Musings on What Matters

Tuesday night at Owen's baseball game. Two on, two out with one of our best hitters at bat and Owen on deck. Floating over the cheers of the spectators, the instructions of the coaches, I hear one of our players say, "Hey guys, what happens if Owen gets up with bases loaded?".

This boy is young. He may not have meant his words to sound, as they did, mocking or cruel. Owen is not one of the best hitters on the team, and everyone realizes that. Luckily I don't think Owen heard the comment, preoccupied as he was taking practice swings. If he did, he shrugged it off; he's a pretty tough kid. But my heart twisted as I looked across at the player's laughing face.

The Dali Lama said, "My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness".  Proverbs 3.3 reads "Do not let kindness and truth leave you, bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart" and Ephesians 4.32 commands "Be kind to one another". "Be kind, for whenever kindness becomes part of something, it beautifies it", wrote Mohammad. Mother Theresa had a few wise words to say about kindness too.

Being kind is my personal creed, and I'm obviously not the first (or kindest) to feel this way. It really encompasses all the good stuff  - love, respect, faith, gratitude. I hope that at the end of my life, people will remember me as kind.

Up until the snows of winter faded and cracked it, I had a magnet (a sweet gift from my friend Le Anne) on my car that read "Kindness Matters". I put it on Owen's door, and we often repeated it while loading up, and talked about how to be kind as we drove about town. Kindness - to everyone, to everything - is the biggest lesson I try to teach Owen.

Practicing kindness doesn't take money, or special talent, or hours of time. You don't have to agree with someone to be kind; you don't even have to like someone to be kind. Being kind can build a bridge between all races and religions.

For Owen, I make kindness simple: it's helping a classmate, or feeding a stray cat. It's listening to your grandparent tell a story - even if you've heard it already. Kindness is donating food or clothing to those who need it, writing thank you notes, and allowing Avery to sit next to the window on the bus (we are still working on that one). Kindness is making the choice not to say mean things about others; and being nice to the neighborhood "bully", because maybe he just needs some extra love. Kindness is trying to put a smile on someone's face.

Oh, that baseball game? Owen did get up with the bases loaded. He hit a single and drove in two runs. And his teammates were kind.

New Years Resolutions. Or Not.

I can't remember ever making a New Years resolution. Over the years there may have been some half-hearted, 11:59 PM murmurs of "go to gym regularly, eat better, clean out that junk drawer", but I've never put in the time to consciously reflect and plan. Same with a manifesto. Or a word for the year. I don't have a word (and have no idea how you pick just one).

It's not that I don't feel a bit lacking and lazy when I read others proud declarations of their intentions. I do. But I've also realized that it's OK I don't join them; I'm just not that person.

I've never had a 5 year plan, vision board or goal setting session. Once my childhood aspirations of being a veterinarian were crushed by the realization one actually had to put animals to sleep (and be good at biology), I never quite came up with a new career goal. Never thought or planned to become a proposal writer, a contracts manager, or a marketing director; but I did, and I was good at it.

As a young girl I didn't play bride and dream of the day I'd marry Prince Charming in a big puffy dress. If I had, I doubt I would have conjured up marrying a divorced man with a child at the age of 29. Yet that's worked out pretty darn well too.

I wasn't much for playing with dolls, or dreaming about how many kids I'd have.  I certainly did not plan on traveling halfway around the world to bring home the child of my heart. But, as you all know, that's exactly what made me complete.

So while I do occasionally envy those who write their goals on paper and cast their dreams into the universe, I'm good with being who I am. I don't look too far ahead, I don't dwell too far behind. I prefer to keep my soul open and take things as they come. Perhaps that's really my new years (and every day) resolution - be happy with who I am, where I am.

Wishing you all a happy 2015, in ways that make you happiest.

Beauty is in The Eye of the Parents

Many years ago, Bob and I took a seat inside a photo booth at Dave & Busters in Norfolk, Virginia, smiled at a blank screen, pushed a few buttons and waited, giggling, to see what "Junior" would look like. I remember thinking with some relief that our computer generated son was cute - a mop of dark hair, big eyes, and, thankfully, Bob's pert nose.

Cearra was a beautiful child who looked just like her Daddy, so in the times when such thoughts even crossed my mind, I figured Bob and I would eventually produce fairly attractive offspring (and no ego on my part there, I was banking heavily on Bob's good looks coming through).

That made me happy. Yes, perhaps it's shallow but let's be honest, after praying for good health, what parent doesn't secretly also wish, at least a little, for a cutie pie?

Of course, as you all know, God's plans didn't include a Bob-Jodi gene mix. That was hard at first. But as I looked through online adoption photo listings, I found myself strongly drawn to pictures of babies with dark hair, chubby cheeks, almond shaped eyes. And to my surprise (we had initially been researching a Russian adoption), all those sweet faces came from one place: Kazakhstan.

Our agency's referral process at the time allowed parents to specify gender and race, but you had no idea what your child would look like until the much anticipated day they sent you that magic email and perhaps a grainy, black and white video tape. By the time we got that far along in the journey I no longer thought much about how our future son would look - I just wanted him home!

Still, the video we received with our referral was somewhat surprising; the little guy didn't "look" like the son I had pictured in my head. It didn't matter, we were just to happy to finally be on our way to meet him.

That first trip to Kaz and the ensuing days were long, faith-trying, and heartbreaking, but ultimately oh so right. I've talked about it before here. So when I first gazed down at Owen in his crib, I did think he was adorable, but more than that, I felt in every molecular of my being that he was our son.

Now I look at Owen every single day and am blown away by his cuteness. His skin, his pillow lips, his gorgeous melted chocolate eyes. In fact, I can't look at him and not think he is so, so beautiful.

But here's what I've also realized: every child is beautiful to their parents. It has nothing to do with face shape, eye color, skin tone. Nothing to do with whether or not you see your own features reflected back at you. Nor with symmetry or scars. Instead, it has everything to do with love.

I think that's the most beautiful thing of all.

Finally - A "How You Growin' Owen" Post

It occurred to me recently - along with a small side of guilt, since this is essentially Owen's baby book - that it's been a looong time since I've done the kind of "Owen update" that use to be the bread and butter 'round here. But, I thought happily, what better time than the eve of a new year to jot down musings and memories of how our little guy is growing?

