A Life That Matters

I want my words and my life to matter.

Is that too much to ask? I want the ideas in my head to pour out of me in a way that affect those who read it. I want you to laugh along with me, or at me on occasion. I want you to shed a tear, feel my frustration, sense my anger, and share my joy. I want my words to matter.

I want this life I lead to make a difference. I want someone to be inspired, happier, better, changed... because I have lived. Because I have loved. Because I have shared.

I have been mulling these thoughts around for some time, feeling frustrated because my scope of influence is small. Because I'm actually a little scared of sharing my words and thoughts (despite the fact I write and share them publicly!). Because, do I really have anything important to say?

And then the obvious hit me. I have actual people who look to me, my love, my words, my actions to teach them, mold them, encourage them, guide them, grow them. And with that came, "Holy crap! Maybe I don't want my words to mean so much. Maybe I'm not up for the task."

Oh friend, but you are. Can you relate? The Bible tells us that life and death in is the power of the tongue (Prov 18:21). Your words have the power to grow a young boy into a confident, loving young man. Your words can shape the way he thinks of himself,  and the way he thinks of others. Your words have the power to teach him to read, to write, to love the process of learning...or to hate it. Your words can soothe when his feelings are broken, to lift when his spirit is saddened, to strengthen when he is weak.

Your words can light up the face of your little girl, or bring her to tears. You can encourage her to move mountains, or not. To blow through barriers, real or perceived, or to cower at them. To stand firm in her faith, or to doubt it. She watches your every move, and soaks in your every word.

You want your life to matter? Matter to her. Matter to the little men who look to you for love, comfort and acceptance, but also for your pride and praise as they seek to be a bit less "little" and a bit more 'man' every day.

So, I go back....It that too much to ask? Of me, absolutely. Of my Father who gave me this life, this position, this circle of influence? No way.  I see so clearly when my words bite, but even more so, how they give life. I see our day sink or soar simply by the attitude, and words, I approach it with. It's tough to show up every day, ready to 'give life' to those around you, but show up anyways. Grab an extra cup of coffee, put on your best 'mom pants', throw your hair up and show up, just as you are. Remember the power given us in Christ... He has given us everything we need to make this life count. Now go forth and matter, however big, or small, your circle is...go.

Broken Spirit vs Tree of Life

I have a sharp tongue. I've often touted, "My parents were lucky! I never did anything wrong...I just had a smart mouth."

EEEEK!

When I hear sharp, harsh, or smart words come out of my children's mouths, I cringe at how horribly similar the tone sounds to mine when I was a child, or when I respond to them in harshness, instead of loving kindness and patience.

Side note: If you know my kids and hear, or have heard, them say things like 'stupid', 'hate', or other such vile things, don't assume they've heard that from me! I'm not saying I speak in an abusive manner to my kids. What I am saying, is the words of correction I speak, are all too often spoken in a tone of frustration or anger that, if overheard, would embarrass the snot out of me, and frequently causes me to feel disappointment in my parenting.

I just read a paragraph in a book, Shepherding a Child's Heart by Tedd Tripp, that convicted me enough to get me out of the chair, leaving my iced coffee behind, to sit at the computer and type this public confessional...

"Like any area of theological truth, the key to growth is not the cognitive identification of truth. It is the understanding the pertinence of that truth in daily life. You and your children must understand the fear of the Lord in a manner that reorganizes your lives."

I love reorganizing most things, so why not this.  The reality is, I hear it when it starts, I just feel more justified then I do convicted, in the moment, to soften my tongue. However, after the fact, conviction hits pretty hard. They are such sweet, albeit occasionally disrespectful and disobedient kids (like ALL who have gone before them), and they deserve my best. Those moments are far from it. They deserve what God has called us as parents to do, which is to lovingly correct and discipline them, not scold them harshly. So, I'm bringing a piece of my broken parenting to the cross today, to lay down what I once thought was harmless, and replace it with Proverbs 15:4, A gentle tongue is a tree of life, but cutting words break the spirit.

He is My Assurance in the Mess

I recently heard someone say, "I'm not sure how you can be a Christian and have so many things go wrong for so long." These words weren't spoken to, or about me, but instantly I felt they could have been. We've had a rough year. One where we felt we were being kicked while we were down, and it hurt. Over and over again. And each blow seemed to make it tougher to smile then the last. If you'll bear with me, I'd like to share a little of the difficult, in order to share the present, and my thoughts on this question of being a Christian and having bad things happen.

