On Mistakes

This past weekend was the IF:Gathering, and I was able to watch with 39 friends and strangers at my church.  There were several good speakers, and a few moments that simply electrified me.  I want to talk about one of those moments, which happened when Rebecca Lyons interviewed Larissa and Katherine.  Larissa's husband suffered a traumatic brain injury before they were married, and Katherine had a stroke as a young wife and mother at age 26.  Their stories are exceptional and if you missed this special weekend, you should seriously consider finding a rewatch near you or downloading the weekend when it becomes available.

It lifted my spirits so much to see two women representing different aspects of disability on the stage at IF.  They were honest and gut-wrenching and challenging, and I wished I was there in person to hug them both for sharing themselves with hundreds of thousands of people.  The most poignant moment for me was when Rebecca asked them what had been their darkest moment in facing the new reality of life after disability.  Katherine shared a moment when she lay in the hospital, partially paralyzed and unable to speak, when she thought, God, did you make a mistake?

Do you ever have that feeling when another person says something that cuts straight to the core of who you are and what you've lived through, that you feel almost strapped to your seat, unable to move?  That's how I felt in that moment.  Because I remembered the day (or, more likely, days) when I asked that very same question.  When I looked at my very young son, recently diagnosed with an Autism Spectrum Disorder, and I wondered if God had actually meant to give that child to me.  It wasn't what I was expecting as a mother, but mostly I wondered if God realized how inadequate I was for the task.

I want to share with you one of my deepest beliefs, one that has been forged in the dark nights and long days, that came from my lowest moments and from my son's unexpected life.

God doesn't make mistakes.

It was easy to see why my mind would go there.  Nine years ago, traits like compassion and grace and selflessness were basically non-existent in my life.  I heard an expression that said "If you vote Republican when you are young, then you don't have a heart."  I proudly shared that, and went out to vote for George W. Bush.  (The saying continues "If you vote Democrat when you're old, then you don't have a brain."  If the choice was between having a heart and having a brain, then I chose brain.) I had goals and ambitions for myself, none of which involved other people, something that my husband pointed out to me while we were still dating.  I was unapologetic about all of it.

Then one day I peed on a stick and two lines popped up immediately, leaving no doubt that my life was going to change.  I had a hard time realizing how much.  The little life grew inside me and before he was even born, he had taken charge.  I ate hamburgers slathered in mayonnaise and apple after apple.  I ate kale.  Kale, people.  Long gone were the breakfasts of Snickers and Dr. Pepper, the late nights talking with friends, the size 6 jeans.  And when he came out and I held him in my arms, I knew I would do whatever it took to give him a good life.  I just had no idea how hard it would be to accomplish that.

So yeah, I questioned why God in His infinite wisdom wouldn't put this child in the home of a trained speech therapist or intervention specialist.  Or, at the very least, someone less selfish and cold-blooded.  Having a son on the autism spectrum wrecked me in the best possible way.  It's easy to see it now, when so many years have passed and I have changed so much.  It's easy to see what God was thinking when he lovingly and tenderly created a little life inside my body.  He wanted to help me become a better person, a better mom.

Tonight, the thoughts are swirling, as I think of my mom friends who face similar diagnoses and challenges.  And maybe it's because a lady from my Bible study died this week, but there doesn't seem to be a better time to tell each of you...

God doesn't make mistakes.

The child you are holding, or watching over, or struggling to get into bed, the child who is challenging every idea you ever had about motherhood or life or just everything...He is not a mistake.  And you are not parenting him by mistake.  You are both exactly where you are supposed to be, exactly how you are supposed to be.  There is a God in heaven who created each and every one of us and He wants you to give everything you have to this life.  He wants you to grow in the challenges and revel in the joys and be surprised and broken and restored.  He wants you to live.

He doesn't make mistakes, but we certainly do.  I don't know who originated this saying, but I heard it from Master Oogway in the movie Kung Fu Panda (I'm a mother of boys, after all).  "Yesterday is history.  Tomorrow is a mystery.  Today is a gift.  That's why it's called the present."  And what a mistake it would be to waste your gift.  To spend your gift thinking about what is history, or speculating about what is a mystery.  What about today?  Don't think about what you got wrong in the past or what scary unknowns wait in the future!  Focus on today.

What do you need to learn today?  What can you do today to keep your family going?  What services do you need to investigate?  What is happening today, right now, that you will never get to experience again?  For me, it was hearing my son, the one with all the delays and the expressive communication difficulties calling my parents' dog to come sit in his lap, then giggling in delight when the dog licked his face.  It was disgusting but it was also huge.  It was something he couldn't do even six months ago, something I thought was impossible when he was 3 years old and crawling under tables during his assessments.  Today, when I showed his younger brother a gift I got for him to give his teacher tomorrow during the Valentine's party, he asked if he could take a gift to his teacher too.  I was surprised not just by his words, but that I had been so short-sighted that I didn't pick up two gifts.  (Apparently I have a ways to go in that whole "gracious, think of others" thing.)  Today, at bedtime, he asked me to come sleep in his bed.  I cuddled for a few minutes before excusing myself to my bigger, more comfortable bed.

What if I compared my life to other people I know?  What if I'd let that diagnosis dictate who my child was?  What if I'd resisted the changes developing in me?  What if it was fifty years ago and his doctors had advised me to leave him in a home and focus on my "normal" children? (Side note: I have two other kids, and none of them are normal.)  I would have missed the gifts that today held for me.

Friends (and strangers, if there are any of you reading this) DON'T MISS IT.  Don't miss the challenges of living your life.  Don't miss the trials and the changes they'll bring about in you.  Don't miss the joy to be found on the other side.

Four Stages of Procrastinating

I spent 2015 trying to work on developing better habits.  I exercised more, I made better choices with food, I steadily worked on decluttering and being more organized.  I've even managed to be more awake in the mornings while I get the kids ready for school.  (No tardies!)  But something people may not realize about me is that I am a committed life-long procrastinator.

Especially since I published my first novel this year, I've been hearing the same thing from lots of people.  It centers around how amazing it is that I managed to do this on top of everything else: being a full-time mom, having other kids in my care (whether it's for a few hours or a few months), volunteering at church, and I don't even know what else.  Every time, I cringe a little.  I think about all the time I spent avoiding writing, all the days when I lost confidence and wondered what I was doing and wanted to give up.  It took me three years to finish that first book, but I know that I could have finished it much sooner if I hadn't spent so much time procrastinating.

Now that I'm nearing the final pages of my second novel, (completed in less than two years with a little more focus!) the desire to slack off and push the deadline has been strong.  So I thought I would break down the four stages of procrastination that I find myself cycling through.

