one sacred life

a simple post titled the view from here. a way to remember the small moments in life through the lens of a camera. no other words needed.

i love redecorating.

the kind where you take what you already have – maybe purchase or borrow a few items and for a small bit of money you have a totally new room.

outdoor room in our case!

once we finally got the chance to use our outdoor space last year after our mid-summer move and outdoor painting that lasted into july – we had no time to redecorate it – with the garden in full swing plus our businesses taking off and friends visiting…well our plate was full.

this year, when summer arrived in early may, we decided it was imperative to get our outdoor space to a place where we wanted to live out there!

we took furniture we already had purchased from craigslist earlier in the year for my husband’s office (which he didn’t love so this is the perfect solution to use it somewhere else and they are solid teak and the set of love seat and two chairs were only $125 – score!), my grandma’s side table, two benches to make a shelving unit that were already out there, our table was out there already as with decoration from the closets, then we added:

1. an outdoor rug $40
2. curtains and hardware $32
3. hanging copper lantern $12

and we got this:

isn’t it lovely! we spent all morning out there right up until our home businesses opened and it is truly amazing!

ok – i’m being a bit deceiving! we actually bought that gorgeous grill this year too which was on sale for $250 from $370. but i’m not counting that as we planned on getting a new grill this year anyway so that we can entertain and utilize the space much more ourselves.

all in all – pure success!

had just finished putting the garden in.

the water was on.

i saw tessa outside and went over to say hello.

it’d been too long since our last chat.

meeting at the mailbox or out front in the road.

the pleasant encounters of living in a neighborhood where everyone is on a first name basis.

“hi tessa,” i hollered over the fence.

“hi rebecca,” she greeted me.

we talked about how nice the weather had been and i told her i’d just put my garden in.

she said, “oh good – i kept driving by saying to myself that you needed to get your garden in before it’s too late.”

i nodded and told her that we’d just been so busy.

she immediately quipped “well slow down! you only live once!”

i agreed.

walked away and felt the thud of wisdom from our neighborhood grandma.

just this past weekend, we went to a leadership conference.

they talked of balance.

one person said that it’s often hard to see that you are out of balance until you start to come out of it.

true.

since tessa’s words, i’ve purposed to do the things i want to do first. to pick my top three things in each day –  the things i value and hope for and want to remember when i’ve breathed my last.

put these first.

purpose to live a full, but balanced life.

the rest will slow down.

adoption art = doesn’t exist.

what a bummer.

guess i’ll have to just get my own creative vibes a-go-n.

cause what’s out there is lame.

really lame.

come on people.

“Patience is not passive resignation, nor is it failing to act because of our fears. Patience means active waiting and enduring. It means staying with something and doing all that we can—working, hoping, and exercising faith; bearing hardship with fortitude, even when the desires of our hearts are delayed. Patience is not simply enduring; it is enduring well!”
- Dieter F. Uchtdorf

i dialed the phone to greet her.

i wished her well. i could hear her smiling.

my mama.

the woman who means much more than words convey.

the one who taught me the many definitions of womanhood and keeps teaching to this day.

i hadn’t eaten breakfast and my stomach was in knots.

i couldn’t quite figure out why everything felt so funny. so emotional. on this day.

we went for a drive and i received her message:

“happy mother’s day my friend. today i am praying for you and your precious children and praising god with hope that this will be the last mother’s day you spend without them.”

a wave of emotion hit and i was thankful for her keen sensitivity.

the in between is so hard.

the feeling like mother – yet no babe in the womb. the painful knowledge that my children are already living and breathing and starting to deal with their past and each day that goes by is another day lost from being with them.

there is an urgency – yet a dedication to the process and the patience of dealing with social workers who are overworked and underpaid and have too many like me to worry about my day-to-day emotions – much less the sorrow of another mother’s day passing with no children by my side.

it’s the in between that is killing me. no one knows the in between like mothers who’ve been in the in between. and it sucks…just sayin.

i feel wrapped in warmness.

on the day that my sister was born 34 years ago

this year, on this day

our adoption home study is complete.

all done.

finished.

the ok to start looking for kids.

and i find that i’m a little apprehensive.

unsure how to search.

searching set first in prayer.

for the ones he has for us.

our little munchkins.

so today i remember, honor the one i grew up with.

and look forward to the ones i’ll have the honor of helping grow up.

what a great day this is!

have you ever considered that maybe your system is perfectly designed to produce the results you are experiencing?