We continue to be very blessed in regards to Owen's good physical health. Though he remains at the low end of the charts in terms of height and weight (although volunteering at his school and going for lunches, I wouldn't say that he is noticeably smaller than most of his classmates), he progresses on his own track nicely. He likes to jump on the bathroom scale and announce his weight - last check it was 43.6 lbs. More importantly, he very rarely gets ill and has only had to take antibiotics once.

I sure believe God knew what he was doing when he gave me Owen, because, just like his mama, the kid seems to struggle with some anxiety issues. This past spring, he had a tough time dealing with Dennis' accident and disappearance from his life (they were good buddies), and at the same time was struggling with some social issues at school. We ended up taking him to a child therapist, and Miss Kate helped Owen a great deal. He learned some solid coping strategies that we still practice, and has moved forward with confidence and his usual happiness.

And 98% of the time he is pure joy (although absolutely stubborn and opinionated!). Happy, inquisitive, sweet, funny and still, at 7, cuddly. While most people think of Owen as being on the quiet side, he is very talkative with us, and Bob and I often chuckle at the insightful and witty comments that pop out at unexpected moments. He likes singing along to "Sweet Caroline" with me, eating anything from the ocean, staying up late, and has a fondness for accessories! He does not like collar shirts, brushing his teeth, salad, or shopping.

He is doing great at his new school, and has made many friends. As we suspected from the start, he shines brightest in math, but I'm also amazed daily by how well he is reading. He continues to love all animals; his favorite being the cheetah. I've learned quite a bit about crocodiles, spiders, snakes and other big cats as well via the books he brings home from the school library.

Owen still likes dinosaurs (and John Deere, and Monster Trucks ... he's loyal), and has recently become interested in rocks and minerals. He enjoys learning about the presidents and the states, will sit for an hour or more making bracelets on the Rainbow Loom, and runs wild with a new Nerf gun (what is it with boys anyway?).

Like most kids, Owen's favorite place to be is outside. He loves the beach, fishing with Daddy, and sledding with the neighborhood kids. Indoors, its Wii, games on his Kindle, anything that involves me sitting on the floor and playing, and a new found interest in drawing (yeah!).

So, to wrap this up, let's take a peek of the transcript from a recent "interview" I conducted with Owen:

Me: What's you favorite book?
Owen: Mmmm, hard one; I don't like to read.

Me: What were your favorite things that we did this past year?
Owen: RVing and Hilton Head

Me: If you could go anywhere on vacation, where would you go?
Owen: Chicago

Me: What is the best thing about living in the United States?
Owen: Don't say "awww" about this, but YOU!
Me: awwwww!

Me: If you could live anywhere, where would you live?
Owen: India

Me: How would you describe yourself?
Owen: Friendly. Oh, and handsome and smart and weird.

Me: What is your favorite number?
Owen: 26,000

Me: What would you like to be when you grow up?
Owen: A ghostbuster

Me: Where would you like to go to college?
Owen: Somewhere close to you and Daddy

Me: Do you think you will get married and have kids?
Owen: Yes and yes. Probably 9.

Me: If you could invent anything, what would it be?
Owen: A fireworks machine that shoots fireworks that spells my name in lights.

Wishing you a blessed 2014!

Musings on a Moment

(This is one of those few and far between "Optional Reading Posts". No cute kid stories or pictures - sorry Mom - just thoughts that percolated about my brain for a bit and finally splashed down on paper)

I remember the day clearly. My last chemo treatment. It was, thankfully, many years ago, yet the same feelings still come when I think of it now - the relief at completing another step to recovery, the strength I felt in getting through it, the happiness of the nurses hugging me goodbye.

And I remember this: during my treatment a woman came to sit next to me in our tan leather Lazy-Boys. I waited for that final drop to fall - she prepared for her first. We started talking, and I soon saw her anxiety and fear about chemotherapy, that necessary poison. I listened, and I shared, telling her about my experience. And when I stood to leave, she smiled and clasped my hand, saying I was an angel sent to help her.

What a blessing that was to me - realizing that I had smoothed the journey (if just a bit, for just a short time) for another soul. Paying forward the compassion others had shown me when I was first diagnosed; when I first stepped into the treatment room.

Several years later I happened upon a blog from a beautiful young woman who was a cancer survivor and hoped to adopt. She wrote with great faith and happiness, and we started a correspondence. One month, a few strangers cruelly questioned her decision to parent - calling her selfish for wanting to be a mother when it was possible her cancer would return.

Devastated, she wrote me, asking if I agreed. I responded with my heart, telling her about some of the emotions I too had faced. When she responded, it was with renewed hope and joy and certainty to pursue her dreams for a family.

What a blessing it was to me - realizing that I had smoothed the journey (if just for a bit, for just a short time) for another soul. Paying forward the reassurance and encouragement others had offered me as I faced naysayers and inner demons on the long road to life after cancer.

Last week I got my hair cut at a new salon. A good friend had been going there for ages, and suggested I try her stylist. On a whim I made an appointment and soon was sitting in her swivel chair. As we chatted, I asked her if she had children. Her smile slipped briefly, and I knew in that moment what was coming.

"Not yet. We've been trying for a few years, but ...".

As she snipped away, I shared bits of our story. I listened as she opened up about her struggle. Hair finished, I hugged her and told her I knew she would find the path to her child. She hugged me back, and smiled with tears in her eyes.

What a blessing it was to me - realizing that I had smoothed the journey (if just for a bit, for just a short time) for another sole. Paying forward the hope and love others had offered me as I found my child.

I cherish each of those moments. They just felt darn good. Connected to another person in a way that was both humbling and uplifting. Call it karma, good will, whatever. I am so aware of God in those moments - and thankful that He put me in that place, at that time, and prodded my heart to respond. I hope my life is filled with many more such moments - the ability to pay it forward; the chance to comfort and encourage. To help one person make it though one day. To me, that is life's meaning.

Hoping today that you have a chance to have a "moment".

ResuME

I'm updating my resume.

No, not due to any overwhelming desire on my part to rejoin the formal workforce; in fact, in the 3 weeks Owen has been in school I've found a somewhat peaceful rhythm of spending time with my fellow kindergarten mom Karen, running errands with ease, volunteering to be lunch and classroom mom, puttering about the house (including steam cleaning 6 rooms worth of carpet, which I've found to be oddly satisfying), and baking batch upon batch of oatmeal GORP cookies.

