Dear Senator Portman

Dear Senator Portman:

You lost my vote today.

Over the summer, I watched with horror as millions of Syrians and Iranians washed ashore in Europe.  These people were living with such unspeakable tragedy that they risked their lives and the lives of the people they love (children, elderly, the disabled) to escape it.

Now, I've studied Europe's geography and political systems.  I knew that they didn't have the space or the resources to handle so many refugees.  But I looked around, at this beautiful state I live in, and I saw green fields and open spaces.  I saw apartments and homes for sale and for rent.  I saw empty commercial buildings, and I thought, we have room here.  We live in this amazing land of freedom and democracy, where people can be at peace and raise their families and start new businesses.

What we are missing is the accompanying attitude of welcome.

We need a massive shift in our thinking, to stop hoarding our resources and our freedoms.  We need to welcome these refugees to our communities, to live out the foundational principle of America.  We need leaders in Washington who will show us the way.  I hoped that I would see our Congress researching the issues and making informed decisions, but what I found were cowards reacting out of fear, making erroneous assumptions and knee-jerk policies.

You were one of those cowards.

I, and several of my friends and family, sent you a petition, explaining that we wanted Syrian refugees to come to Ohio.  That we were willing to help them settle, to learn from them as they learned from us.  I would love to see a Syrian restaurant pop up in my area, for my children to see different shades of skin and dress and beliefs when they walk in their public schools.  We actually believe in the words inscribed on the Statue of Liberty, that timeless entreaty to "Give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free..."

Your response disappointed me, because you didn't even acknowledge that I was disagreeing with you.  You clung to your cowardly decision, ignoring that your constituents were saying that they wanted something different.

"To that end, I call on the Administration to immediately halt the resettlement of Syrian refugees into the United States until there has been a thorough review of DHS and State Department vetting procedures to ensure that no terrorists or individuals with links to Islamist extremist groups make it into the United States, as they have in France."

It wasn't a Syrian refugee that committed that horrible attack in France, it was the very terrorists these refugees are trying to escape that did it.  But the facts weren't really part of your decision-making process, were they?

I shook my head in disgust.  Yet only a few weeks later, you appeared on my computer screen again.  This time, Jon Stewart was visiting your office in DC, along with 911 First Responders.  They were in Washington, trying to get Congress to pass the Zadroga Act, legislation to provide healthcare coverage for the brave men and women who rushed into the Twin Towers on September 11, 2001.  This should have been a no-brainer.  Our entire country was riveted on that day, watching the tragedy unfold.  It created a time of unprecedented unity.  If there is anyone that our politicians should be taking care of and protecting, it is those amazing first responders.

But Jon Stewart confronted you in a hallway to question why in the world you hadn't yet voted in favor of this continuing coverage.  And it became apparent to me that you are not representing the wishes of our state.  If it takes an unemployed comedian and a TV camera to shame you into doing the right thing, then you don't deserve your seat in Congress.

I voted for your opponent today.  I hope a new face, a new voice, will listen to the people of Ohio instead of toeing the party line.  Especially when the party is wrong.

May freedom win out over fear, and may America usher in the wretched refuse of Europe's teeming shore.

Sincerely,
Rachel Lipford

Know What You're About (Day 1)

There is an old Sunday School song I grew up with, one that I can still recall, complete with church-appropriate hand motions (because dancing is wrong but motioning that something is gushing out of you is holy).  It goes like this:

I've got a river of life flowing out of me,

Makes the lame to walk and the blind to see!

Opens prison doors sets the captives free

(youth groups love to squeeze in a little

shout of "I'm free!" here)

Oh, I've got a river of life flowing out of me!

I always liked songs that were upbeat and especially gave me the chance to stand up and move around a little.  (I'm in the Lord's Army was another gem.)  But as I get older, as time and experience, and yes, even Jesus, transform me, I find that the message in this simple song rings true.

When I was young and singing this song heartily with other kids, I was one of those captives.  I was held in by shame and fear, so painfully shy and uncomfortable with myself.  I went into my head, into my imagination, and I pretended I was whole and free.  Having no idea what the real thing felt like, I convinced myself that what I was able to dream up was enough.

I made up stories and began to write them down.  I imagined that someday I might even make a living as a writer, like the still, smiling photographs on the backs of my novels.  They were calm and happy, and most importantly, grown up.  If I could be like them, then I maybe I wouldn't be me anymore.

But everyone said it was impractical to try to write fiction, and even if I could block out the pragmatist in my head who stomped on those childhood dreams, what would I even write about?  What did I know?  What could I give?  What could I write that would make a difference?

Marriage and motherhood cracked my heart wide open, and I began to see little streams of ideas.  I started writing again, writing what was in my imagination but also in my heart.  One day, I conjured a woman, a character.  She was full of shame and hiding in her life.  (Hey, write what you know.)  She needed love to transform her, to set her free from her invisible shackles.

