it since we hadn't had an income for a full year. When it came time to pay for it, I was told someone had not only paid for my admission, they'd also sprung for the box lunch.

I worried what people would think that I was eating that $10 lunch when it was well known around my circle that we couldn't afford....well....anything.

And then they did their World Vision sponsorship push that they do. And God said, "Go." So, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. And look the long way. And stood ten feet away from the table. When I finally mosied my way close enough to the table covered in children's pictures, there she was.

Almnesh.

I refused to pick her up. I chit-chatted with the lady who was saying things like, "You usually know right away who it is. Blah, blah, blah." And I was saying things like, "Yeah, no income for a year. No way. Just thought I'd check it out."

Walked away.

Came back.

Walked away.

Took the long way round.

Came back.

She was still there. And God said, "Jamie, you need to know someone has it worse off than you."

Jamie: Roof over her head. Haven't missed a meal. Has a back-up plan if evicted. Loving husband. Great kids. Exhausted, yes. Broke, yes. Blessed, yes.
Almnesh: too thin, carries water, can't afford school, yup, she wins.

So I went home and told my husband, with hanging head. And HE said, "Well, I won't argue with God."

We've sponsored Almnesh for ten years now. And it started when we had no idea HOW we would find the money to do so. I was worried that whoever paid for me to be at WoF would see me signing up to sponsor a child and think, "Well, sheesh, she's not as bad off as I thought." I was afraid of what my parents would say if they found out. I feared what Brent's parents would say if they found out. I feared anyone knowing. It was a terrifying act of obedience.

The next month we received the first paycheck we'd seen in 13 months. We spent the next I don't even know how long, clawing and scratching and digging ourselves out of $25,000 of credit card debt we'd racked up in the preceding year. More babies came. Hard times came and went and we paid those off, too.

And now I find myself on the flip side. We have reached a level of comfort that feels incredibly.....uncomfortable.

I am completely undone.

I find that my thoughts are consumed with ending poverty and injustice. I'm constantly sharing stuff on Facebook and here on my blog about places to give and things to do and books to read. I spend too much time on blogs of people serving selflessly. I'm reading Mother Teresa and Katie Davis. And my heart cries, "Not enough. We aren't doing enough."

And I worry what people think. I'm afraid that someone will see me in the park with my Kindle (an unasked for gift) and judge me for the post I made earlier in the day regarding "necessity." And I'm afraid of what people will say when they see me eating at the local Mexican restaurant after I've made a comment about starving children. And I'm afraid of what people think when they see me snap at one of my children right after I tell them I'm adopting another.

And yet, I find myself angry with people for not getting it. For not seeing how good we ALL have it.

And I picture them thinking about me Yeah, you're one to talk. You have something to give away. I've seen your house.

And they are right. And I'm unhinged. I'm sick of the extravagance. Because I can hold bead parties (and will) and I can sell goods crafted by women in vocational training (and will) and I can sponsor children and I can give to my church and I can adopt a child (and get all sorts of wild accolades about my selflessness) and I can donate to the local food bank and I can volunteer at the meat cannery and I can boycott stinking Hershey for their child labor practices (and Pepsi for their fetal testing--knife to the heart--fire your PR guy) and it's NOT ENOUGH.

Because there are still children going to bed tonight that won't wake up tomorrow. Malaria is still rampant when all it takes to slow it down is a $18 mosquito net. Women are still selling themselves to feed their children and ending up with AIDS so they leave them as orphans anyway.

Oh Dear God when will we wake up and see that this life we have in America is so crazy extravagant and DO SOMETHING so that babies don't have to starve and their mothers have no choice but to let them be raised by strangers or watch them die?

A dear woman in my life gave me a t-shirt the other day that says "ordinary hero." She gave it to me with the sentence, "I'm not doing anything heroic." And the unsaid sentence was, "Like you." Which is bogus. I think I know her heart well enough to believe that she IS an ordinary hero. And I'm still sane enough to believe that adopting one child only makes me a hero in the eyes of people who can't fathom it. But what no one seems to understand is that the thing that would make me a hero today is if I could find a way for her to stay with her mother. If I could turn back time and get her daddy the medicines that would keep him alive and providing for them. If I could come up with a crop that would withstand drought.

I'm hoping ripples count for something.

And as I've said a lot lately, I have a lot of questions and not a lot of answers. But I'm stinking tired of not speaking up because I'm afraid of what people are thinking. If I can convince the people around me to be an ordinary hero: sponsor a child, donate to the food bank, volunteer, serve, love, give....if I can do that, maybe I can deserve the title on my tee. And until that time, I'll still wear it because it says, "I heart Africa." And my daughter is there.

And if you want to be a hero for me today, I have a letter I need LOTS of people to send to their respective congressmen about the hostage situation that is happening in Ethiopia with our babies. Email me and I'll get a sample to you. (But this is NOT why I wrote this blog post. This happened in the last few minutes.)

Perseverance

2011-10-24T12:51:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine suggested a couple weeks ago that I camp in James during our wait. At the time it didn't do much for me, but on Friday, when I was considering allowing myself to have a mental break, I found James chapter 1 to be very reassuring.

2 Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters,[a] whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3 because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. 4 Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. 5 If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you. 6 But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. 7 That person should not expect to receive anything from the Lord. 8 Such a person is double-minded and unstable in all they do.

Yesterday in church, I found all the songs and the sermon to be about being OK while in the (figurative) dark. (A friend of mine just emailed to tell me that the sermon was about expectation. I love it when God does that. Multiple messages, same words.)

So, this is where I am today.

My daughter, on the other hand is CERTAIN we are getting a court date....today. As the courts are closed for the night, I'm not holding out too much hope. I hope her faith isn't shattered. And, shoot, maybe, just maybe, we'll get on in the Ethiopian morning after our business day is over.

Can I Just Write a Check?

2011-10-21T15:05:00.000-05:00

Never mind, I decided to write the cutsie, lighthearted, post anyway, seeing as how I am incapable of doing anything else and my son is camped in front of Curious George.

So, the Girl Scouts are doing a garage sale fundraiser this weekend. I filled my van with donations. Several garbage bags full plus a few larger items. I loaded all of it, together with my two clothing racks at 8 PM last night and drove to the warehouse where I spent two hours and fifteen minutes setting up for the sale that started four minutes ago, now (and which I am probably supposed to be at and am not because I'm trying to not have a public meltdown). By the end of the night, I was freezing, my nose was running, my back and my feet hurt and we still had hours of work to do. Only half the clothes were hung, we were out of hangers, we were out of space and there was still a huge pile of stuff that needed to be sorted.

It was at this point in time when I discover that we are doing this sale in order to cover the cost of the girl scout handbook, which is, apparently, $7, and dues, which, if my information is correct, are approximately $12 a year, which can be paid monthly. (My information may not be correct, because this is not an easy number to come by, even in the age of google.) So I found myself thinking, Can't I just write a check? Shoot, I could probably scrounge up enough loose change in my van to cover a couple months of dues.

When I related this to my husband, he began referring to me as "Princess."

Yes, just call me Princess.

And hand me a pen.

Aft note: I sincerely hope that families who can't afford the $19 benefit from the sale. Girls who wish to be in Girl Scouts should be able to be in Girls Scouts whether they can afford it or not. This isn't to downgrade families who need financial help. I am mocking self. It is called satire. Please don't be offended.

Pray

2011-10-21T13:50:00.001-05:00

I had a really cutsie, lighthearted, post planned, but I find my mind CONSUMED with anxiety.

I mean, really, I'm certain that if I would allow myself, I would be a sobbing, blubbering mess on the floor.