Yet understandably - and largely due to the fact that we are still paying for Cearra's private college education while sending Owen to another private school - Bob would like some help with the household income. A bit of relief after shouldering the sole burden of making our finances work for the past 6 years. I get that, I really do.

It's easy enough to do a quick Google search and wrangle my professional experience into the format hiring managers are preferring these days, and my career has been comprised of enough managerial titles and impressive sounding tidbits (ahem ... "managed a $20 million, multi-year contract", "renegotiated a $13 million contract", "oversaw national and regional marketing contracts to ensure all US offices adhered to company policy and promoted quality throughout the bidding and procurement process", etc.) to garner at least some attention.

But what occurs to me most during this exercise is that while I mainly enjoyed my past roles and I don't think it's off-base to say I was pretty good at what I did, the "position" that isn't bullet-pointed on my CV is far and away my favorite, and the one in which I take most pride. And while no one will expect me to spell it out as such on a resume, here's what I might add to explain what I've been up to since that last Manager title ...

Mother

Key Skills and Attributes:

Communication - proven story reader, knock-knock joke teller, and interpreter of toddler speak. Ability to listen to "mom, momma, mommy" all day, every day, without losing patience (or mind).  Accurately conveyed daily events, schedules and milestones through face to face interactions and social media including facebook and blogger. Conveyed love through words and actions 100% of the time.

Problem Solving - consistently demonstrated effective use of behavioral analysis to both teach positive responses and curtail undesirable behavior. Highly skilled in diversionary tactics and bargaining. Proven ability to multi-task; work late into the night; and determine the source of a child's cry within one to two wails.

Team Player - volunteered to bring expensive and therefore often avoided fruit trays to school events. Served as Team Mom for the (Westminster) White Sox. Increased number of play dates at home by 100%. Willingly sacrificed personal salon services and book store purchases for the greater good of the organization.

Budgeting - dressed members of family in high end clothing at savings of 95% over retail by shopping consignment and thrift. Uncanny ability to locate gently used Ralph Lauren Polo shirts and men's Chaps shorts with tags intact. Invented money saving trips to the SAHM's "zoo" (PetSmart) and "water park" (mall fountain). Founded and managed online store to resell gently used clothing.

Organization - managed sports, school, and social schedule with no missed appointments and reliable on-time performance while successfully avoiding the common pitfall of over scheduling. Executed memorable field trips and family outings with a minimum of melt-downs. Planned fun-for-all parties and events at home office as well as off-site locations.

Main Achievements: 

• Raising (so far, so good) a happy, healthy kid while having the time of my life. 
• Smiling and laughing and appreciating my blessings every single day.
• Knowing with 100% certainty that this is the job I was made for, and one that I want to stay in for the rest of my life.

The Other Man

Shhh ... don't tell Bob, but I've been seeing someone else.

Let's just call him "B2". I see him everyday. He makes my heart smile - big brown eyes, brown buzz cut. Others describe him as quiet and shy, but sweet. He loves music. He's on the shorter side, and younger than me.

And oh yeah, half a world away. Waiting for a family.

And despite the fact that we never planned to add another, and that we certainly do not have the money to walk that path again and currently have a full house, and that we are getting older, and that its scary even thinking of dealing with another adoption and the issues that can come up, or messing up our current family dynamic, and well, a million or so other reasons for me to just break off this relationship now ... I keep returning to his face.

Look, not for nothing did I get my Masters in Psychology. I realize this is most likely a reaction to Owen going to school full-time, or a way to feel useful again. Maybe I see Owen playing with his friends and wish he had a brother close in age (he tells me he wants a brother, but not a baby because he's "not so into them"). Could be that I am all too aware there are an estimated 40-50 million orphans in the world, and each one of them deserves a mom and dad and a chance. Perhaps I just want to get out of looking for a job (but I doubt that one). Or just maybe it's because my heart expanded 100 times over when we brought Owen home, and I like myself this way; I love being a mom; and I think I'm pretty good at it.

B2 is a waiting child. He has some minor health issues (hey, who doesn't) and he is not an infant, so he's considered special needs. Even if Bob goes for this (and that's a pretty big "if" because we haven't really even spoken of it except for me to ask for our net worth so I could complete a pre-application), even if we figure out a way to come up with the money and even if I could psych myself up to complete the mountains of paperwork again, it's possible B's birth country won't let us adopt him. Might be that they say "no" because of my darn (and in my mind, ancient) cancer history, or that I'm considered too fat (seriously).

Bringing him home is such a long shot on so many levels, and I know that realistically it most likely will not happen.

But oh, that little smiling face ...

Optional Post III - On Parenting

Over the holidays my Aunt Jeanne urged me to get back to writing; and I acknowledge that I have been less than proficient on that front lately. So here's an "optional reading" post that's been peculating in my brain for a few weeks now. Enjoy. Or not. I think this one might be met with some grumbling.

I unwittingly started a small firestorm on facebook last month. I posted this:

So Owen's kindergarten class had a Christmas card exchange. Each family was asked to send in one card per student - easy, right? Apparently not for five parents who's children did not bring in cards. I don't get the apathy ...

Most of my facebook friends reacted as I did - sharing in my disapproval and relaying stories of lazy, uninvolved parenting in their schools. But a few commenter's felt I was unfairly attacking mothers, and that this sisterhood we share would somehow be easier if none of us ever criticized each other.

I get part of that. I've had numerous friends slam our decision to have Owen sleep with us. None of them have any specific reasons as to why this is a terrible parenting move, but they feel he should be sleeping in his own room. As I have yet to figure out how our sleeping arrangements even slightly affect them; and as Bob and I have discussed and are happy with our "family bed"; and since Owen loves our routine and feels safe, secure and loved partially because of it; well, I don't plan on changing a thing (until of course we are ready to). So no, I do not appreciate other's less than helpful comments on this topic.

Likewise, I don't think mocking or judging a parent based on their parenting style is fair, or even all that interesting. Really, I don't care if you let your child watch TV or play Angry Birds (I certainly do); if your offspring eats only yellow foods or all organic; or if you choose timeouts or spanking. I don't care if you're a screamer (although I don't particularly want to be around you) or if you have the patience of Mother Theresa. It concerns me not one bit if you do the "elf on a shelf" thing or you don't. No extra praise from me because you have scheduled sports/karate/music/scouts/etc. for every moment of your child's free time; but I won't rag on you if your child comes home from school with head lice (hey, sometimes sh*t happens).

