Embracing Reality

Penny and I danced for 2 1/2 hours straight- not the romantic side to side swaying of eighth graders, not the arms apart kind of slow dancing, not a slow waltz,  not even your typical wedding dancing- but an all out turn the red lights on it's after midnight Saturday in the club kind of dancing. We bounced up and down and spun circles for so long my calves burned and my arms were on fire.

Beyoncé has nothing on Audrey and Isabel's hair flips. The boys all have moves that totally makes me question what goes on in this house especially knowing their home-schooled and we don't have television! I even watched Charlotte move her arms and fingers in a way that made me question her Cerebral palsy diagnosis.

I looked down at the six week old baby with big bright blue eyes staring intently at me..... And while Pharell with his sick beats jammed in the background,  for a moment everything was perfect.

I now interrupt this blog post six weeks late to share the readers digest version of child number seven.

Penelope Ellen Kolanowski was born at home May 7 at 5:15 AM. She decided to grace us with her presence three weeks early and was a little peanut weighing just over 6 pounds.

The day before she was born a wonderful friend of mine stopped by and helped me put a third coat of Tungoil on our newly installed hardwood floors in the living room. She listened to me pour my heart out about how scared I was to have another baby. I had been feeling pretty crappy and told her to keep praying that this little girl waited until her due date of May 25th because we had so very much to try and get done before then. I chatted on and on about how excited I was to go to my favorite garden center tomorrow and get my flowers and veggies. She even brought me a gift knowing how very much I cherished my garden.

All was normal for the evening, but somewhere around midnight that night my water broke. For a good hour I was in denial that this couldn't possibly be happening three weeks early. I remembered how intense my other two births were so I decided to get in a nice warm bath tub and drink a special glass of wine. And there in the middle of the night I cried intensely and poured my heart out to God. And for one hour it was like Jesus sat right there next to me.

I cried because I knew having a baby with these six kids would be impossible. I knew I only had one set of arms but would now have three children that literally daily needed my arms to get dressed to be fed to be bathed to go to the bathroom- and then four more who would need these arms for hugs and wiping cuts and scrapes, for art projects and dinners prepared- six little people already needed me so much and a new little baby was going to need me at all hours all day.  She would need to eat all the time and be held all the time she would cry all the time..... So I told Jesus I couldn't do it.  I told him after my water broke and just moments literally before she was born into this world.  I told him I was an utter failure. And I sobbed uncontrollably. 

After my confession the first thought that popped into my head was how lucky I was to be sipping on such a delicious wine. I thought about what a good God we had that provided just the right soil conditions with just the right amount of water and sunshine with skilled workers and technology that put this wine all the way from Argentina in a bottle and I sit sipping it. A smile slowly cracked my lips. For a moment everything was perfect.

It is now 10:30 at night and the dance party is over. A husband and six children are in bed. The vacuum cleaner is still running and the words of Frankie are quietly playing over the whooshing of the vacuum. 

For six weeks I've held her. I've barely set her down. She's nursed almost every hour sometimes more. Most days I don't get dressed. I am lucky to get my contacts in. Most days someone has had to either help us with dinner or bring us dinner. I have looked up the definition of sleep and I'm convinced that Webster's dictionary lies.

I do not feel pretty. I feel guilty. I feel guilty because I am not giving my other children the attention they need. There's no more 8 o'clock book reading because little Miss Penny from the hours of five till midnight has decided to practice voice training. In the words of a friend she has altitude sickness and does not want to be set down. I've missed therapy for the kids that go for almost the last six weeks. In addition to me having a hard time with this baby, some of the kids are struggling too. Literally I am mommy number five to some of them and Penelope is a threat. They've had to make sacrifices too. I miss the sunshine. I miss being in my garden. I miss the life that I once complained was so hard. Only twice have I been in the car with Penny somewhere. She fusses and cries and is so discontent. 

I received a text today from someone saying they had a friend who was dealing with postpartum depression and asked if I had dealt with that after any of my kids. 

Depression is real. It hurts and it's hard. It makes you want to hide away from the entire world. I have felt lost and lonely. I have felt like I can't possibly go on one more day- even one more hour. I've wished I could close my eyes and when I open them every thing is different. I've asked myself questions like why don't people understand? Why do I feel like I'm the only one? And then after I asked the questions I have dealt with shame and guilt. Guilt over not being a good mommy. Guilt over not being a good wife. Hours after Penny is still crying I have cried feeling like it's my fault. I've cried feeling like my daughter is the only one that's ever dealt with this- I start listing nieces and nephews and friends kids that to my knowledge are perfect and happy and I feel like they all must be throwing it in my face about what a terrible person I am. I feel like everyone hates me because I can't make it to an event or party or Church. I start to feel like everything has strings attached. I feel so beat down that I am on the brink of tears all the time.

Amidst all of these random stories and ramblings there are three things that I'm holding onto.

1. Embracing reality. This is my life right now. There is all kinds of practical wisdom and advice regarding depression - stuff like diet and nutrition,  getting good sleep, exercise, enhancing your gut bacteria, high omega-3's, having help, having a support group, having people to talk to.... The list could go on and on and while all of that is true, important and valid. These things are things I have done and do and I find myself still struggling.

Embracing reality- well.