-skye jethani

most of us could probably like a statement like this.

it begins easy enough, might sting a bit when you actually point it towards your own personal frustration. but, we can inherently accept the truth in a statement like this.

we can acknowledge the systems in place in our homes, work places, and the benign areas of our very systematic lives.

but what if we point this statement toward a more complex issue?

what about systematic racism?

go ahead, roll your eyes or nod and think you understand.

you see i’m a white country girl who’s married a black urbanite and been forever changed.

i’ve come to understand that while it’s understandable that some do not see the systematic racism that is alive and well, it is not ok.

if you do not see…

then you too are the system.

the hairs on your neck might stand and you might think i’m just on my soap box.

but i tell you the truth.

no lies, no exaggerations.

our systems still allow for the mistreatment of minorities on a daily basis.

you may say, “not in my world” or “i like everyone” or even “i’m colorblind”

but the truth is that you aren’t colorblind…but you might be blind.

i’ve been changed not because i drank the koolaid.

i’ve been changed because i’ve been beside my husband when he’s scowled at. i’ve been in church with him when he’s praising loudly and eyes turn and shush him. i’ve had people i do business with come to our place of business and refuse to place a check in his hand returning the next day to place it in mine.

i’ve watched my beloved black family members who are bright beyond belief struggle with employment and buying a house and being accepted for the culture they come to any table with.

in time, i’ve seen how our systems have a very narrow playing field and you must conform, or be thrown back.

i’ve had conversation after conversation in which an individual believes that listening to rap music or wearing certain clothes or speaking with an accent (isn’t slang an accent of sorts?) makes you suspect, less employable or frightening.

differences can be frightening. try landing in a country in which you don’t speak the language or know the customs and watch how fast you offend others, lose respect, and feel completely lost and downtrodden.

now image living your entire life that way.

our systems create rules. rules to live by. those that don’t, or won’t conform for the sake of their own customs can say goodbye to opportunity, success and feelings of worthiness.

so i wonder…

are we willing to consider that our systems are perfectly designed to produce the results we are experiencing?

i sank when i no longer saw their pictures.

gone.

taken.

i cried and cried.

went to bed and cried out hundreds of

“i don’t understand…” statements

and all he said is

i know

woke in the night with emotion coursing my body.

my womb is empty.

they are gone.

i unconsciously hold the place i carried them.

a miscarriage.

gone.

the wave of grief comes as a heavy, dark blanket covers the whole of me.

the dank smell chokes my hope.

eyes sore from the tears.

chasing that which is gone.

he is my new friend.

just finished developing positive self-images and discipline in black children.

blown away.

here’s a few tidbits to remember:

the relationship between curriculum, images, and discipline is of paramount importance.

their peer group has increased its influence for numerous reasons, but one of them is because too few adults listen and respect the ideas of children.

developing positive self-images and discipline in black children is difficult if not impossible, if they are bored, lack enthusiasm, and see no relationship between their world and the classroom.

educators must remember that children want to know why you want them to learn that concept. unless we answer this questions, our children will not be internally motivated to learn.

parents often want to know what teachers instruct between nine and three, but where are the parent’s lesson plans from three to nine?

woke joyfully this morning.

dreaming wildness.

hopeful even in slumber.

it went like this…

we were standing in the kitchen.

he’d gone out to the truck to get it warmed up.

one last check of computer before putting it away and walking out the door.

email came in.

subject line said “now, don’t get too excited…”

it was from our case worker.

she told us that the case worker for the kids had seen our info.

was very interested.

though the photo of us got wet and my skin looked darker, she had made it clear to the children’s case worker.