I don't award  parenting points just because you and your kids created a gingerbread village with home baked cookies and all your leftover Halloween candy (although that is pretty cool), but on the flip side, I won't condemn you as a terrible parent because your kid shows up to school in rain boots, shorts, and a tie-dye sweatshirt. And believe me, I do not give a single thought to what time your kids go to bed. In all these things and more, do what works best for you and your family and don't worry about the rest of us.

Maybe I was out of line in publicly saying that the parents who did not send Christmas cards in were apathetic. The holidays are crazy for all of us - maybe they simply forgot or were overwhelmed or were dealing with sick children or a stressful family situation. In the end, I guess it mattered little ... Owen wasn't bothered at all that he was missing a few cards, although I do wonder what the kids who received cards but did not give any thought. And quite frankly, if you can't manage to come up with 18 cards with a month's notice and a week's window to turn them in, well, sorry, I'm gonna question your commitment.

But here's the main thing ... I DO care deeply about what kind of person you are raising. Why? Simple ... I'm a citizen of this earth and my future is partially in your children's hands. As a mother I want my child to grow up in a world surrounded by other children who have been raised with values. I believe our society needs a change deep in its roots if we want America to continue to be a place of unlimited dreams and opportunities for all. I think you OWE it to your child(ren) and the rest of us to teach a few lessons:

• Life isn't fair. Keep doing your best anyway.
• Work hard and quit whining. Be thankful for your every blessing, because I guarantee there is always someone worse off than you.
• Everyone is equal and deserves respect. Everyone.
• Practice good sportsmanship, all the time. Start this lesson in t-ball and keep going.
• Responsibility. Sometimes it is your fault - own it.
• Give more than you take.
• Respect our environment, your body, others, family, friends, and especially the elderly.
• Do not lie, steal, cheat, cut in line, or park in the handicap parking space, even if it is just for a minute.
• Fight fair - or not at all.
• Be kind. And tolerant. 
• Keep your promises. Honor your commitments.

Wouldn't you rather be among children who were raised this way? Wouldn't you prefer to know that our future is being taught those things? I would and do, and I strive to raise Owen accordingly.

I don't care about the particulars of how you do it; just do it. Yeah, sometimes we get overwhelmed. Tired. Stressed. Sick. None of us are perfect and we all have days where we don't do our best. But I'm tired of the excuses. Parenting is a job - I think the most important one in the world. Each of us freely chose to be a mom or a dad. Recognize that sometimes it takes sacrifice on your part and live up to the expectations.

And if you do your best 99% of the time, no one can fault you.


Dissenting comments are welcome. But to my family and friends - please know I think you are all parenting fantastically.

WILW

Today, not too many words, just some pictures of beautiful trinkets and pretty color combos that caught my eye; as well as some thoughts on this Life fantastic.

WILW - Earthquake Edition

Something different - and late - for WILW; but I am loving, and very grateful, for the fact that all of my friends and family are safe, and that no one on the East Coast suffered any losses from the earthquake.

I was taking a nap when the earthquake rumbled in yesterday, and at first, still groggy and sleep deprived from the fever that had kept me up the night before, thought that the workers next door had hit an underground line or done something to our house's foundation.

It didn't make much sense, but neither did the fact the ceiling fan was swaying; the crystals on the awaiting-a-makeover chandelier down the hall were pinging; and I could hear objects falling from the open shelves in Owen's room.

As I ran from my room it began to sink in that this was an earthquake and I tried to remember what to do - stand under a door frame, hide in a corner, curl up in the bath tub?

By the time I made it downstairs the house was once again still and I skidded into the kitchen to see my dad and Owen sitting calmly on the deck.

Me, panting slightly: "Dad, I think we just had an earthquake!"

"I thought the deck was swaying" he calmly replied. "These flowers were shaking" added Owen, equally unfazed. I suppose being inside during an earthquake, surrounded by the sound and visual evidence of household items moving, makes the impact greater.

Checking facebook quickly confirmed the event as friends up and down the East Coast posted. I checked in with Cearra, and texted Bob; turned the TV on to find news coverage on almost every channel. My breathing returned to normal and I straightened the picture frames. Quite an experience.

And then today, this:

"5.9? That's what us Californians use to stir our coffee with."

"Really all this excitement over a 5.8 quake??? Come on East Coast, we have those for breakfast out here!!!!"

"Hey East Coast, the entire West Coast is mocking you right now."

Wow. You're mocking us?

I realize that you West Coast folks have to possess a certain bravado about quakes to live in a place where each day could bring "the big one". If you've lived there for any amount of time you've most likely been through a quake, and yes, it probably registered higher on the Richter scale than our little old 5.9'er.

But here's the thing ... we don't really do earthquakes (despite the fact that we too perch above some pretty hefty fault lines) and yeah, it was scary. We don't have "duck and cover" drills in school, as evidenced by my choice to run around upstairs in my t-shirt and by the hundreds of city dwellers who ran outside. And really, I'm pretty sure that no one - not even you Mr. California - stays completely cool when the floors start to move.

I want you to remember this too: almost 10 years ago, we were rocked by something far worse than any earthquake you've ever seen. We huddled in conference rooms and classrooms and family rooms as smoke billowed from those twin towers that were so close to so many of us. We screamed as they fell. We desperately tried to reach loved ones and friends who worked in D.C., and we cried as that plane crashed into a Pennsylvania field right up the road. We scanned the sky and wondered what would be hit next - and how close it would be.

Of course Sept. 11 was devastating for all Americans, but we were right here. And as NBC News' Pentagon corespondent Jim Miklaszewski said yesterday, the rumbling was eerily similar to the impact on that day. "I, like many other people here, thought: 'Oh my God, we've been hit again.'"

So please don't mock us. Instead, join us in celebrating that "our" earthquake didn't cause destruction and death, and be gentle with those of us who can never forget the emotions of the other day that rocked the world.

To Make It Better

For most of my life, I was an extremely private person; very few people really "knew" me. I didn't believe it was particularly appropriate (or endearing) to talk about my deepest fears or concerns. I stringently avoided discussing my medical history. I wanted everyone to believe I was strong.

It's ironic then that I've also always been a person that others turn to in times of trouble. I appreciate being able to provide comfort, or at least be an attentive listener. But for me? Well, forget sweating, my motto was "never let them see you cry".