I need to learn how to handle these hard times sadness and depression and I need to learn to be in this place and to do so well. Which personally I have felt in this culture is counter intuitive. Somehow I have believed the lie that there is no such thing as being sad in a biblical way or being depressed in a biblical way or being in turmoil in a biblical way. Somehow I have believed that the American way and the biblical way is to put a smile on and act happy all the time. And that couldn't be further from the truth. The Psalms in particular are full of emotions and one emotion in particular being depression. Entire books have been written on just Psalm 42 and depression. John Piper has an absolutely wonderful sermon on the subject that I love and have watched and read over and over again. (see below)

Spiritual Depression in the Psalms 

I could share all the ways this has practically helped me, however the point for me to remember is that there is a way to embrace sadness and do so well. That there is a way to embrace pain and to do so well. That there is a way to embrace reality- well.

2. Remembering the little moments.  The dance party and the good wine, those memories I like to reflect on often, and by reflecting on those little snipets of time, that are near perfect, I find I train myself to get in the habit of looking for those little snipets more often. Those two memories are so full of happiness and goodness that they help drown out the struggles. They make the struggles worth it.  Those little moments are really big moments because of how big of a deal they have become to me.

3.  My Identity.  This is the big one.  This is the one for me that I could do all the right things, all the right nutrition, all the right friends, make sure I embrace reality well, and remember the little moments... but... it's the big... but... If I am not secure in where my identity is then nothing else matters.  And, there is only one place that my identity is secure, and that place is in Jesus.

Example:  I find myself getting stressed out to go to the boys baseball game with Penny.  I start thinking of the crying in the car, and how to handle Isabell and Charlotte and Penny.  I find anxiety creeping in with figuring out breastfeeding her.  And then it happens.  I start to think about the things well meaning people will ask me... "Is she sleeping through the night?"  "Can't you put her down yet?"  I start worrying about the looks people might give me as I nurse her in the bleachers.  I start worrying about what people might say about the bags under my eyes, or my lack of makeup and a hairstyle..... 

Why?

Why do these thoughts creep into my mind?  Because I am letting "who I am" be found in things like how nice I look or how happy my baby is... instead of the finished work of Jesus... instead of His perfect life... somehow I get things all mixed up and start thinking it's my life that defines me.  

Galations 2:20 It is no longer I who live but Christ who lives in me...

My life and what I do or don't do does not define me.  My identity is in Christ's life, who now lives in me.

It's sorta become my mantra right now.  My identity is in Christ.  I am getting ready to get out of the car and go the boys game, I take a deep breath and repeat to myself- my identity is in Christ.  Someone stops over, and I'm a mess, still in my pajamas, bed head, and no makeup, I stop take a deep breath and repeat to myself- my identity is in Christ.  I walk out and look at the pathetic excuse of a garden I have this year, I take a deep breath and repeat to myself- my identity is in Christ.

Things are hard right now. 

I am learning to embrace it-well. (More on that subject later.)

I am remembering and finding the little moments that are near perfect.

My identity is in Christ. So much so that I share a picture of me. No makeup, bags and circles under my eyes, a baby screaming in my ear, a messy canning project in the background, hair not fixed, pjs still on, but its okay.

My identity is in Christ.

When quiet time comes sitting in the PICU

Some stupid show is on the television, maybe Kathy and Roma? I don't know because I don't have television at home, and I never watch this stuff. The TV is annoying me. A man is asleep in a rocker and snoring. The man is annoying me. The selection of magazines to read suck. The coffee is not strong enough. I forgot one of the books I wanted to read. I am irritated and annoyed, I don't want to talk to the lady next to me. I don't want to be bothered by anyone. All I want is to just be left alone. Go home. Crawl into my bed and sleep a dreamless night, or maybe a couple of dreamless days and nights.


There have been so many thoughts I have wanted to write about, but every time I even thought about putting any of those thoughts on paper, this looming thought jumped out in front. The thought that someone somewhere will see it, think less of me, someone somewhere will confront me with something I wrote down somewhere someplace and I'll be stuck defending myself. This thought that my thoughts on paper might make me un-loveable. I think I have quoted, re-quoted, and probably said this to every living soul I have ever met;

" We can disagree so long as we are not disagreeable."

(I can thank my dad for that quote!)(Love you dad!)

But the truth is, I just assume not say anything, that way no one can disagree with me. Kinda hard to disagree with nothing...and so I just don't feel like writing anything down much anymore. Sometimes I don't feel like being open or vulnerable.

I still don't.

But lack of sleep, no good coffee and four hours into an 8 hour waiting room stay, none of my kids around, no garden to work in, no house to clean, no baseball games, no therapy appointments, well, nothing really to do, and I guess I'll write stuff down.

It just feels like my life, my heart, is so messed up. What a funny thing to say really. Say my heart is messed up. I mean Christians say it all the time... say we are all messed up. I know that is the truth... I know God's word says no one is worthy, and that man's heart is deceitful and beyond cure...but....

But.

That's the crazy thing. I just seem so much more messed up than everyone else. Everything I do, it seems to always have a but. All my "good intentions" all my thoughts, all my ideas, all the things- seemingly "good" things seem to have this "but" attached to them. At the end of the day I find myself thinking about what I have done.  I start running through lists.  Lists about the house, lists about the kids, lists about therapy.  All kinds of lists with all kinds of tasks.  I scan through emails and texts and look at which friends I called or didn't call.  What emails I wrote or didn't write. Lots of days I find myself with not quite enough things crossed off my lists.  I forgot to make the call, I forgot the new exercise, I didn't pack Kenney's lunch, I forgot to take vitamins, the dishwasher didn't get loaded, I didn't read, I didn't get it all done. 