1. Whirlwind When that blinking cursor begins to overwhelm me, the first thing I'll do is throw myself into family time.  I will be the most energetic mom, I will build Legos and play endless games of Candy Land, I will take the kids to the park or McDonald's or the library.  Anything to stay in motion, to convince myself that I'm making better use of my time.

2. Mindless drone Eventually, the kids go to school or bed or find something to play that doesn't involve me.  And rather than return to that waiting document, I'll find some super boring task that's been sitting undone for months.  Remember my decluttering project that I mentioned?  All completed while avoiding writing.  This is a great time to sort through the pile of junk mail or rearrange the cupboards or sort through the lotions and medicines in the bathroom.

3. Internet rabbit holes So at this point, you're probably thinking, Hey that doesn't sound bad.  So you take a break from creative work and engage with your family or clean your house--you're still being productive!  And I totally agree.  I tell myself that when I go back to the computer, I'll be more focused and ready to write again because I've just satisfied my other commitments.  Like making sure the house is pristine before leaving on vacation.  Then you can really enjoy your time away, knowing that everything is done.  Except I come back to the computer and decide to check Facebook.  Or Suri's Burn Book.  Or catch up on the blogs I follow.  Or price trips we might take once my book becomes a best-seller.  My husband calls this "falling into an internet rabbit hole", and as someone who loves to accumulate information, I can be there for hours.  Rarely do I accomplish anything productive or worthwhile once I've gotten to this stage.  This is when I click on links to celebrity gossip sites or research the British monarchy, none of which pertains to the book I'm writing.

4. Catatonic The fourth and final stage of procrastination finds me in hibernation mode.  I've given up pretending that I'm doing anything worthwhile, and retreated to the couch or bed.  I might go to sleep, but even rest can be refreshing, so usually in this stage, I binge watch something online and play stupid apps that I deleted from my phone, but are still loaded on the family iPad (looking at you, Candy Crush Saga).  I probably look like someone who is bored, who has nothing to do.  But I haven't felt bored since I had my first kid almost 9 years ago.  I actually get to this point when I am most overwhelmed, when the pressure, the tasks, the endless cycles of life are pressing in.

So 2015 has been a year of learning better habits.  In looking at the habits I have, the ones I unintentionally created over the years by default, I've learned more about myself.  I've realized the bad things I run to when I feel stressed, and I've made an effort to rewire my brain so that I choose good things instead.  Procrastination has been both a curse and a crutch for as long as I can remember, in college and high school and probably even before that.  It's not always a bad thing, like when it spurs me to spend more time with my kids.  But if I didn't put off my work, I wonder if I would be more like the other accomplished people I know.

As December winds down and 2016 approaches, I don't know what word I want to focus on in the new year.  But I would like to set some boundaries for myself.  Sometimes I need to go catatonic.  But when I withdraw, I need to set a timer for 30 minutes.  I've found that if I give myself half an hour to disengage and retreat, I can return to my task feeling better about life.  But if I just go catatonic without an extraction plan, I'll be out for the rest of the day.

I've also learned how to break up writing into manageable goals.  Many full-time writers can put out thousands of words a day, and I've done this myself when an idea hits or I have the support to write all day.  But most of the time, I am on duty for all the other people in my life.  I've found that all I have to do is write 500 words a day, which I can accomplish during gymnastics lessons or nap time.  And those words add up!  In January, I'm starting a new novel.  If I can stick to my 500 words a day goal, I'll have it finished by the time school lets out in May.  Writing in summer has been virtually impossible so far, and I know I'll have to give myself a few months off.  So I'm challenging myself to do in about 5 months what has taken me years in the past.  Procrastination, be gone!!  There will be no room for you next year.

Are you a procrastinator?  What goals are you setting for 2016?  Leave a comment!

At Just the Right Time...

I'm on the left, 18 and ready to take the world by storm

Who has two thumbs and a 10 year plan?  THIS LADY.  I am a planner and a serial list-maker.  I like for everything to be prepped and laid out and ready to go well ahead of time.  (This is the point when Reality sticks its head in and asks, "How's that going for you?" To which I reply, "Shut up, Reality.  My lists and plans have nothing to do with you.")  I know my capabilities and I know my limits, and I have sought repeatedly to arrange my life accordingly.  It doesn't happen.

My plans leave no room for error.  My plans leave no room for other people.  (Just ask the man to whom I showed my 10 year plan, who gently pointed out that it left no room for him.  That man is now my husband.  Honey, I'm sorry it took me SO LONG to abandon that list.)  My plans are made to fit me, and me alone.

Prom 2001, Smiling because we are oblivious to the future

All my adult life, my plans have been disrupted and subsequently abandoned.  This used to throw me into a tailspin.  I would sit in the dust of my unfulfilled goal and wail.  At 22, as I was planning a wedding and preparing to marry the man who didn't fit into my plans, I was also returning to church.  I was coming back with fresh eyes and an open heart and the message I heard was one of surrender.  Stop trying to force my way and my vision (it wasn't working anyway), and join God's plan.  Connect in my time and place with the Way that has spanned all of human history.  Learn God's heart and see God's vision of what life is all about.

Romans 5:6 "When we were utterly helpless, Christ came at just the right time and died for us sinners."

This is one thing I've learned about God:  He's an "at just the right time" kind of guy.  He's not a "plan ahead" fellow.  He's not a "10 Steps to a Better You" list maker.  He is the Creator of the Universe and He reveals Himself along the way.  And for good reason.  If I could see my entire life played out at the age of 16 or 20 or even now, I would run and hide and scream and cry.  I wouldn't want to go through the hard times.  I wouldn't want to bury the loved ones.  I wouldn't want to open myself up.  The life I live now would have terrified me at 16.  Everything needed to happen at just the right time.

My plan: Family picture
Reality: Tears and Gnashing teeth

At just the right time...I opened up.

At just the right time...love came in.

At just the right time...I became a wife.

At just the right time...I became a mother.

At just the right time...I realized my purpose.

At just the right time...I was called out of the pew and into the front.

God's timing is NOT my timing.  But God's plan is becoming my plan.  God's heart is becoming my heart.  And He is calling not just me, but YOU.  He is ready if you are willing.  He will meet you...at just the right time.

IF: LoveCanton

On Life-Changing Moments

"Don't think for a moment that because you're in the palace 

you will escape when all other Jews are killed.

If you keep quiet at a time like this, deliverance and relief 

for the Jews will arise from some other place, 

but you and your relatives will die.

Who knows if perhaps you were made queen

for just such a time as this?"    