I've written (could be read: yelled, cried, dwelled, hurt, held on to, talked about, written again...) about an incident with at least one of our kids that happened last April, or at least, that's when we found out about it, that rocked us to our core. It hurt, rightfully so, made us angry, rightfully so...scared us, scarred us, and to some degree, kicked off this tornadic year of bad happenings. There were wonderful things that happened also, like the adoption of our daughter, but sadly, this past year has been marked as a very difficult time, despite those bursts of joy that sporadically  pulled us from this funk.

In the weeks and months that followed the aforementioned incident, I lost weight. I couldn't eat. We didn't sleep. We fussed and fought with each other as we struggled with understanding the thing that was done, and the lack of care with which it was handled, and then dealing with the investigation that followed. It took us a couple months to finally realize we were fighting each other in our hurt, rather than coming together to help each other, and walk through this thing together.

In June, my grandmother who lives with us and with whom I (and my whole family) are extremely close, had a heart attack. She was 90 years old and a mere 66 lbs. It did not look good for her to recover from this event, but amazingly, she did. That is, until October, when again, her health looked too shaky to overcome, but again, she did.

November and December where the months we finally broke down and sought help through counseling about several things we were dealing with, one of which was difficult behaviors we had been dealing with from one of our boys. Something we had battled for so long, but either from duration, stress, or an over burdened heart, we finally received the help we needed. We caught our breath during this time and the holiday season.

In February, my grandmother got sick again...nothing to cause us to fear the worst, but enough to take the winds from the sails of an already hurt, angry, and damaged vessel. Later that month, her recovery still in progress, Scott had a cancer spot removed from his ear. Read about that day in full here if you'd like: http://makingmemommy.blogspot.com/2016/03/whats-your-emergency.html, but the gist is, enroute from one ER to another after bleeding for eight hours,  he shook violently, vomited and passed out, and I thought I had lost him. That's difficult to recover from. Even days and weeks later, while thankful as all get out that he was still with us, the emotions from that night would wreak havoc on my heart and mind. The next day, Gram's arm was swollen and causing her lots of pain. I ended up back in the ER with her, to rule out a clot, which we finally did the next day, but still having a swollen arm, had appointments and meds to try to find her relief.

Stress. In the midst of the trauma were our kids, still being kids. My body and mind were stressed.

Over the next month Gram continued to have pain off and on and then began to lose weight again. It was at that time, I began to notice that my fully independent Grandmother was no longer washing her dishes. Her laundry basket was overflowing to a pile of the floor, and my once critical of anyone who stayed in their jammies too long Gram, hadn't changed in five days. I called my mom and uncle with the news that things didn't look good. No matter how sick Gram had ever been, she'd never been like this. She was losing her will, her desire, and I couldn't help her. It weighed on me like a pile of bricks I was unable to move. And on top of it, I had a major surgery scheduled and coming up in a few days. My mom was already scheduled to come during that time to help with the kids, so my uncle got on a plane within days to come stay. He said he could hear in my voice that he needed to be here. I guess no matter how hard you try to hide pain, it seeps out. We needed help in more ways then we had been able to see.

At the end of March, with my uncle in town to help with Gram and the kids, I had a hysterectomy. That sucked. All of it...another night away spent in a hospital, swollen tummy, four incisions, pain meds (which I don't tolerate!), and a six week recovery in front of me. However, during this time, my Gram, the greatest comeback kid ever, started making a recovery. She showered, changed clothes, and little by little gained strength and desire. Whether it was having her son in town, or me being down and in need of TLC, or both, I have no idea. But she was nearly back to herself within two weeks and continuing to improve while my mom was in town the following week.

Week four of my six week recovery, we had three more ER trips, first with our daughter who lost consciousness after falling off our concrete stairs and hitting her head, then me with severe abdominal pain, and lastly, making it five trips in just eight weeks, my mother-in-law with chest pains and difficulty breathing. Prior to this, I think I'd only been to the ER once, maybe twice in 39 years.

In April, a year after the investigation began, we got word that the evidence needed to prosecute was not found. I spiraled into anger once again, realizing it was always just beneath the surface, as I awaited the news of an arrest under the facade of a 'process of forgiveness', that would not happen.

And this is just the highlights of the difficulties of our year. This doesn't speak anything of the girlfriends I have whose marriages are broken and under attack, or those who pray to find a love to marry, or the couples we know who are struggling with infertility, or who have lost babies, or the brother, former student, and colleague who all lost their battle to cancer, or...this list could go on and on. There are hurts daily that are difficult, at best, to bear up under.