I know what the Word says, Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, by prayer and petition,with Thanksgiving, bring your requests to God and the peace that passes all understanding will guard your hearts in Christ Jesus.(Philippians 4:6-7). But the fact is, I can't. So I need you to do so on my behalf.

I really can't reveal details without dragging a bunch of people into it and probably, by definition, gossiping, but I can tell you I need some clarity and soon. Or peace. Peace would certainly go a long way.

Whatever you do, don't pray for patience for me, however. I couldn't take the lesson I would have to go through to get some.

***added***
I was just driving along thinking "gee, Jamie, that was a serious overreaction. You need to post a retraction," when it occurred to me that MAYBE the reason I've cooled off is because people are praying. So, I won't post a retraction, or delete the message, but say thanks.

Tell Me What You Really Think

2011-10-17T21:46:00.000-05:00

When Brent and I first moved to Kansas City we fell into a routine that included weekly Sunday afternoon matinees of craptastic movies, for lack of anything better to do, which my sister referred to as "dates."

"I want to go on a date!" She'd say. Or, "Ah, you're so lucky you can go on a date!"

Personally I thought she was crazy. We were bored out of our ever loving minds. We were seeing movies we didn't even care about because we had no friends and there are only so many weekends you can foist yourselves upon the self-same family members with whom you work the other five days a week. I couldn't get/stay pregnant to save my life so we had little to no responsibility and it wasn't like we were rolling in cash so that we could go on a real date. We were seeing the $4 movie in our comfy clothes. I'd dress up for a date. And maybe get dinner out of the deal.

I digress.

So last week I told Brent, "We need a date. Do you think there is any chance we can find someone to watch the kids so we can go see a movie?" And by Saturday I'd gone from "I want a date." to "Get me OUT OF HERE for the love of all things holy!" Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've been to a movie that wasn't animated? May. I just remembered. We sprang for a movie for our anniversary. But before that? I'm guessing it tends toward the "years" category. Avitar. Pretty sure it was Avitar before whatever unremarkable thing it was we saw in May. And before that was Star Trek in Branson when my old babysitter drove down from Springfield to give us a reprieve.

So what do we do on our "date?" We shopped for running shoes. Oh yes we did. And then? Say it with me: Target. With a Latte. I know. We go all out. And then what does this idiot do? Talk her husband out of PF Changs because I had a hankering for the chocolate cake with bourbon butter at Granite City.

Oh, I have to back up. We're driving through W-town after buying shoes when Brent asks, "So, what do we want to do?" To which I responded, "Well, when this whole thing started it was because I wanted to go see a movie. Shoes were the conduit to a date. But, whatever. I just needed out. Target it is." We'd timed out for the movie. Our distance from a movie theatre and the length of time we have to ~~beg~~ ~~persuade~~ ~~harass~~ ~~manipulate~~ bless people to watch our offspring in order to do so, is prohibitive to doing anything else lengthy on the same trip. Which, interestingly, I was weeping uncontrollably about not too long ago. A date will never again just be a date. It will have to be functional. Multi-purpose. Home Depot AND Dinner. Movie AND Wal-Mart. It's depressing. Trust me on this. Some day I may get used to it. I haven't yet. When you use up all your free babysitting for the necessities, dates don't happen.

And no, this isn't That Thing That's On The List in case any of you are wondering.

Anyhoo...

Granite City, yippee skippy, has their flatbread pizzas for $6 on Sunday evenings as their game day special. LOVE their Olive Procuttio (I have zero idea how to spell that and outlook is making prosecution their spelling option) flatbread pizza. But last night? Not so much. And I happened to say something like, oh, "I'm done wasting calories here. Let's go get ice cream," to Brent's "Do you want chocolate cake?" When who pops out from behind me but the manager. And she's all, "How's your flatbread pizzas?" And Brent's all, "Great!" And she looks at me, who cannot tell a baldfaced lie, "And yours?" And I squirm because I've waitressed enough to know that complainers can ruin your night and hesitate and finally say, "It isn't as good as it usually is." Because it wasn't. And she's all, "Oh?" and I, who can't keep my mouth shut once I start, said, "It's usually my absolute favorite, but something off with the procuttio." And she says, "Yeah I noticed when I brought it out with was just kind of laying all out there..." and I finished with "It's like a slab of ham."

It WAS. The "Procuttio" was thicker than the flatbread.

And she offered to bring me another pizza of a different recipe and I thanked her and said no, I was full (And I was looking at the clock by then because we still had an hour's drive home and it was less than an hour from bedtime for the kiddos). Then here comes the waiter who can see his tip dwindeling (because he doesn't know me and the fact that I always tip waiters well, even the crappy ones, because I used to be one and I want to prove that people who order water aren't necessarily cheapskates when it comes to tips, but I think all it proves is that crappy service still gets good tips) to offer me desert, but I just want to bail and go home. So he brings the check and our boxed up flatbread pizzas. $6.41.

I was not asking for a discount. I was certainly not asking for free food. So we tipped him the cost of my pizza and left.

And about a mile down the road got the giggles. Brent started it when out of the blue he says, "Yeah, could you box up these crappy pizzas we didn't like and didn't pay for but want to take home?"

In our defense, we did not know they were going to comp the pizza when we asked to have it boxed. Also, in my defense, I'm not even sure we will ever eat it, but I hate to leave food on the table. Besides, we were boxing Brent's and I thought they'd just throw mine in on top of it. All of which we talked though while getting a little light headed from laughing.

Car goes silent. Moment has passed. At which point the words "Slab of Ham" ricochet through my brain.

Maybe it's just me. And I'm sure the delivery will be lost in print. But I might as well have said "Side of beef" with as much disdain as you could inflect in three words.

Oh. My. Word. I laughed until I cried. Off and on for the full hour it took to get home and off and on throughout the day today.

I have a friend who is well enough acquainted with me to clarify. She's known for saying, "I know you tend to speak in extremes, so what do you really mean?" She would have blown off my "slab of ham" with a shrug. Poor Tia-the-Manager. She didn't know I hadn't been on a date since May or that I'm weirdly blunt, especially when pressed for information that I don't want to give. I only insult people without meaning to and I beat myself up for nearly everything that comes out of my mouth. She was right that I was unhappy with my flatbread and she is probably also right that I won't be itching to go back any time soon....of course I didn't get that cake. Regretting that now.

Slab of ham...compliment at a BBQ place. Not so much on flatbread with a "misting" of olive oil. It just doesn't paint a pretty picture.

Lucky for Him, That's on the List

2011-10-17T16:31:00.000-05:00

When Brent and I were first married, my Aunt Mary sent me, together with a box of Godiva chocolate, a clipping out of a Reader's Digest. I can't remember the exact wording, because the clipping has long since been lost, but here's the gist:

"At my bridal shower, women were asked to share words of wisdom for the new bride.
My grandmother, married for 60+ years, wrote, 'At the beginning of our marriage, I decided I would make a list of ten things that, for the sake of our marriage, I would forgive him.'
When she read her advice aloud, we asked her what was on the list.
'I never got around to making that list,' she said. 'When he did something that got me hopping mad I would just think to myself Oooooo, lucky for him that's on the list!'"

I had that story posted on my fridge until we moved, approximately two years, but we were pretty blissful at the time and it didn't really apply. Tubes of toothpaste and toilet seats not withstanding. Mostly it gave me a good chuckle.

Yesterday afternoon we were driving along and I found myself stewing on a particular matter when it flashed across my mind, and not for the first time in the last fifteen years, Lucky for him, that's on the list!

The truth of the matter is that had I actually made the list, most of the things I've felt compelled to forgive "for the sake of my marriage" would never have been on it. It would never have occurred to me that I would need to forgive such offenses for which I have pulled out the list. I probably would have put things like, "Not calling if he's going to be late from work" rather than "Buys company without consulting me first," or "Forgets our anniversary" rather than "Takes on questionable business partners."