Esther 4:13-14

Life is full of moments, of decisions that will change our lives.  Movies convince us they are easy to spot, like that magical first kiss when you realize you have found the one who completes your heart.  I wouldn't know about that.  The word that comes to mind when I think of my first kiss with the man who became my husband is awkward.  Two 18 year olds tentatively looking out opposite windows of an old Buick, wanting to move forward and yet terrified of messing it up somehow.  And yet, for all the fear, there is an underlying certainty.  This is it...this is what comes next.  There was fear when I held that pregnancy test in my hand one early Saturday morning, there was fear as I considered turning in my notice and becoming a full-time at home mother.  But there was also a sense of rightness.  And as we became licensed foster parents, fear was never far away, wondering what the future would hold for us all.  But we did it, we kept completing the steps, because we knew, in some inexplicable way, we knew it was the right thing for us, for just such a time as this.

A year ago, I had a conversation that once again marked a life change for me.  I didn't know it at the time, as it was shrouded in that familiar cover of fear.  See, I was talking to my pastor's wife, a pastor in her own right if we're being totally honest.  I was telling her about a women's conference I had heard about, a conference that we could host in our very own town, in our very own church!  For once, I wouldn't have to miss out on something new and exciting, because it would be right down the street.  And she listened and she nodded, and she said yes, we could host this conference.  But only if I did the work.  Her life was entering a big transition, and she wouldn't be able to do any of the preparation.  So if I wanted to have the event, I needed to make it happen.  In about 6 weeks.  With no experience in planning such an event.  With no confidence in myself as a leader, as someone who could put her name on something and accept full responsibility for the outcome.  The fear was bountiful, but so was the belief that I had to try.  If not me, then who?  If not now, then when?

IF: Local February 2014

On the advice of my pastor's wife (again, she is just as much a pastor herself, I should really drop the wife part), I gathered a team, just a few women who also said yes with little information but with a great desire to be part of it.  There wasn't time for advertising, for decorations, for all that I would have liked to do.  I was worried that no one would come; I was worried that many would come.  I had  to admit often that I just didn't know.  I didn't know what to expect, I didn't know how it would turn out, I didn't know if I was getting it all wrong.  But I followed through, and the weekend came, and...women showed up!  Women I'd never met had heard about it online or through word of mouth.  The live stream worked.  The speakers were powerful, the message clear.  We are all like Esther, in our places, in our communities, in the lives of others for just such a time as this.  It's scary to leave that comfortable seat, that well-situated status quo.  After all, no one would blame me for not opening my home to traumatized children.  No one would ever know the burdensome secrets that I carried.  No one, not even myself, would be aware of wasted potential as I sat quietly, week after week, year after year, letting others lead.  When the time has come for me, over and over, I have only been able to see it all clearly in retrospect.  The moments are a jumble of emotions, of deliberation.

This past week, I experienced two clear moments.  The first came on Wednesday, as I was in the midst of getting the children off to school and meeting with my Bible study ladies.  A phone call, in many ways so similar to that one we received three years ago.  Another baby, in need of a home.  It could change our lives again, the way Michael changed everything.  And yet, amidst the deliberations, the hurried texts between my husband and I, one thing was lacking.  That sense of rightness and certainty.  The fear was there, only in a new form.  What if we say no?  Are we the only ones who can help this baby?  What if we say no?  Will we be missing out?  Will another opportunity come, one that better fits our situation, our family schedule?  Is this our last chance?  We decided to decline.  We passed on the opportunity that didn't feel quite right, and prayed that it would be right for someone else.  Then Thursday came.  I met with a group of women, all gathered by that same pastor's wife.  You see, the conference is coming again in just 8 weeks.  I am hosting again this year, with much more confidence and excitement than last time, because I've seen what God can do through me, with all that I lack, that He can more than make up for it.  And these other women, they are hosting too.  Five of them came to my church for that weekend, and when they left, they vowed to be a part of it next time.  Not to just sit in the seats, but to open the doors.  Instead of just one conference in a small church in Northeast Ohio, this February there will be several.  Our whole state is lit up with locations offering the same opportunity to many more women.

Because life is full of moments, ones that will change us forever, creating new paths that we will follow into a great unknown.  We must recall Esther, her fearful crossroads, her life or the lives of her people?  The potential loss of reputation, of position versus the potential extermination of an entire race of innocent people.  The stakes may not be as high in our modern culture...or maybe they are.  These choices we make, they have the power to change us, to touch our souls, to echo through eternity.  Most likely, we will not have books written about us, there won't be festivals celebrating our bravery each year around the world.  But our obedience to do what is right...it matters.  It matters to the child who is no longer an orphan, to the homeless man who is offered shelter, to the person whose hope is renewed by an act of kindness, to the prisoner who is set free.  So do as Esther did.  Use all that you have in the place God has given you.  Remember that He is sufficient for all that you lack.  Remember that deliverance and relief can come from anywhere, but you will miss it if stay silent.

"If God is real, then we want more than anything to live like it."  Jennie Allen, founder of IF

Five Minute Friday: Finish

How funny that this word would pop up on a week when I can actually join in with FMF, because at the start of the year, this is the word I chose to pursue. 

FINISH.

Because I'm good at quitting.  I've done that my whole life.  This is too hard.  This is confusing.  This is potentially great, which is even scarier than hard or confusing.  So I quit.

FINISH.

Because sometimes I talk myself out of even starting.  Sometimes the excuses drown out all the reasons why I should, and so I sit out, on the sidelines, and I miss it.  Whatever the "it" is, the social gathering, the new beginning, the commitment.

FINISH.

Lisa Jo Baker is right, finishing is the hardest part.  Following through on what you said you would do, remaining faithful to something that doesn't seem to be gaining any traction, ending things at the right time and in the right way.

FINISH.

I'm 32 this year, and a mother and wife, and it just seems sad to list quitter and avoider as personality traits.  It's time to stretch and be someone who can be counted on.  It's time to do the showing up, especially when it's hard.  It's time to stay engaged with my family, with my friends, with my passions.  It's time to live the life that has been beckoning me all these years.

Lent 3: Meditation

"Look at the proud! They trust in themselves, and their lives are crooked. But the righteous will live by their faithfulness to God." Habakkuk 2:4 NLT
 
We are deep into the Lent season now, with Easter Sunday just two weeks away.  My Lent challenge is going well.  Not perfect, but well.  I find myself praying more, stepping away more, being that calm presence for my kids more.  It's interesting that when I decided not to boil over, it became easier to not even let the pot heat up.  I really challenged myself this past week, attempting to braid Girl's hair by myself instead of taking her to the nice lady who does them beautifully for $20.  You hold still while I practice this new skill...and Jesus save us both.