Yet somewhere along this journey, I've finally learned that it's OK to open up. It's OK to let others see your heart, your weaknesses, your doubts. I think in many ways our experiences bringing home Owen, particularly the events that caused the utter gutting of my soul one day and the restoration of it the next, brought me to a place where I could no longer not share. And then of course, blogging, and the wonderful response I've received from you all, has encouraged me further.

Still ... I've debated sharing what follows for almost three months now. You'll see why. I'm pretty darn certain that as soon as I hit "publish post", I will be convinced I never should have. I'll think that somehow you will think less of me, and I may be embarrassed to see you in person.

I'm going to post it anyway, because I am feeling so much more joyful now. I know I made a smart decision. And I'm hoping that if anyone reading this is struggling too, they are encouraged to make it better.


October of last year, Owen and I dancing in sea foam fringe on the wide, smooth beach in Hilton Head, one of my favorite places. We had spent the day in our poolside cabana with Bob, Nana and Pop-Pop; chatting and laughing and playing games. Now in the soft duskiness of late afternoon I held my baby boy tight and twirled around, dizzy with happiness. I was deeply grateful for my life.

And then like a piece of seaweed tangling around my foot, a sadness crept in that I no longer could honestly say most of my days were this happy, that this inner peace was with me always.

Is there anyone out there ...

Last weekend Owen was sick with a stomach bug. He was mostly fine in spirits save for a brief period Sunday morning; in any case he handled it much better than me. I paced, and Googled, and rushed to the grocery store to buy saltines, turkey, bananas and Gatorade. In the parking lot I heard the wail of an ambulance and my mind snapped back to the worst night of my life. Not until I pulled into our driveway did I let go of the fear that they had come for him again.

it's getting harder and harder to breathe.

Tuesday night and Bob is out of town again. I turn off the light to sleep, but my worst fear lurks ... that something will happen to me in the middle of the night and Owen will wake to find me unresponsive. I try to push the thought aside but it's too late now; I can't shake the images of Owen crying, calling out for me with growing panic. I can feel each thump of my heart. I don't sleep that night, and the next day brings random bouts of weeping.

Is there anyone out there 'cause it's getting harder and harder to breath.

I don't remember being a nervous or anxious kid. When I look back on my childhood it's with warm thoughts. In college it was a bit of a joke among my sorority sisters that I never got stressed out. I was always pretty certain that things would work out just fine, that I'd be okay, and that no harm would come to my loved ones.

In my mind, it started to change when I was diagnosed with cancer. It was a bit like being slapped out of my innocence. Of course in the end I was okay, but a shadow of fear was left behind; doubt smudged on my soul. Now I fight back worries about my health almost daily. It's exhausting. And my anxieties extend to my family, my friends, the world in general.

I detest whining, complaining, self-pity. I loathe that I fear I now fall into that camp. It makes me furious that I cannot control this - that I cannot "just relax" or stop "being ridiculous". I would like nothing better than to snap out of it. I want nothing more than to be able to appreciate my blessings without worrying that I will lose them.

But here's the truth ... the past few months have been a fierce battle against my anxieties. I've read self-help articles and books, taken St. John's Wort and homeopathic calming tablets. I've gone to the gym, spent more time outside, practiced yoga. I've prayed. Finally, on the "crying day", I take a deep breath and call my doctor. I simply say I need help.

Five minutes into our appointment, as I sit with tears running down my face and finally telling someone exactly how I feel, she diagnoses me with Generalized Anxiety Disorder. She tells me that the chemotherapy may have actually triggered the chemical imbalance that causes the affliction. She explains that carbs raise serotonin levels in the brain, which makes me realize why I've been craving cookies and cakes and pasta recently (and thus why I've gained ten pounds in the last two months).

My doctor recommends Lexapro; I don't like the idea of taking a daily medicine. She compares it to a diabetic needing to take insulin. Hearing her say that this is not my fault helps somewhat, yet I'm still furious that I do not have control of this. That I cannot make happen what I want to make happen by myself. I do not like being weak, defective, unworthy.

But I don't like being sad or panicked or distracted either. It's not fair to Owen, Cearra or Bob. Most of all, it's not fair to myself. I beat cancer, I'm going to beat this, I'm going to get my happiness - and my life - back.

I accept the prescription and a big hug from my doctor. She says we are going to get this fixed. That I'm going to be okay. I think I believe her.

My Baby Boy is Five Today

On a memo board above my computer screen is a picture of Owen age 6 months, bundled in a blue snowsuit and held by Bob for a brief trip outside the baby house walls. Next to that is one from his 2 year photo shoot; at which he didn’t want to cooperate at all and we were happy to get one or two smiles out of him. At the top corner, a snap shot of him beaming broadly on one of the many days he and I spent playing and laughing when he was 3. And then a picture of him and Cearra last year, his hand resting lightly on her arm, both of them happy.

Each of those days, each memory, is still crystal clear in my mind. All I have to do is reach back a bit and pull it up. So how did it happen that five years have passed so quickly?

I’ve seen so many changes in him over the past few months. The way he communicates; the way he interacts with the world. The friendships he’s formed separate of me. Most of all, his ability to take care of himself and his desire to do things on his own; I hear, “I can do it” several times a day now.

Truth is, he just doesn’t need me in the same way now that he is five. And while I celebrate his growth and adore every aspect of his blooming (and funny) personality, I'd be lying if I said I don't sometimes miss my little baby.



Yesterday I went to buckle him into his car seat, and he stopped me, saying, “I can handle this”. Yes Owen, but I’m not sure your mama can.

Where My Heart Lives

Tuesday night at our first ever t-ball academy. Owen easily joins the cluster of players listening to a coach, and when directed, runs with the pack to the far side of the field for warm-ups. I watch his little red-jacketed form do stretches, then chug along as they all run a lap (and smile as he cuts the loop short in order to keep up with the bigger kids).

Back to the corner across the way from me, and I can no longer see him as the group once more crowds around to listen for their next activity. I hear another parent saying they will need their glove now, so I start across the field to take his to Owen.

He's not in the small group breaking off in a trot to the left, not among the ten or so boys streaming by me on their way to a practice station flag. And then I see him, a few yards away, crying in the arms of another mother. I quicken my step and hear her ask him what color his mommy is wearing; as I come into their line of sight Owen leans towards me as I reach out for him.

He nestles his wet cheeks into my neck as I rub his back and ask what happened. A few deep breaths and moments later, he manages to whisper "I couldn't see you ... I thought you left me!".