For the record, I now like some of his business partners who have proved more faithful than I expected....and I did tell him that I wanted to have no part in the whole buying a company decision. I just didn't expect him to actually listen to that bit of advice.

I'm not saying Brent doesn't have a list a mile long of things that he's forgiven for the sake of our marriage, because I'm sure there is one. He just doesn't talk about it much. He just faithfully gets up every day and loves me anyway. Some days a little more sullen or loud than others.....

Lucky for him, that's on the list.

But if you are struggling in your marriage today, tack a blank list of 10 in your psyche and be prepared to pull it out and use it when you can find no other reason to forgive--particularly when they don't ask for forgiveness.

It really does work.

You can think some devoted Reader's Digest writer's grandmother for that bit of advice.

Oh, and also for the record, we are getting along just fine today. I don't post crap when I'm mad. No sympathetic or otherwise husband-bashing type comments needed.

Tiny Tyrant (T Squared)

2011-10-15T15:44:00.000-05:00

Mom! I won the cweaning race!

You did?

Yeah, I cweaned my bed and I cweaned my cars and I cweaned my wegos and that's all my crap!

*gut laughter*

*high five*

Chaos Thought for the Day

2011-10-13T13:53:00.000-05:00

Pointing out the stupidity in others takes little imagination. A true ability is one that can find a way to love them despite their stupidity.

Arrogance is not a virtue.

Yes, I am talking to myself. And yes, I do see, at this moment that my thoughts on the matter are, in fact, pointing out the stupidity in arrogant people. Today it feels like a risk worth taking.

Misreading Vibes

2011-10-12T18:00:00.000-05:00

I am reading a novel I imagine I shouldn't be reading which just triggered a funny memory and all I could think was "blog fodder," so there is little to no excuse for the following post except that it is Wednesday, my blog, and a reason for laughter. Particularly now, 14 years later.

When I was living in San Antonio with roommates I didn't choose doing research on stem cells (I threw that in for effect. Did it work? Marrow stem cells, not embryonic. I've done cloning too. Don't hate me.) after I was married and living half a country away from my husband, my Brazilian roommate came home from the lab with a story. The story was, in general, an "artist" guy had propositioned her at the bus stop to pose nude for him. Our third roommate and I assured her he was a creep and she was smart to have walked away. She insisted that he really was an artist and she felt bad for turning him down.

Fast forward a week. I am at the self-same bus with roommate three when a guy stares at me long enough to creep me out (approximately 0.05 seconds will do it) and then sidles up and says, "I can't help but notice how lovely your form is." (eyeroll) Um, thanks? "No, really. Your figure is amazing. I want to paint you." Yes, he got The Look.

"Paint me."
"Yes."
"Where, here?"
"My studio."
"Which is...?"
"Just over...." (General gesture towards the north)
"And just how would I be painted?"
"Well, I want to paint your amazing figure."
"Yeah, you, um, tried this with my roommate last weekend."
"Really?"
"Uh, huh. She said you were hoping to paint her nude."
"Of course."
"And that is what you'd like to do with us."
"Of course."
"Yeah, see, the thing is....that's just supremely creepy. Normal people don't just take their clothes off for the guy who picks them up a the bus stop."

I really don't remember his response. I do remember anger. We'd asked if he was a student at the school. Or maybe he asked us if we were. He wasn't. I remember that. I think I also passed on riding the bus and chose to walk home in the scorching heat instead. I'm now also hoping he isn't a serial killer. And that his bus stop propositions were never accepted. We really should have notified security about him.

Creepy.

My sister once told me that I put out "don't pick me up vibes." This guy clearly did not pick up on them.

A Servant's Heart snarf

2011-10-11T21:44:00.000-05:00

On Saturday night.....

...and oh, could I regale you with stories of WHY this occurred to me on Saturday night....

...it came to my awareness that my family thinks very highly of my spiritual gifting of Service.

(Stop laughing Joyce)

See, I've read the books. I've taken the tests. I've mentioned this before. My spiritual gifting is Prophecy/Mercy. Which means I am, not bi-polar....more....split-personality. I make instant, accurate, judgements about people and an instant and a half later find their excuse for their dreadful behavior.

It makes me a really crummy friend to have because I can almost always find an excuse for the person who treated you poorly, even while being furious on your behalf, I'm making excuses for the jerks in your life.

(Right, Wendi? Mandi? Can I get an Amen? Thought so.)

I can't help it. God made me this way. I don't know WHY, but I know it to be true. Sadly, Mercy always, ALWAYS wins. Which means I go through life angry at jerks and being forced to excuse their behavior, anyway. And getting on the wrong side of my friends' woes when I'd rather lend an enraged listening ear.

Guess what? Prophecy and Mercy are spiritual gifts that cancel each other out on most tests. Which is why, for years, service kept rising to the top on those simplified tests.

(Stop laughing Brent. And Brent's mom.)

I KNOW. It's utterly laughable. I am SO very not a servant. Prophecy: 49.4% Mercy: 49.5% Service: 0.1% (WHY can't I make this math work?) My house isn't the place you come to relax. You are welcome to my chaos, but don't expect to be served, and for the love, don't expect it to be clean. If you are hungry, find some food and eat it. But after I've done the dishes for the night, do NOT ask me to feed you. And have a little respect and put your dish at least near the sink.

So you would think that after fifteen, eleven, ten, eight, and/or four years, my family would have caught on to the fact that I am no servant. Not a service bone in this body. Judgy, yes. Merciful, yes. Servant, unequivocally, no.

So I'm going to consider it an HONOR, that my family considers me to have the spiritual gift of service so strongly that I would WANT to do two hours worth of kitchen weekend restoration before cooking for the next day's potluck, so that I can do THOSE dishes, and rather than sit on the couch with the rest of those slackers, I would be excited to prepare for them Second Supper just as their movie is ending.

It means I've come a LONG way, baby.

In their defense, they did offer to wait the movie for me and I did tell them no, because, they would, in fact, still be waiting, now, three days later.

It's a dreadful curse, this mercy. And an amazing gift.

Speaking into the Good

2011-10-11T12:50:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine related to me this morning a conversation she had with her daughter.

Daughter: When with the Chaos girl be home?
Mother: Soon.
Daughter: How soon?
Mother: Soon.

When she told the story she said, "We may as well start speaking it."

Yes and Amen.

Would you speak it with us? The news is not good. It LOOKS like it will be a very long time before Iris is home with us. But if we keep saying that, we are giving God no room to perform a mighty thing. He may or may not bring her home "soon" as that mighty thing, but I, for one, and going to speak it.

Soon. She will be home soon. May the path be paved with no speedbumps.

Kinda Goofy

2011-10-08T13:36:00.000-05:00

This morning, my first thought on waking was, "Please God, don't let it rain until all the football games are over so we don't have to reschedule."

I repeated the prayer often this morning and then I went to the games.

Where I watched storms roll in.

And listened to people on cell phones around me explain to people on the other end of the connection, "No, we haven't had any rain. It's really windy. And it looks stormy...really? It's pouring there? Huh. No, not yet." Etc.

Two hours and seven minutes later, as we walked back to our van, and threw the lawn chairs in, it began to spit. As we pulled into our driveway, it began to pour.

Sometimes you pray, knowing it is silly and not really expecting anything to come of it.

And sometimes you pray hoping Someone will hear you, but not really anticipating it is worthy of hearing.

And sometimes, you sit on the football field, staring at the sky in awe, and wanting to shout to the people around you, "It isn't raining because I prayed, but you better hustle to your car as soon as those boys are done shaking hands!"

Today was one of those kinds of days.