they wanted us to meet the kids.

the email said “if all goes well, this could be it – but try to not get your hopes up just in case it doesn’t work out for some reason.”

and my stomach flipped.

kind of like when you fall in love.

butterflies – i think they call it.

i was thinking of beds and clothes and things i needed to get ready.

and wow – we need to move too!

i woke gently with joy in my heart.

they were ours.

and i told him about my dream.

we smiled and wondered – could it be true?

we’ve prayed -

lord, if you want them to be ours, bring them to us

and so we wait.

wait to see if our dreams become reality.

after telling my hubby that a room spray he got in his eyes is “all natural” so it won’t hurt him, he responded:

gravel is all natural but if you put it in your eye it’s gonna hurt.

well, alrighty then.

tee hee hee.

late night exploration of photos.

they have told us “you’ll know them when you see them.”

yet nothing has felt quite like that.

they say adoptive parents need to be able to claim their children.

yet nothing has made me say “these are mine.”

until tonight.

i’ve seen them before but when reality had us only thinking of living in our little house, the thought of so many just wasn’t possible.

last night, in light of our hope, this group grabbed my heart.

and my insides firmly stated “these are MY kids.”

i didn’t stumble on the words, only choked on the reality.

i prayed, “lord, help me know.”

silence.

he woke up as i lay unable to sleep.

“can i talk to you?” – i asked.

and i spoke of these. i read him their story. showed him their photos. and as we talked, he came up with far more pros than cons. so we decided to pray for guidance and seek wisdom from those that know us best.

two days.

he kissed me goodnight and i slept peacefully.

this morning, in the fog of first moments – a time i hear and connect with my lord without over-thinking,

i asked “lord, is this what you are doing?” and all that came is…

yes

instantly awake, i made calls, sought advice, asked for real truth from people who have big families.

heard encouragement. heard reality. heard “you can do this!”

a quiet morning and with head under tap to wash the sleep from my head, i asked…

“lord, how will i know?”

you’ll know

“help me see”

in time

“how can we help them?”

you can

went to his house.

he gave the tour.

told me all about why he’s leaving.

i walked through and saw us there. saw us living well. here.

i imagined children running trucks and dolls up the hallway.

i could see my husband in his space.

and i could see me in the amazing garden.

food year round in the greenhouse.

amazing.

i told him what we needed for terms and without so much as taking a breath he said he was open to our terms. i told him we were serious. i told him we needed to agree on price and details and it would be a done deal.

he seemed to not hear me very well. he seemed to not know if he could trust my words. he’s had many say they love his house – want his house. but i think it was clear by the end.

i walked home and we talked.

we dreamed.

could this be?

little morning encouragement.

just what i needed to hear -

read your post about a big house. you can maintain your spirit in a large house. and you can do it well. and i think a larger house will allow for more people to gather together which i see for your family. whether you identify with it or not, i see you as an incredible hostess. a home that is open and comfortable. a place where people feel comfortable in the open spaces rather than cramped in confining quarters. let go of your fear, my friend. you can have the space you need on your own terms. love you.

i have judged.

took stories that one told me about their deepest hurts.

and judged their future ability.

to use restraint.

to be kind.

when there’s never been an indication that he wouldn’t be able to.

he shows great restraint in the areas i fear.

my fear led to judgement.

but it’s not ok.

and i had to appologize.

dedicate to working together, not holding at arms length because i’m afraid of what the wounding would cause him to do.

truth is, we’re all wounded.

truth is, there’s hope this side of the cross.

it’s getting better.

this process of less.

the rooms still feel a bit too cluttered.

my closets still have too much.

have taken 4 bags to the goodwill (not quite the 40 bags this year)

still working.

still weeding out.

still getting comfortable with less.

what is it that i have against a big house?

what is it that makes me nearly rigid just thinking of it?