Jim Gaffigan has a great joke about the arrival of a fourth child; that it's like you're drowning, and then someone throws you a baby.  I thought I was ready to become a mom for the fourth time, but our experience was a little different.  It felt more like being capsized by the arrival of a three year old in respiratory distress who fought us trying to pull her to safety.  Unintentionally, I had assumed that a child who was *lucky* enough to be placed in our loving home would realize the lottery she had won and be so grateful that she immersed herself into our lives.  It was a stupid fantasy, and one that was quickly replaced by reality.  Real life is never quite as pretty as a movie.  Orphans aren't like Annie; they sometimes give all their love to the abusive caretaker and kick the person who reaches out to rescue them.

And so, during my time of meditation and reflection, I listened to a sermon from a church in Texas.  The message revolved around that passage from Habakkuk, about the difference between the proud and the righteous.  The people who seek God ALWAYS live by their faith in Him.  ALWAYS.  That means even when things are going poorly.  Even when life is so backwards or upside down that we think God must not even be aware of how screwed up it all is, that there couldn't possibly be a Master Plan at work, or else it wouldn't be this HARD.  Be faithful anyway.  All I could think of is our Girl, and how different these past few months have been from how I thought it would go.  How I wondered if this was really God's will for our family, for us to parent this child who has disrupted everything.  How each day I resolve to parent her anyway.  To do what is best for her, to care for her, to keep the long-term goals for her that we have in mind when dealing with the other kids.

We were having a bad day last week.  Sometimes this happens, and there's literally NOTHING I can do to make the kids turn it around.  All I can do is control how I respond.  Finally, the day ended (Thank you Lord), and I took Girl upstairs to get ready for bed.  As she pulled her covers up to her chin, I asked if we could pray together.  She nodded.  "Okay, I'll go first sweetie," I said.  I bowed my head and wrapped her little hands in mine, and I prayed.  I was honest.  I was real.  I prayed for myself to be a better mother, for our Girl to have good days when she listened and made the right decisions.  And then I prayed for her mom.  I asked God to Please Please help her get it together, so she could be a mother to her Girl again.  And a little voice whispered in the darkness, "Yes."  "We know you love her just as much as you love us, Lord," I continued.  And again, "Yes."  I don't know when the tears began, but as I said, "Amen," I realized my face was wet and they were falling on her comforter.  It was the most beautiful time of prayer I've experienced...maybe ever.  So is God in this moment, is God aware of what life is like for us right now?  Absolutely.  And he's asking us to be faithful.

Regret and Resolution

Last week marked the start of a New Year.  It's the time when we take some time to remember the past, when we begin to look ahead in the future, when we resolve to make changes.  I worked at a gym in high school and college, so I know how quickly many give up on their goals for the new year.  Every January, the workout room would be packed with people, and their numbers would dwindle until April, when the people who truly had a commitment to personal fitness were the only ones showing up.  They were the same faces I saw week after week, year after year.  My own resolutions tend to be financial.  This will be the year I don't get any library fines (already failed that one, with an overdue CD still in my car).  This will be the year we finally pay off our credit cards (despite being a recurring resolution, I KNOW 2014 is going to be the one!).  This will be the year I turn my little writing hobby into a paying job (although with four kids to take care of, actually finding time to finish that novel is going to be the biggest challenge).

Self Portrait

 

I think one of the purposes behind our New Year's Resolutions is to avoid regret.  So that this time next year, we can look back and say we didn't waste it.  This was the year that we turned things around, in our finances, in our health, in our relationships.  This was the year that I did things for me, instead of putting myself last.  But I don't regret putting other people's needs ahead of my own.  I don't regret all the times I make food for the kids, then realize hours later that I still haven't eaten.  I don't regret the path my life has taken, even if it means I'm somewhere different than I imagined.

Play doh creations

This is not to say I live without regrets.
I regret all the times I cared more about what other people thought than doing what I knew to be right.  Growing apart from friends whose opinion used to mean so much helped me see how much of my life had been lived to get someone else's approval.
I regret everything that I abandoned because it got hard.  I regret what remains unfinished.
I regret the narrow and shallow way I used to look at the world.  I regret the people I wrote off because they didn't seem good enough, able enough, cool enough.

Angry Birds: GO!

Something tells me 2014 is going to erase some of those regrets.  Not because I made a resolution on January 1st, but because my heart is being transformed daily. Because forgiveness and love are replacing achievement and regret.  Because I'm raising little children, which often means I'm learning way more than I'm teaching.  Because I've found a community, a Village, that links arms and carries the load and refuses to leave me behind. 

Not for Auld Lang Syne, but for a life without regret.  Happy 2014!

Thinking about Autism: In the Wreckage

When my son was diagnosed with autism at the age of 3, I was devastated.  I had only encountered two other people with this condition/disease/disability...I didn't even know what to call it.  The time I spent in denial and feeling defensive didn't help anything.  It didn't push me into action.  It didn't help me understand my son any better.  I felt like a ship at sea, going under in a terrible storm, with every thing, everyone, on board lost.  It took other autism moms to get me to face it all head on and start my journey of autism awareness.  And it took community and the realization that I wasn't alone to accept autism for what it is-- a part of my son that affects him but doesn't define him..  After opening myself to the greater autism community, I found out that most parents are wrecked by this diagnosis.  But I also learned that sometimes life needs a little wrecking.

I drive by houses like that sometimes.  They are falling apart and just look dangerous, and yet there are cars parked out front and lights on inside, and I wonder, Who would live there?  Why would you make improvements or cosmetic changes?  Why would you invest your money in it, or force your family to live in it?  And I think its like the abandoned "plan" for my son.  This is what I thought he was going to be, to do, to become.  But its not, and so instead of inhabiting this crap shack, I needed to just BURN THE MOTHER DOWN.  Raze it.  Instead of asking, Why is this happening?  What made him this way?  Because those questions don't serve a purpose, and might just be the complete wrong questions to ask.  The mental spiral that kills hope and joy?  THROW IT OUT.  Standing on the now empty plot of land, I finally asked the right question: What now?  It was time to take the materials I'd been given, my wonderful and amazing and unique son, and find out what he was.  Maybe he would be a new house, or maybe he'll be a grocery store or post office, or some piece of abstract art that makes everyone who looks at him think something different.  Who knows?  There is no "right" answer, no final destination that he has to arrive at, no timetable that I can impose on him.

When the doctor said that word, the dreaded "A" word, and the teachers and therapists and well-meaning friends confirmed it, the plans and dreams and goals I had laid out for my son imploded.  And thank goodness.  Now he gets to be the author and architect of his future.  Instead of pushing him to be the person I want him to be, I'm watching to see where he shows interest and ability.  I'm still presenting opportunities (come on kid, let's learn French together! It'll be fun!), but I listen when he says NO.  We have left the wreckage and are living in the new creation, the life that happens when we rebuild what was once thought to be lost forever.