Oh, my sweet baby. My heart twists as I imagine his growing panic when he looked around and saw only faces he didn't yet know. I can picture the look in his eyes as the fear crept in. I hug him tight and promise I'll never leave him (please God, allow me to keep that promise for a long, long time). I wipe his face and talk softly to him until he feels safe again.

We go to the first station together. I gently encourage him to join the group of six boys and follow the coach in a throwing exercise. Owen participates timidly, looking over his shoulder for me often as I stand a few feet behind. He and I make our way through a few more stations this way, until once again he is smiling and laughing with the boy next to him, running to the next flag with the rest of his group when the whistle blows.

The night ends well. He is happy, if a little tired and cold, and I think his comfort and confidence will grow in the next academy. But days later, the memory of his tears still pains me. And I know that next time I'll be sure to stay in his sight from the start.

*************************************************************************************
Yesterday morning we walk into school and his two buddies, Brice and Ben, come running up immediately to engage him in their favorite game of "My favorite color is ...". Owen joins right in, laughing at what they all find hysterical.

I help him hang up his jacket and backpack, and kneel down for our routine hug-kiss-"I love you" before leaving. But for the first time, he's already started to turn away, a grin on his face, big eyes sparkling in obvious anticipation of more fun with his friends.

"Owen, where's my hug?"

He comes back right away and gives me quick kisses, then runs off to join Brice and Ben. I know he's happy and it's wonderful to see him so engaged and making friends. I love hearing his laugh as I leave ... although there's a small tugging feeling in my chest. Because as much as it's good and right, it still sometimes feels like he's growing up too fast.

*************************************************************************************


Two days, two stories. Further evidence that my heart no longer lives inside my body.

Hello??

Got an unsolicited (but not SPAM) email today from a company interested in collaborating with me to post a quiz/giveaway on the blog that would “engage my readers” and generate traffic to my site. I politely declined. But it did get me thinking …

I started to blog 360+ posts ago to keep family members and friends in the loop during our journey to Kazakhstan. I add to it now because it seems a good way to share pictures and stories of Owen and Cearra with folks who don't see us much, and because writing is a hobby for me - one I really enjoy. Recently I shared our story on another blog, a new level of openness which was both scary and rewarding, and which I realized might create some new readers. Still, I thought I knew fairly well just who was stopping by – until that email and a casual comment from a friend.

I've never had any site meters or live traffic feeds on our blog. I don’t see your name, location, URL … nothing at all if you stop by without leaving a comment. And that’s fine with me; I'm not going to start secretly tracking visitors to our blog. Although I am far from an emotional “let it all hang out gal”, I do feel that if I write it, and if I don’t make it private, well, there it is and I have to expect that someone might be reading whom I don’t know. I just hope that if you are here, you enjoy it.

Now, all that being well and good, I admit to a growing curiosity as to just who is out there (and also to a little jealousy of the bloggers who get twenty plus comments after each post, but that’s a different days topic). As much as I enjoy sitting here typing away, often late at night when the house is quiet and the office really chilly, I do wonder who's reading, and why.

Do my words move you, make you laugh, or make you ponder? Do you think Owen is as adorable as I do, and do you enjoy Cearra's appearances? Do you just like the pictures of Hilton Head and wish I’d write less?

Do you follow along because you are a survivor, a stay at home mom, or a member of the adoptive community? Do you hope to be? Are you family, or friend, or friend of friend? A one time visitor or a "oh good, Jodi updated again" follower?

Won’t you consider letting me know?

Oh, I realize how easy it is to be derailed in the process of leaving a comment. In my case, the phone (or Owen) rings, the computer crashes, I'm not signed in correctly, can't make out the *&^$**# security word, or Beamer walks across the keyboard (you’d be surprised how often that happens around here).

I've tried to make it easy for you. No password, sign in or Google account required. So how about it? Would you mind taking a minute to say hi? To leave, if you wish, your name. Where you are from. Why you read. What you like about the blog.

It sure would be nice to hear from you.

A Thought for The New Year

Owen is buzzing around our bedroom this morning, pretending the vacuum extension tube is a leaf blower, and I'm drying my hair and thinking of doing a post on how much I love this goofy kid and his almost always happy, laid-back self.

And I wonder, "do I love him so much because of his personality?". Well, no, not entirely; I think I'd love him no matter his personality - after all, I love Cearra and her character traits and quirks are different than Owen's.

So why do I love him? It's obviously not genetics. It's not (solely) because he's adorable. It can't be just that he makes me laugh everyday or that my role as "mom" guarantees that I love him. Perhaps adoptive parents focus on this more than bio parents as we don't have that whole blood is thicker than water thing to fall back on (or maybe I'm just way too introspective).

Anyway, it's interesting isn't it? How do we as humans come to love our offspring? I think there must be many pieces to it, but it occurs to me that a primary one has to spring from caring for that child - nourishing, protecting, encouraging, putting his/her needs above one's own. That child then becomes something we are extremely invested in; once he/she responds to our efforts - a smile, a hug, that first heart-soaring "I love you mommy", well, that old Pavlovian response kicks in and we recognize it as love. We want to keep it going.

Now, imagine if we applied that same exercise to our community, our country, our world? If as individuals we took it upon ourselves to nourish, protect, and encourage other members of our human family? I think you can see where I'm going with this ... the love would be boomeranging all about. And with that much love, there's less room for abuse and neglect and violence and hatred.

Pretty neat idea for the new year, huh?

Because You Are Building A Cathedral

My cousin Brenda, who has four teenagers and a husband who travels frequently (and oh, who currently lives in Spain!) read Optional Post II and emailed this to me. I found it inspiring and comforting, and wanted to share ...

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?' Obviously not; no one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible. The invisible Mom.

Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it? I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel? I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, and she's gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip,and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.' It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.

In the days ahead I would read -no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:

No one can say who built the great cathedrals; we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it. And the workman replied,'Because God sees.'

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies. Then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'you're gonna love it there.'

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

*Invisible Mom, from 'The Invisible Woman' by Nicole Johnson

Optional Post II

Yesterday morning my sister posted a "public service announcement" on facebook warning those in the Green Bay area that she was in a b*tchy mood. Last night I should have been the one sending out flares.

