Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Ho Ho No

It's Christmas Eve, and no, my kids are NOT excited for Santa to come. Can I tell you how much I wish you would quit asking?

We made a very intentional decision while pregnant the first time that Christmas in our house would be about CHRIST. 

Yes, they know who Santa is. I think they parallel the modern day "Santa" to Mickey Mouse. He's fun and all, but he's "a joke".  They've heard the story of St Nicholas, and think he had some good ideas! They know that each person gets to believe what he/she chooses. They've been walked through what it sounds like to respect someone's beliefs that are different from their own. 

If at some point one of them chooses to believe in Santa, there's not much I can do to stop that. However, they know where Snuggs and I stand. 

It hadn't surprised me or bothered me much until we went to church tonight. At the Christmas Eve service, my children were asked seven separate times if they were excited for Santa to come. Guess how many times anyone asked anything about Jesus? 

NONE!!!  

AT CHURCH! 

It's hard enough to "go against the world" by choosing to celebrate CHRISTmas instead of SANTAmas. I want, so badly, for the questions AT church to be about Jesus. 

Ask them how they shared the love of Christ while we waited for this night.  Ask about our nightly advent readings. Ask how they served another in Christ's image this season. Ask what they are excited to GIVE as a gift. Ask how we will celebrate Jesus' birthday tomorrow. Ask if we have a nativity, if it is to touch or just to look at, if the baby Jesus is there already or if we are waiting for Him. Ask what they sacrified in order to focus more on Him and loving others and less on themselves. Ask if their Daddy gets to be home with us or gets to help other people on Christmas. But, honestly, for the Love of Christ, don't ask my kids if they are excited for Santa in the middle of worship. 


Monday, December 1, 2014

To Protect and Serve: The one in which I call bullshit

I spent a week away from social media. I needed time to sort this out. I needed time to feel less defensive and grow a gentle heart towards those who can never understand my situation. I prayed, I read reports, I asked my husband a million questions, I pondered all the sides, I prayed some more, I wrote, rewrote, deleted and tried again. Here's where I stand today: 

Today, my children are too young to be aware of the happenings in Ferguson, Missouri. Yet, I must prepare myself today, because someday they will no longer be too young. Someday the questions will come flooding out of them, and when that happens it's too late for me to start trying to figure it out. 

I can hear them already. Every time I see the news, every time I read a Facebook post, every time I read an article, every time I overhear a conversation. I hear my children's tiny voices and what they will say when they are old enough to be aware of national events. 

I have sympathy for the momma who is without her son. I have compassion for an entire race of God's creation who feels like they have to fight for their right to basic human respect. I don't pretend to be blind to the fact that racism is real and this world is a sad and fallen place. But, I also can't go along pretending that your police bashing posts have no effect on me. 

I don't know Darren Wilson. I only know what the rest of the world has been told about him by the media. But here's what you may not know. Darren Wilson is my husband. No, not literally. But because I love a Law Enforcement Officer, every single word spoken about Officer Wilson hits my heart as though it's spoken about MY OFFICER. 

MY OFFICER, whom I hug and kiss before whispering, "I love you. Be safe," as he heads out the door every day knowing full well he may never make it back to my arms. 

MY OFFICER, who kisses my babies' booboos when they fall down. The one who snuggles them to sleep on his rare nights off. The one who held my hands and prayed like crazy, and was the perfect source of strength and comfort for me, as I groaned and cried and brought their little bodies into this world. 

MY OFFICER, who tackled a man who was stupid and reckless enough to intentionally light himself on fire. My husband who rolled around with him on the ground until the fool was put out and safe.

MY OFFICER, who bear hugged the guy who was high on bath salts and hell bent on destroying himself and anything in his path. Who called me on his way home and said, "I'm covered in blood, but most of it isn't mine," while I started the shower and turned the washer on hot to attempt to rid his uniform of the damage left behind. My husband, who waited with me for 72 nervous hours for the blood results to come back clearing him of any...well, you can only imagine. 
 
MY OFFICER, who turned around and put his bare hand on an open stab wound to help save a victim of a horrible crime. The love of my life, who didn't say, "Uh, hang on a minute while I run and grab some gloves. Uh, try not to bleed out." 

MY OFFICER, who fought back the tears as he wrote the case notes required of him, taking down the time of death while standing in the back of the ER watching a momma sob because her tiny baby was gone without any explanation at all. 

MY OFFICER, who has worked all hours, all holidays, all horrible circumstances you could possibly imagine, not for his own benefit, but because of the duty to which he has promised. 

I met him on match.com. "TP&S" was his username. "To Protect & Serve." It's who he is. It's every beat of his heart. He leaves his wife and children, whom he is crazy in love with, to go out and serve a world that hates him.  A world that damns him Monday for a traffic stop and calls him Tuesday for a domestic. He does it because he is determined to make the world a better place. 

Yes, there are awful cops out there. Just like there are awful doctors, awful teachers, and awful anything else. Read the statistics and you will see in an instant that the good FAR outweigh the bad. I can't account for any other man, but mine is good. Damn good. I'm telling you, if they were to perform open heart surgery on the man, I would quite literally expect to see gold. His heart is truly that kind. 

I want to tell you to imagine, just for a minute, that it was your husband. Imagine the love of your life stuck inside his car by someone else's body weight against him, being battered, and unable to escape, attempts being made to disarm him, to turn his own weapon against him. Then tell me you wish he would've just sprayed some mace in the guy's eye. Tell me, honestly, that you'd be there cheering through the window, "Honey, be gentle with him!" Go ahead and tell me, and I'll tell you...BULLSHIT. 

I can't speak for Officer Wilson, but I can hope that MY OFFICER will make it home to me. I can hope that whether his offender is black, white, purple, or family, that he will do what he needs to do. I can hope that if someone is battering him, confining him, and attempting to disarm him and use his own weapon to harm him that he will put an end to that nonsense and come home and kiss me. After all, his promise to protect and serve doesn't remove the value from his life. His life holds value, too. 

What about the other case that's not receiving quite as much screen time, the 12 year old Cleveland boy fatally shot by police. We can entertain those ideas, too. Go ahead and imagine your husband asking a male, reported as looking to be about 20 years old, to show his hands and being faced with a gun instead. Did you see that gun? I see weapons everyday and would never have guessed it to be anything besides a handgun. Can you tell me you would want your husband to stop to ask politely if the gun was real? Or perhaps the age of the person wielding it? "Well, since you're only 12, I'm just going to stand here and hope you don't shoot?"  BULLSHIT. 

I want to tell you to imagine, but I realize that you probably can't. So, let me tell you...

He is a good man. Nearly all of them are good men and women. I know. I've read the statistics, and more importantly, they are my friends. I've delivered food to their homes after the birth of a baby, I've laughed at their parties, and cried at their funerals, I've prayed for their safety with their spouse's hand in mine. They've show up at my house when my husband was gone and I needed help, they've cleaned my house when I was too sick to stand. They know my babies nicknames, and their favorite treats. 

They make a promise to protect and serve, and all too often, at the price of their own lives. But that promise is  to be a servant, not a martyr. They WANT to make it home. It's mind boggling to me to live in a world that clearly demonstrates the selfish nature of so many people, and yet it's made out to be inappropriate for my husband to desire to protect his own life. 

And let's not even get started on the fact that when this world isn't so self absorbed to be taking countless "selfies" that they can find a minute to turn their phones around and video record every move an officer makes. We live in a world where a man or woman in uniform is required to make a split second decision in the face of immediate danger, knowing full well the video will be ultra-zoomed and super-slowed to allow all of the nation to nitpick the very hairs in their nose. If you don't have the balls to strap Kevlar to your chest everyday, I wish you'd turn off your damned camera and shut your mouth. But, alas...America, so I know better. 

See, the problem isn't "racism" alone. The problem is hate. When you are hated because of your skin color it's called racism. But , what's it called when you are hated because of your profession? It's called the life of law enforcement. And hate is a learned behavior, one I absolutely refuse to teach my children. 

So, all of this leads me here, to what I will tell my babies when they inevitably need to know, because none if my adult language above will be fit for their ears. 

"Your Daddy is a good man. He made the very best decision he could at the time. I believe in him even when it's hard and unpopular.  He didn't do a "bad thing," but there's a chance that what he did didn't turn out the best way.  Sometimes people make really bad decisions, and even though Daddy tries to help them, sometimes they just keep being mean and nasty. There are so many people in this town who need Daddy's help, that part of his job is making sure he is able to go on tomorrow and help more people. Sometimes that means that someone who is trying to hurt him has to be stopped. If they won't respect his words, he has to use his other tools to do his job. So, we'll go on doing the same thing we always do. We'll pray for God to be with Daddy every breath and every step, because God is in control of this, and He loves your Daddy, and He always does what's right."