And so I wrote the first part of a novel.  I set it aside to welcome my third child, and over the course of his first year of life, I experienced the transformation that she and I were both desperate for.  I finally had the courage and the support to voice my shame, to let go of my fears, and to finally start to find peace with myself.  When I sat down again to work on the story, I couldn't believe how parallel our lives were, me and this imaginary woman.

Soon, the ideas began bursting like popcorn in my mind.  With three children to take care of, it is slow work to put pen to paper (yes, I write my first drafts longhand).  But I finally know what I'm about.  I am about redemption.

This is what I know, because this is what I've lived.  A life that is not pretending, but really being lived free.  It is the gift I want to give my characters.  More importantly, it is the gift I want to give my readers.  I want you to know that you don't have to hide.  I want you to know that your past doesn't define you.  I want you to know that you are not alone.

Someone tossed me the keys to open my prison doors and beckoned me to walk out, to live free.  I want to write words that do the same for others.  I want to shine light in the dark places and show you how to experience a river of life pouring out of you.  Spring up, Oh well.  (Goosh Goosh Goosh Goosh) 

Outside In

Every other Saturday night, our house fills with delicious smells.  My husband and I take turns making yummy breakfast foods, because every other Sunday morning, we teach the middle school students at our church.  A wise friend once told me something that has proved to be true: you have to love people from the outside in.

When we show up with food, our students will sit with us and allow us to nourish their minds because we are first nourishing their bodies.  Over time, after being consistent with food and honest answers and showing that we care, they will finally allow us into the depths, where their spirits reside.  If we want to reach their souls, we have to start by feeding their endlessly hungry bodies.

It makes sense if you think about it, because we all know how poorly people learn when they are starving, or afraid, or worried about their personal safety.  I learned Maslow's hierarchy years ago in a college sociology class, and yet I can be so intent on what is below the surface of the people I love that I completely ignore their more pressing physical needs.

It shouldn't be complicated, and yet it is.  Sometimes it is tunnel vision, sometimes it is our own ignorance.  I was thinking about my son who is adopted, and the little girl that we fostered a few years ago, about how needy they were when they came to us.  And we wanted to soothe their bodies and fill their bellies and reassure them that they were precious and loved and safe, but we were ignoring the first layer.

Do you know what is most important to a child?  More than food, more than physical safety, more than warm blankets on a clean bed?  His mom.  Psychologist Harry Harlow performed experiments on rhesus monkeys in the 1950s that demonstrated how crucial a mother is to her baby, and the conversations I have with my non-biological children confirms it.  Which means that while we mend the physical and emotional wounds of children who have been neglected and abused, we must also demonstrate love for the adults who allowed it in the first place.  No easy task.

I had a moment of panic the other day when my son reached for a bag of cookies and said, "I've never tried this before.  Let me have some!"  Because I can easily imagine his birth parents saying or thinking something similar when they were introduced to the addictive drugs that derailed their lives. How much are we, as adoptive parents, able to re-write biology?  Is there something ticking inside him that will go off in adolescence and take him down their same path?  Or was it childhood hyperbole that I was reading way too much into?

I don't want my son to repeat his mom's mistakes, and the best way I can think to help him is to let him know her, to be honest about why he lives with us and what unique challenges he'll face as he grows up.  The worst thing I could possibly do is talk about her with disrespect, calling her names or criticizing her choices.  If I can step back and allow him to see her as she is, without casting my own thoughts or feelings onto their relationship, then I trust that he'll understand what is true better.  He won't grow up with some idealized version of her (or me, for that matter), because he will know where he came from.

Dinner

I can remember the meals we ate when I was growing up, the casseroles and salads and homemade tortillas.  I remember discovering foods that I hated, like liver and cooked carrots, and foods that I loved, like tacos and ham and chicken divan.  I ate a pretty healthy, balanced diet, because other people were in charge of what was on my plate.

Then I went to college.  In those early years of independence, I found new foods that I loved, like Tony's microwaveable pizza and Ramen noodles.  I ordered hot wings with bleu cheese for a special treat, and I dunked Oreo cookies into peanut butter while I watched old episodes of SNL.  Little changed when I moved on to sparsely furnished apartments shared with six other people, and I ate my canned soup from the pan standing over the barely-used stove.  I made oatmeal for breakfast with a coffee maker and carried a can of Pringles in my bag when I went to work.  I bought a loaf of bread occasionally, but it would always get moldy before I was able to finish it.