Our Adventure

Back so many years ago (okay, like 9 years), as I was preparing to marry my love, I read the John Eldridge book Wild At Heart.  Say what you will, but that man can energize with his words.  I was bouncing up and down, ready to take on the world with Chris.  I remember excitedly talking about the book with him, about our future together, and ready to dream big.  "What is our adventure going to be?" I asked.  Chris gave me the dubious look I have come to know and love and sometimes resent.  He said our adventure for the time being would have to be living on a single income, as he was still looking for real, full-time work after dropping out of college.  Not the answer I was hoping for.  But we got married, he did find a good job to help pay the bills, and life started happening.  Within two years we were expecting our first child, Chris was going back to school, I was thinking about quitting my job to be a stay at home mom.  It seemed like adventure was on its way in the form of midnight feedings and exploding diapers.  We bought a house and settled in, getting used to being parents and a family of three.  Chris kept at the work and school, I tried to figure out what I was doing with my baby.  When the first year passed and we had kept our little guy alive, we started thinking about another baby, and shortly after James turned two, we welcomed Winston.  Chris finally finished school and we were a family of four, just your typical suburban dream.  But still I longed for Adventure.

It started small, a yellow highlighter through the books I was reading, a whisper as I scanned newspaper headlines.  When I look back now, I see a bright ribbon woven through my life from the very beginning, a ribbon that leads to children.  Children who are hurting, children who have been abandoned.  And the voice whispering, "They need good people to help them.  They need parents who will heal them."  And the realization: We are good people.  Chris and I are good parents.  They need us.  Slowly, timidly, we talked about foster care.  Slowly, timidly, we looked into the reality.  Slowly, timidly, we went to a local children's home for the weekend.  And that was when we said the bold YES.  Yes, we will do this.  Yes, we will be the parents who help children heal.  Yes, there are many reasons to hold off and wait, but there is one reason (one way more important reason) to say yes now.  Because they need us.  Now.

We began our training classes in March.  In fact, we spent our sixth wedding anniversary learning about attachment disorders with Miss Jan.  At one point, as we left another totally depressing class, Chris turned to me and said, "I don't think I can do this.  Its too much, the hurt and the brokenness."  I nodded.  He was absolutely right.  Our hearts broke each day as we learned about what happens to kids who are abused, neglected, abandoned.  Then I said, "There are always going to be kids in foster care.  The abuse isn't going to stop.  And knowing what we know now, I can't just go back home and pretend like its not happening.  We have the opportunity to help."  And the doubt was gone.  We were full-steam ahead through all the paperwork and interviews and inspections, and in eight months time, we were licensed foster parents.  They called us to take baby Michael after a month of waiting.  That placement became an adoption and now we are the happy parents of three amazing boys.  So we became open again.  We waited five months for a call, and were so excited on the day one finally came.  But within 15 minutes the circumstances had changed and there was no placement.  We waited some more.  The next week, a call came to provide respite.  This is a short-term placement wherein one foster family watches the foster kids of another family while they are out of town, medically unable to care for the kids, overwhelmed, whatever.  Only one thing gave me pause.  There were two kids needing beds, a brother and sister.  If you're doing the math, that would mean five days with five kids in the house.  Maxed out for space in the car and the beds.  Food disappearing from the fridge at an even faster rate.  I looked at the phone for a beat, and then said yes.  This is our adventure.  This is our calling.  This is our heart.  (And not to brag or anything, but we totally nailed it.  It was exhausting, it was challenging.  But we did it.)

While we were hosting these two spunky siblings, I read the story about Davion and his plea for parents.  I cried at how many children are still waiting for that placement, stuck in group homes or an endless parade of placements because there aren't enough good people willing to become foster parents.  I remember how scary it seemed to open our home to an unknown child with unknown issues.  I know its different from the Hallmark picture of giving birth in a halo of light to a child who will be yours and yours alone forever.  But if you are reading this, nodding your head and agreeing, Yes, they need parents!  They deserve parents! Please.  PLEASE.  Consider what you can do, right now, to change the life of a child in foster care.  Because as long as there are people looking for a way out of their present reality through drugs or alcohol or World of Warcraft, there will be dealers and enablers, and the children will suffer the most.  As long as there are cycles of abuse and poverty, with no one to intervene with education and healing, children will be at risk.  They are the most vulnerable people in the world, and they need someone to stand up, to speak out, to give them a safe place to grow.  Its my adventure, and it might be yours too.

For local folks: www.starkadoptfoster.com
For the US: www.heartgalleryofamerica.org

In the Leaves

Today was a good day, the kind of good that reaches deep and fills me with joy.  Not like yesterday, when an interrupted nap caused me to cry along with Michael, when I unsuccessfully tried to referee a fight with the rear-view mirror and ended up throwing a baseball glove back to get the boys' attention.  Today, we had nowhere to go.  We had no appointments or meetings to hurry for, no one waiting for us to arrive or depending on my ability to get shoes on small, wiggly feet.  This morning, perhaps for the first time ever, Winston willingly shared his cars with Michael, and as they played peacefully, I was able to get my shower.  Once we were all dressed for the day, the boys insisted we play outside, and thanks to this beautiful weather, a week of sunshine and falling leaves, we found ourselves in the backyard jumping around in piles of crackling leaves.  I took pictures to capture the moment, to share it with my husband busy at work and relatives who only experience our family via social networking.  The joy of the moment is caught on my children's smiling faces, but the pictures hide my internal struggle.

Last night, I read Matt Walsh's blog about At Home Moms, and I realized that a war is raging within me all day.  First I am a woman, a list-maker and do-er, someone who derives identity and worth from what she can accomplish.  That woman was a great student and employee, always doing more and more.  She set goals and made things happen.  But that woman became a mother.  A mother is a nurturer and giver, whose time is best spent being: being with her children, being present in the moments that come unbidden and without warning, the first steps and the first words and the questions and the requests to read the book again, play the game again, make me another meal, change another diaper.  Being alert to the nonverbal signals that a child is tired, hungry, wet, scared, needs his mama.  And if you haven't already figured it out, doing and being come into conflict over and over.

The woman in me says leaves should be raked and collected and gotten rid of.
The mom in me says leaves are meant to be raked into a pile over and over so children can jump and throw and kick and laugh.
The woman in me says an hour playing outside with no accomplished task is a waste of time.
The mom in me says playing outside means setting aside the list of things to do and enjoying with the kids.
The woman in me sees the grass stains and dirty pants and panics that they won't come out in the wash.
The mom in me sees the grass stains and dirt as a measure of how much fun is being had.
The woman in me looks for a way to make this time productive, like teaching ABCs or learning to identify the trees.
The mom in me looks at happy faces and thinks her children are teaching her something.