On all counts.

Feeling Kinda Snarky

2011-10-06T21:06:00.000-05:00

...because not everything I post has to be serious, I offer you a visit to my snarky self.

So, since mid-August, when the local college students returned to town, I've been intending to make the following post to Facebook:

Dear Tabor students. There are two crosswalks connecting the north and south portions of campus which span D street. Neither of them are in front of Ampride.

(Trust me, the locals would get it.)

Nothing quite brings out the road rage like stopping at two crosswalks for students, only to stop at a third cross point so that a pack of pimply faced wanna-be adults can mosey in front of my vehicle while checking their phones for incoming texts and not even acknowledge the fact that a vehicle has stopped for them to cross, mid-block, where there is no crossing.

And then this week? Whadda ya know. The city painted a cross walk for them. Yes, a FULL ten yards from the other one. Because to ask students to actually walk to the crosswalk to cross is just asking too much. Let's just put another in.

And, just because it's my blog and I can.

I do have some compassion for the students and their crosswalk. Singular. Dashing across that street would be taking your life into your hands and was in the 90s (when we didn't have a crosswalk that was acknowledged by any drivers). But then I went to KU where you don't even look before entering a crosswalk because everyone WILL stop for you. However, not at a crosswalk, all bets are off. You enter the road, you very well may die.

And, for what it's worth. The cross point where my roomie and I crossed to get to campus did not have a crosswalk and I very nearly did die there on several occations. And the nearest crosswalk from there was down a steep hill and probably more than 100 yards.

When I revisited campus a few years back, I noticed they'd added a crosswalk there.

That one, I get.

Dreaming

2011-10-02T17:07:00.000-05:00

I had a dream last night about my little girl.

It really started strange. We were visiting Israel and then suddenly we were at the care center visiting our little Iris. Maybe I figured if we were that close, we could just jump another plane and stop in to see her?

Dreams.

She was so full of love and hugs and I was so relieved that she was open to receiving our love so quickly. She also spoke English. Dreams can be nice that way. So I told her how very much we loved her and she responded "I love you, too." And we hugged, and kissed and giggled and played.

And then I woke up.

I just wanted to go back to sleep so I could hug her again. And all day long, I've missed my little girl. It hurts to go through a day without her. To have a birthday party where I watched the cousins play, minus one. To see cute new little girl clothes that I'd love to dress my Iris in. And I don't even know what size to buy for a daughter that I don't know when she's coming home.

I know this is temporary. And on the scale of world matters, it isn't really that big of a deal. She's being well cared for in a place suffering a horrendous famine. Most days just feel like any other. But the days following the dreams, they hurt.

Courts should be open now. Hopefully a court date will soon follow. I'd still love to be there before Christmas. With our schedule, Christmas will be here in no time. I might be losing hope that this will actually happen. Delay, delay, delay, delay, delay. That is the latest story. And it is aggravating. Even when God's timing is prefect. Even when I have eleven children in my backyard. Even when all things work together for good. And especially when I have dreams about my little girl.

There's no poetic ending to this post. I'm sad. The end.

Abundance

2011-10-02T16:25:00.000-05:00

I have a story for you.

When Brent and I were first married, we moved into an on-campus apartment that had cinderblock walls, green industrial tile, centipedes, and no air conditioning. The day we moved in, it was a bazillion degrees. I remember that night we had the door and all the windows (all four of them) thrown open in an effort to breathe.

I was a house cleaner.
He had a work study job.
We were both full time students.

At the time, we were also involved in an MLM and were apparently making money (my overall impression of the MLM is negative in my mind, but that must have come later as we were clearly waiting on a check at the time), because we decided that, broke as we were (all we need is love and air...), if the check was at least XX dollars (maybe $350?) we would buy a window ac unit. The check comes, it is, let's say, $349.90. It was really close to whatever the magic number was. That I remember.

We must have had $250 worth of bills and the cheapest AC unit we could buy was $100.

But we'd forgotten to figure in the tithe.

Can you hear the conversation?

The Lord had really worked on my heart regarding the tithe just the year prior. This was a non-negotiable. I mean, I'd been raised to tithe, but I'm not sure I was very consistent until late high school and maybe well enough into college. Though I DO remember the summer before my Sophomore year it really hitting home.

And, remember, we are talking about something like $35. Or, as I was in college, $34.99. And yes, I was that specific. I was a broke, letter of the law, kind of girl.

I don't remember the conversation. All I remember is that both of us knew we had to do it. We were establishing our giving as a married couple and it felt like an all or nothing moment. We either believed the tithe, or we didn't. But I still remember standing at the offering box, check in hand, and verifying over my shoulder with my sweating husband that we were going to drop that $34.99 in. He nodded, I dropped, and we walked out of church...

...and came home to not one, but two air conditioning units. (one for the front room, one for the back)

I kid you not.

See, some people believe that we should "give out of our abundance," but the thing they seem to be missing is that when we give, abundance follows.

It isn't always cash. Sometimes it is two air conditioning units that were sitting in someone's garage and they heard third hand that someone's kids were sweltering in cinderblock military barracks and offered their use. Sometimes it is a Pell grant that arrives just in time. Sometimes it is the sale of half your stock at the top of the market, just in case, the week before the market unexpectedly crashes. Sometimes it is milk and bread hanging on your doorknob when you leave your house in the morning. Sometimes it is a year after year hand-me-down wardrobe from a friend with excellent taste. Sometimes it is a pristine crib/cradle combo or deep freeze for a steal at a garage sale just when you need it. Sometime it is cars that go long after they should have given up the ghost. Sometimes it is five amazing, beautiful children. And sometimes it is your dream house at a Groupon price.

Selah.

I know a lot of people want to argue the tithe. They want to argue that the church misuses funds. And in many (dare I say, most?) churches, they would be right. The people were to tithe to the storehouse and out of the storehouse, the priests were to feed themselves and the poor. God didn't tell His people to tithe only when the priests were doing their jobs right. He told them to tithe, pure and simple. What the priests did with the tithe was between them and God. The tithe isn't about money, it is about obedience.

In 58: Fast Living, he brings up the tithe. He even brings up the fact that churches spend too much on buildings and other things. But he also brought up the fact that only a small portion (like 20%, maybe fewer) of professing Christians tithe. (Brent's reading the book now, so it is AWOL and I can't give exact numbers, but I think I'm close.) And 8-10% don't give AT ALL. NOTHING. But if all professing American believers would tithe, that is give 10% of their POST-tax income, it would produce something like $133,000,000,000. I'm not even going to delve into the pre-tax tithe debate today.

Oh. My. Word. Can you imagine if we freed up 133 billion dollars in giving? It would certainly out give the government and WE would have a say about where it went. We want to complain that our churches are spending all their money on salaries and buildings, but they are working on a budget sliced by, what, 70%? I don't know about your priest/pastor/minister, but I have enough faith in mine that if our giving went up by 400% (? I am so much not a quick thinking math person and this is my math and nothing I got from the book), I'm relatively certain building a larger, fancier building wouldn't be on the docket. I'm guessing that the church's giving outside its walls would increase exponentially and proportionally.

But let me back up and even let the 10% not go to a church. If all professing Christians would give 10% somewhere? Mercy. What a difference we could make.

Do you make $350 a month? 10% would sponsor a hungry child.

I'm just sayin'.

Lately I've heard a lot about people who believe we need to sell it all off and give it all away. That we can't be Christ followers if we don't. But, what's next? Frankly, I wonder who funds those people after that happens. Someone has to make the money to donate to the programs that are started by the people who give it all away and live under a bridge feeding the poor--which they are now. I'm not saying that some people aren't called to that, but I don't believe that ALL people are called to that. If we are all living under a bridge, I don't see a whole lot of incentive to join us and I'm not sure who is providing the food for us to give away.