So, back to the question of  "how can you be a Christian and have so many things go wrong?"  I'm not a theologian so I won't go into the fact that we live in a fallen world, or that things going wrong has nothing to do with whether or not one is a Christian, or about predestination vs free will, and consequences of our actions and of those around us.  Stuff just happens, all the time, to each of us. The better question is, how would you get though this mess without Jesus? Where do you find your strength or assurance? Who does your help and hope come from?

Where am I now? Recently, I heard a message that convicted me in a mighty, mighty way, about the anger I was holding on to, and my unwillingness to forgive which would allow me to move past a very hurtful situation, thus allowing me to better deal with the every day. I was drinking the poison hoping the offender would suffer. It wasn't working. So, I wrote it out. I wrote a letter that may never see its recipients. I cried, a lot, and I let it all go. My heart finally began to heal. I finally took a full, deep breath...maybe the first in a year. I'm lighter, not so heavy burdened all of the time. Gram is much improved, but she's still 91. We take every good day with her as a blessing, the gift of time.

So, what changed? Those difficult things still happened. We all, Christian or otherwise, will have to walk through these seasons of pain and struggle throughout our lives. What changed is when I realized that the Lord is enough, even when it hurts more than words can express, or our anger is big enough to scare us. He knows, He sees, and He is still in control. We don't have to be, thank goodness, but we will do well in the midst of the mess, to find peace and assurance in Him.

An Open Letter to Those Who Write "Open Letters to the Mom Who...."

Lately I have these moments where the words "open letter to the mom who..." runs through my mind  on this strange kind of monologue loop, as I'm sure something I've done, or not done, would be perfect fodder for one of these letters.

For instance, when I take all four kids to TJ Maxx, I hear in my mind, 'To the mom who takes four small children to such a store... I see you trying to keep all eight hands occupied while you browse the coffee mugs...'  *teeth gritted*

Or when I buy a coffee at Starbucks and one of my boys puts his face on the pastry window, I hear, "Dear mom, telling her son to remove his face from the pastry glass, I feel your pain. How could we have known how often we'd tell our kids to take their face off something it shouldn't be touching, or remove from their face the vial things they've pressed to their sweet cheeks....'  *Sigh*

There's the trips to the grocery with three or four of the kids where I hear, 'Dear mom, please keep your kids grubby fingers off the beautifully stocked shelves. I know you need to be here to buy food in order to feed your little ones, and I know you want to get it done while your husband works so you can preserve your evenings, and I know you're doing the best you can, but please, could you get a grip on your children?!'  *I can't even on this one*

The dreaded, 'Dear mom whose pre-schooler hit my pre-schooler, we don't allow such behavior in our home so I'd really appreciate it if you'd talk with your son about keeping his hands to himself...'  *Of course, because in our home, we love and reward hitting hands. (read insanely snarky)*

So, the most recent in this (I know its a little crazy) inner dialogue world I live in, happened at the ball park where our 4 and 6 year olds play on a peanut league team. We pulled Eli up a year early so we weren't navigating three different fields to watch the boys play. He's not quite ready for it but learning and having fun, nonetheless. So, when those sweet little hands got him sent out of the dugout last night (and rightfully so) because 'he won't keep them to himself', my first response was to sit him down in a gruff, timeout, kind of way. But as my hands reached his shoulder to set him down, his body curled and collapsed into mine and he fell into a heep of broken tears. Compassion over took embarrassment and I held him, curled in my lap, sobbing snotty tears all over me. And then the loop began, 'Dear mom who coddled her crying son instead of disciplining him for not keeping his hands to himself, shame on you. You missed an opportunity for a valuable lesson. If he were my son I would have...', or, 'Maybe if you didn't spoil him, he'd stop hitting.' or, possibly there would have been the, 'Thank you for showing him love instead of anger, after all, he is just four.' And I realize there's also those who didn't even notice. Bless you people, I love your non-judgy ways, your lack of opinions, and your own issues that keep you from concerning yourself with others'. There are probably more of you than there are 'open letter to mom' types. I fancy myself as one of you, only pausing to notice the "I feel you, sister" kind of moments, but who knows.