Sometimes I need Winston to dump out my bag of leaves and shout, "I want a BIG PILE!" to remember that moms don't need to have the nicest lawn or the cleanest house.  They need to have secure children who know they are loved and valued.  And they need to stop doing, and just be.  So the mom in me is glad that I made that decision many years ago to stop working at a job and make motherhood my job.  That my husband supports us and supports me in who I am.  That lists are fine and good and have a place, but don't contain my worth as a person.

My Fear

"So the good boys and girls
Take the so called right track
Faded white hats
Grabbing credits and maybe transfers

They read all the books but they can't find the answers."

I went to that cookie-cutter high school John Mayer sings about, the one that teaches the equation abc=xyz, with abc being Take these classes, Get straight A's, Graduate with honors, and xyz, you will Get into the top college of your choice, Graduate summa cum laude, and Get the best job ever.  And that's it, that's the meaning of life.  But I was lucky, because my parents didn't believe in conveyor belts, and they encouraged me to chart my own course.  They never shied away from being "weird" or different.  If I wanted to take a class that went away from the mold, they said do it.  If I liked reading science fiction novels instead of the "classics" required in AP English, they said drop the class.  If I wanted to wear clothes from Goodwill or my grandma's attic, they shrugged and went on with it.  They showed me how to figure out exactly who me was, with no right answers, no strict guidelines.

Well, I never lived the dream of the prom kings
And the drama queens
I'd like to think the best of me
Is still hiding up my sleeve

Sometimes when I mention something that my parents did really well, they'll scoff and say they weren't doing it on purpose.  They were flying by the seats of their respective pants, with no map to show them where to go.  So maybe it wasn't sheer bravery that caused them to let me be weird.  Maybe they were just clueless about what they were supposed to be doing.  But isn't that courage in and of itself?  To plow ahead, not looking to the side to see where the other parents are, if they are on the right course or headed for a cliff, to push me into the wide open world instead of on a narrow path to the Ivy League?

"I think what must have frightened my parents most 

of all [about my diagnosis] was the possibility that I would

not be able to lead the "normal" life they really wanted for me.

Like many parents, they equated normality with

being happy and productive."

Daniel Tammet, Born on a Blue Day

So why then, coming out of a home that placed so much importance on individualism, have I become that parent who is constantly checking what the others are doing, wondering if my kids are missing out, not measuring up?  Because I'm afraid.  I'm scared that my kids will show up at school reeking of different, and that will lead to bullying, low self-esteem, resentment toward me.  If they haven't had swim lessons by age 5, did they miss out on important childhood memories?  If I buy their shoes for $4 at a consignment sale, will other people be able to tell?  If our idea of family fun is eating popcorn and watching movies, if I buy them Skittles or let them drink Sprite, am I setting them up for obesity and isolation?  I just want to fit in, to blend in the crowd so my kids will be safe.  But that's not good parenting.  I know it isn't.  I was taught from such an early age to do what is best for me, to clear a path if none existed, to go where I need to go.  And why should that be any different for my kids?  I confessed this to my friend, and she laughed and said, "Oh, you SO don't fit in."  Wow, and that was when I was trying.  So I decided to shut out all the noise, all the websites and commercials and statuses that made me feel like I wasn't measuring up.  I called to mind John Mayer's young adult anthem, the song I identified with so well as a 19 year old nontraditional student.  Because my boys don't fit in boxes.  They are so much more than a list of grades or accomplishments or failures.  They are little people with passions and hopes and dreams.  And I want them to learn what I learned, how to create a life of one's own choices, how to arrive at one's own destination.

I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the top of my lungs
I just found out there's no such thing as the real world
Just a lie you've got to rise above

My Heart

 "And in my heart I find a need
Of Him to be my Savior

That He would leave His place on high
And come for sinful man to die
You count it strange so once did I
Before I met my Savior"

-Aaron Shust "My Savior My God"

 

When I was very young, my dad sat with me and explained that I could ask Jesus to live in my heart.  This would make me a Christian.  It was something that Mom, Dad, and my older sister already were.  And it made sense to me at the time to do this thing which was obviously the right thing to do, but for all the wrong reasons.  So I would be like my family.  So I wouldn't go to Hell.  I lived my life as a "Christian" on the outside; I never stole, never killed anyone, got good grades and didn't have sex with any boys.  But on the inside, my heart wasn't really in it.  I hated people, like full-blown if they were injured on the side of the road I would walk right by or maybe even kick them HATRED.  And so I talked about these people with my friends, and we exaggerated things that were true about them to the point that we created almost a legend of false gossip in our high school.  And when I planned for my future, I sat God down and told him what I was going to do and where I was going to go and then gave him the green light to make it happen.

But he didn't.  My life after high school didn't look anything like what I had listed off to God in my Christmas List prayer.  And so I had to wonder, who is this guy?  What do I actually believe about God and heaven and hell and being a Christian?  And there were years when I struggled to figure it out, and I tried letting my outside match my inside and skipped church and failed a class and went to a bar and drank alcohol.  But this didn't get me any closer to feeling like I understood anything.  So my fiance (who soon became my husband) found a church for us to attend together, and we went and we sat with a pastor and we asked questions.  And week after week, he answered my questions.  I began to realize where I had gone off course before, where I had made God in my image, instead of the other way around.  When I was 23, my husband and my pastor baptized me in a lake, and I can honestly say I walked out of the water a new person.  I was now on a mission to change my heart.  I didn't know how exactly, but I realized that gossiping about people had to go.  That was a tricky one.  I borrowed some steps from AA...I stopped reading "gossip" magazines like US Weekly, I stopped hanging out with those friends who loved to talk about other people.  I focused on having conversations about Ideas and Places and Themes and went cold turkey off People.  Once I got the hang of that, I saw other things that I was doing, things that began deep in my heart and welled up out of me, things that someone following God shouldn't do.  I examined the people I hated, and found a new way to see them that was full of love and grace.  I dug deep into my heart and grabbed hold of the secret shame I carried and pulled it into the light and refused to carry it any longer.

And just last night I sat in a church, surrounded by moms who were looking for encouragement and comfort, and I remembered what my dad had taught me all those years ago, about how Jesus lived in my heart.  And maybe its because I'm really getting the hang of this homemaker stuff, but I realized that I hadn't given him a very nice place to live.  He was crowded out by anger and shame and jealousy and hatred.  But letting that go, emptying all that darkness, made room for Him.  I gave Him a place to fill with His love, His peace, His kindness and goodness.  I'd like to think that my outside matches my inside again, that all this light that fills my heart shines out.  I'd like to think that God is giving me the marching orders these days, that what I do and where I go is part of His plan, and that this world is becoming a better place to live because of it.