Maybe that's just me.

Let's think along lines that people can actually buy into, like, I have been blessed, let me share in the blessing. Because I think before people can see Giving it All Away, they might get Share A Portion.

Don't trust a church? Find someone you can trust. Live 58 has done a lot of research into groups you can trust with your funds. It wouldn't be a bad idea to start there. I like World Vision. I like Victory Christian Children's Home. I like Stillwater life Services. I like Main Street Ministries food bank. There are lots of programs that would happily provide a start to your giving. Shoot, start with donating 10% of your grocery cart to a food bank.

In Malachai 3, it says:
⁸ “Will a mere mortal rob God? Yet you rob me.
“But you ask, ‘How are we robbing you?’
“In tithes and offerings. ⁹ You are under a curse—your whole nation—because you are robbing me. ¹⁰ Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. Test me in this,” says the LORD Almighty, “and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be room enough to store it. ¹¹ I will prevent pests from devouring your crops, and the vines in your fields will not drop their fruit before it is ripe,” says the LORD Almighty. ¹² “Then all the nations will call you blessed, for yours will be a delightful land,” says the LORD Almighty.

I can attest that God's word is true.

Quit waiting for the abundance to come so that you can give. Give. And see if abundance doesn't follow.

Fast Living

2011-09-27T22:54:00.000-05:00

Wow.

Wow, wow, wow.

Blogger just vaporized my entire post into the ether. And I thought it was going really supremely well. The words were flowing. And suddenly…..nada. Gone. And I’m trying to decide if it is due to me needing to start over, or because it was just really, stinking, good. So good as to be dangerous.

See, there is all this stuff flying around in my head and it’s disturbing my sleep and its all interconnected and messed up and I was trying to be sequential and thorough, because I don’t want you, dear reader, to throw me into the ether with my post, label me as a dreamer or one of those people who are off in left field, that only use facebook as a venue to promote their agenda. I don’t want you to discount what I say simply because you aren’t where I am. Today. Yet.

So I was trying to appear rational. I was pretty convincing, too, if I do say so myself. But the fact of the matter is, I am no longer rational. I am a dreamer. And yes, a long stream of events brought me to this point, but maybe the stream isn’t important.

It starts with a move. A somewhat irrational move. A time of great loneliness. A time of deep searching. A friend found. Conversations had. Books put in my hands. Ideas sparked. Attitudes changed. Or at least enough questions asked that I had a pretty thorough idea what I believed. Most of them started with the words, “Yeah, but…”

And then, by freak coincidence, I get a request for a review. Now I get a lot of these. Probably one a day. And I’ve mostly given those up, but the timing was impeccable. I’d just finished The IrresistibleRevolution and I had a million questions and a million arguments. I just don’t buy the idea that SUVs and W. Bush are the epitome of evil (here’s another thing, just so I don’t lose half of you….neither do I believe that Prius and Obama are). I mean, let’s be real here for a minute and take my family: we adopt (=good) but must drive a big vehicle to fit all of our family (=bad). Carpooling=good. Can’t do it in a small car=bad.

I’m just saying.

Some things aren’t as black and white as people want them to be. He had some really, amazingly, wonderful things to say. I just couldn’t throw myself fully on board. BUT because he opened my mind up to the possibility that I SHOULD make some changes, I was ready to receive what I believe could be a new direction in life.

Enter 58: Fast Living; How the Church Will End ExtremePoverty

And in order to keep things on the up and up I feel I need to give you a little back story. I was reading through this solicitation email thinking, “Wow, this sounds like it could be a great book!” when I ran across the author’s name: Scott C Todd, which was eerily similar to the name Scott C Todd, Microbiology professor, mentor to one Madame Chaos approximately 13 years ago. And since google did me no favors in determining if I knew the author and Works for Compassion and Teaches at a State School don’t sound like the same job title, I accepted the review. However, I did eventually deduce from the photo I found on facebook that the two Scott C Todd’s were one and the same. I’m going a little whack wanting to know HIS story of the last 13 years, because, whew, there’s a life change.

And maybe that makes this book all the better to me. I know what the guy worked for and left behind. There’s this jeep story in the early part of the book that was really meaningful to me because I remember him when he was dreaming about “someday” owning a Jeep. A very specific Jeep. And he not only got the Jeep….he gave it away. He totally plays it off like it’s not a huge deal except it totally was. Or would have been in 1999.

And, Oh My Gosh, I would love to give you the highlights, but most of the book is highlighted. Not only that, I want you to read it.

Yes, YOU.

I am not being one of those people who tell others you Must Go Out And Get This Book Right Now (OK, except for the Hunger Games and I meant it then, too) except I AM…telling you exactly that.

And where The Irresistible Revolution falls short (he seems to be an “activist” for activism sake and the last few chapters I had to muscle through), Fast Living nails.

I get to the part where it’s time for him to ask me not to eat. And for a person who has quite a lot of difficulty maintaining her blood sugar and therefore her attitude, I was really dreading this chapter. But since everything that came before was so good and challenging, I read it anyway, knowing I was going to have to starve the next day. And what does he do? Challenge the concept of the fast. Fast: golf. Fast: movies. Fast: new vehicles. Fast: time. And yes, fast: food. If that’s what you need to fast, but his point is to be driven to fast in order to see change.

I’ve spent a couple days trying to figure out what it is that I need to fast. And you know what keeps coming to mind? Every single time I complain about something, I realize that someone would love to have that problem. My refrigerator I hate because it doesn’t hold enough food? Poor me. My clothes that are too tight/not the right color? Wah.

You know what I’m gonna fast until I decide if I need to fast something more meaningful? Complaining about things that other people would be thankful for. Like stale chips.

There’s more. But, you need to read it.

He’s so--completely--reasonable. And his reasonable is so--completely--contagious.

He will make you believe that there is really something we can do about extreme poverty.

And to tell you the truth, I’ve never wanted to be more of a dreamer.

You totally need to go here and watch the video (you’ll have to scroll down a smidge). If he honestly doesn’t make your heart race, you can skip the book, because he compresses it pretty well, but if you, like me, want to believe that we can do something about the tragedy of extreme poverty, read the book.

And do something about it.

(And I do have an extra to give away if you leave a comment and you are the lucky winner.)

And now, as I've read through this, I'm not sure I've even told you enough about the book. But it is A-maz-ing. Really. And it is based on Isaiah 58. And it is about how we WILL end extreme poverty. We are well on our way. And you really should go to www.live58.org.

You haven't heard the end of me on this yet, so I guess it's OK that I stop talking for now.

All of Me

2011-09-27T07:22:00.000-05:00

I'm sure this one will chop off on the sides as well as the last four have, but it's worth a try.

Anywhere But Here

2011-09-22T22:33:00.000-05:00

This time last year I was cruising in the Caribbean during a hurricane. It took me nearly three weeks before I could even pretend to walk straight, my equilibrium was so off. And yet? I find myself wishing myself back onto a boat during hurricane season.

I'm sure it is due in no small part to the fact that my brother and sister in law spent last week in the Caribbean. I'm equally sure I'm green....and it isn't due to sea sickness.

I know, I know, get out your violins.

In fact, the last two years have been really good for us. We've traveled more since 2009 flipped to 2010 than we did the entirety of our lives up to that point. And yet, today I found myself thinking, "Anywhere but here."

Over the last few days I've told my husband several locations I'd like to be. And in sequential order:

Disney World, where we rang in 2010

Kauai, June 2010

Grand Cayman via a Caribbean cruise we took with several of our friends, September 2010.