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Every Breath and Every Step

I remember it so clearly. We were dating, not yet engaged, but definitely in love.

 We had set up a 45 minute "no panic policy," because being in law enforcement means he often thinks he will be able to make the 9pm check in call all the way up until he gets a crazy dispatch at 8:59. I've always been a worrier, I've always been working on it... But knowing that I needed to table the worry for 45 minutes was good for me, because even a minor damage accident can take that long if people are being a pain.  

So, we hit the 45 minute mark and I tried not to flip out. By 50 minutes I had texted him, "You ok?" I got no response. At the 57 minute mark Snuggs called and blurted out the following; "I'm okay. I'm pursuing some idiot with a shotgun, but I'll call you when I'm done." And he was gone. And I was left sitting on the other end of the line wishing he hadn't called at all. 

A couple of months into dating a cop you only know enough to be dangerous to yourself. My mind raced. "He's out there in the big bad world literally chasing some maniac wielding a shotgun in the friggin dark. He says he's FINE? WHAT THE HECK! I'm just supposed to sit here in my jammies, two hours away, and feel okay about this? Please, God, keep him safe." 

I loved him, but I didn't trust his training, I didn't trust his coworkers, and I was doing my very best at trying to trust God without a full understanding of what that even meant.  Not to mention, right on the edge of engagement, I knew there was no way in the world I could go on without him. I did a lot of holding my breath, literally. 

Flash forward a few years. In 9 days we will celebrate our 5 year wedding anniversary. We have two kids. I love him so much more than I did then, more than I even knew I could. I've learned to trust his training. I've learned to trust his coworkers, and I've learned a lot more about trusting God. 

Now I know I could go on without him. Not that it wouldn't hurt like hell, or that the thought of it doesn't make me tear up and feel like vomiting, but I know I could go on. He has helped me create two children who would simply require that of me. I wonder sometimes if that was part of his child making plan. 

I'm a strong woman in that I am capable of many things, but in loving him, and in his loving me, I've softened and weakened. I need him in a way I never thought I would. I love that. That's exactly how God intended it to be. But that also terrifies me for what my life would look like if he wasn't here with me anymore.  I try not to think about that. It doesn't do anyone an ounce of good. 

I no longer secretly wish he'd turn and run. That doesn't do any good either. It's not a job for him, it's a calling. It's part of who he is in the depths of his being. He wants, with all of his heart, to make this world a better place. When everyone else runs from the risk, LEOs run towards it. So my hope is that he will be strong and push on and catch the dirty crapper. 

Nevertheless, about once a month I get a phone call or text message that still knocks the wind right out of me.  Immediately, I pray. I pray the same prayer that I've prayed every time for the last three or so years. "Lord, be with him every breath and every step." Then, I open my eyes and go on with my life. I go on sweeping crumbs and wiping booties, I go on reading stories with my lap full of littles, I go on breathing, I go on. 

Part of it is that I've learned to trust him, to trust his training, his judgement, his will to make it home. Part of it is that I've learned to trust his backup. I know the faces that go with the names. I know their wives and their kids.  I know who will hold his hand and pray with him if he needs that. I know they want to make it home just as badly as he does, and will do everything in their power to make sure they all stay safe. It really is a brotherhood. Part of it is that I've heard enough stories, and seen enough footage that I've been a bit desensitized to it all. 

But more than any of that, this is what makes the difference: the growth of my faith in God alone. 

Being a Law Enforcement Officer's Wife isn't an easy job. The wife behind the badge. But it's driven me right to where I need to be, in the arms of my Creator. 
 
I don't pray for God to keep him safe anymore. I want him to be safe, always. But, my will is not God's will. God has called him to be a hero, and that comes with a price, sometimes the heftiest price. God is in charge of that, just like He's in charge of everything else. 

I've changed my prayer, and I can't foresee a time when I will stop praying the very same prayer I prayed today. "Lord, be with him every breath and every step." God knows I don't want him to go. I'm not ready for that. But I know that has zero bearing on when God calls him home. So, my hope for him today, and every day is that God would be right there with him. Lord, bless him. Lord, protect him. Lord, guide him. Lord, keep his focus sharp. I could go on and on, but God knows exactly what Snuggs needs far better than I do. So, I keep it simple. I keep it real. 

"Lord, be with him every breath and every step."

And that is enough. It has to be enough.  In Christ, alone, my hope is found. 

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Loving and Look Outing

"Be kind and loving," is a phrase my kids hear ten thousand times a day. It's a constant reminder when patience runs short, siblings interfere, and selfishness rears it's ugly head. They aren't quite old enough to be annoyed by my repetition, but I know that's coming all too soon. 

"Love her and look out for her," is just a more specific version of the first message. "God's given you two jobs regarding your sister; love her and look out for her." She hears the same thing in regards to her brother. Being a sibling can be rough at times, I remember all too well! Cricket is never hesitant to tell me that he doesn't WANT to love her and look out for her for whatever reason, but he knows that it doesn't matter one bit if he wants to or not. He knows that is the expectation, the responsibility given to him by God.

We talk constantly about what that means, how to do it, and what to do when he has failed. 
"Which is more important, your sister or your Legos?" 
"My hands are busy right now and I hear Buttercup crying, why don't you go see if you can help her?" 
"She is upset because of ___, what can we do to make that easier for her?"
"Are you listening and respecting her words?"
And all the same in opposite genders for her ears. 

I love my job, and I wouldn't trade it for anything, but when the 19th round of "Which is more important, your sister or your (insert object they are currently battling over)," is occurring before 10am, it's easy to throw in the towel.  This job is a lot like a scratched up cd. Right in the middle of your favorite song it skips over and over, repeating the same three words 26 times, and then, just when you are ready to give up and skip to the next track, miraculously and without explanation, it continues on to the rest of the song, and you dance and sing along as though you weren't seconds from pulling out your hair. 

3 and a half years of the "kind and loving" schpeal, nearly two years of the "love her and look out for her" stuff, and finally, finally I saw fruit! That sweet, luscious fruit that hangs so heavy on the branch. 

They were playing together under our kitchen table.  I needed to vacuum, and told them that if they had a problem they needed to physically come to me, because I wouldn't be able to hear their words over the vacuum. 

I went about my task, and was nearing completion when I needed to stop to relocate the cord. I could see what they were doing, but I heard him say, "Uh oh, you better go ask Momma for help...wait, maybe I can help you." 

And I held my breath and tiptoed around the corner to peek. He reassembled the object she was working with, looked right up at me, and said, "Momma, that's loving and look outing for her, right?" 

So simple. One tiny little sentence. And I could've just shouted from the roof tops! "YES!!! You DO get it! You understand! GOD IS IN YOUR HEART!" I could've kissed him and cheered and tossed him in the sky, I was so happy. 

"Yeah, Buddy, that's loving her and looking out for her. God's heart is so happy when you do that! You did a great job." 

So, instead of bursting at my seams then, I just keep letting it leak out a few tears at a time whenever I reflect on that moment! 

God is so good. This work he has set before us as mothers is hard because it matters. It matters so very much. Keep on fighting the good fight, mommas. Keep teaching, and leading, and correcting, and guiding, and praying, and repeating it ten thousand times a day, because when they finally bear the fruit that glorifies their maker, your heart will just sing with joy! 

Friday, September 12, 2014

Watch me.

I ran a little bit before becoming a momma. A mile or two a couple of times a week, as many as 5 miles if I was seriously ticked off.  After Cricket was born I did the Couch to 5k program, but mostly found it to be annoying.

I'd been thinking for quite a while about starting again, and our new pup was just the partner I needed to get me going. I started with one mile runs with her, and one day decided to double it and see what happened. I was pleasantly surprised. It was easy. I was hooked. 

After another week or so of pondering, and trying to talk myself out of it, I decided to fess up to Snuggs. 

"Baby, I need to tell you something. I've had it on my mind for a while...like, a year. You're going to think I'm certifiably insane.... (Insert his encouragement to just 'out with it already') I am going to run a half marathon." 

And he said, "That's a really good goal." Which is Snuggs for "Ain't never gonna happen, but I don't wanna be a discourager." 