Waiting

Two years ago, we opened our home.  We made room for another life to join us for however long he needed.  I am ready to do it again.  Its not just the extra bed that is waiting.  I've cleared room in my heart for another child to fill.  While he or she may occupy the extra room for a short time, the love I have will stay as long as my heart is beating.

I don't do this alone.  There is a man who stands beside me.  Although he isn't certain that he is ready, because he tends to worry and think about the worst things that could happen, he agrees none the less that every child deserves a home, a family, and while I wait with my arms wide open, he waits too.  Its why we are a twosome, his fear and my optimism together make us considerate but brave.  It means that we don't jump without looking, that we don't charge ahead without a plan.  We evaluate and discuss and decide together.

We're in a groove now.  This family-of-five thing is running smoothly, with a shampoo-rinse-repeat reliability.  The weeks begin with a full fridge and each day planned out, the laundry sorted and placed in the dressers, the house clean and the grass mowed.  As the days go by, the food gets eaten, the house gets trashed, the clothes are messed and tossed in the waiting machines, the library book pile grows, and always, always, we must be doing something, going somewhere, running running running because these boys are balls of energy that must be constantly engaged in some activity or else they will make up the activity, and there will be cracked eggs on the kitchen floor and flooded basements and footprints on the ceilings and toys down the heating vents.

But every time we add another person to this household, the whole family leaps out of the groove and we have to hold on tight as we figure it out, how does this work now?  It takes months to get back to that well-oiled place of understanding our roles and what needs to be done every day, every week, what can wait?  Its knowing this, that our lives will stall out, go off course, move from order to chaos, that actually makes the waiting bearable.  I can wait for a grumpy husband informing me that there is nothing to wear to work and he needs me to find something in 20 minutes, wait for the children asking for snacks and realizing that the cupboards are empty, wait for the inevitably difficult attempts to leave the house all together.  But, oh, the newness.  The energy that seems to well up from nothing, the excitement and the YES I CAN spirit that have helped me overcome the jarring transition three times now...I know it will be there.  And so I wait.  With open arms.

Great Expectations

I felt like a different person last night.  I offered up an invitation on facebook..."Any ladies want to come over and watch Pitch Perfect after 8pm?" and three of them said yes.  The boys went to bed, my husband made popcorn and then disappeared upstairs, and we watched a funny, girly, grown-up movie together in the middle of the week.  One thing I've lost in motherhood is this time to sit and watch together with girlfriends.  The last time I watched a movie with a friend at home was a year ago when I spent the night with my best friend in Columbus, and after karaoke and Taco Bell, we stayed up ridiculously late to watch Bridesmaids.  Before that?  I think I had one kid, and I watched Mad Men at a friend's house.  I miss that friend time.  Because, of course, once the movie ends, the girl talk begins.  We talked about pregnancy and shared belly photos.  I ran upstairs to get my pregnancy album, and then started flipping through James' baby pictures, and then I got lost in memory.  Seven years ago...

A newly pregnant Rachel thought and planned for her future.  She thought about all that she would do with her child, where they would go, who he would become.  The plans for the child were as high and far-reaching as the plans she made for herself.  And then came the day when the doctor sliced her open to bring the baby into the world, and her heart and her mind were ripped open too.  There was nowhere to go in the hazy days of her son's infancy.  Just to the changing table, the bathroom, the couch, and back to bed.  Over and over and over.  And the child she brought home was not the empty vessel she had planned to fill with all her loves and passions; he came fully-formed with a voracious appetite for breast milk and a primitive religion that worships vacuum cleaners.  He didn't want to lay in the air-conditioning and watch Gilmore Girls or sit quietly in his stroller while she browsed at Borders.  He wanted to be outside, on the move, learning about this great world.  And so Rachel took him outside.  They walked around the neighborhood, they explored the flora and fauna in their very own yard.  She found a book about trees so she could say "This is a spruce; feel its soft needles" and "This is a maple; touch its huge leaves".  He learned to roll over on the grass, he played with sticks and pinecones, and as he grew, he chased squirrels in an attempt to befriend them and join their society.  And so it was that the child became the teacher, and the mother became the student.  She learned to see up close what had all been background.  She began taking in the stillness of a summer morning and existing in the simple moments motherhood offered, instead of planning for the future and running off to do.

The son grew older and learned new ways to have fun: video games and cartoons, bowling and swimming.  But he remains a lover of the outdoors, as he spends his days spread on a blanket in the yard, watching the birds that fly from tree to tree, and exploring gardens and parks.  And he was followed by two little brothers who shared his appetite for milk, his reverence for the vacuum, and his need to be outside.  So this morning, when my plan for a morning outing went sour and we returned home to regroup, I found myself once again exploring the yard with my youngest.  It started as him streaking, running through the still-wet grass, free as he has never been before, and delighting in the chance to watch his pee stream forth unchecked by a diaper.  But after a while, I dressed him, and then he took my hand and said, "Walk."  So we made a tour around the front yard, then back past the garage to check on the garden.  We picked flowers and pulled leaves off the tree and he made his own garden.  The big boys were inside with their electronics, but out back we simply delighted in the fresh green space we've been given, the calls of the birds and the swift movements of the squirrels.  I left my phone on the picnic table, because I didn't need to connect with anyone outside of our yard.

Its the biggest lesson the boys have taught me: to be and enjoy, to slow down and look at all the beauty and differences in the world.  To leave deadlines and schedules and expectations behind.

Teaching

Its the end of another school year, which means it is time to evaluate, gather information, make important decisions that will affect the years to come.  This year has been so wonderful, my son has made so much progress, but will a different classroom make next year just as wonderful?  Will a new teacher, a new school, completely throw him off and send him into a tailspin of behavior?  Will he lose out on that last available spot?

I went to school like most kids...when I turned 5, my parents signed me up for kindergarten.  The next year I went to first grade, then second, and so on until I graduated high school.  When I became a mother, I figured I would do the same as my own parents had done, and didn't give the school question much thought in the hazy days of breast-feeding and diaper changes.  And then the bottom fell out and my son was diagnosed.  I didn't even know what options there were.  I searched my mind, trying to remember where those special kids were during my own education.  What did they learn?  What were their test scores?  I was always so concerned about who was ahead of me, whose grades were better, who was going to be class valedictorian.  I never thought about who was behind me.

Now I think about it every day.  I'm raising one of those kids who is "behind".  And I am endlessly grateful for the teachers who take the extra time and care that is needed to educate him, and those like him.  The ones who take pride in a student who started the year non-verbal, and is now participating.  The ones who know when to push, and how far to push.  The ones who see the accomplishment in just standing through an entire kindergarten concert.  The ones who are constantly learning and adapting, trying to find the best way to reach every single kid.