Israel, March 2011

Yeah, I'd even like to go here:

Kansas City, Chateau Avalon, May 2011

Or here (though the drive? not so much):

Alabama (photo taken in Metropolis, Illinois on our way) July 2011

But immediately after my thought of "Anywhere but here," a vivid picture popped into my mind. It was of a woman with a child strapped on her body, carrying a huge jug across parched lands., searching for water. I can't find the photo, because I can't find the blog I saw it on, but this one will serve to make my point. (It was stolen from here.)

Horn of Africa, Drought, 2011

And it became very clear to me: Though I am ACHING to be in Ethiopia right now and I'm transferring that want-to-travel energy into fantasies of beaches and Mickey Mouse, and Anywhere But Here, I realize that here

Kansas prairie, 2011

doing fun stuff like this

Grandma's back porch, Princess turning 10, June 2011

isn't all bad.In fact, it's pretty dang good.

It's at this point I feel like I should put in a disclaimer. It goes a little something like this: We didn't pay for most of this. We stayed in other people's timeshares, we cruised during hurricaine season on a cheap boat, we drove, we Mennonited our way around, we saved for Israel for three years.

BUT the fact remains that even doing it cheap, it was pretty extravagant, and I feel more than a little guilty that there are people starving while I have a pity party for myself that I'm not sitting on a beach right now with a cabana boy named Brent bringing me unlimited Pepsi.

We've seen a lot and I have a lot to for which I should be thankful. If I'm going to spend money on myself, it WILL be on travel. If it means that every item of clothing I ever wear comes off a clearance rack and we only eat what's on sale. We are EATING and CLOTHED. If I shop last minute deals on cruises and I am always gobbling up people's almost-ready-to-expire timeshares, I'm seeing the world, and I don't regret it.

But odds are, the only traveling I'll be doing for the next several years will be back and forth between here and Ethiopia, which will be AWESOME, but it won't be cabana boys and beaches. And I think the truth of that is beginning to set in. I'm a beach girl and I live in Kansas for crying out loud. And no, stinky lake water does NOT even compare.

But today, I'm going to be grateful that there is a stinky lake nearby with plenty of water, that my kids are complaining about the leftovers, because they have something to eat. And I'm going to go to bed hungry because eating after 10 makes you fat, but in the morning, food will be waiting. Can you imagine that mother with the water jug worrying about getting/being fat?

Life is good. Share a little of the goodness.

Do you have five?

Go here.

A Hungry Child Can't Wait: Ask 5 for 5

2011-09-22T16:51:00.001-05:00

Guest Blogger: Sarah Lenssen from #Ask5for5

Family photos by Mike Fiechtner Photography

Thank you Surviving the Chaos and nearly 150 other bloggers from around the world for allowing me to share a story with you today, during Social Media Week.

A hungry child in East Africa can't wait. Her hunger consumes her while we decide if we'll respond and save her life. In Somalia, children are stumbling along for days, even weeks, on dangerous roads and with empty stomachs in search of food and water. Their crops failed for the third year in a row. All their animals died. They lost everything. Thousands are dying along the road before they find help in refugee camps.

At my house, when my three children are hungry, they wait minutes for food, maybe an hour if dinner is approaching. Children affected by the food crisis in Ethiopia, Kenya, and Somalia aren't so lucky. Did you know that the worst drought in 60 years is ravaging whole countries right now, as you read this? Famine, a term not used lightly, has been declared in Somalia. This is the world's first famine in 20 years.12.4 million people are in need of emergency assistance and over 29,000 children have died in the last three months alone. A child is dying every 5 minutes. It it estimated that 750,000 people could die before this famine is over. Take a moment and let that settle in.

The media plays a major role in disasters. They have the power to draw the attention of society to respond--or not. Unfortunately, this horrific disaster has become merely a footnote in most national media outlets. News of the U.S. national debt squabble and the latest celebrity's baby bump dominate headlines. That is why I am thrilled that nearly 150 bloggers from all over the world are joining together today to use the power of social media to make their own headlines; to share the urgent need of the almost forgotten with their blog readers. Humans have the capacity to care deeply for those who are suffering, but in a situation like this when the numbers are too huge to grasp and the people so far away, we often feel like the little we can do will be a drop in the ocean, and don't do anything at all.

When news of the famine first hit the news in late July, I selfishly avoided it. I didn't want to read about it or hear about it because I knew I would feel overwhelmed and uncomfortable. I wanted to protect myself. I knew I would need to do something if I knew what was really happening. You see, this food crisis is personal. I have a 4-year-old son and a 1 yr-old daughter who were adopted from Ethiopia and born in regions now affected by the drought. If my children still lived in their home villages, they would be two of the 12.4 million. My children: extremely hungry and malnourished? Gulp. I think any one of us would do anything we could for our hungry child. But would you do something for another mother's hungry child?

My friend and World Vision staffer, Jon Warren, was recently in Dadaab Refugee Camp in Kenya--the largest refugee camp in the world with over 400,000 people. He told me the story of Isnino Siyat, 22, a mother who walked for 10 days and nights with her husband, 1 yr-old-baby, Suleiman, and 4 yr.-old son Adan Hussein, fleeing the drought in Somalia. When she arrived at Dadaab, she built the family a shelter with borrowed materials while carrying her baby on her back. Even her dress is borrowed. As she sat in the shelter on her second night in camp she told Jon, "I left because of hunger. It is a very horrible drought which finished both our livestock and our farm." The family lost their 5 cows and 10 goats one by one over 3 months, as grazing lands dried up. "We don't have enough food now...our food is finished. I am really worried about the future of my children and myself if the situation continues."

Will you help a child like Baby Suleiman? Ask5for5 is a dream built upon the belief that you will.

That something I knew I would need to do became a campaign called #Ask5for5 to raise awareness and funds for famine and drought victims. The concept is simple, give $5 and ask five of your friends to give $5, and then they each ask five of their friends to give $5 and so on--in nine generations of 5x5x5...we could raise $2.4 Million! In one month, over 750 people have donated over $25,000! I set up a fundraiser at See Your Impact and 100% of the funds will go to World Vision, an organization that has been fighting hunger in the Horn of Africa for decades and will continue long after this famine has ended. Donations can multiply up to 5 times in impact by government grants to
help provide emergency food, clean water, agricultural support,
healthcare, and other vital assistance to children and families suffering in the Horn.

I need you to help me save lives. It's so so simple; here's what you need to do:

Donate $5 or more on this page (http://seeyourimpact.org/members/ask5for5)
Send an email to your friends and ask them to join us.
Share #Ask5for5 on Facebook and Twitter!

I'm looking for another 100 bloggers to share this post on their blogs throughout Social Media Week. Email me at ask5for5@gmail.com if you're interested in participating this week.

A hungry child doesn't wait. She doesn't wait for us to finish the other things on our to-do list, or get to it next month when we might have a little more money to give. She doesn't wait for us to decide if she's important enough to deserve a response. She will only wait as long as her weakened little body will hold on...please respond now and help save her life. Ask 5 for 5.

Thank you on behalf of all of those who will be helped--you are saving lives and changing history.

p.s. Please don't move on to the next website before you donate and email your friends right now. It only takes 5 minutes and just $5, and if you're life is busy like mine, you probably won't get back to it later. Let's not be a generation that ignores hundreds of thousands of starving people, instead let's leave a legacy of compassion. You have the opportunity to save a life today!

Jamie here. My dumb blog, the photos were being chopped, so I had to shrink them. They are more powerful big, but certainly more powerful small and all there, so there you go.
I had a friend the other day as five for fifty. I'm only asking for five. Can you do it? Not only for me...for my daughter who is still living in the midst of this.

My Precious Sock

2011-09-22T10:00:00.000-05:00

My daughter is intellectually very bright, but many of her actions would lead you to believe she is.......not.