Sometimes it's hard to put a finger on my darker moods, and the best I can come up with now is that the past few days I've been feeling like that guy in Greek mythology who rolls the boulder up the mountain, only to have it roll right back down again (yes, I could google his name but you know who I mean). And I've been doing it all by myself. Bob has been out of town for most of the past two months, and I think I've been afflicted by PSPD (post "single" parent disorder).

Anyway, yesterday ...

the snow kept me from getting to the gym and grocery store; and although it might be pathetic I'm going to go ahead and admit I was looking forward to hitting Safeway - I have several new recipes I'm going to try out next week and it's fun to assemble the ingrediants (oh yep ... that is pathetic).

Bob didn't get home from work+gym+commute until almost 8, so the special shrimp scampi meal I had planned to celebrate Cearra's arrival home for Christmas break ended up tasting as if it had been sitting on a buffet at some (cheap) all-you-can-eat seafood restaurant.

After dinner there was yet another load of laundry to do, dishes to wash, toys to clean up, etc. etc. And another winter cold was sneaking up on my sinuses.

My friend Alison shared that she tries to focus on serving God by cheerfully going about her daily chores and making her home safe, comfortable and happy for her family (or something like that; I did get the point when she told me and it was helpful, although I know I'm making it sound rather revolting in a Stepford wife kind of way).

I try to do that, and sometimes it does help. But I realized this morning that I think the issue at core is that I'm feeling like I do not really accomplish anything:

I wash and put away clothes; the next day the hamper is full again.
I wash and put away dishes; the next day I have to do it again.
I clean the house; the next week, same thing.
I make a meal; gone in 15 minutes.
I clean the bathroom floor; next day it's full of hair again (Bob and I are hairy people)

... I think you get the point. I'm the guy pushing the boulder up the hill. And lately the hamster on a wheel is having more fun than me.

My last "real" job was in Global Marketing for Willis Insurance Brokers. I had a terrific boss who trusted in me and expected me to do a great job - and I did. I had a team of co-workers who I lead in preparing Willis for the Elliott Spitzer lawsuit that rocked the insurance world (before Spitzer rocked the prostituion world). I reviewed contracts for all of Willis' offices across the country; I traveled to NYC for meetings. Not every day was thrilling and there were days I would have rather been at home goofing off, but I accommplished something everyday. I was recognized for my brains, my determination, my skills. I got raises and bonuses. I got things done.

I gladly said goodbye to the corporate world when Owen came along. I feel that there is no more important job than being home with him, and most days I am happy, happy, happy. But there's no denying this recent bout of um, boredom - frustration - lack of enthusaism for my job now.

So I begin thinking that I need a hobby/project which allows me to actually accomplish something everyday - something that won't be dirtied, eaten, thrown away the next day. Something that won't get undone.

I considered some new craft that would provide me both with a creative outlet and fabulous Christmas presents for next year, and I realized that in a way writing is my hobby. It makes me feel creative, and bright, and it lets me get the swirling thoughts in order. I spend a few happy minutes babbling, hit "Publish Post", and wait for the encouraging comments (ahem) to follow.

And along with this post and heading to Michael's, maybe I just need an adittude adjustment. After all, I am creating something long-lasting and permanent with every daily chore. I am trying to make a happy, safe, comfortable childhood for Owen, and a pleasant home life for Bob and Cearra. There is value in those goals, even though it can never be measured in contracts signed or checks written.

Yes, I'm already feeling better about things. Bob is taking us out to breakfast so I don't have to face the cooking/cleaning combo just yet, and afterward I'll get to go to the grocery store (where I will be buying cold medicine).

I'll just go unload the dishwasher before we leave. With a smile on my face. Well, maybe not, but I promise not to actually throw any of the dishes. And that's a step back into the right direction.

Thanksgiving Every Day

I try to be grateful everyday, and to thank God each night for the many blessings He has given me. Some days I'm better than others at really recognizing how lucky I am, and so it seems appropriate and right to pause at Thanksgiving to focus on each one (although I'm still not sure I can put the complete list into words alone).

I am thankful ...

for a husband who weathers the ups and downs with me and who I know is in it for the long haul.

for marrying a man who had a daughter. She has brought more to my life than I could ever have imagined all those years ago.

for the twisting, bumpy, sometimes heartbreaking road that lead us to the perfect son and the joy of my heart.

for parents, a sister, aunt, uncles, and cousins who laugh with me and love me despite my weaknesses and mistakes, and my inherited need to be the boss.

for gray hairs, my "spare tire", my scars. They mean I've lived a full life, never suffered from a lack of food, and looked the foe in the eye and beat it.

for old friends who know me deeply and have shared so significantly in my life, for new friends who add sparkle, and for renewed friendships that teach me about forgiveness.

for the piles of laundry and cleaning to-do's that mean I have more than enough to wear, and a comfortable, safe place to rest my head each night.

for a mother-in-law who always supports, encourages and praises me.

for a brother and sister-in-law who inspire me by the way they live their faith in every way.

for Bob's job and mine - staying home with Owen is one of my greatest blessings.

for health.

for my furry kids who need and knead me.

for oh, so many everyday things: a car that runs well; good books available free from the library; dark chocolate covered pretzels; a favorite 80's song on the radio; funny status updates on facebook; Tylenol; blush/bronzer to help me look more alive during the long, cold days; yoga classes; a new glossy magazine in the mailbox; football games; hair dye (see above); diet Coke; an email from a friend; a trip to the duck pond with my little buddy. And on and on ...

Each blessing, big or small, adds up to my life. And I have a wonderful life. I am truly thankful - I hope that you are too.

Happy Thanksgiving, today and every day.

And Still God Weeps*

While we waited on our journey to Owen, reading blogs written by other adoptive families was such a blessing (and sanity keeper, and information portal, and dream builder, and so on) for me; and I still follow some that make the limited amount of time I now have to surf the web worthwhile.

Today I checked in with this family: www.lajoyfamily.blogspot.com, and found myself crying as I read Cindy's latest entry. I think what she has to say is so important in a world that lately seems to be getting less tolerant of differences - in race, politics, religion, "being".

I hope you find her words as moving as I did. And if you have a moment more, check out the rest of her blog - theirs is an amazing story and an even more amazing family, and I think you'll come away uplifted.

I am afraid this post may prove to be an unpopular one with some, and I am not going to apologize for it. This is something I feel passionately about, am sickened by, and can no longer keep toned down about it.