But, here is the crazy thing- on the days where I get everything checked off the list- I still fall short.  When I look at the list and see it all crossed off I still don't feel awesome.  The thought pops in....some friend that I didn't call, some kid I didn't do enough for, maybe I didn't tell my husband I loved him enough... Maybe I did morning devotions, but didn't pray with my husband, I'll even take it further-  I may have crossed off "pack Kenney's lunch" on the list, but truth be told, I did a piss poor job of it.  The man is 210 pounds and I packed carrots, a muffin, an apple and some poor excuse for a salad, AND the entire time I mocked him in my mind "thought why can't he just do this himself, why is he so lazy, why does he get to go to bed, and I have to stay up and sacrifice my time so he can have a lunch, I'll show him, I'll make him want to pack his own lunch after he sees what is in here" the fact remains, that no matter what is on the list, I never ever perfectly complete or satisfy the list.  Not in actions, and surely not in my heart.

A theologian of old said (JC Ryle)  “Even the best things we do have something in them to be pardoned.”

I hung out peeling apples and canning applesauce with a friend.  So we aren't bible study/hangout every weekend/call each other every day kind of friends, but we are non-deodorant wearing/ eating healthy/talking about how awesome Jesus is kind of friends.  We have some common ground that creates some tight bonds.  We talk lots about eating good and canning, and so she asks about canning a lot.  She asks what types of things I can.  I start rattling off some lists.  She asks if I got all my apples done yet, and my response to her is this;

"Still working on it...We pretended we were on HGTV this weekend ha!  Took the fireplace out and the wall down."

Then I proceeded to show pictures of the work we did.

My friends response

"Oh my goodness!! You guys are amazing!!"

I am sitting here days later and slapping myself in the face.  Why do I feel the need to rattle off lists of my accomplishments to her? Why did I segue into a totally irrelevant conversation?  We were talking about apples and I felt the need to talk about remodeling!!! And the sick answer is somewhere in my heart in the places I'd prefer no one to see I want her to like me.  I want her to be my friend.  And even worse, when the words roll off my tongue, I realize what I have done, and I don't know what to do to fix it.  The words "you guys are amazing" - its such a lie.  Its so far from the truth.  I know it.  I know it all to well.

Ask my sister and her hubby, who got caught in the middle of our "HGTV" weekend.  Ask them how "amazing" we were!  I told Kenney while we were debating what wall a fireplace should go on "I don't care about anything you have to say." To which he told me "I should have married a different Nelson." 

For. Real.

Messed up.  I told the man I love I didn't care about any words that came out of his mouth, and he told me he should have married my sister!!!!??????

Messed. Up.

And that brings me full circle back to my original point. I am a mess. I know it, my kids know it, my husband knows it and God knows it, but does everyone else really get it?  My "friends".... how many would still be my friend after being stuck in-between myself and Kenney's argument?  How many would stand by my side if they saw me.  The messed up sinner than I am?

As usual, me writing things down always bring me full circle back to the cross. 

John 19:30
When Jesus had received the sour wine, he said, “It is finished,” and he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.

That statement- "it is finished" if ever there were a tattoo I were going to get I think that would be it. (second to "I am redeemed")(don't worry honey, not getting one... yet....)

The implications of that statement, oh, they bring me to tears.  On a Wednesday evening while I'm eating a butterscotch popsicle and drinking a beer and watching the dogs wrestle and three of the kids playin and pots on the stove cooking- while all of this is going on, I can be moved, brought to tears to know everything I am trying to do for myself-the friends I am trying to make or keep, the kids, the image, the husband, all of it- everything I could say I have lived for, am living for and will live for or try to live for is nothing, compared to knowing Christ.  He FINISHED it all.

I WILL NOT live up to the perfect righteousness that God DEMANDS.  I know my heart.  I know the thoughts I think. I know the horrible pathetic attempts at finding value and worth in this life.  I know how sick my heart is. And yet, He who knew no sin, became sin so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God. (2 Corinthians 5:21)

I am perfect, spotless, righteous before God.

Because of God's Grace.  Because He died for me.

I get Jesus' record.  NOT MINE.

And he said

"IT IS FINISHED."

I can stop.  I don't have to tell my friend about all my HGTV projects for her to like me, so I can feel loved.  I don't have to pack a lunch for my husband, or be "parent of the year."

I am loved.

He finished it all.


That's it.  There's nothing more to say.

He finished it all.


 

Now What?

January comes to a cold frozen end, and in enters another cold, snowy frozen month.

2014 is well underway and as usual, life continues to change and progress forward at a frightening speed.

The last three years we've spent doing paperwork, preparing, planning, thinking, traveling, and adding three new kiddos to our family.  I am slowly exhaling, as this year there will be no new kiddos.

It's amazing what running frantically, living life so very close to the edge can do for a person.  It's funny how that level of crazy, becomes normal.  So we have found ourselves this year with a strange "un-normal" feeling.  Now what?

We've spent a month this year, changing diapers, teaching our 6 year old daughter to move her tongue back and forth.  We've made almost 30 dinners and 30 lunches and 30 breakfasts.  I estimate that with three dogs and at least 6 bathroom breaks a day, and not all at the same time, we've taken our dogs out well over 300 times.  Opening and closing the back door 300 times.  We've put on boots and gloves and hats and coats over 300 times.  I've told our cat- who hates being cooped up inside - to get off of our counters surely a million times these last 30 days.  I've cut the food of six children into bit-size pieces- for three meals a day for the last 30 days.  That is 540 plates of food cut into bite size pieces.  We've drilled addition and subtraction flash cards over and over and over.  We've sung the "New Testament Books of the Bible" song so many times the tune is probably permanently ingrained in my head. Played in the snow- which means boots, gloves, snow pants, coats, hats, and scarves times six. Helped brush the kiddos teeth.  Every. Single. Day.  Vacuumed up dog hair.  Every. Single. Day. Therapy, and stretches, and more therapy and more stretches. Every. Single Day. Church on Sunday's, and usually dinner with family.  Packing my hubby's lunch. Paying Bills. And then there is the "other stuff", like weekend trips, baby showers, birthday parties, and friends over for dinner.  Stuff.  Life. Every. Single. Day.