i think of:

the wasted space

the lack of family; with everyone in “their” space

the lack of outdoors; the footprint taking all the land

the too much stuff

the closets filled to the gills

the lack of homey feeling

bedrooms with more than a bed

no creativity in the 16 foot tall walls

unhuman dimentions

reverberating sound in uninhabited rooms

but if it’s not this. if it doesn’t fail in these areas…would i be ok?

how would it need to be?

he wonders.

he worries.

it’s not what he thought.

he thought he wanted boys.

yet, it’s undeniable this little girl that’s captured his heart.

he says to me:

i think she could use a dad

and he shows me how she’s described herself sounds just like me.

homebody.

likes a calm home.

makes her own doll clothes and accessories.

and i wonder – could this be?

there are so many options, which is the sad thing about it.

we’re thinking of how to make room for more to bring home.

stood before the bookshelf.

after looking at the adoption book next to the bed.

felt overloaded.

after hours upon hours of the hardest stories about broken kids.

just needed something lighter.

as the eyes scanned the shelf, i found it.

the ministry of motherhood.

a book i’d long wanted to read.

yet wanted to wait till i was actually becoming mama.

i reclined in bed and found redemptive words.

when you take away the shadows that will tint my experience – those that will change the path of this story – what’s left is simply motherhood.

and in that role there is great joy.

great expectation.

i’ve waited my whole life to care for another.

and so i never want to remember that it’s ok to just be mom.

she came in our midst.

then she shared.

this mother of three.

keeping one.

two in families like mine.

she shared of her heartache.

she refused the comment that “she was selfless” – she said “no, i was selfish. i didn’t choose to adopt out my kids because i wanted them to have a better life, i adopted them out because i wanted my own life.”

she talks about shame and my wells run over.

he rubs my back and i grieve with her.

just another reminder to know that there is so much more below the surface.

for the kids.

for their birth moms.

for us.

for folks we’ll brush up against in the grocery store.

love isn’t just love.

love is patient
love is kind and is not jealous
love does not brag and is not arrogant
does not act unbecomingly
it does not seek its own
is not provoked
does not take into account a wrong suffered
does not rejoice in unrighteousness
but rejoices with the truth
bears all things
believes all things
hopes all things,
endures all things.

1 corinthians 13:4-7

we finished just before five.

all done.

we high-fived each other.

couldn’t believe we made it.

felt activated.

well-informed.

ready for what’s ahead.

eager to start looking for our own.

23 hours in three days.

certificate in hand.

we drove away.

waving fondly our goodbyes.

went to our favorite spot for dinner.

just sat in silence.

the day felt like a nightmare.

i’m running down the a dark, scary, winding path.

from the start, i knew i’d leave wounded from this place.

we talked about race.

we watched videos showing kids of color discuss what it meant to be adopted by white parents. their hearts bleeding from lies like being told they were white. the child’s identity not formed – their parent’s wishful thinking that their love and acceptance was enough to get through the rest of life. they shared of the shock and anger when they realized how the world saw them and how unprepared they were to live out life from that rut of racism.

the trees were dark and leaned in, scraping me as i drove wildly past.

beyond the next turn, we listed to the horrors of babies that are substance exposed.

she painted a picture of heart-wrenching withdrawal. i remembered scenes from traffic and how the adults in that story chose their substance. these arched back, blurry-eyed, feverish, sensory terrorized, tearful, woeful infants didn’t have a choice. i wept when i imagined the child that writhes in anguish, not just the days or weeks it would take an adult – no, for these little innocents, this goes on for 6-10 months.

the monsters came hunting me from the dark places of the forest. i wasn’t safe, they bit and scratched and i bled. sweat poured down my forehead as i raced to the afternoon and began begging for mercy.

back from lunch i quickly realized i shouldn’t have eaten as my stomach turned and twisted in knots as we began to talk about sexually abused children.

we lay cards on a continuum of abuse – cards that read things like “adult sensually kissing child” and “adult forcing child to watch pornography” and “adult performing oral sex on child” and it goes on and on. we talked about little girls that nuzzle male guests because they think that’s how they should show affection. we watched the most horrific video about incest and heard stories of years of progressively deviant abuse at the hand of a child’s own parent.