And just in case I needed an extra bit of motivation, he hit me where it counts. Tell me I can't. Go ahead, I dare ya! Buttercup's tenacity is undoubtedly inherited directly from her momma.  

I knew I could. I already had an incredible role model in Stacey. I knew it was possible, even enjoyable. I mean, she runs flipping MARATHONS. She's basically a celebrity! 

Stacey led some of my training when I started teaching for Head Start. Our friendship happened in my favorite way: no effort required. Not to say we haven't put in effort to maintain it, but it was cake to start it! She's enough like me that I knew I'd really like her in the first five minutes of meeting her. She's just enough ahead of me in child rearing to be able to assure me that the toddler crazies will pass. She loves Jesus. Plus, her husband is a firefighter. And, while you can find plenty of stupid blue vs red line crap if you look for it, to me it just meant that she understood what it means to pray for your husband's safety with all of your being, and everything else that goes along with loving a man dedicated to service...including that stuff about listening to the scanner and eating ice cream alone on Valentine's Day ;) 

Point being, I didn't even realize Stacey's running had been inspiring to me. She's not a bragger. It's her thing that she does for her, and that's hard as a mom, and so respectable. But she loves it, and it's good for her in more ways than one, and she always just keeps going.  Mostly, I thought she was cool mixed with a strong dose of insane...and then I decided to join her type of insanity. So, she was naturally the first person to whom I turned.

Three weeks in, I was setting up my stuff on a Thursday night to prepare for Friday morning's run. 

He said, "What's tomorrow look like?" 

And I started with, "I'm getting up at 6:30 and running 6 miles, and then..." 

And I stopped. That look on his face. That look that said, "You are perhaps the coolest person ever." And he said, "Baby, that's amazing. Good job."

And I felt like a million bucks! 

And then, the next morning, when I got home from my run, he admitted that he was doubtful at first, but that he had been wrong. He said he believed I could do it. He said he was impressed and proud. 

I'll tell you, I'm doing it for me, but having him on my team is an absolutely amazing feeling. 

6 miles still hurts, but 3 miles feels like cake, and that's amazing to me.  I have lots of work and many hours to log before I get my 13.1, but those hours are proving to be the cheapest form of therapy available. 

When I run, I get to be alone, and that's a treat for a mom of small kids. Don't get me wrong, I love them to the moon and back, but it's amazing to remember that my body actually is just that, MINE! When I run, I get time with God. Time to pray, time to listen, time to depend fully on Him when I can't go on, but He pulls me through.  I get to feel good about my body and my health.  I get to be amazed at myself for doing what I thought I couldn't. 

I LOVE when my body overcomes my mind. THAT is my favorite part of this kind of training versus Couch to 5k. It's not about avoiding pain by doing little by little. It's about knowing it's going to hurt and doing it anyway.  It's about actually hurting, hearing your brain tell you to stop, thinking you can't move another step, and then proving yourself wrong. There's something so liberating for me in telling my mind to f-off, and I'm positive this new skill will serve me well in other areas...(I miiiiight be an over thinker who needs to just stop.) 

It's about getting all whiny around mile 4, then remembering that I delivered a 9lb 4oz baby with no medication and that hurt WAY worse than running ever will, and finishing the 6 miles as planned. It's about knowing I can do hard things, and do them well. It's about not having the breath to talk, and somehow screaming out at the top of my lungs, hands raised high, "I lay me down. I'm not my own. I belong to You alone," and feeling that truth with every cell in my body.

And yes, part of it is about coming in the door red and drenched in sweat, and having the love of my life tell me that I'm amazing. That's sort of the icing on the cake! It's good to be loved! 

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Don't Knock

I hate this post, but I have to do it. I've put it off for long enough. I just went back and made some updates to my introduction, and it became clear that I just need to bite the bullet and type it out. 

We are not adopting.  Not now, anyway. 

Turns out that the state doesn't actually care that Snuggs' tumor is benign.  We've been "invited to reapply" after a year with a clear diagnosis. Best case scenario we can get a "clear diagnosis" in February of 2015. Then, if we maintain that through February of 2016, we can start all over again.  That means that we could conceivably be eligible to receive a child sometime around January 2017. 

In January 2017, Cricket will be almost six, and Buttercup will be a new four.  They are currently 3 and a half and almost 2.  I have no idea what that will be like or what our family situation will look like at that point.  A lot can change in that kind of time, especially with young kids. 

We are not hearing this as a "no," but rather as a "wait." Although, we have agreed that we have no timeline in mind right now, and no idea what our process will look like when the time comes. 

What we know is this: 
God doesn't just "unset" a fire in your heart. We still ache daily for the adoption we were praying so heavily over.  We still have hearts wide open for "the baby God has for is that we don't know yet." 

It still hurts. Conversations about the adoption and the changes the tumor brought still cause tension, tears, and strife. 

As such, we've decided that the door isn't closed, but we just aren't going to knock on it until we feel called to do so, again. 

The only "explanation" I can come up with is that the entire process was an exercise in obedience. God said, "Hey you, love orphans. Go now, and do it." And we looked at each other with wide, terrified eyes, and we obeyed. People thought we were crazy for even considering adoption. Our wild Buttercup meant that I hadn't slept more than 3 hours in about a year when we "made the decision."  But, like I said, God doesn't "unset" a fire in the heart.  

I mean, if we are being real, the whole process started because I was trying to find a way to grow a love for the homeless in our community, and guide my husband to so the same.  I was going in ready to stir in the soup kitchen, and came out ready to file adoption paperwork. That's pretty crazy, really. But we felt called, and we obeyed. 

Also, in the name of full disclosure, let me tell you that I am working to resolve some serious bitterness in my heart about this whole mess. In a sentence, it is this: "He wears Kevlar every day because he could be shot at any given second, and they won't let us love a baby because he has a benign tumor." 

It makes me mad. It doesn't seem right, just, or good. I hate it. I hate a system that says that this health "problem" (which, for the record, his health has been vastly improved by finding and treating it) is spelled t.u.m.o.r. and that raises a red flag in a state system, and that red flag puts up a two year pause, and that two year pause means that some little one is not receiving the love that we were so ready to give.

And, in the name of full disclosure, "I'm working on it," means that I'm praying for God to soften my heart towards a mess of injustices, because a hard heart won't do anyone any good. 

That is all. Man, it sucks. 

Saturday, August 30, 2014

One Small Step

I remember it like it was yesterday. This time last year I read an online newspaper article about a local family whose daughter had Prader Willi Syndrome.  "Hmm," I thought, "never heard of it, but that sounds tricky...I bet that's hard for her parents. I wonder if she can understand what she's dealing with at such a young age. That name sounds familiar. Hmm." Although I thought about that article and that family off and on for several months, it wasn't in any sort of deep way. More like, "Wait, is it Prader Willi or Willi Prader? Maybe it was named after a guy name William." And "Lillian, that's a name I considered for my future kids when I was younger. I wonder if they call her Lily." 

They do call her Lily. Here's how I know: 

I came home every Friday for weeks telling Snuggs about Sarah and how awesome she was, how much I was enjoying learning from her. I so admired the way she seemed to be leading by example in a way that wasn't at all intimidating. Humility and grace oozed from her as she guided me ever so gently to allow God to push me past my comfort level. I started that Bible study with my own completely different agenda, and through the grace of God, the leading of the Spirit, and Sarah there holding my hand, I came out of it ready to make a radical change for God's kingdom. Granted, that didn't end up the way I thought it would either, but you know what they say about telling God your plans! I'm positive He gets a good  chuckle out of me! 

At the same time, Cricket was coming home daily telling me about Eric. He loved playing with Eric, talking to Eric, eating snack with Eric. And about halfway through the semester I saw Eric and his mom at pickup. His mom was Sarah. "How cool is that! Cricket loves this kid with the awesome, on fire for God momma! Way to pick 'em, son!" 

Through various avenues, we got to know Eric and his mom a little better over the course of the year, growing to like them ever more. They are good people, just really deep down Godly people. The kind you can't help but love. 

I was starting to gather tidbits here and there that had me wondering about Sarah's daughter. Comments in Bible study about challenges at home, comments at preschool pickup about therapy schedules, but I certainly hadn't put it together yet. 

Then it happened, one day I was early for pickup and I couldn't help but grin as I watched a sweet little girl bounce meanderingly down the hallway. She rounded the corner with some sweet giggles, which faded quickly as she saw an unfamiliar face. I saw Sarah coming behind her and was filled with excitement to get to know more of this sweet family. 