The best way to really describe our lives is utterly mundane.  That really is the best description ever. I re-read the above paragraph.  Nothing jumped out at me.  Nothing screamed exciting.  Nothing made me say "wow" or filled my mind with "ooh's and aah's." 

So when sometime in the middle of January my dad sent me a text with a link to this article by Paul Tripp, all I could do was say Amen!

My life isn't going to end up in history books.  The big important decisions in my life, well they are far and few between. I live in the little moments.  Again, I re-read the paragraph a couple lines up.  It's blatantly obvious. My life is made up of thousands and thousands of mundane, boring, little moments.

So now what?  The question is "Does God rule my little moments?"

Did I joyfully make every meal for this family?  Did I sing "The New Testament Books of the Bible" song  with excitement each time?  What about vacuuming up the dog hair? Getting ready for church on Sunday? What about letting the dogs out?  Brushing my kids teeth?  All the moments that have made up this last month?

Has God used me?  Has he refined me?  Has all the sin that gets trapped in the "normal" places, like an elephant in the room no one talks about, has that sin been exposed? Have I seen God's grace at work in my life?  In my families life?

I can say that "yes" there have been a couple of moments I've smiled, I've laughed, I've made the "right" choice, I've marveled at God's awesome grace.  But, the reality is, there have been many many more than just a couple moments in the last month.  Reality- thousands upon thousands of moments. I need His grace for ALL of these little, mundane moments. 

Transforming Grace.

We read about Emmanuel, God with us, each advent season. Do I realize that He has made me the place where He dwells?  Do I realize that this means He is present and active in all these mundane little moments?

To quote from the article:

"By sovereign grace He places you in daily little moments that are designed to take you beyond your character, wisdom and grace so that you'll seek the help and hope that can only be found in him. In a lifelong process of change, He is undoing you and rebuilding you again- exactly what each one of us needs!"

May I continue to be open to the change that Jesus wants to take place in me, in all the little moments of my daily life.

The End of My Rope

Back a long time ago- well, what seems like a long time ago- when it was just me and Tommy for the most of my days, I decided to babysit my niece (who is the same age as Tommy.)  Two babies and a new mama, there are a whole lot of stories and disclamiers that could come out of that year, but, most basically- I did it.  I watched two babies for the better part of the day. Somewhere in my mind I figured I managed a horribly collicy baby and my sweet niece, and therefore I could conquer the world. I remember Kenney and I still had standards. Dishes were never left in the sink. There were never fingerprints on the windows. We woke up early on Saturday mornings to do laundry and wash our bedroom sheets. Every. Saturday. Morning. (Well, being honest, he woke up and pulled the sheets from under me and I am pretty sure I fought that kicking and screaming- seriously.) We kept lists, and had routines, and planned weekend projects. I distinctly remember being proud. It makes me a bit nauseous now, but I remember thinking it. I was happy, yes, but secretly proud. Money wasn't really tight. I lost my baby weight. We had a clean and managed house. We even had a cat and a puppy. Even little colicy Tommy would take a bottle from Daddy now and then, to give me a break. Even on my worst days it felt like things were in control. Even on those bad days when Tommy didn't stop crying and I was exhausted, I remember the dozens and dozens of people that either gave practical advice or the simple quote... "It will get easier, it will get better."  I really did believe life progressed and got "better."

Then Noah came home and I was five months pregnant. We kinda bumbled along those first five months. Audrey was born, and we realized Noah needed some help. Therapy began- Speech Therapy, Occupation Therapy, Developmental Therapy, Physical Therapy, a Behavioral Psychologist, and even a Nutritional Therapist.

The house was full. Somewhere in-between pre and post Noah we moved, we gutted the "new" house out. We traveled to Russia four times. My brother and sister-in law and their new little baby moved in with us. At some point I began babysitting again. Finances changed, our house didn't sell for what we had hoped. The mortgage was high, and the loan we planned on getting to remodel the house in the beginning was used for adoption. Yet, somehow in the midst of all of this we decided to adopt both Isabell and Caleb.  And somehow, we thought special needs, and handicaps and deafness would all be okay too.  So we signed up for more financial "tightness" more people, more stuff, more needs. 

Not even months after we were back with Isabell and Caleb, we planned to go back for Charlotte.  More special needs, Cerebral Palsy to be exact.  We even adopted two more dogs (one who had just delivered puppies) to add to the mix.

There is a whole lot of missing information and pieces in the above paragraphs, but that information isn't the point.

You see, for me loving my little baby boy, colic and all was easy, being a mama wasn't so bad. My little Tommy spent nine months in my womb hearing my voice, listening to my heartbeat. I spoke words of praise, of joy, of delight over him. He was wanted and the two of us grew together. He was born healthy, nearly perfect.  He rolled over and crawled and walked perfectly. He talked perfectly. He ate perfectly. His body did exactly what healthy bodies do. He was loved from the very moment of conception, by both his mommy and his daddy. Sadly, I took the credit for it. I believed it was me. I believed somewhere in my sinful, broken heart that I was what made this little boy giggle and coo and smile at his mama.  As he grew up and began to read and write, and became a mostly well mannered little boy, as he ate all his veggies and asked for more, again, I took the credit, and I believed it was me. I believed I was a good mama.