i was sickened. emotionally exhausted. i wanted to pull my knees to my chest, cover my ears, close my eyes and scream like a child. and in that moment i realized just a snippet of how they must feel.

the world looks down on foster children. some have asked us “why don’t you adopt a baby instead.” instead of what? these tainted children? instead of these unruly children? instead of these {fill in the blank} children?

how dare we think anything but complete awe for the survivors these children are. how dare we wonder and judge their misbehavior by comparing them to children who always had enough to eat and never wondered if daddy would hurt them. how dare we not see the strength in their character when they continue to try to examine and try to make sense of a past that most of us couldn’t even survive.

they are strong.

they are brave.

they are resourceful.

and they are broken in so many pieces that it will take years and the grace of god to put them back together.

we went to bed at 6pm.

both of us had nightmares and sweats as we came to the end of our nightmare of a day.

the worst thing is that all too often, these children live these kind of days for years.

our nightmare is their reality.

and we desire, now more than ever, to give them a new reality to live the rest of their days and grace for the moments when they are terrorized by the wounds and memories of their own nightmares.

full day.

sitting on a hard chair.

the first of three.

we go around the room and i’m grateful.

i’m grateful that we chose to be here with this group.

people speak of praying for their kids.

ask god to lead them on how they would build their family.

the sigh of relief is audible in my heart.

these like-minded, faith-based families will bless us.

i sure hope we can bless in turn.

this morning we drove.

early morning pick up from his long break.

and we drove.

had time to explore.

the sun was shining.

a most lovely morning.

blue skies.

crisp air.

the day started full and ended full.

and i’m grateful he’s only a few steps away to a hug.

read this amazing article.

must re-group.

first up – stop using the excuse of business.

then i’ll re-read and pick up more.

i’ve never known quite how to explain it.

the desire to see a sigh of relief.

to look out from where i stand and look long without obstacle.

to live in a home on top of the world.

no curtains in my windows;

and no one to see in.

alive and well, our family flourishing.

in wide open spaces.

i came to you.

met your heart at the door.

this day filled with sunshine.

we basked.

we laughed.

we talked.

we loved.

we drove to mountain tops.

shared dreams and plans.

we ambled back.

opened the door to let the last of the sunshine come in.

and the view from here poured peace into the last remaining places of our already blessed hearts.

the minutes pass as i travel to you.

i park the car.

climb the thick steps.

you open the door

and you smile.

i look deep in your eyes

and you call me those silly names that make my heart sputter and stop cold.

we embrace

and wildness rushes through my body.

the color rejuvenates every part.

we kiss.

those warm lips, i’ve missed.

the love drips like honey from our lips.

i am forever yours.

make me yours again.

there’s nothing quite like it.

the fresh air.

a winding road.

nowhere to be in any near future.

wandering.

letting go.

it’s heaven to me.

these days alone as you take your break have me thinking.

yesterday, i was running my errands, feeling single in our separateness. i flew down this road i often traveled before i knew you and i was flooded with memories of years ago.

it’s unfathomable how much color you have brought to my life in just over four years. there is a fullness in my heart that i never knew existed.

this partnering, this sharing, this being on the same teaming…

it has changed me.

i look back at single and it appears in grayscale.

it appears lifeless.

and today i think on you and the way you make me feel.

supported.

known.

cherished.

admired.

loved.

and the list goes on. this glorious, colorful list of double-rainbow bliss.

i’m so grateful that i know you.

i’m so glad that you chose me.

i’m ever changed by marrying you.

i love you.

i was looking for obscure words.

went online and found a marvelous list.

things like:

gadoid

adj.,n. - (fish) of the cod family.

and:

balatron

n. - a joker; a clown

or even:

levisomnous

adj. - watchful

it was very cool. i was moving right along down the list and stopped cold at a word i didn’t particularly find to be obscure. a word i use quite often, actually. and a pang of reality rolled over me and thoughts about giving our firsts back to our maker took over as i stared at the word…

tithe

n. - tenth part; tax payable to church.