Psalms 126 says, "Those who plant in tears will harvest with shouts of joy."  I think it means that anything worth doing will be difficult.  There have certainly been many tears throughout the past few years, mothering these small children, figuring out who they are and being astounded at what they are capable of.  Things got pretty biblical during potty training, as I gnashed my teeth and tore my clothes and lay on the bathroom floor in misery.  But my sons use the toilet now, they flush and (sometimes) wipe and wash their hands.  I have faced off with James about writing his letters (and I'm sure his OT has similar battle scars), but now he can do it.  And the craziest thing is, I have no indication of when to push.  When the time is right to start something new.  Just a Mommy-sense that he's ready, and then we go for it.  I used to be afraid of that, scared that I was imposing my own timeline on him.  And that's definitely part of the struggle, not to compare him to others.  But he doesn't belong shoved in a corner, playing with blocks.  He's ready to go forward, ready to read and add and before we know it, conquer quantum physics.(I'm going to have to find someone else to push him there, though, this Mom doesn't understand anything past 8th grade science class)

I didn't expect to have to work so hard so that my son could learn.  I expected to just jump on the parent auto-ramp and cruise through high school.  But I'm holding on to the promise of harvesting with a shout of joy, knowing that all the tears will be worth it someday.

This I Believe

" And we are not perfect.  We say the wrong thing.  We grow and we change and the words we spoke in the past are words of which we now repent, but that is the nature of sanctification and there is no one exempt from that process."  -Fabs Harford

I believe that words are important.  I believe that what we say and what we write can affect people, and it is our choice to encourage and build people up, or tear others down with our negativity.  So often, as I was growing up, my parents would admonish me to THINK before I spoke, usually as a follow-up to something insensitive or inappropriate that had just come out of my mouth.  I would sigh in exasperation, because the challenge to evaluate all spoken words before enunciating them, and discarding the unnecessary ones, seemed too much for me.  I didn't want to stop long enough to consider my words, I wanted to get them out, to share them with others and join in.  People gave me labels: I was cynical, sarcastic, jaded.

I often wrote as I grew up, I filled notebooks with thoughts and observations.  I still wonder if anyone is ever going to read those words or if they will get thrown away at some point, without being seen by the world.  I want to have influence, I want to share my mind and my feelings, but I lack the confidence that I have anything worth saying.  Then I started a blog.  I began not knowing what to write, and the first year I think I wrote 3 entries.  My husband was the only one to read them.  The next year I posted just once. 

It was surreal to find myself, this lover of words, the mother of a non-verbal child.  I yearned for the day I would hear him speak, when we could converse and share our words and learn more about each other.  It didn't come.  The doctors and the speech therapists and the educators all told me the same word: autism.  They gave other words and phrases, like developmental delay and no imaginative play and isolated and early intervention.  We started therapy and preschool and while he struggled to find his voice, I did too.  I couldn't figure out how to tell people what I was coming to terms with, the reality of having a son with a "disability".  I found myself dropping out of the mom-petition, avoiding playdates and birthday parties and listening with jealousy as the other moms compared their children's milestones.  I wondered if my child would ever use a toilet, make a friend, learn to read or write his name, much less play on a basketball team, speak Spanish, or write a play for his third grade class to perform.

I was scared for my son to receive an official diagnosis.  I was afraid of that word, afraid of what being associated with that word might mean for him.  Would he become a target of bullies?  What other words would they call him, when they saw him riding the "short bus" that is no longer short?  How many times had I made jokes at others' expense, how many times had I declared something "retarded" in my adolescent speaking-before-thinking phase?

But I came to realize its not a word spoken by a doctor in a white coat that I am afraid of.  Its what we are teaching all of our kids about words and about how we treat people who are different from us.  And that's when I found my voice.  I began sharing my opinions and stories and family with the internet, simultaneously afraid that no one would read and afraid that everyone would.  I found, through blogging, that I could form my words, gather my thoughts, and take the time to present an idea without being offensive, hurtful, thoughtless.  Although it can often be a place where people comment without any regard for the fact that a person is on the other end, reading their words, for me, the internet is the place where I finally learned to think before speaking.  I can look at a person's profile picture, I read about their struggles and hopes, and I take my time forming a response.  My hope is that what comes out is different, so that people perceive me differently.  So that they use words like "loving" and "encouraging" to describe me.

Another benefit of speaking boldly for my son and others like him, is that he is now finding his voice.  He is speaking and learning to read; he is expressing his needs and communicating to others.  One of his favorite stories is The Lorax by Dr. Seuss.  I love to hear him loudly proclaim, "I am the Lorax...I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues."  Where I once saw myself as speaking for my silent son, now I wonder what voiceless, invisible group he will speak for. 

On Turning 30

Big moments in my life always cause weeks of introspection, looking back and then looking ahead and then back again. Is this where I want to be? who I want to be? and now turning 30 is no exception. I have literally been thinking about this day for the last 6 months. The conclusion is that I am happy to be getting older. I'm proud of who I am today, and the direction my life has taken. I'm glad that living means moving forward. And so these are the things I wrote in a notebook while I waited for James to get done with school, with Winston begging me to let him go down the slide and baby sleeping in his carseat.



A snapshot of me at age 20:
I'm looking pretty good in those size 6 jeans. On my days off, I can (and often do) sleep for 14 straight hours. When it rains, I go to Borders and spend the afternoon reading. When I go out with my friends, we go to the movies, go dancing, sit at restaurants for hours, but everything is decided a moment before it happens. I think I've moved out of my parent's house FOR GOOD, but it will actually take a few tries to stick. I think that my future career will be the greatest accomplishment of my life. I have just finished college and I have the world all figured out.

10 years later, I look at that young woman and sigh. She has NO IDEA.

She wants to see the world, and will become a flight attendant to accomplish her goal. She will see the Pacific Ocean. She will spend a week in Europe with her mother and it will meet her expectations and disappoint her at the same time. Because she thinks that someday she will live abroad, or quite frankly, anywhere but here, but everything that she wants will be in that little city in Ohio.
She doesn't know that the boy she is dating will become her husband in just a few years. That they will buy a house in Canton and fill it with children. That creating a family is something that she's actually good at. She can barely lift a 30 pound box, but one day she will carry a 50 pound child in one arm and a 30 pound child in the other when their strength gives out.
She will learn real love and real patience, not through some cosmic gift, but through painful and persistent trial and error. She will be more content and more confident when she turns 30 than she can even imagine being at 20.

I can't help but quote the Brad Paisley song that plays at the end of "Cars", and not just because I've seen it every day for the last four weeks: "Sometimes when you lose your way, its really just as well. That's when you find yourself."