Today.

I cry more than all the past years in my life almost every day. I am a mess. A real, dirty, needy mess. These children, even more specifically the children brought to us by adoption. They ruin me.

Some of my children can not walk at the age of five years old. When I go to the grocery store, I have to park next to a shopping cart corral that has a cart, because there is no way for me to carry both Charlotte and Isabell and hold Caleb and Audrey's hand, and monitor the safety of Tommy and Noah. So if there is no shopping cart, or spot open near a corral- I have to wait, keep driving around, or just leave. I have to get them out of bed in the morning. Carry them to the table, carry them to the living room, carry them downstairs if we all go downstairs, carry them outside if we all want to go out and play.

Some of my children can not use their hands or arms or bodies to get dressed, to brush their teeth, to feed themselves, to hold a cup and drink, to color, to play with their toys, so I feed them, I dress them, I brush their teeth for them, I hold their cup.

Some of my children can not talk. Cannot. Nothing, no words, nothing.  She's almost six years old and all we do is look into each other's eyes, and some days I have no idea what she needs or is trying to tell me. She can barely manipulate her arms, or hands, let alone fingers and so signing isn't much of an option. She can not call out to me in the night and ask for a drink if she is thirsty. She can not say the words every mother longs to hear.... "I love you."

Some of my children are hearing impaired. He can not hear what I am trying to say, he gets confused, he has a hard time talking, of communicating his needs. So I resort to talking loud, almost yelling. I repeat myself over and over, only to be stared at blankly. 

Some of my children have ADHD, SPD and other brain/behavior disorders. Things are confusing. Learning the alphabet is nearly impossible, even thought at five we sing the song every day over and over. They break down, throw tantrums, screaming lying on the floor, all because I politely asked don't touch. They can't sit still, they can't focus. They can't stop pulling at their sleeves or picking at their cuts and scrapes. They cry because someone touched them one minute and the next could gash their head open and not even notice. Their brains are confused and in a basic sense don't work the way they are supposed too. Trips in public can be a nightmare. We have to have special diets- no gluten, no food coloring, no preservatives, no cured meats, stay away from genetically modified foods, extra Omega 3's, extra liquids, eat every two hours.

Some of my children are hurt. From the moment they were conceived things were not like it was for Tommy. I do not know that the nine months (if it was even that) they spent in the womb, words of love, of affirmation, or joy were spoken over them. I know for a fact, some were thrown away, literally in a garbage bag left to die. I know some were malnourished, some spent the first year of their life on their backs, in a crib staring at a ceiling. I know some of them physically hurt. Their bodies were literally broken. They've undergone numerous surgeries and spent more time in a hospital than Kenney and I, and most all the adults I know. They've had multiple "mommies." They've had people come and go. The bonds that a mother and a child have... they've had and then lost, and then had and then lost, and lost and lost again, while some... have had nothing. 

Everything I thought I had control over- my son's walking and talking, his health and his happiness- I believed a lie.  The lie made me proud, and proud people don't know how much they desperately need Jesus.

I am sure I said it before... said that I needed Jesus. But it was not my life's heartbeat. It wasn't the constant I heard all day. It was just words, empty, meaningless words. I know I liked to believe that Christianity was about being strong for the Lord. I know I believed that things were getting better. Life was getting better. Things were getting easier.  Somehow I believed that Christianity made me stronger, more powerful, bigger, better, more capable.  I am not quite sure exactly where I was headed, but I've heard it said "Jesus' office is at the end of your rope."  I do know I wasn't at the end of my rope. 

But I am now.

This though, is where is gets good.

Remember, dear brothers and sisters, that few of you were wise in the world’s eyes or powerful or wealthy when God called you.  Instead, God chose things the world considers foolish in order to shame those who think they are wise. And he chose things that are powerless to shame those who are powerful. God chose things despised by the world, things counted as nothing at all, and used them to bring to nothing what the world considers important.  As a result, no one can ever boast in the presence of God. --1 Corinthians 1:26-29

I can not say it any better than this quote:
"The hope of the Christian faith is dependent on God’s display of strength, not ours. God is in the business of destroying our idol of self-sufficiency in order to reveal himself as our sole sufficiency. This is God’s way—he kills in order to make alive; he strips us in order to give us new clothes. He lays us flat on our back so that we’re forced to look up. God’s office of grace is located at the end of our rope. The thing we least want to admit is the one thing that can set us free: the fact that we’re weak. The message of the Gospel will only make sense to those who have run out of options and have come to the relieving realization that they’re not strong. Counter intuitively, our weakness is our greatest strength.- Tullian Tchividjian

I have been brought to my knees- better yet the floor, flat on my face, poor and needy, crying tears of desperation. I know every single moment of every single day, I CANNOT do this. I can't. I'm lost. I'm so very helpless. I need so desperately Jesus.

My need for Jesus- it's my greatest strength.  I didn't think really that I needed Jesus, like I need Jesus now. 

It's a beautiful thing.

Being broken and having Jesus.

I didn't see my own dirty hands before, but now I see them every day. I can hold my daughters broken hands in mine, and I can see the dirt and the mess of my own hands, and I can have joy, because Jesus washed me white as snow. 