They sat on the floor across the hallway, and I realized quickly that this wasn't going to be a traditional get to know you! The little girl was uncertain and hesitant, but the sweetness glowing from her eyes was as thick as the honeysuckle in July. She leaned in to her momma, barely glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. I waved and smiled. I strained my ear in an attempt to hear the conversation between mother and child. I only heard enough to catch the girl's name. Lily. 

I didn't put it all together right away. Then I got an email from Sarah regarding something about Bible study, and I realized that her last name sounded strangely familiar. Then, I googled, I mean...what else does a befuddled momma do? Finally, I put it all together. My first thought, "How awesome is our God? That faith, that so true you can see to her core faith. He made Sarah perfectly for that little girl. He placed Lily perfectly in Sarah's care. I guess maybe He knows what He's doing with me as a mom, too, then!" (I was in a pretty rough place with Buttercup at this point.) 

And several months later, here's where we find ourselves:

Over the summer Cricket went to Eric's birthday party and held hands with Lily a large percentage of the time. The party was at a bounce house facility. You know, climbing, jumping, sliding. Not exactly hand holding activities. He may be a little smitten.  He's audibly pondered making her his wife someday...

Snuggs and I stopped by their house briefly a few weeks ago and Lily spoke more words to me than I'd ever heard her say previously. She kindly informed me that she was ready for me to leave, but that Snuggs was going to stay with her. Isn't that ALWAYS the way! ;)

Cricket is in absolute agony that Eric isn't in his class this year. He is coping by creating an artistic rendering of Eric's family farm every. single. day. Three weeks of preschool and counting...  There are variations, "The cows on Eric's farm." "A party at Eric's farm." "The hayride at Eric's farm." 

Lily's family is in the midst of a yearly fundraiser for Prader Willi research.  I suggested to Snuggs that I was feeling called to contribute. We discussed an amount, and I sent him the information. About a week later he informed me that he had doubled our discussed amount, because God is moving in my husband's heart <3

Previously, our only discussion with Cricket regarding Lily's differences was in response to his concern that she "Doesn't talk too good." We talked with him about how God creates each of us with different strengths and weaknesses. He remembered that Lily was really good at climbing! (I laughed, remembering Sarah telling me how Lily loves the sensation of falling just like Buttercup!) He went on to note that she is so kind! 

But, after making our donation, we felt that it was important to discuss a bit further with our son. It amazes me that these "difficult" conversations always take the same pattern. I go in confident that it will be easy, that I can handle it. Midway through my second sentence I become stricken with how innocent and inexperienced he is, how he has absolutely no way to conceive of the harsh realities of this world. I become completely terrified about how to prepare him, how to fill him in, how to break it to him that the world isn't all bubbles and twirly slides. Then, he responds with such a beautiful simplicity that I am completely renewed. I realize that I don't have to teach him the whole story today, and that the little part he is ready for is totally manageable. Finally, he concludes the conversation with some solid, completely convincing statement about how he's simply going to do something about it. And my heart just oozes with love for this kid, with his heart of gold, that God gave to ME! 

So, it went like this:
Me: "You remember how you noticed that sometimes it's hard to understand Lily's words? How we talked about how her strengths are different from yours? Well, Lily's body works a little bit differently, and there are some doctors that are working hard to try to help Lily's body and other kids like her. Do you understand?" 
Cricket: "Yeah, momma, I love Lily. She's a great climber. Is she ok?"
Me: "Yeah, buddy. She's ok! But her momma and daddy are asking some of their friends to give some money to the doctors to try to help Lily's body work even better. And Momma and Daddy decided that we did want to help, so we gave some of our money to help the doctors learn more about helping her body." 
Cricket: "Well, I have money to help, too!"
Me: "Yeah, buddy, I wanted to ask you about that...

And he ended up emptying his "Give" jar, which had 13 weeks worth of earnings in it. 

Cricket: "I wanna give it ALL to Lily!" 

I'm not sure yet, where this story goes. I don't think we've learned all of the lessons from it yet. 

I know that one year ago, when I read that article, I had no idea how our paths would cross. 

I know that Cricket loves "exceptional" Lily just the same way he loves her "typical" brother, but that in noticing her differences, he is providing us with an opportunity to pave the pathways for how he views differences for the rest of his life. Dear God, that's a terrifyingly huge responsibility. 

I know that we are doing our very best to teach him to love, love, love like Jesus.  That we are making every effort to validate his noticing that differences exist, and to normalize that for him.  

I know that I've been taught about Christian giving, and about not letting the left hand know what the right hand does and such, and I know that the rules are totally different when you are working to raise Godly kids. That somehow, I need to explain the deeds of my right hand to my growing kids behind the back of my left hand...or something like that. 

I took a video of Cricket explaining his $3.90 donation and sent it to Sarah. I don't know if she shared it with Lily. I don't know if that's the right thing, because I'm not in their shoes. I sent it in spite of feeling a bit nervous. But I sent it anyway, because regardless of the ways it could conceivably be misconstrued, I know that God honors a humble heart, and there's not much sweeter than my son dumping out his "Give" jar just because he loves her daughter, and that sweet girl deserves to feel that love!  

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

Graduation Sunday

This past Sunday marked a time of celebration in our congregation.  The high school graduates of 2014 stood before us as we prayed over them. They led worship, played instruments and sang their hearts out. 

I was completely taken aback. I didn't expect to have an emotional reaction to such a thing, but I was in tears. For the first time in my life, I looked at high school seniors and saw babies, more precisely MY babies. 

Firstly, when did I get so old? 

Secondly, my kids are going to be in this "graduating" position waaaay too soon. I know it. I don't fear it, or dread it, but it just makes me ache. It makes me ache for all of the things I won't remember, things I haven't had the time or foresight to write down. It makes me ache for the things I will remember. For the way his baby knuckles had their own little dimples. For the way she uses a possessive apostrophe when she calls out "MY'S!"

But third, and most significantly, it hit me just how quickly they change from being mostly mine to mostly their own. It is shocking, beautiful, and completely heart wrenching. 

It was the young man in the trio that did me in. He was tall and strong, well on his way to manhood, but his face was still that sweet baby round. Maybe it was because my little guy already loves to sing to his Lord, but when that kid on stage opened his mouth, I was expecting to hear a baby's voice. Squeaky, a little off key, and a bit behind the tempo. But that's, of course,  not what I heard. 

And I was absolutely done for. 
The tears streamed. 

Here was this kid, maybe 18 (close anyway) pouring his heart out and LEADING the congregation in musical worship. If the next 15 go anywhere near the speed of these first three years, that could be my sweet son in about half the blink of an eye. My son, tall and strong. My son, with a man's voice. My son, leading others in worship. My son, my little round faced three year old baby. 

Lord, help me. Help me point them to you every single time. Help me to be fully present. Help me to soak in these moments with full appreciation, and help me to be ready to let them fly. 

Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Let's Be Honest

I don't know where to go from here. How do I follow the post about my husband's tumor? How do I explain that everything I intended to blog about just a few months ago is completely different now. I've been putting off posting because I feel so stuck. I feel like there are a million things that "need to be addressed" regarding our situation. But I don't have the explanations, the clarity of mind, or even the energy to do so appropriately. 

So, I will leave it at this: 
I am still a Christian LEOW Momma on a budget. Where I go next with this blog is just a shot in the dark. Don't hold your breath.

Monday, March 17, 2014

He's not pregnant.

So, when you start a new blog, the way to get followers is to post regularly and predictably, so I've been told.  I guess it's a good thing I wasn't banking on growing a huge following.  I've been gone for a while, and I'd like to fill you in.

To "make a long story short" I'll summarize the back story by just saying that Snuggs had been having some minor, but curious and concerning health issues that were sort of stacking up over our five years together.  We tried to get answers from our general care provider, but were pretty much shut down.  Our main concerns began with inexplicable weight gain and inability to lose any weight at all, despite significant lifestyle changes.  When he asked for a blood workup to check thyroid and metabolic hormones, our former care provider suggested he download a fitness app onto his smartphone.  Notice, I said former care provider.

After the first visit with our new care provider, Snuggs was sent for blood work.  The results that came back were concerning to our doctor, and she needed some follow up information from additional blood work before she could be certain what was going on.  A few days later she called Snuggs in to go over the results.  Due to some scheduling conflicts, it just didn't work for me to go with him.