lost in a web of thoughts, i wondered simply about the definition here. that tithing is about giving to the church. while that is a practical reality, i’ve not personally found a way to put my coins in the hand of god; i do not consider tithing as to the church, but as to god. and this practice cannot be obscure without additionally obscuring my life. there have been times when i too, in moments of honestly, would place this word on this list. but i’ve found that all of life loses it’s focus when my firsts aren’t in the proper place.

and this is just another reminder to keep that which is most important from landing on the list of the obscure.

this extra day.

one more than most years.

and i find it spent quietly.

peacefully.

full.

some days i careen toward insanity.

some i pull in, knees to chest.

there are ones that leave fullness ringing in my ears.

yet others i find i’m still clawing for some unknown longing.

there is less and less stability.

more and more uncertainty.

though it’s the kind that paints maturity in my heart.

i know not if i will pass this way again.

so i try to remember.

i try to live.

just live.

and let the rest fall aside like the 366th.

woke this morning.

went to hum a few bars an the notes that came out led me to keep singing:

trust and obey
for there’s no other way
to be happy in jesus
but to trust and obey

when we walk with the lord
in the light of his word
what a glory he sheds on our way
while we do his good will
he abides with us still
and with all who will trust and obey

not a shadow can rise
not a cloud in the skies
but his smile quickly drives it away
not a doubt nor a fear
not a sigh nor a tear
can abide while we trust and obey

but we never can prove
the delights of his love
until all on the altar we lay
for the favor his shows
and the joy he bestows
are for them who will trust and obey

then in fellowship sweet
we will sit at his feet
or we’ll walk by his side in the way
what he says we will do
where he sends we will go
never fear only trust and obey

i’m labeled.

a hater.

yet it’s defend what we do, not at all hate.

it all escalated and when we wanted to meet venom with venom, we stayed silent.

i dreamt about what i often try to live…

that we never know from the place or moment that another person comes from. their lives, the things they aren’t proud of, their moment, their motives.

grace is required.

sigh.

i wish it didn’t have to be like this.

it’s been a couple of days since writing.

i’ve waited.

and waited.

watched in anticipation.

this big lovely.

that i almost cut down.

it’s an outward exploration.

an inward celebration.

i’m waiting to bloom.

the ideas are opening.

the changes are fragrant.

the heart is unfolding.

i’m waiting to bloom.

setting goals is good for me.

yesterday, i made a 10 point to-do list of some of the more major things i’ve been trying to get done and my deadline is march 31.

deadlines are good.

today the cabinet guy i’ve been waiting on for two months to come look at my falling-apart kitchen called me because he was in the area and he took measurements and will be back with my new pieces by friday.

the ditch-digger will be here tomorrow to dig the ditch and lay the conduit to the shed for that overhaul.

and i got a referral for an upholsterer and dropped off my cushions which i can pick back up in 10 days.

i’m well on my way.

i love moving forward!

this process of reducing.

sometimes brought on by disorganization.

less to try to keep tabs on.

but i find that i minimize most often when i need space in my life.

it’s not simply the organizing.

it’s the visual peace i find when my home is minimal.

it’s the inner peace when my closets aren’t full.

it’s deep peace when i make room by having less.

room for what?

sometimes i don’t even know.

but, i think it’s time for another 40 bags.

less is what i need.

less will do.

the year is nearly a sixth of the way finished.

one sixth.

i wonder how it is that each successive year passes by more quickly than the last.

it took so long to pass a year as a child.

what possibly is the key to slowing down?

i work hard at practicing the slow.

still, life passes by at an alarming rate.

i wonder how to challenge myself further to stop amidst the minute hand instead of letting whole days pass by without so much as a goodbye.

i think of adding structure so that i notice the passing, but then i find that my day is only more full, leaving me chasing my tail rather than peacefully nodding to the moments.

i do not know the key.

all i know is that this year is a measurable way past go.

and i’ve only just begun.