I didn't see the mess my life had become before, but now I see it every day.  Dishes piled up, shoes on my counters, unopened mail, a lunch still to be packed, and groceries still to put away. But Jesus, he cleans up messes, and he takes the weight of having to perform to have worth and value, he takes that and squashes it, and loves me in spite of the messes at the end of the day.

November is National Adoption Month and Thanksgiving.

No more an appropriate time to be thankful for adoption. God used adoption in my life to break me. Jesus heals broken people.  I am a healed, redeemed, white as snow daughter of a Heavenly Father.  I have never experienced such a joy as this and I am so very thankful.  I am thankful to be at the end of my rope, because this is where I have Jesus, and there is no better place to be.

Jesus Came to Serve

The day starts, today for instance- wet beds and fussy kiddos.  Muddy dog paws and literally spilt milk.  Leaky faucets, no time for a shower.  Behavior issues and eating issues.  Running late for doctor appointments.  Crappy doctor appointments.  Screaming and tantruming kids- and the loneliness that comes from no one understanding. Runny noses and scraped knees.  More anger and more fear.  More pain in some of my children that wrecks me and ruins me and leaves me crying.  A husband home late and car repairs. A grocery list I didn't complete.  Dinner that never got made. Winter decorations still on my mantle.  More problems and more issues that run deeper and thicker than I could ever put on paper. 

I begin to feel lost again.  I feel like a failure.  I feel a mess and I want to hide from it all.  I don't know how to redeem the day and the messes.  I find myself longing for the things of this world.  A maid, a new job, kids that don't have handicaps and medical issues, a shower and makeup, and the spiral begins.  I am looking for my identity in places that it shouldn't be and I am upset when I can't find it there.

It's 8:30 at night and the kids need to get to bed.  Kenney and I stare at each other, and I see the brokenness he sees. It's the week of Easter.  Every single night we pray with our children.  We pray they see Jesus as glorious and holy.  We pray they believe and accept Jesus as their savior.  We pray they see themselves in need of a savior and we pray they see Jesus as their everything.  Yet, these littles, they look to us to see that, and when I look in the mirror, do I see Jesus?

So we gather in the middle of the kitchen floor.  In the last moments of the day I confess my sins.  I tell them all I love them.  That I yelled when I shouldn't and  I complained when I had so much to be thankful for. I used words that were not loving and I lived selfishly.  I tell them all I am sorry.  We talk about Jesus forgiving me of my sins, and how much I need, and my children all need a savior. 

I tell them mommy can't be a good mommy without Jesus.  Only Jesus can make me a good mommy, and only Jesus can make them good sons and daughters.  Because there is only one good and perfect man, and His name is Jesus.  I tell them, if we believe, we get Jesus- we get His good and perfect record as our own. We get grace. A couple of the older ones start to think about that. 

We didn't do a passover dinner, as much as in my mind I wished we could have.  (My mom came over and made us some Mexican tortillas) We didn't do Lenten devotions as I wished we would have.  We didn't do Easter crafts and empty tombs to celebrate His death and Resurrection.  We messed up a lot.

But tonight, we stopped everything rolled up each others pant legs and removed our socks and read together:

 

John 13:4-5 So he got up from the table, took off his robe, wrapped a towel around his waist, and poured water into a basin. Then he began to wash the disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel he had around him.

 

 

John 13:12-17 When he had washed their feet and put on his outer garments and resumed his place, he said to them, “Do you understand what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for so I am.  If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet.  For I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have done to you. Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them.

Every last one of us washed each other's feet.  It was all I had in me to keep from crying the entire time.  Jesus came to serve.  And He served perfectly, without sin.  Washing each others feet made that so clear and obvious. 

The day has been redeemed.  All my failures, all of my sin, it's washed away.  I believe and claim the One Perfect Servant as my Savior.   The sorrow that seems to consume so much of our days, can still be met with rejoicing!  For in Christ, we have everything.  In Christ we are full of an infinite supply of everything we need.  In that fullness, at the end of the day, we can serve, and wash each others feet. We will go to sleep tonight resting in the knowledge of His grace, and the peace that it brings to our weary hearts.

  2 Corinthians 6: 3...10 In everything we do, we show that we are true ministers of God....as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, yet possessing everything.

To tell the truth...

Five of them.

That's how many drafts of incomplete stories from just the last 30 days sit unpublished.

At the end of a day like today, what could I possibly write?

A dear friend, a much wiser and mature Christian friend told me (and I paraphrase) "Sometimes, if I told the truth, about what I felt and what I did, people would seriously be calling me, wondering about my faith, and questioning my sanity, and surely questioning my ability to be a wife, a mother, and a spiritual leader."

The truth is, I don't want to tell the truth.  I'm okay with telling some of the story, but honestly, I don't want anyone to know the whole truth.  I want to hide away the hurt, hide away the mistakes, the pain, the words, the drama, the big fat mess that my life really is.

I read a lot, and I think a lot.  I've been thinking about the Psalms.  Thinking about the different Psalms.  The ones about pain and hurt, the ones about happiness, about joy, about redemption and peace.  There are Psalms about anxiety, Psalms about love, discouragement, awe, delight and fear.  What a mix of emotions.  What emotional people we really are.  What an emotional person I really am. 

The truth is, I am a bunch of emotions.  To say today was only all about joy and that I was thankful and full, happy and in awe of the gifts and grace my Father bestows upon me would really be a lie.  Ask some of the people who witnessed the anger and frustration of my day.  And yet, today, the same day I received a letter in the mail from my grandma filled with words of happiness and history and pain and sorrow... an excerpt...