We're probably all a little more opinionated than we should be when it comes to someone else's kid, or parenting ways. Because, the reality is, I could have whooped his disobedient little behind for so many reasons, including, but not limited to, we've doled out consequence after consequence on this, we've talked, we've read books, we've spanked and you know what? Someone would have been unimpressed and he would still struggle to keep his hands to himself. (I'll take this moment to apologize to my parents and my sisters. He is me, made over. I hit, popped, smacked, pushed...all. the. time. as a kid. It wasn't because I was mean or wanting to be hurtful, I just had busy hands that reached and grabbed and played and hit non-stop. I can see now, the pleading in my parents eyes, as they fussed at me again to stop.) As I did, I know he'll outgrow this phase. I know we will fuss and fuss at him, that I will be embarrassed by this again before it's all said and done, and that we will continue to make the best choices for him that we can in each moment. Which last night, included holding him as he cried while I whispered reminders to him that we can't hit, not with hats, gloves or hands.

In conclusion, I am going to write my own open letter to myself.

Open Letter to the Mom at the Ball Park,
   
     Dear mom, I see you with your four little ones. I see how busy your boys are, but also how happy, encouraging and loving they are. I see your daughter running around you, asking for snacks and needing to go pee. I imagine your days, that it never ends. That those three boys chase, wrestle, fuss, laugh, play superheroes and bad guys, that they are both your greatest joy and your toughest trial.

I think you need to hear that you're doing ok mom. Your kids love each other and they love you, even if they do talk back and behave disrespectfully in public sometimes. I have boys too. Mine are grown now, but I remember those days. I remember dreading ER trips almost daily, recalling the conflict of either making them stop, or allowing them to continue knowing skills and muscles and knowledge are growing in their little bodies with every jump, climb, crash or hit. Those days will pass, mom, and will make way for little men that develop their first crush and their first pimple within weeks of each other.

They will learn to keep their hands to themselves...keep working with them. Don't give up on them. Love them through the tough moments. Praise them when they do well, encourage them when they don't. Teach them to apologize, and to forgive, because they will be hit too.

Your little guy, he needed you. I'm glad you held him. I'm glad you scolded him. I will pray for you, and for your family, that you won't get discouraged, that you will find joy, that you won't parent based on what you perceive others expect, but on what you know your child needs. It's tough, it really is. But hang in there...it's all worth it.

Sincerely,
A mom who saw you

Ending a Chapter- Decision to Close

I've written many times about the need for open foster homes and how I hoped our story would inspire even one family to open their home to the possibility. It has been something we have been involved in now for seven years, opening our home to ten children and adopting three. Our years as foster parents has been tough at times, but always a blessing. We've rearranged beds and car seats to accommodate different configurations, we've held on to clothes and toys 'just in case'. But, after much prayer and deliberation, and with a somewhat heavy heart, we have decided it's time to close our home, and move forward with our four little miracles.

We are amazed daily by the family God bound together here, and will always be grateful we chose this path. Adoption is a huge part of our story, and although it's not the focus, we will always share the gift it has been with our children, and anyone who asks, understanding how beautiful it is, and knowing it is nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about.

The big boys are just beginning to gain an understanding of what it means that they were adopted. I know it will be a journey for them as they mature, and their understanding deepens and changes, but knowing it is a gift ,and not a mistake, is something I hope we can always help them see.

While we will talk with them anytime they bring it up, or ask questions (which is so rare at this point), it is overall a fact that goes forgotten within our four walls. Especially when we see how similar they all are, to each other and to Scott and I!

Elijah is a perfect blend of our older two, adopted sons.... He can be as completely wild and on the go as Timothy and as mild mannered and cuddly as Mason. Sophia and Mason look so much alike with their adorable button noses, and all four are fair skinned, redheaded beauties, just like their daddy!

When people first learn that three of them are adopted it's so funny to see them try to mentally figure out which three!! Usually they are wrong, which is fine with me. There need be no distinction anyways. They are brothers and sister and they are ours. Firmly, completely and finally. Nothing else matters.

Their bond is more and more beautiful all the time, even when many days are spent breaking up silly arguments and officiating scuffs. I see them in between those moments helping each other, encouraging each other, cuddling, playing, imagining, talking.... it's hopeful for us to see as they grow in love for each other.

So, I guess my point is, while this blog started as a way to share our foster/adoption journey and how God brought and knit our family together, the story is in no way over. Every day is a new challenge, a new love, a new gift. I will continue writing about what God has done, and is doing, en la Casa Akin, so long as He gives me stories to share.

As always, if opening your home to foster or adopt is something on your mind or heart, don't wait. Call your local DCBS today and get started. You won't regret it. And if you haven't read our story, I hope you will.      http://makingmemommy.blogspot.com/2014/10/getting-started.html