When he came home, he set the lab results on the counter and told me that he had to run to the restroom, but would be right back to talk to me about what the doctor had said.  I picked up the papers and started reading through them.  I have absolutely zero medical background, but I have birthed two babies and worked as a birth doula for nearly a dozen families.  So, I was shocked to see lab results that made it look like my husband was pregnant, I'm talking third trimester hormone levels.  The more I read, the more I laughed.  I was puzzled, and half expecting him to come around the corner and tell me when he was due.  I had several really bizarre thoughts running through my head regarding the pending adoption, my "pregnant" husband, and just how strange God's sense of humor is.

When he came back in the room I was chuckling.  It wasn't full on laughter, because I was nervous, but mostly I was expecting him to say something relatively insignificant and strange enough to be a bit comical.  I asked him, "Are you going to tell me you're pregnant?" and he looked at me like I was seventy-five types of stupid.

"No.  I'm not pregnant.  But I'm glad you seem to be taking this well so far.  Come here."

And he stood me in front of him around the corner of our kitchen where Cricket, watching a show on the tablet around the corner wouldn't see me.  (Thankfully Buttercup was napping.)

He put his hands on my shoulders.  And I held my breath, because I could just barely sense something "off" in my steady as stone cop.

"Babe, the doctor is pretty sure I have a brain tumor."

And then

 I

couldn't

breathe.








Well, I could breathe in, but not out.

So I inhaled these short, stuck feeling breaths,

and I buried my head in his chest, and I held on for dear life.

I squeaked the tiniest squeaks as I wrestled to keep the pain contained enough that I wouldn't terrify my son.

And this repeated in my mind over and over:

"GOD, I LOVE HIM.  I NEED HIM.  I NEEEEEEED HIM"

Snuggs said, "Do you want me to finish?"

I shook my head no, and he let me stay buried in his chest a while longer.  Then he pulled me back enough to be able to see my face, looked at me, and said, "She says it's probably benign."

...like that was supposed to bring me some big relief...

I walked out the door to the garage and vomited.

He told me he didn't know what to do.

"You ask the God who made every cell in your body to heal you completely.  You beg Him.  And after you are done with that, you do it again, and again, and again, with everything you have." I said.

Then Snuggs went to the back yard and started "raking leaves," which was really just moving around some stray foliage at the back end of our yard because he had absolutely no idea what to do with himself.

I got on the phone, immediately.  I called my Christian Momma Mentor and cried, and she prayed with me right there on the phone.  I called my girlfriends.  I told them, through tears, that I had no idea what we were dealing with, but that I knew that every minute without people praying for him was time wasted.  I snorted, and sobbed, and I'm sure I said stupid things that I don't even begin to remember.

And after I had called every single believing friend I have, I went to find my husband, still "raking leaves." And I held him, and I told him it was going to be alright.  I didn't know how, but that it would all be okay, because it just HAD to be okay.

We decided we had to "do something" to get our minds off of the tumor as much as possible.  We knew that otherwise we would just sit around staring at each other and crying while trying to take care of our kids.  We went to the local bounce house fun zone thingy, and had a lot of laughs with our kids.  We were there for a couple of hours, and it was good.

My dad was already scheduled to come that evening because of a meeting we had scheduled regarding the adoption.  Except, instead we went for an MRI of Snuggs' head.

If you've never had or sat in on an MRI, whoa.  They are LOUD.  Even with high intensity earplugs they are LOUD.  We went through the motions and the stuffed my hulking husband into this tiny tube and started looking at his brain.  He was nervous about the procedure, physically uncomfortable, and scared out of his mind about what they would find.  I had no idea that he could see me.  I bowed my head low and prayed.  I asked God for a miracle.  I asked Him to remove the tumor from Snuggs' brain such that when they reviewed the images from the beginning of the MRI compared to the end of the MRI that they would be in disbelief because the tumor had vanished.  I cried.  I looked around at all of the random stupid crap in the room.  I squirmed in my uncomfortable chair.  I cried again.  I prayed some more.  I had NO IDEA he could see me.

He told me afterwards that the only thing that kept him from panicking was that there was a teeny mirror inside and he could just see me from the shoulders up.  I told him, jokingly, that it was a good thing I hadn't been picking my nose.  But I felt regret.  Had I known he could see me I would've been performing for him, sort of.  I would've been doing what I thought he needed.  I would've been looking in his direction consistently, faking a look of peace and confidence, I don't know...NOT doing what I had been doing.  But, I guess the reality of the matter is that in seeing what he did see instead of what I would've performed for him, he got the truth.  The raw, deep love, unmasked emotion, pleading for God to change this for us, and I guess there's got to be beauty in that...somewhere.

We were told that we would hear from our doctor the next morning.

We went home and waited.

We waited.  The minutes ticked by at an agonizingly slow pace.  We prayed.  We called more friends and begged for them to join us in prayer.  Noon came and passed.  We called the office several times and got no answer.  Snuggs WENT TO FREAKING WORK.  He couldn't stand waiting and just sitting around thinking about it, so he left me to do that on my own.  What a butthead.

As office hours approached an end, I called again several times, and again received no answer.

I could've punched the doctor in the face.  I was livid, scared, hurt, protective, out of my ever loving mind.

The next day they called with the report that it was, in fact, just what they thought it would be.

Lots of reading, several appointments, and one neurologist later, we have this to say:

Somehow, having a brain tumor can really be "not that big of a deal."

Of all of the brain tumors to have, this is the one you want.  It's not even an *actual* BRAIN tumor, but rather a pituitary tumor.  Chances are that IF we even need to treat the tumor itself, that will be done with medication.

In the mean time, we are treating the hormone imbalances caused by the tumor, and slowing down the pace of life quite a bit.

The slowing down is partially to compensate for Snuggs' lethargy, but mostly because this sort of thing really makes you re-evaluate and spend time on what actually matters.


For us, right now, Dave Ramsey doesn't actually matter.  What matters is tickle fights, and family walks, and date night, and building awesome train tracks, and reading books with laps full of babies and lots of funny voices, and prayers, and hugs, and lots of goodnight kisses.









Sunday, February 16, 2014

Courting

Feeling mushy.  You've been warned.

Two nights ago we had our first real Valentine's Day date ever.  As in, he wasn't on duty, no children were in attendance, and we were at an actual restaurant on the actual day of the actual holiday.  AMAZING.

That date has caused a series of flashbacks of our story, of how we came to be.  So, here it is:

By many standards we appeared to play a game of "fools rush in," when we met March 28th and married October 24th, but outward appearances can be awfully deceiving, no?

We had both been through several relationships of various "seriousness" in our college years, and learned exactly what we did not want. Snuggs came to our relationship with the notion that he might be a really good partner for a lady who already had a kid or two.  (He's right, he would've been awesome at that.)  I came to our relationship feeling completely "over" relationships and determined to "date like a guy" and not get emotionally involved.  So much so, that I actually had a lunch date with another man on the same day that I met Snuggs for the first time on a dinner date.

Many people are surprised to learn that we met through match.com.  We were living about two hours away from each other, and though we would learn later that we had some common contacts that could've eventually landed us in the same room, it was doubtful that we ever would've ended up together if not for internet dating.  That said, I'm not endorsing, or even encouraging the use of match.com.  I had somewhere in the range of 150 dates through that site before I met the love of my life.  I don't think match.com has anything to do with why we've "lasted."

I don't remember much of the first emails we sent back and forth, but I can recall every detail of our early phone conversations like they were just yesterday.  Those handful of calls before our first date are treasures in my heart.  I'll never forget imagining him in my mind, trying to draw conclusions from every note of his voice, but even more than that I remember the constant laughter.  Talking to Snuggs was easy from the beginning, like talking to someone I'd always known, and he knew exactly how to make me smile and laugh countless times in any conversation.

While I liked talking to him on the phone, I'll admit I was awfully doubtful going in to our first date.  I'd had some less than desirable experiences with police officers who thought that their badges entitled them to rule the world.  I honestly thought, "THIS will never work.  He's a cop.  He's going to be a hypocritical self absorbed jerk."  It's a good thing I was only in it for the purpose of "dating like a guy," otherwise I likely wouldn't have shown up.