For instance, this morning she took a full, dripping, tea bag out of a lukewarm mug of water in order to put the mug into the microwave to heat up the water. Her reason being, she wanted to watch the tea color disperse and she couldn't do that if the tea bag was in the water while it was in the microwave cooking.

FYI: this all happened in response to a very long discussion about how tea bags work, how fast tea bags work, and whether used tea bags work as fast as new tea bags. This was a leftover tea bag of mine from the night before. She started her experiment with tap water and since it wasn't going fast enough, wanted to heat the water up. Thus, the dripping tea bag.

Which she placed on a tall stack of napkins.

And it, of course, soaked through the entire stack of napkins.

Which was pointed out by her brother who has street sense like you would not believe.

At which point I said to my daughter, "Princess you are a supremely smart little girl, but you have the common sense of a.....*pausing to decide if gnat or post sounds nicer*..."

And she says, "Sock." Which we all get a huge laugh out of.

And then she says, "Because you know, a sock doesn't have much sense if it chooses to spend its day on a foot."

See what I mean? Brilliant.

The Place for Faith

2011-09-19T22:00:00.001-05:00

Yesterday in our Sunday school class we were discussing money and margin. Spending less than you make, to put it simply. And, as it was church, it came to having more to give. There was a fascinating conversation happening for the people bothering to listen. What Giving is. Where Giving should go. Where the church fits into Giving. And I have to give props to my teacher who is also my pastor who welcomed legitimate opinions regarding this, and quite a weighty conversation it was.

At this point in the conversation, one of our classmates gestured at Brent and me and said something like, "I mean, look at them. They are contributing what I assume is a great deal of money to take a child into their home. I would consider that giving."

Wherein my pastor started in on his take of our current situation, which boiled down to us living within margin well enough that we could swing this adoption financially...and was cut off by a guy who asked, "Where's there room for faith in that?!"

Where's the room for faith in that?

Let me point out the fact that none of the people as yet talking about us actually know our financial situation. I suspect YOU don't know our financial situation. Even at the end of this post, none of you will know our financial situation. As far as I know, I have told exactly zero people how we are paying for this adoption. But my point here is that Lance didn't know HOW we were paying for the adoption when he indicated it as giving. Brian didn't know how we were paying for the adoption before he indicated that we were probably reaping the benefits of living within margin. And for goodness sake, Shall-Remain-Nameless doesn't know if we are taking a leap of financial faith or not. Just because he doesn't read about us in the paper, does that mean we aren't walking in faith?

And since I was never again given the chance to speak and tell him, you will get my response:

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. (Hebrews 11:1)

You wanna know where my faith is in this? Let me tell you. Faith is knowing for the last five years that my little girl was out there. Faith is watching for her on photolistings even when we had no money. Faith is believing in your broke months that you will one day have money in the bank to adopt again. Faith is believing that you will find the daughter you have been longing for (that also fits into very specific criteria, in our case "brown, age 6"). And faith is knowing her when you see her. Faith recognizes that it is no coincidence that you "just happen" to have some money in the bank on the same day you commit to adopting her (when you commit to a waiting child, you are expected to immediately pay approximately half the money up front). Faith is recognizing the provision when the house on which you have a contracted, agreed upon price, "just happens" to drop by approximately the cost of your adoption (yes, it is spread out over 30 years, but still) less than 24 hours after you drop the check in the mail.

*and this is where my computer sharing with my daughter wreaked havoc with my blog post which was eloquent and poetic and very meaningful, but alas, did not save and has been lost in the abyss*
Some people are called to adopt when they have absolutely NO IDEA how they are going to pay for it. Kudos to them. If you are one of those people, good for you. Take the leap of faith. I applaud you. I hope people give you lots of money.

But I don't believe that one should downgrade faith that follows a different process. Faith can also be saving for the child you don't yet know of. Shoot, faith can be adopting WITHOUT giving up on the idea of ever being pregnant. *ahem* (Why yes, I do know a little something about that.) Faith is continuing on your adoption journey when every-stinking-thing breaks and outstanding invoices go unpaid. Faith can see past and over the hurdles to the final destination. Faith is figuring it out....anyway.

Thank you, Jehova Jirah, my provider.

Where is there room for faith in that?

You must be kidding.

My Birthday Wish List

2011-09-17T17:28:00.001-05:00

When I was a kid and my mom would have a birthday, I'd ask her what she wanted and she always answered, "Nothing." I didn't get that. Of COURSE she wanted something, didn't she?

Now I get it.

Yesterday I was thinking about my birthday wish list. Topping it off was the thought, "I would just love for everyone to leave me alone for a couple hours so I could read my book."

(Please don't tell me how awful that is. I am well aware.)

I'll have you know that I put my kids to bed last night and sequestered myself in my room and read my book...for a while. I fell asleep loooooong before the two hour mark, but it must count for something.

As I was putting the kids to bed, I told them, "You know what I want more than anything else?"

Eldest says, "For us to not say, 'Aaaawwwww?'"

"OK, yeah, that tops the list. But second? Don't wake me up until....8:30. Can you do that? And by not waking me up until 8:30 I don't mean get up at the crack of dawn and think you are being sneaky to make me breakfast in bed. I really mean I don't want to hear a sound until 8:30. I don't want to have to come down and show you how to make my coffee. I'll do it. At 8:30. Not a second earlier. Please? Can we do that?"

I was wide, stinking, awake at 6 AM, I'll have you know. My children did admirably. I didn't hear rumblings until after 8.

It was beautiful.

And to mooch off Amy Grant? The rest of my list goes a little something like this:
No more lives torn apart
wars would never start
time would heal our hearts
Everyone would have a friend
Right would always win
love would never end

I am currently reading Scott C Todd's Fast Living, which I would link to, (edited: did link to. Brent fixed my Firefox. Turns out my Amazon linkilator is on the fritz. So you get a direct link, because I have chosen to not be lazy. I like the book that much) but Firefox isn't working for me and Explorer sucks, so you'll have to search for it yourself. However, it makes me extend my list to include:
God's people would allow themselves to believe that we can eradicate poverty.

But, since it's my birthday and I can, let me also ask that you go to Anna's blog where you can donate the cost of a birthday card towards her adoption of this little guy.

Really, every dollar helps at this point. So if you are a dollar general birthday card buyer or a hallmark die hard, one dollar or seven, it all helps. If you do, leave me a comment either here or on my Facebook page letting me know you did. I'm going to have a super-fantastic drawing for a super fantastic product from a super fantastic group for one person who will help me celebrate my birthday this way. It will likely be something from Bead for Life or Ergon. Or maybe both. Because I have a thing for vocational training for women trying to feed their families.

And if you really, really want to buy me something, I'd love one of these.

And, oh, an undisturbed bubble bath long enough for the water to grow cold. Ah, now that's where it's at.

What I Want My Daughter To Know

2011-09-15T13:11:00.001-05:00

Sweetheart, as much as I want to deny it, you are rapidly approaching a time that will be especially difficult for all of us, a time when what your peers think will be far more important that what your parents think. I hope I'm not too late already.

If you hear nothing else in this letter, hear this: Guard your heart. Let no man but Jesus rule your life.

I have a feeling you already think I'm horribly out-of-touch with reality. That I have No Clue how life is for you, and you're right. Only you know what goes on in your every moment and what comes to mind in the lonely times. But I do know this much; I know that for me, the fifth grade was the beginning of the loss of my childhood.

Sweetie, hold on to your childhood with all that is within you. Play babies. Play house. Play pretend. Be young. Don't, don't, don't play at being a grown-up. You have your whole life to be big. Be little while you still can.