my mother once told me that when i was a little girl, she knew when i had awakened not by my cry, but by my worship.

tender, jesus songs from the tiniest of voices.

i’d sit in my crib and sing. worship.

these days, i find my spirit reliving those days, long past.

i wake mid-sentence to words put to memory.

or a praise song is found needle down, sweetly singing over my spirit.

bathed in praise.

bathed in the presence of god.

the older i get, the more i understand.

i used to look upon those older than me and wonder why they only listened to songs of praise. why they only read the bible and the dictionary. why they only spoke words of affirmation.

i thought it was weak religion.

today, i recognize the joy of not knowing anything else more than i know my lord.

i realize the value of guarding what goes in.

the worth of protecting your own personal quota of storage space.

and in this i’m learning what it means to truly worship.

not just hands in the air on a sunday morning.

but worshiping with the whole of my life.

my loves.

my time.

my space.

my energy.

my ears.

my tonuge.

my all.

to give god my all is nothing short of what he desires.

and in meeting him there, i get goose-bump visions of meeting him when i’ve breathed my last.

that day, when everything comes full circle and i finally realize just how all encompassing it is to truly…

worship.

it was so nice to see them.

we ate.

and shared.

inspected the cat’s tail.

oohs and awes at the quilts.

i always enjoy our sweet visits.

i just wish they were closer.

so that weekend meals were more commonplace.

life was shared more.

she reminds me to listen more, speak less.

and i know.

but i can’t slow down when i see them…

trying to catch them up on all the life that’s been lived since the last time they were here.

i just wish they were closer.

sometimes i have sharp words.

sometimes i recognize the wisdom in walking away.

sometimes i understand how it must be.

other times i just want to pummel with fists.

in all times, i’ve come to know the deep weight of opened eyes.

she writes:

back in our pre-adoption “dark ages,” i thought race was a nonissue when it came to parenting. in fact, it is the issue. we have to deal with race before adoption, because it is more immediately noticeable to other people. i’ve evolved from an unenlightened white woman who thought all people should be treated equally, to an enlightened one, who knows they are not. and the transformation has sharpened me in ways that scare some of my friends.

- secret thoughts of an adoptive mother by jana wolff

and these words.

my very spirit knows to be deep truth.

i’ve felt like this in many ways already.

simply by marrying a black man.

now, black children are to come.

and i’m bound for more days stuck in fight or flight.

today i wear a purple scarf.

draped over the shoulders and it warms me.

warms the woman in me.

i look at him, rub his shoulder and smile.

he looks overwhelmed.

he’s changing.

dealing with that which he needed to.

and i sit draped in purple.

by sowing frugality we reap liberty, a golden harvest.

-agesilaus

the ear it bends

the heart it sends

galloping toward one another.

it changes ever so

a midst the ebb and flow

of life taking its course.

so this day i to say

like a sunshine ray

just what it means to me.

…

love is words put away in the heart

love is grace for the every day struggle

love is staying on the same team

love is becoming parents together

love is in a warm bath and a nest

love is memories sweet

love is giggling and shelf hanging

love is forgiveness

love is understanding

love is furry nuzzles

love is remembering to love one another always

tis a blessing or a curse.

the skill of perception.

to walk in a room.

picking up on the unspoken.

this perceiving.

leaves me editing.

editing out that which i didn’t want to see.

editing future conversations so as not to let my understanding stand in the way of their wishing to share.

and i’m not quite certain why it is i can tell.

i’m not quite certain whose rules i should follow with such understanding beyond what i’m told.

so i edit and stand still.

we had just come home.

shut off the engine.

and he says he doesn’t know how to say this.

“spit it out,” i say.