I pulled up to Red Lobster and saw him waiting at the door.  "Wow, he really IS bald!"  I don't know why I was shocked, I had seen a picture or two.  I guess you just don't expect a man who is barely twenty to actually be THAT bald.  He started the conversation by telling me that he had bought me roses, which his dog had eaten, and that because he was upset with his dog and put the dog on the porch, someone came by his house and stole his beloved dog.  I didn't know whether to run, laugh, or cry.  I don't even like roses-AT ALL.  At that point I was pretty much holding my breath and hoping things would get better.  We sat down and within moments he ordered nearly every simple carbohydrate on the menu.  No salad?  No side of veggies?  TWO varieties of potatoes on the same plate?  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  I can't do this.  Just as I was beginning to enter fight or flight mode he busts out the following phrase, "Yeah, I'm a pretty confident kind of guy."  STICK A FORK IN ME, I WAS DOOOOOONE.  SO DONE.

Except, somehow I stayed.  Somehow I knew there was good in him, and I don't mean that as in...way down in a deep little corner there's a sliver of hope.  I mean, I could see the heart of pure gold shining through this man in front of me.  I had hope, enough hope to get me through dinner, and so I stayed.  By the end of dinner my hope had grown to interest, and I agreed to extend the date to catch a band at a bar nearby.  By the time he took me back to my car my interest had grown to the tiniest little flutter, and I wasn't ready to give up.  (He reportedly called his sister at this point and informed her that I was "the one." ...WHAT?)

We spent the next three days talking A LOT on the phone, and I began to fall.  By the time he came to my town three days later, I had decided that I was busting out the big guns, and took him to a sweet, quaint, perfect little winery.  He hates wine.  Fortunately the conversation was enough. We were walking the grounds of the winery when I felt it.  It made me panic.  The urge to kiss him.  I felt like I could throw up all over the place.  Evidently that's when you know you've got a winner.  I didn't do it.  I couldn't do it.  So I just kept on, feeling ill as a result of the attraction churning around inside of me.  We went to the mall, of all places, because the guy supposedly needed some new pants.  He danced and sang in the dressing room and I was hooked.  When I look back, that was the moment I knew I didn't want to let him go.  Not that all it took to catch me was a little song and dance, but rather, that was the moment that I knew that all of the other stuff I had learned about him already was genuine, and I was in.  He drove me to my car and as we were saying goodbye, I did it.  I leaned in and puckered up and closed my eyes.  And...and...and...nothing.  Those two seconds seemed like forever, and then he said, "Can I kiss you?" (DUH!)  I didn't know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or bust out in laughter, but I did neither, and instead got my kiss!

Three days after our second date we had a third date, a REAL kiss, and I went home and wrote him a letter that I would give him on our wedding day telling him that I knew without a doubt that he would be my husband.  I was right.  I'm always right ;)

And he is...my husband.  We've been together for almost five years.  And I was completely shocked while we were on our Valentine's Day date.  The man is hilarious, and I had somehow forgotten that, or rather, lost track of it.  It's hard to crack jokes when you're juggling children, and budgets, and night shifts that turn in to day shifts that were supposed to be afternoon shifts that end up being canceled, rescheduled, overtime with "schedule adjust" for pay.  It's hard to catch jokes when you're sorting laundry, and cleaning spitup, and wiping poopy bottoms, and such.

But two days ago it felt like we were courting.  It wasn't a fancy date, we actually went to a local pizzaria.  But we weren't in a rush, we had up to three and a half hours of childcare lined up, and after dinner we didn't get up.  We sat.  We talked.  And he reminded me of just how witty he is, how silly he is, and how much he loves me for just me.  Not because I'm his wife, or the mother of his children, or the chef, laundress, or housekeeper.  He just loves ME.  He loved me before I was any of those things, and he loves me still, and he loves me more.

Marriage is hard.  Even our really good marriage is hard.  But it is good, so, so good.  Though we both love each other for just the people we are, the people we met on that blind date at Red Lobster, our love has grown, developed, strengthened, and matured as we've moved through these last five years.

It still amazes me every time I think about how wise he was when he chose the song for our first dance.

Brad Paisley's "Then" has been the truest representation of our marriage I could ever have asked for.

"We've come so far since that day, and I thought I loved you then."  

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Blasted Can Opener-January $ Update

I had hoped Snuggs would write this portion, but as we are nine days into February, and he hasn't had a spare minute due to over time, work details, ceremonies, and a promotion, I figured I'd better just go ahead and get it taken care of.

We paid almost $2500 extra on our cars in January.

"EXTRA"

Someone asked me if we have that kind of "fluff" in our budget.  The answer is definitely not.  We have usually been able to pay a bit extra on our cars, one or two hundred dollars, perhaps, but not like this.

This can be attributed to a four main factors, I believe.

1)The ding.dang.dong.Dave Ramsey budget.  I don't like it.  It drives me nuts.  It works.  Plain and simple.

2)Snuggs working several over time shifts.  There's a lot of demand in our town for additional security.  He has hung out in the camera room at the local grocery store, walked the floors of a nearby church when the sprinkler system was down and requiring 24/7 supervision, and other random "security" tasks.  If you can dream it up, he's probably worked it as over time.

3)Business is booming.  Our small "mom and pop" family business just keeps growing.  Granted, it's not a "big money" business.  We earn $30-$50 per client.  However, in the first seven days of January we brought in $1200.  That helps.

4)God.  We've written down every single penny spent in January, and it just doesn't really make sense.  The numbers don't "add up" exactly.  It's amazing to hear my husband say, "I can see so clearly that when I bless others, God blesses me."  And that is so, so true.

As much as I don't like the day to day of the budget situation, I love the end product.  I am a saver, by nature.  It's not that I am just yearning to blow a bunch of cash.  The biggest struggle I have is using self restraint when there is something that we actually NEED, and can truly afford, except, it's not "in the budget."

Are you ready for my super lame, but totally real life example?  I don't think Snuggs will ever let me live down the "can opener debacle" of the first month of our final debt payoff extravaganza.  Here's the thing, I don't open that many cans.  We eat three items that come out of cans.  I probably open less than ten cans a month.  But, for some reason we've been going through can openers like hot cakes in the last six months.  I've tried every variety, every price point, and it doesn't seem to matter.  Either I am unusually aggressive with my can opening techniques, or can openers are just junk.

Regardless, we were in the last week of January, and a lot of my grocery budget was gone.  That's prime time to start using the "shelf stable" canned goods that I have stored in my pantry.  Except then the stupid can opener broke.  I knew that we would need the last few dollars from our "grocery budget" for produce that last week.  Our "household" budget had been maxed out because I found an amazing deal on a really great car seat for the baby we are waiting for.  So, I didn't really want to spend the last of my grocery money that I'd reserved for fresh produce on a stupid can opener, and I miiiiiiight be just a teeeeeny bit stubborn.  No way, no how was I buying a stupid can opener instead of apples and oranges.  Nope, NOT DOING IT.  And this led to a slightly heated discussion with Snuggs.

I will admit, I still don't get it.  I don't understand WHY IN THE WORLD it matters if the $3 can opener purchase takes place January 31st on a maxed out budget, or February 1st on a wide open budget, because the thing is, that the budget is only on paper.  We had the extra $3 in the bank on the 31st.  It's sort of a mind game living on a "budget" that is set up to use substantially less than what is available because you are paying off debt.  I'm not saying it's bad, I really love paying off debt.  What I don't love is not being able to open any cans the last week of January because the three dollars that's sitting in the bank is somehow "forbidden" until we flip the calendar page.  Lame.  Lame.  Lame.

Whatever.  I did it.  I survived the last week of January without a can opener, though I did make one desperate trip to borrow the neighbor's.  February 1st, you better believe I bought a can opener.  And, I will admit, I am strongly considering discontinuing our use of canned goods altogether.  I've thought about it before because of the issues with chemicals in the metal, but what's going to push me over the edge is likely the desire to be freed from dependence on a stupid, crappy, junk tool to open the vessel that contains my "end of budget" food.

Yes, I am THAT stubborn.  Or "tenacious", as we like to call Buttercup.  It somehow sounds better that way.

Saturday, January 25, 2014

pencil Him in

Several people have started asking complicated questions, or simply asking if we are, in fact, completely out of our minds.  

We've been told that our lives are "so hard already," or "hard enough," or even "too complicated."

We're breaking the "traditional" way of doing things.  Our "timeline" won't plot out to be nice and neat.

Our diet is "so restricting and complicated," our schedule is "so unpredictable," our moves are "so confusing," our sleep situation (or lack thereof) is "exhausting to even think about."  

It's odd, you know, because I don't think my life is that rough.  Yes, we have had rough patches.  Particularly the gestation and extended "fourth trimester" of Buttercup had me wondering, many times, if we could actually survive another day.  I promise you that we would not have survived without many helpers that served us as the Hands of Christ.  But, we're past that now.  Life isn't in "crisis" on the day to day.  