"You are a kind granddaughter, never to be forgotten...  Since my husband is deceased, he can't remember me...I remember the times we talked at night...Memories are great."

 

All of the thoughts that overflow.  And the irony is, my grandma has Alzheimer's and when I read the words, I wonder.... will she always remember me?  30-some years later does she miss her husband?  Is there still pain and loss?  I do remember the fun times shared with my grandma.  Doing puzzles, and eating fish-sticks,  really- great memories. Memories that DO make me happy.  How can it be?  All these feelings in just one card, a couple words on a page....

 

I do not know what the future holds.  I don't know exactly if these thoughts, so conflicting, will always rage war in my mind.  Today they do.

 

I fight battles with and for my children.  I think all parents fight battles for and with their children.  Some battles that I fight, I fight because some of my children have been adopted.  Not all parents who adopt fight these same battles.  Not all parents have children who struggle the same.  But some of my hardest battles are because my children come from a broken past.  I firmly believe the enemy, Satan, would love to claim the lives of my children, and from where he was sitting, my children, sitting in an orphanage, with no parents, little food, little clothing, no one to share with them the love of Jesus, no one to advocate on their behalf, no one.... I believe it had to look good, in Satan's favor.  I can't imagine he's happy they are here.  I can't imagine he's delighted that they hear about Jesus every day.  I can't imagine he's happy they have a mom and dad to forever love them, and forever point them to Jesus in any and every way possible.  I fight battles.  I grow weary. 

 

I fight and win battles with Christ.  We make progress. We fight to claim our children, as OURS, as orphans no more.  We fight to erase what they have been taught.  We fight to make them believe they are OURS.  We make progress, we make so much progress.  God is so gracious, so faithful, so beautiful and loving towards us.  We are in awe daily of how HE grows us, changes us, and changes and uses us and our children.

 

Yet, somehow, amidst all the joy, all the change, all the growth, hurt and defeat creep in.  I am amazed though, at what I have found to "kill" me the most.  It's the everyone else. 

 

There are two (okay three... after typing, I had to add another...oops...seriously...   I now have four.... I have a problem, admittedly I do)  practical conclusions that I have arrived at this evening. 

 

1.  Antarctica is cold. Africa is hot.  But... do the people in Africa have any understanding of being cold like the people (if there were ones) in Antarctica?  Do the people (if there were ones) in Antarctica have any understanding of being hot, like the people in Africa?  The point really is, there is something that I very much lack in understanding regarding the things, I have no experience with.  I do not know what it is like to be a widow.  I do not know what it is like to loose a parent.  I don't know what divorce is like.  I don't know about LOTS of things.  I have been hurt many times, too many times, by the ones I love, because I am in Antarctica, and they are in Africa.  Neither hot nor cold is any better or worse in theory.  Yet, because we have and deal with "issues" related to things some have not experienced, it seems a perfect breeding ground for things like anger, frustration, condemnation, and mostly judgement to pop up.

 

2.  I am just as guilty.  I have compassion so much for the new mom with a new baby that doesn't stop crying.  I want to love on the parents who have just arrived home with their newly adopted child.  I want to help the marriages that fight to be set apart from what the world deems as a "healthy marriage".  I have understanding and grace to extend to almost everyone who has experienced any experience that I have personally experienced.  That's it.  Single moms.... probably not on my radar.  Widows, cancer patients, divorcees.... I don't know about that... so I find myself lacking grace, lacking compassion, and surely saying words that hurt, words that cut, actions that at the end of the day, make those whom I've sinned against feel weary and defeated. 

 

3.  I fail to obey and conform to Christ's character.  I have put the recognition and acceptance of other's in the place of Jesus.  In other words, instead of looking to Christ to fill me, making me feel complete and accepted, I have put something else in His place.  I need the gospel.  Every. Single. Day.  It is only in going back to the gospel, going back to what Christ did for me on the cross, that I can be gripped by the reality of what He did for me and who I am in Him.  (awesome article on the subject, taken from here)

 

4.  I have to believe that God has delivered everything I need in the person and work of Jesus.  I have to believe that God's love is a one way love.  His love for me is unconditional.  In Christ, I have all the love, affection and worth I need, based on the person and work of Jesus. All that I tend to seek and need in less places (the acceptance and love of other, friends, family, etc) I have in Jesus.  In Christ, my deepest needs are met. I have found that when I am most resistant to love others, and serve others it is because I am afraid that I may not be loved or served back.  But, the gospel OBLITERATES that fear.  IN CHRIST MY DEEPEST NEEDS ARE MET.  That sets me free!

 

As the clock nears 1:30 am and my thoughts have gone full circle.  I rest in these thoughts.  Pain will happen, weakness will happen, insults, hardships, persecutions, difficulties.... they are all gonna happen.  People will hurt me, the ones I love will hurt me.  But, His grace - the gospel-  the finished work of Jesus on the cross is sufficient, is enough, is completely, 100% everything I need.  The more I focus on the cross, the more I see that a loving and perfect God, whom while I was still a sinner, died for me and wiped the slate clean, took away my sins, made me white as snow.... Redeemed me and has called me His daughter, the more I focus on that, the more He IS everything I need. 

 

 

Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.  That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.  2 Corinthians 12:7-10

The Day After Christmas

For all of the December the 26th's I can remember, I in some way, have found myself crying. Some years a full out weeping with sobs a snotty nose and smeared mascara, and some years, just a small tear drop that slid down my cheek.