“what about those two teenage boys?” he asks me.

i told him i’d been thinking of them too.

we both sighed because the truth is, we don’t know who it will be.

we want to be a family.

yet we pray for god’s fit.

and maybe gods fit isn’t young kids.

maybe these two or others like them need us more. now. urgently.

maybe.

and i remind him that only god knows these ones that we seek.

all we must do is be obedient to listen.

listen…

even when it may not be what we thought.

isn’t it the case – be both say – that we set about moving towards something that god has called us to, but with our own interpretation in mind? isn’t god faithful to help us see? so wouldn’t it be better to do less planning?

we both agree.

maybe it looks different than we thought.

but even in that, we know that the beauty outweighs the feelings associated with changing directions.

truth is, neither of us know.

but we do trust that when the time is right, it will be made clear.

a few days ago, he came home dirty. real dirty.

i commented that it looked like he’d been in fight.

then we discovered that his tail had been bit.

that night he wanted to go out.

the vet said to try to keep him in.

but our little guy just won’t be consoled when he wants out.

he literally climbs the walls.

then he begins to eat things;

not normal things, electrical cords, underwear, my dress!

alright, already…and i opened the door.

sitting at my computer about an hour later, i hear him screaming. i know his yowl. i knew it was him. and i ran outside.

thoughts flashed: is it those two mangy looking strays? is it the racoons? oh god – a dog?

i began to call for him.

flashlight in hand, not realizing how cold it had gotten, bare sleeves.

i kept waking, he was groaning. i knew it was him and i was praying he wasn’t hurt

all of a sudden, three sets of glowing eyes met my flashlight and took off running, then froze off in the distance.

i called his name.

i stood by the fence and kept calling his name.

i shined my light on him, then moved the light to show him the path home.

and kept calling his name.

and after several minutes of calling, one set of these frozen eyes moved towards me.

then looked back.

moved towards me.

then looked back.

when he got to the fence, bits of his hair were pulled out, he was moving stiff.

but moving.

i said to him “come on, you got licked huh?” and encouraged him to come through the little opening of the gate.

once he was through he stopped. i turned and walked towards the house.

and kept calling his name.

the chill finally made itself known and the darkness of midnight overwhelmed me.

i looked back and he was trotting behind me.

coming home.

the rush over, i sat down on the couch to try to relax.

my boy came right up, plastered himself against me, licked his wounds and fell asleep.

we sat there for a long while.

me and him.

glad that we were safe.

i’m finding that i’m endeared to those who are sensitive to me.

sensing already that there are differences in our journey as mothers. differences that result in a little bit of grief on everyone’s part that it’s not more similar and isn’t easier – grief that i didn’t realize would be here.

it’s understandable, really. just weeks ago i was the exact same as they – yet today it is more clear than yesterday just how different i am becoming and i’m constantly reminded that it’s not fair to judge anyone else by my present understanding. this is my journey, and i neither owe an apology for it nor can expect perfect understanding.

truth is, the very nature that we live in a world that is so geared towards building a family in a different way than we have chosen, is hurtful. an unexpected hurt, at that. but also totally manageable.

you see, this is a new mantra for me:

DON’T TAKE THINGS SO PERSONAL!

and now, more than ever, i need to learn this.

i need this so that i feel complete freedom over our choice to become parents through adoption.

i need this so that my kiddos can know that mom is secure in her choice to be their mother.

i need this so that i don’t melt into tears because they tell me that the braids i worked for hours doing aren’t good enough for my black daughter.

i need this so that i don’t punch someone when my kid is sent home from school because he had a hard time re-grouping after our morning conversation about his birthmom not wanting him.

i need this.

i need not alienate my loved ones because they don’t get it. how could they? how will they unless when it’s time for me to speak up i do so gracefully. i know they mean no harm. and i can help them see the differences and encourage words that allow for a diverse set of circumstances to be honored.

i can and i will.

these days, i wake but not rise.

open my eyes yet leave the mind shut.

this luxury is spent sitting up, child-like, in the middle of the bed.

looking around, what do i see?

the winter trees swaying to a gentle breeze.

listening deeply, what do i hear?

the drip, drip, drip of the rain tumbling off the roof.

what do i think about?

nothing. absolutely nothing.

this one here, whose mind races is peacefully blank.

it’s the only spot in my day of pure and deafening quiet.

so i sit.

practice the still.

cultivate the quiet.