So, to the dear friend who had the guts (and I use that term respectfully, I really was impressed and not at all offended) to ask "What makes you think NOW is the right time?"  My answer was honest, but it was also on the spot.  Now that I've had time to let your question marinate some, here's what I wish I would've said:

I don't.  

I don't think "now" is the right time, because I don't think there is any "right time" other than when God decides to move.  

Yes, I will lose some more sleep, and I am already so sleepy, but I AM NOT WEARY.

I didn't just get some crazy whim that we should adopt and decide to go with it.  I'm telling you, in the truest form of the words, GOD MOVED ME.  I have only experienced this type of closeness with the Lord on one other occasion, coincidentally enough, during childbirth.  

Furthermore, I waited.  I said nothing.  I was afraid to breathe.  I prayed and prayed for a different answer. I actually asked God to make this fire for orphans go away.  THIS WAS NOT MY PLAN, LORD!  I was aimed at helping the homeless.  That was on my radar.  That seemed "manageable."

But here's the thing, being a Christian means being obedient to the Lord, even when...(fill in the blank with ANYTHING).

I think He's completely insane.  COMPLETELY INSANE.  I do not know how I will have the energy, skills, or sanity to parent three young children.  All I know is that He has led us to do just that.  And, as my dearest friend always reminds me, "He doesn't call the equipped, He equips the called."  

I'm not afraid.  I'm not worried.  I'm amused, mind blown, and waiting. I am faithful that God will give me the capacity to manage three young children with love and grace that are an extension of Him.  

God doesn't call me up and say, "Hey there, Momma Snuggs, I've got a big huge crazy plan for you, so when can you pencil me in?"  Nope...doesn't work like that at all.  It's more like, "LOVE ORPHANS.  MOVE NOW.  I. MEAN. IT."  

And I feel just like a toddler, because I've tried to focus really hard on something else and pretend I don't hear Him.  I've tried to run, and even hide.  I've tried lying on the floor kicking and screaming, "GO AWAY!!!" But He doesn't actually care.  He doesn't care if my finances aren't precisely in order.  He doesn't care if my house is a mess, or even in complete transition.  He doesn't care if three car seats are going to be REALLY SNUG across the back seat of Momma Snuggs car.  He doesn't say, " I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. (unless Momma Snuggs is in the middle of relocating.) John 14:18 or "Bring my sons from afar   and my daughters from the ends of the earth (unless Momma Snuggs car will be too crowded.) Isaiah 43:6b. 

I know we look insane.  I know we sound insane.  I know there are lots of people who plan/dream of adoption for years before actually doing it.  I know we are obeying a call, and obedience, in most forms, is insane by modern standards.  I don't know how it will all work out, other than to say that it will be honoring to God, and full of love.

I pray that when I am in the midst of parenting three children, covered in snot, spitup, and finger paint, tired, disorganized, running out of patience, and stopping right in the middle of whatever we are doing to bow our heads and pray for safety for whoever is driving that "weeooh" that we hear the sirens from, that you will look at me with the very same look in your eyes and say, "Oh, I get it now.  I see the love of Christ pouring in to your family.  God is good, CRAZY good."

Home Hoppers

From the outside, I know we must appear to be completely nuts.  As if adopting while we already have two under three isn't enough, here's the housing situation...

We own a home.  We have had it on the market twice, rented it out once, and are preparing to move out yet again in July.  What's crazier is that we have nothing against our home.  I would go as far as to say, I actually really like it.

We initially listed our home mostly due to concerns about major changes for the surrounding area.  A couple of months in to the listing we had someone ask to rent it, so we moved out and they moved in for the last several months of the listing contract.  During that time Snuggs served as a Courtesy Officer in an apartment complex and we got an AMAZING deal on rent there.  It wasn't a great place to live.  Just imagine what would cause us to create the word "cricketfrogs."  Better yet, imagine me, 8 months pregnant, chasing said "cricketfrogs."  It was less than desirable, but financially it really benefited our family.  We paid off A LOT of debt, and moved back into our home 7 months later with only our car payments left to pay off.  We also decided, at that time that selling our home simply wasn't going to happen, and resolved to just make the best of whatever changes were to come.

Within about two months of moving back in, we began to understand a lot more about Buttercup's needs.  We actually used our master bath as a nursery for several months because it was the quietest place in the house.  She can not stand the sound of white noise, and hears EVERYTHING, so getting her as far away as possible from all of the household sounds was worth the loss of use of a bathroom for a while.  Over time, due mostly to her sound sensitivities, we have discovered that this house is really just not the best situation for our family.  Pair that with the desire to add another child, and we are motivated, once again to change the situation.

We just concluded another listing period, only to have the house not sell yet again.  We have found a family that is committed to renting our home for three years, at a minimum.  So, with everyone thinking we are totally wacko, we plan to move in to an apartment again.  Snuggs will work as a Courtesy Officer yet again, though the financial benefits aren't quite as extreme.  However, the exchange is that it is a MUCH nicer complex, and we will still be cutting our "housing" expenses in half with no "cricketfrogs" to chase.

The plan is to completely pay off our two relatively new Priuses (Priui?) by the end of 2014.  Yes, we are a Dave Ramsey family.  Yes, we have two relatively new, relatively nice cars.  The explanation being that we run a family business that is dependent upon reliable and fuel efficient travel, and as silly as it may sound, the way our vehicles look really does matter to our clients.  It's a hefty hunk of change, but we are praying that God will provide the means for us to do this.  As soon as the cars are paid off we will begin saving for our down payment on a home.  We plan to have 20% down in order to avoid paying PMI.

All of that said, we don't really know what we will do with the home that we currently own after the renters term is completed.  It is doubtful that we will move back in, although it isn't completely ruled out.  If we are to move back in, we will do some MAJOR renovations to make the home more appropriate for our family, especially Buttercup's sound sensitivity.  It is more likely that we will try to continue renting it out, and if we can't we will try to sell it, again. (For the record, being a landlord(ess) was NEVER on my radar for "life plans.")

It's odd, to be "grown ups" and have such a variable housing situation.  It's odd to own a house that we like, but also can't really stand because it torments our child.  It's odd to have a "plan" knowing full well that it probably won't go that way at all.  We've had enough "plans" at this point to know that we shouldn't put much stock in them.

What we do know, without a doubt, is that God will provide for our needs; that we are commanded not to worry about tomorrow.  We know that all of the "stuff" doesn't really matter at all, as long as we have each other and our God.  But, I will admit that all of the funny looks from our friends, followed by even more intimidating lines of questioning, do make me feel like we must surely be off of our rockers.

Thursday, January 16, 2014

Insane In The Membrane

Today marked the official start of our adoption process, though the heart work began months ago.  Today a case worker came to our home, answered our questions, walked us through the process, and left us with a mountain of paperwork.  Today it became as official as it will be until we actual welcome a new person in to our home.  We are adopting.

Before meeting Snuggs, I had thought in that dreamy "someday" way that I might adopt when I "grew up".  Then we met and married and agreed from the get go that two kids was right for us.  Cricket was a cake walk.  I had some minor blood pressure issues in the last couple of weeks of his pregnancy, which ultimately led to a very minimal intervention induction.  He was an "easy" baby, and we conceived Buttercup a week before his first birthday.

GAME CHANGER

From the time we got a positive pregnancy test I was so very sick.  I ended up being diagnosed with Hyperemesis Gravidarum, lost 10% of my body weight, couldn't keep down even two measly ice chips, and was hospitalized for dehydration.  We managed to find a combination of medications that "stabilized" me about halfway through the pregnancy.  I'll never forget how weird it felt to be 28 weeks along and happy to have returned to prepregnancy weight instead of below.  Buttercup kept up the shenanigans through her 1 hour and 13 minute labor and delivery in which we just barely made it to the hospital.  I asked them if we got a discount on linen fees since I hadn't ever entered the bed.  They declined.  Rude.

Buttercup screamed-I mean SCREAMED, for about 19 hours out of every 24 for the first six months of her life.  I was baffled.  Emotional, exhausted, and baffled.  I had always been called the "baby whisperer" and had a long history of success at keeping little ones happy.  Around six months she was "diagnosed" with Sensory Processing Disorder.  We started to change the way we looked at her and her needs, and the situation improved overnight-literally, and just kept getting more manageable.

That said, even six months ago I would never have thought we would add to our family.  Buttercup has been a very challenging child.  We planned on two, we were happy with two, we were "done".