When I got married, my husband made fun of my weird, prepackaged meals, and we cooked together at home as often as we went out to restaurants after work.  Dinner was so fun, after years of solitude, to have another person to talk to about the day and whatever else floated into my mind.  We had so much fun inviting friends over to our tiny apartment and meeting up with people at 11pm.  It was a time of bliss, because we had no way of knowing how short it would be, how a new little person would be joining us after only two years.  We had no idea that money would get tight, because we didn't know that we would drop down to one income.  We'd heard words like budget and savings, and they sounded very grownup and serious, but we really didn't know what they meant or how to stop spending so freely.  Honestly, we're still trying to figure that one out three kids later.

Pregnancy messed with dinner, since I never knew if I was going to be ravenous or nauseous, and I returned to my soup-in-the-pan dinners when my husband was at work late, often eating a few biscuits and large serving of mashed potatoes.  But when he was home, it was steak (because babies need red meat) and kale salads (because babies also need their mothers to be miserable) and midnight runs to Taco Bell.

Dinner with babies or toddlers is like this whole other thing, because somebody is running around, whether it is the parents or the kids, and nobody gets to eat their food when it is the correct temperature or even in one sitting.  I developed some bad eating habits, in addition to the others I'd picked up throughout my adult years, and eating was almost never healthy or nutritious.

But life has settled for us in many ways.  The kids will sit for at least five minutes of a family dinner, and we're getting back to the cooking that we liked so much ten years ago.  There are no more midnight meal runs or desperate trips to Wendy's.  We grow herbs and fruit and vegetables in our yard, and I've even learned how to buy groceries better, so I'm prepared to eat something that will actually nourish me when meal time comes around.  (And it keeps coming, like, three times a day.  Every day.  So weird.)

You might notice that I don't share recipes or post meal plans or even workout videos.  I'm on this path to making better choices for myself and my family, but I have no idea if what works for us will work for anyone else.  Neither my husband or myself is repeating exactly what our parents did when we were growing up; we've tailored what we do to fit our people and our tastes.  And, as I've learned over the years, those tastes are evolving and changing all the time.

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.

Feeling Inside Out

We took our kids to see Inside Out on Father's day.  It seemed like a great family activity, and a way to celebrate the Daddy who does so much for us.  We are all happiest, it seems, at the movie theater.  With popcorn and sugary drinks, with bags of Skittles passed down the row, with the lights dimmed and the magic of Tinseltown at work in front of us.  I was excited, of course, because Pixar movies never disappoint, with their tight stories, gorgeous animation, and that amazing ability to delight both children and their parents.  But I was also feeling nervous.  I had done a little research the week before, listening to the director, Pete Docter, on Fresh Air with Terri Gross.  It was fascinating to hear how the film's writers and animators had worked out the story, learned about the functions of the brain, and chosen the actors to voice the characters.  There was a key element to the movie that I knew would hit a little too close to home, though.  The movie shows the emotional life of Riley, an 11year old girl who has just moved across the country with her parents.  Pete Docter shared that this was chosen as the catalyst for the Emotions to get out of whack because his family had moved when he was 11.  But it's more than Riley's story and Pete Docter's story; it is also my story.

When I was 11, just finishing the fifth grade, my parents decided to move from my hometown of Dallas, Texas to Ohio.  In fact, I missed the last day of school to help load our Ryder moving truck, and we spent the night as a family at motel near the highway in order to get an early start in the morning and try to miss the Dallas rush hour.  I even lost my last baby tooth during our move.  In Texas, I was a basketball player, a native well-versed in the state's history, a Cowboys fan, occasionally too loud, occasionally too aggressive.  I loved school and my teachers, I knew every inch of my neighborhood, from the well-worn paths where my sister and I rode our bikes to the cavernous stormwater pipes that ran under our street.  I had friends and I was confident.  And then we moved, and much of that changed.

It wasn't until I watched Inside Out this past summer that I could finally articulate what that move was like for me.  There it was, playing out on the giant screen, the way everything around changes while everything inside is changing too.  For me, growing up felt like a severing of myself.  Childhood was in Texas and adolescence was in Ohio.  I imagine that people who don't move in the middle of their young lives probably have a stronger feeling of integration, that the places where you have your first kiss or your first job are the same places where you used to play with your friends or shop with your parents.  Just like Riley, I struggled to fit in at my new school, to be excited about the changes in my life.  And just like Riley, I lost pieces of myself along the way.  The friends I left behind disappeared like Bing Bong in the Memory Dump.  Basketball was different, and within a few years I switched from being an athlete to being a band geek.  I lost some of that confidence too, the feeling of belonging, of being home.  It took many years, and a few more moves, for me to find that again.

Then there is the final lesson of Inside Out, the realization that all of one's feelings have merit and purpose, and that Sadness is necessary to move forward.  It felt like I was sad for a full year, overwhelmed and confused and struggling.  I longed to go back, to return to the Lone Star state and my real life.  But that wasn't happening.  Yet it was in that sad state that a new self was born.  I became the sapling of the woman I am today, sarcastic and pensive and loyal and silly.  I made new friends, developed new hobbies, found new places to ride my bike and new ways to express myself.  It wasn't easy, but probably no one feels like it is easy to get older.  And it created something special inside me, a sense of compassion and tenderness towards girls entering 6th grade and experiencing all those changes.