In fifth grade I began to give away little pieces of my heart. I remember fighting with my sister about love. She insisted I didn't know what love is, and I insisted I did. As it turns out, I didn't, but that didn't stop me from trying to figure it out. I allowed thoughts of boyfriends to control nearly every aspect of my day. Does he like me? Do I like him? Will he like my clothes? My hair? My makeup? Will he kiss me? Does he like her more than he likes me? What about her is better? How can I be more like her?

Which leads down a rabbit hole of comparison and pain. YOU are amazing and beautiful. More and more, everyday. Don't let the affections of some boy determine your worth.

Don't carelessly give away kisses. And by careless, I don't mean frivolous. I once kissed a boy just to escape the porch. I never saw him again. And that kiss pains me far less than the ones I gave to boys that I thought I loved. Those kisses haunt me. Sometimes, even after I've been married to your daddy for fifteen years, those kisses show up in my dreams and this makes me so sad. I don't want to dream about anyone but Daddy. I want to save you from this. And I know that most people's reality will include kisses with someone they aren't married to, but if you can just hold on for a little longer, much longer if I have my way about it, you can save yourself a lot of regrets. You want to believe it's just a kiss, but that moment will imprint on your mind and it will pop up at the most inconvenient times. And whether you remember those kisses fondly or with regret, you'll wish you didn't have to remember them at all.

Really, sweet, I thank God for those missed opportunities I was kicking myself about years ago. For the boyfriends I didn't have and the kisses I didn't give, for the times I was dumped because someone else was prettier or wittier than I was. For the cowardice my friends teased me mercifully about.

Interesting thing about friends. I don't know where most of them are now. I cared so much about what they thought, who they thought should be my boyfriend, whether or not they thought I should drink alcohol or smoke cigarettes, if they thought it strange that I couldn't have sleepovers on Saturday because I would miss church, if they came to my (heavily chaperoned) birthday party and ditched to go someplace more fun, what they thought I should wear or what words they thought I should use. If I had it to do over again, would I? NO WAY. For I fear I would make the same dumb, bad choices.

Fifth grade is where it all began, that trip towards adulthood, and man, I wish I'd put it off a bit longer. Now is the time for you to develop the strength of character that I didn't have. Make wise choices. In friends. In behavior. In life. It starts now, Princess. These choices will be with you forever and I pray, every day, that they are good ones.

Follow Jesus in all that you say and do, Princess, and you won't go wrong. It might feel wrong, I won't lie. When your friends tease. When you are left out. When you are rejected and hurt and angry. But Jesus loves you with an everlasting love and he won't steer you on the path to destruction. I can't say as much for your friends. I can't even say as much for your mother. But you are his child and he loves you even more than I do, as hard as it is to believe. Besides, he doesn't snarl at you when you get sassy. Use that sass and confidence to make yourself into a strong, godly woman.

You won't regret it.

I love you,
Mom

Eleven

2011-09-13T21:34:00.000-05:00

I have a most amazing, spectacular son who is kind and compassionate and about ready to outgrow me.

I was looking through pictures last night and I can't help but think about how far we've come. And how fast it's gone. And it's completely insane.

But today, I am thankful for this:

And that she didn't change her mind. His mother gave me the best birthday gift I have ever received.

Eatin' My Words (and they don't taste sweet)

2011-09-13T19:40:00.000-05:00

I stand corrected.

My Immigration officer is neither illiterate, nor an idiot, contrary to my prior beliefs.

You know caller ID? Yeah, sometimes it filters calls one should take.

Why that person doesn't leave a message I don't know.

Sadly, I actually do. It's due in no small part to the fact that my answering machine is a robotic man and the fact that you don't get to know you are calling me unless you know that my answering machine is a robotic man.

Because we live in smallville where voicemail isn't easy to come by. And possibly because I simply didn't care if people left a message or not.And, because my house is never quiet enough to leave a professional message.

However if people don't leave a message, I assume they are trying to sell me timeshares in Branson.

Almost the only people who do leave a message are collectors for the prior owner of our phone number. Don't judge me.

So, surprisingly, it turns out "he" is a she, who is articulate, recognized my name and knew my circumstances and could explain in plain English WHY my homestudy didn't meet the standards. All this after explaining why our biometrics couldn't be used. A) our homestudy was insufficient and B) our form printed out wrong. Then took away the threat of "significant delay" by further encouraging me to not only try to walk in before our next biometrics appointment, but call her as soon as it is in so that she can rubber stamp me.

Thankyouverymuch.

And for those of you not following this saga on facebook, I got another letter yesterday, dated the day AFTER my last biometrics appointment that said showing up for our previously scheduled biometrics appointment would "significantly delay" our process. Day late, dollar short. I'm surprised the top of my head does not reside on the moon.

So, yes, I must drive an hour away to be fingerprinted with the immigrants again, and Brent must take another day off work, but.....all things being equal, this is much better than standing in Ethiopia with a child that neither Ethiopia nor the US recognizes as a citizen.

ouch.

2011-09-12T10:31:00.002-05:00

A Tale of Two Adoptions

2011-09-11T14:57:00.001-05:00

After Brent and I wrapped up our first adoption nearly eleven years ago, I assured myself and those around me that Next Time would be different. I wouldn't stress about being Chosen. I wouldn't stress about how Slow The Process Is. I wouldn't stress about Birthmother Anxiety. I wouldn't stress about Wait Time. I'd have a child and therefore it wouldn't be so Confounded Urgent.

Let me go on the record saying, I Was Wrong.

Eleven years ago, I didn't know that I would soon find out I was pregnant. Eleven years ago, I didn't know that God would reach out and touch me and heal my womb so that miscarriage wasn't a foregone conclusion. Eleven years ago I didn't know that I would be either pregnant or nursing for the next eight years. Eleven years ago I didn't know that every time I even considered adopting again I would find myself pregnant. (Not complaining, mind you!) ((And NO, that is NOT an announcement. This time seems to, so far, be the exception.)) And eleven years ago I had NO IDEA I would find myself head over heels in love with a little girl who lived across the ocean.

This has been one of those rollercoaster weeks I promised myself I was done with. Adoption is a process. Hoop jumping is involved. If you continue to hoop jump, you generally wind up winning. There is no sense getting all wrapped up in bad news. God has it in control. God is in the timing. You will get your child when you are supposed to get your child.

Have I spewed enough platitudes yet?

Bugger the platitudes.

You know what platitudes do? NOTHING. They are completely worthless to calm your anxieties in the middle of the night when you've woken from a dream where you were fixing your little girl's hair and you realize that No, she isn't there and No there isn't a thing in the world that you can do about it. Platitudes are completely worthless when you are asking your Sunday School class to pray for the Buerocratic nonsense to pass and you have a sobbing fit right there in the middle of a room full of people. Platitudes mean nothing when emotions are involved. Even when they are right and true.

I was completely unprepared for how much it would bother me to wait for my daughter to be home. Because though, yes, I have a house full of children that I adore, I am missing one. Why I thought that waiting would be easier after I had a child, I will never know. Inexperience, probably. Because having children only emphasizes how important it is to have them with you.

So, while I'm waiting for my dossier to be translated, and waiting for a court date, which means, I think, waiting for the rainy season to end (in the middle of this drought), and waiting for my homestudy re-write to be Fed-Exed all over for signatures, and will eventually be waiting for my travel date and then waiting for the MOWA letter, and then waiting to be submitted to embassy and then waiting to be accepted by embassy, and then waiting for an embassy date and then waiting to travel to embassy and them waiting and hoping against hope that everything clears, Please Jesus, my little girl is growing up without me.

So, if you see me in front of the green beans at the grocery store, don't ask me how and I am, and for the love of all things holy don't give me a hug, or I will break out the ugly cry.

You have been warned.