Telling the story of how we came to adoption feels just as crazy to me as it will sound to you.

When my moms’ group offered a class focused on the book “7” by Jen Hatmaker, I decided to take the class.  See, “7” is subtitled “An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess.”  The focus of Seven is on God, not reducing excess for our own selfish reasons (like my organizational obsession) but reducing excess for the glory of God.  Because there’s truth in that age old statement, “There is enough for everyone’s need, but not enough for everyone’s greed.”  In her book, Hatmaker talks about having dozens of nearly identical clothing items, while people all around her are homeless and own only the clothes on their backs.  She goes on to suggest that as Christians, caring for our brethren means caring for others as though they were in fact our family.  If I knew my biological brother had only the clothes on his back, you’d better believe I’d be getting him some more clothes one way or another.

If we are being completely transparent, I took the class in hopes that I would find a way to convince my husband to help the poor in our community.  Before getting married I kept nonperishables in my car to hand out the window when I passed someone in need.  Then I married a cop.  He has seen the worst of the worst.  He has seen kind and caring men and women stop and buy bags of food from a nearby restaurant and hand them to a person in need, only to see the recipient throw the food away untouched.  He has seen well intended handfuls of cash turn into vodka and yield violence.  He has had to physically remove a man who was given a beautiful, warm, furnished place to live but created so much trouble that he was asked to leave.  One might understand how his feelings regarding homelessness could be less than warm and fuzzy.  But, he married a softie; a softie who is crazy about God, nonetheless.  I know, without a doubt that the Bible tells me to care for the least of these, and that it absolutely isn’t my job to judge anyone.  But oh, how we have struggled to know the balance between true need and being taken advantage of, between helping and enabling, between serving and selfishness.  

As the class began, I shared bits and pieces with Snuggs, and together we decided that kicking 2014 off with a combination of “7” and “Financial Peace” would be a seriously powerful way to make our change.  I went through week by week planning to lead him through the study starting in January.  He crunched numbers, made predictions, and traded in our Jeep Wrangler for a Prius.  It almost broke his heart.  

I went through the class taking good notes, learning what I could, and praying like crazy that God would work through this process to affect the necessary change in our lives.  About halfway through the semester, something crazy happened.  God pretty much hit me over the head and set my heart on fire for orphans.  (Um, wait, Lord…THIS wasn’t what I was aiming for here.)  I kept quiet.  I prayed.  I waited (wondering if I had misunderstood His leading).  It didn’t go away.  It grew, and started to drive me a bit mad (in a good way).  I decided that truly, God HAD to be leading me towards orphans even though MY original plan had been to grow a heart for homeless.  

As I contemplated how I might go about bringing my husband on board, I decided that sponsoring a child through Compassion International was probably a good starting place.  I spent some time considering how he might react when I suggested we start sending $38 a month to a complete stranger halfway around the globe.  I prayed some more, waited some more, and researched some more.  Finally, I showed him the pictures of a few children who had caught my attention, hoping he would be okay with the idea, and that eventually, through our sponsorship, he would grow a heart for orphans right along with me, and that we might someday be even more bold in our work for God’s kingdom through this new passion.  

The conversation went something like this:
Me: “Um, honey, I know we are still working to pay off the cars, but being at a place where we don’t have to go without anything we need makes me really aware of the fact that there are CHILDREN who aren’t having their basic needs met, and that we are pretty stinking blessed.  Do you think, maybe, we could help them a little?”
Him: “What?”
Me: “Well, here’s the website for this Christian organization that comes highly recommended by several of my friends.  We can sponsor an orphan and help meet their basic needs by sending $38 a month.  I thought maybe we could narrow it down to a couple of kids and have Cricket choose a child for us to sponsor.”
Him: (after looking at the website for a while) “I don’t really like the idea of sending my money halfway around the world to help some kid I will never even meet, especially when we could just bring a child in to our home and help them with ALL of their needs.  Why don’t we just adopt?”
Me: …>>crickets<<…>>deer in headlights<<…”Ooooookay.”

So, a million conversations, questions, discussions, prayers, phone calls, texts, and debates later...we started the process today.  We are excited, so stinkin' excited.  Also, I've started singing the chorus from "Insane In The Membrane"  as a form of worship, because SERIOUSLY, God?  I have two under three already, a husband who works a completely ridiculous schedule, a family business that has the phone ringing all the ding dong day, and yes, yes, adding another human being to that is surely going to simplify things....right?  Uh, no.  Also, I'm NOT a Grade A role model parent.  I get mad, I yell sometimes, I don't always lead by example, I sneak chocolates when they think I'm organizing the closet.  I totally don't have all of my stuff together.  It's a miracle if my clothes match and nobody else's bodily fluids are dried and crusty on my shoulder.  I saw a "confessions" article in well known parenting magazine last week about a mom who had allowed her child to go 72 hours without a bath.  Oh, the horror.

I can top it...
by more than 24.

Unless you count the pool as a bath, which I do.  Chlorine kills WAY more germs than soap.

So, "baby who God has for us that we don't know yet," (as Cricket and I have been praying at bedtime for months), you may be "pool bathed."  You may occasionally catch me being "unfair," and I will absolutely hide my chocolate from you, but I promise you will be loved like crazy.  Loved like insane in the membrane.

Saturday, January 11, 2014

The dreaded "grocery" budget

It is the 11th day of January.  We have made five "grocery" purchases in 11 days, and Snuggs is stopping again on the way home from work.  It sounds bad.  It looks bad on paper.  I'm sure Dave Ramsey wouldn't approve.  Let me explain.

We don't eat rice and beans.  For one, we are on the "GAPS" diet, which isn't really a diet at all, but a fully awesome and nutritious way of eating. (GAPS info)  We chose GAPS in July of 2013 at the suggestion of our doula in hopes that we could ease, or at least not complicate Buttercup's sensitivities.  GAPS, in the simplest explanation, is sugar free and grain free, although it's a bit more complicated than that.

We get our eggs from a friend down the road.  She has her own line in our budget.
We get our milk from a farmer a few towns south.  He has his own line in our budget.
We get our chicken from a CSA from a local farmer.  Another line.
We get our pork and beef from a different local farm.  Another line.
We buy most of our produce from the local Kroger.  Another line.
We buy specialty items, especially "bulk" selections from a local coop grocery.  Another line.
And, yes, I occasionally enter the dreaded Sam's Club.  Yet another "grocery" line in our budget.

I think we spend quite a bit on our groceries.  I know that before we "went GAPS" I was spending about half of what I am now to feed our family.  But, we are still under the FDA's budget for "Thrifty" eating. That kind of blows my mind, but that's a story for a different day.

Buttercup still nurses a gazillion times a day, and I'm fighting with all I have to night wean her.  It's not going well.  She doesn't eat a whole lot, but her appetite is increasing all the time.  I'd say she's averaging about 1/2 cup of "real" food per day.

Cricket is an eater and always has been.  He will eat nearly anything set it front of him including raw red onion and fresh minced garlic.  He easily eats as much as his daddy, if not more.

Snuggs doesn't eat what you would expect a hard working grown man to eat.  At the risk of offending him, I'd say he eats like a girl.  He eats about as much as I do when I'm out with friends and trying to appear reasonable.

I am, undoubtedly, the biggest eater in our family.  I eat about twice as much as Snuggs.  He likes to say I eat First Breakfast, Second Breakfast, Lunch, Snack, First Dinner, and Second Dinner.  I eat when I'm hungry.  I'd say my diet is about 60% fruits and veggies.  I am healthy, at the same weight I was when we married, and feel great.  I am a bottomless pit.

There are other various factors that play in to the number of grocery expenditures that appear on our budget sheet.  For one, Snuggs seems to have a knack for eating the key ingredient in a meal for tomorrow or the next day.  I'll go around the corner and fold some laundry, only to come back to find that the last four eggs that I needed for our breakfast tomorrow are being devoured.  Sometimes I have a backup ready, sometimes someone has to retrieve the necessary ingredient.

Also, we almost never eat out.  Snuggs and I have a monthly date, and our budget allows for a sitter and a moderate meal for that occasion.  So, if you include all of the meals I'm accused of eating, that's roughly 180 meals per month at home...and that's JUST ME.

Finally, we could eat cheaper.  Like I said, when we decided to do GAPS, our grocery budget pretty much doubled.  However, we really, truly believe in the benefits of eating high quality, real food.  It's so worth it.

So yeah, we eat a lot of food.