Sometimes, I cried because Christmas was over. Decorations were to come down.  Christmas break was almost over and school would be starting soon. No more Christmas cookies, no more Christmas music, no more holiday parties. Sometimes I cried because of my own sin- ways I "messed up" Christmas. Lies I told, people I hurt, places I shouldn't be, sin I knew I shouldn't be involved in. Sometimes I cried because of broken relationships, loneliness, and an unexplainable sadness that just seemed to take over my heart.

I always knew that Christmas was not about a day, and not about presents, or decorations, or any of the magical things Christmas was promoted to be. I had sat through dozens of Christmas day church services, went to midnight masses, Christmas Eve vigils, lit advent candles, and read Christmas devotions. I knew that Jesus came to save the world from our sins. I knew that He died for me. I knew all of the real reasons for Christmas. I knew about the virgin Mary, the realness and messiness of an infant Jesus coming into this world. I knew about the prophecies Jesus fulfilled. I knew Jesus came to this earth for me, and the rest of the world full of sinners. I knew all of those things. And yet, I cried.


Tonight is December the 26th and I sit on my couch pondering. The fire is smoldering on a bed of ashes that is 3 days old and needs to be cleaned. The lights are twinkling and casting an almost magical glow from our Christmas tree. I can see Tommy's socks in the middle of the living room floor, and I chuckle, because I know he pulled them off before he went to bed-he hates wearing socks to bed. The kitchen is halfway clean. The dishwasher is loaded to as full as it can be and the rest of the dishes sit waiting for their turn in the dishwasher tomorrow. Toys and tags and paper are still strewn about in bits and pieces from yesterdays festivities. Everyone is asleep. I can hear Isabell tossing and turning. I can hear Noah breathing too loud. The dogs are dreaming, because I can hear their nails clicking on the floor as they must be imagining they are running. I feel more tired than I have ever been, and yet I sit here awake. 

So many things to think about. So many things I want to remember, I want to share, I want to write down. Yet, I've not done that for two months. 

My heart is so full. Full of sadness- I wanted to write down, to do something in the month of November to celebrate and promote adoption, after all November is national adoption month and I have three children whom we adopted, and I did nothing.  Full of joy- I wanted to write about friendship. In my entire life I have struggled with friendships and slowly, very, very slowly, I have found and learned so much about what I was missing and where I was wrong. I wanted to remember the friends that have helped us. The dozens of ladies that made meals when we came home from China, that will never understand how much they blessed us. How pivotal their generosity to a person most of them barely knew, taught me so much about the character of Jesus. The friends that sat outside on our back porch and chatted on hot summer nights, listening to crickets chirping under a blanket of northwest Indiana stars. The talks we had about Jesus and silly YouTube videos will forever be a noteworthy memory of mine, the comfort and ease and importance of our conversations taught me more about fellowship than I have ever known. Full of pain- the brokenness of my children. The difficulty and struggles as a mamma I have with parenting... parenting little ones, parenting kids from hard places, parenting handicapped kids, parenting when nothing makes sense, and everything hurts. Full of change- a new niece, new schedules, new projects, new paperwork, new friends.  Full of confusion- going where God leads us, continuing to grow, being challenged in our marriage, in our home, in our family, in our finances, in almost every. single. decision. this year we have been challenged to think deeper, seek God's kingdom first, and that has made things harder, harder, because no longer can we be okay with living in our flesh, no longer can we make decisions solely based on what is "best for us", and that brings about changes, daily changes that require us to every single day die to ourselves and allow Him to increase and force us to decrease. 

We are in the middle. In the middle of joy and pain. So many days I cry to my mother about the children I can't parent, only to find myself hours later building a couch fort and snuggling with the kiddos with a flashlight a good book smiling because they are all so precious and life is so good.

Maybe I am fickle. Maybe I am complicated and random. Maybe a bit unstable. Maybe a bit too mouthy.

But tonight is December the 26th and in the 32 years of December the 26th's I can remember, this is the first time I am not crying. In fact I have found myself with a slight smile on my face. Growth and change is not easy. It's hard and messy. It's painful and full of scabs that get reopened and scars that don't want to go away. But to know Jesus.... but to know Jesus.

I can't say that I didn't know Him, but I can say, I didn't know Him, like I do today. All the times I ran from Him, He loved me, and still died for me. All the times I knowingly chose sin, chose to hurt my loved ones, chose to live for myself, chose to steal, to lie, to sin against His commandments, all those times, He loved me.  His mercy for me is unfathomable. All the times He should have abandoned me, He didn't. All the times I thought He did, He was only growing me, disciplining me, challenging me, using what Satan had planned for death, He used for His glory through me. Each day the innumerable times I know better, and yet I parent out of anger, I parent out of frustration, I parent out of selfishness, He is still there- giving me new mercies every morning, and extending me His grace. Every stupid argument with my family, my husband, my sisters, my parents, my in-laws. He is still there, loving me, loving me, His love never changing. No matter my sin, His love doesn't change. On the days I yelled at my kids more than ever, why did I somehow think He loved me any less than the days I didn't yell? Why did I ever think His arms were not open? 

His love has always been there, always been first, and it's His love that changes me. It's his love that grows me. Knowing my savior loves me like this, is what makes me love. It's what brings joy to my broken heart. His love is what grows me. His love is what makes me want to "sin no more." 

It's this unconditional, unfathomable, indescribable love, that He freely gives me, that on this December the 26th in all of the 32 years of December the 26th's keeps me smiling, and brings joy and peace to my heart.

  To keep this joy in my heart forever.  I write it down to remember.