It's amazing how it all works out, isn't it?  How the places where you feel the most pain and challenge become the places where you are most able to help others, how the worst times lead to the best times.    And how home turns out not to be the place you left, but the place where you arrive.

Word of the Year: 2016

For the past year, I've focused on my habits.  I wanted to become a healthier, more productive version of myself.  I think I've succeeded.  I changed calendars with my 6 year old last night, and felt good about ending 2015.  Then I lay in bed, listening to my neighbors set off their second round of fireworks (the first were around 8:30, apparently someone was too impatient to wait for midnight).  And I thought about what word should weave itself through the coming year.

Healthy eating

Something I've learned by changing my habits is VALUE:  the value of a glass of water over a can of Coke, the value of powering my body to run a 5K, the value of organizing my home, the value of creating something rather than consuming it.  As I sought to clean up my eating, I found that I had more energy.  That energy helped me to be more consistent with workouts, and actually following through with my Couch to 5K running program.  The time I spent running allowed me to listen to podcasts and think through ideas, which helped when I sat down to finish writing my second novel.  And I would probably still be procrastinating (instead of writing) if I hadn't joined a Clutter Free group and changed my desk from a general dump to a productive workspace.

Organizing and Unloading

I found that I have enough if I use what I have wisely.  There is enough space in our house (just under 1200 square feet) for a family of five, including 3 active and growing boys if we use the space correctly.  This means throwing away or donating most of the boxes in our basement to create a bike path for the kids to ride through the cold winter months.  It means sorting toys and storing them better.  It meant I finally had to take my clothes out of the closet in the boys' room (which had previously been Chris and my room) so that their stuff could fit and be accessible.  My project for the coming year in this area is going to start by sorting out the part of the master bedroom I didn't get to last year, so that we can reorganize our spare room into a bedroom for Mikey, and finally convert what has been a nursery for the past 8 years into a homework room and office space.  I was amazed with my decluttering project of 2015 at how I just have to convert what is already here into a useable space, instead of browsing real estate listings online and imagining myself in a new house.

Similarly, I wanted to make some changes for my body and overall health.  I had fallen into a pattern of dealing with the stress of caring for young children by eating lots of sugar and chili cheese fries, and yet I felt like I was losing my temper too much and just exhausted by life.  Now, maybe my children aging a few years has also contributed to the peace I've found this past year, but I'm guessing that using relaxation methods like exercise and meditation have also played their part.  So much has changed since I chose to stay home with my baby nearly nine (what?!) years ago.  I can sleep through the night, no one gets their nourishment from my body anymore, and for the first time, all my kids are enrolled in school.  The stop-gap measures I used in the past needed to go, and a new, healthier mom was able to emerge.  I didn't spend a bunch of money to get in shape.  I used a Jillian Michaels DVD ($7, purchased 2 years ago), hand weights ($5, also purchased 2 years ago), a Couch to 5K phone app ($5, purchased several years ago), new running sneakers and a few new shorts/tops (under $100 total).  And then I ate real food, purchased from the same grocery store that sells me Doritos and Coke and Zebra Cakes.  I drank water, which is way cheaper than pop, and vegetables that are less expensive than processed crap.  There's no secret or magic to getting in shape; you just lace up your shoes and get your butt out the door.

Through being more thoughtful and aware, I feel like I was able to be a better mom and wife.  This is good, because my kids are getting old enough to remember things like how I treat them and what we do for fun.  They've always made me more active than I want to be, but this year I felt like I was more present and able to think ahead and prepare for our adventures.  Instead of dreading summer break and bemoaning the days as the kids are stuck on screens, I made a plan of action, daily activities and places we would go to make our summer fun.  We had designated hours for watching TV and playing video games, and the rest of the time was spent playing outside or reading books or creating pictures. There was a time when I could only write when my children were asleep, but now I can get my work done while they're at school (mostly).  I still get angry, I still need to work on what I can control (my reaction), but I definitely feel like I've made progress, like the time I spend with my family has increased in value.

Making memories at the Magic Kingdom

So here's the goal for 2016:  bring value to my life.  Value my own body and mind enough to care for it properly.  Value my family by giving them my best, which includes attention and teaching and creating special memories.  Value my home by making it a place that everyone feels welcome, and making space for what our family needs.  Value my work by giving it time and consistent attention.  Value my community and the world by contributing to what makes it better, whether it is by continuing as a foster parent or possibly getting involved with child welfare in another role, whether it is financial contributions to organizations that are already making a difference or volunteering my time in some way.

How about you?  Do you make New Year's Resolutions or Goals?  Do you have a word for 2016?