Most of you by now have read about the suicide of Tyler Clementi, a Rutgers University student. Tyler's privacy was horribly invaded when his roommate and another student in his dorm thought it would be amusing to use a webcam to video him in his room during a sexual encounter with another male student, then they upped the humiliation ante by broadcasting the "action" via the internet . Tyler was outed as being gay in this way, and found the experience so embarrassing that he felt his own life was no longer worth living, so he jumped off the George Washington Bridge.

This news comes along with the equally disturbing story of another suicide, this time it was 13 year old Seth Walsh from California who endured the taunts of others about his sexuality as long as he could, then choose to escape those taunts once and for all by hanging himself from a tree which left him lingering between life and death for 9 days before ultimately succumbing.

Back in April I blogged about 2 other suicides of young children whose lives had been made miserable for the same reasons: http://lajoyfamily.blogspot.com/2010/04/our-personal-revenge.html

Whether one believes homosexuality is a "lifestyle choice" or not, how can anyone hear of this and not feel like they got kicked in the gut? Let's not get into whether any tween or teen would ever make a "lifestyle choice" that would subject them to the unending ridicule and harassment of their peers, let's look for a moment at an extremely unpopular stand that must be taken...and it must be taken by any Christian who truly claims the love of Christ resides in their heart.

We are on the sidelines watching as our young people are literally taunted to death, and we say nothing. The conflict that exists in the Christian community surrounding homosexuality and sin is keeping us from reaching out to those who are hurting...those whom society has cast aside...those who are often viewed as "the least of these". We throw around trite sayings like "hate the sin, love the sinner", and yet we do nothing to show that love to those who are obviously in deep pain. Unlike God, we view sin on a hierarchical scale, and the precious heart of a 13 year old boy...or an 18 year old boy...is viewed as somehow less worth reaching out to because their perceived "sin" is higher on that scale than others.

As a society we can forgive those who are in power who have betrayed their wives with regularity, absconded with taxpayer funds, or committed numerous other immoral acts, and yet we can not find it in our hearts to take that hurting teen aged child into our arms and protect them from those who would destroy their very souls.

I am not talking here about "re-educating" them, I am not talking about attempting to "fix" them and if they don't comply then walking away.

I am talking about loving them...simply loving them through their pain, so that perhaps they will not feel so isolated and alone in this world that their only solution to ending the anguish they feel daily is to take their own life. That so many are resorting to this at such a young age means that the adults in their lives are not doing their job, they are not being protected nor accepted. This protection and love needs to come from all sides, not just the parents. Parents are helpless once a child is in the school environment, they entrust their children to a system that is not always pro-active enough or perceptive enough to see this sort of hazing as the powerful source of pain that it is. Schools also can only do so much in the effort to protect children, and we all must do what we should to make homophobic comments seem as antiquated and archaic as they are, for it is only when enough pressure is exerted from the majority that there is zero tolerance for such language that we will begin to see the bigoted comments begin to dwindle.

We, as Christians, should be leading the way. We should be the first to stand up and say "Stop it...stop the inhumanity...stop the humiliation and derisive comments...STOP IT." This has nothing at all to do with acceptance or lack of acceptance of homosexual activity. This has to do with the acceptance of cruelty. Somehow, we in the Christian community find ourselves confused over what the real issue is...and often it is our own offspring who are the very participants in such hounding and ridicule, seeing it as somehow acceptable to be judge, jury and executioner.

God calls us to love everyone. Yes, everyone...for we are commanded to follow Jesus and Jesus never said anything even close to "Love only those who go to your church. It is OK to hate the gay guy, the lesbian woman, the alcoholic, the drug addict, the adulterer, the Native American, the African-American, the Democrat/Republican...go ahead and hate those guys for their sins are SO MUCH WORSE than your own." No, indeed not, we are always reminded that we are to love all, including the most unlovable, for there before us in the guise of a sinner stands...us...yes, you and I.

Ahhh...but our sins are somehow more acceptable, right?

God weeps over this, the tears are streaming over the loss of precious children. I wonder if there are moments when God asks "Why aren't those who claim me doing something about this? How can they accept my love and forgiveness and not reach out to those who need it so desperately? Can't they see that Love Wins, and they are the instruments of that love? Oh, my precious children, don't let hate win...for it is up to YOU to bring me front and center."

It matters not what your stand is on homosexuality, gay marriage, gay adoption or any other related issue. You can quote chapter and verse all you want condemning it...those few Scriptures can not come close to outweighing the hundreds that tell us to love all, to forgive all, to be God's light in a dark world. How dark it must have been indeed, in those last moments before Tyler plunged to his death. Where was the light as he lifted his legs over the guard rail, feeling as if he was unworthy of love. Or 13 year old Seth, where were the arms to enfold him as he endured the unending ridicule of his classmates? Where were WE, each and every one of us, when we encountered someone like Seth or Tyler? Where was God's light, and who did we hand the victory over to without even putting up a fight?

I can only hope that in death, Seth and Tyler have found the love and acceptance that eluded them in life, that the darkness is no more, that God is doing for them what we failed to do here on Earth.

*With thanks to Cindy LaJoy for allowing me to republish.

Optional Post I

I often lay awake at night, thoughts swirling through my head, minutes ticking away on the clock as Bob and Owen sleep soundly next to me. I mentioned to Bob the other day that perhaps if I jotted these things down, they'd stop messing with me at 1:00 AM. I've always found clarity and release in writing, and hey, this is a format that works within my day.

So here's the first of my "optional" posts. I don't mean for them to be lectures, or even completely developed essays. They may not make much sense to anyone but me. They are not going to be posts that I obsess over for grammar or catchy phrases. And if you stop by only for the pictures of Owen and perhaps a glimpse into our lives, please feel free to skip these posts entirely (hence the optional in the title).

But I appreciate the chance to get these thoughts out of my head - at least for a while.

The Westminster Fall Fest raises monies for local charities and service organizations. Perhaps the organizers could spare some change to start a mandatory parenting class for some of Carroll County's mom and dads.

I'm not exaggerating to say the examples of - in my opinion - horrible parenting on display that day overwhelmed me. I'm not (just) talking about the mother who stood idly by while her kids shoved and cut in front of Owen in line, or the pregnant mom who pushed a stroller with one hand and smoked a cigarette with the other.

I'm talking about the many, many times I saw and heard children screamed at, roughly yanked around by their arms, and generally bullied by their parents. The worst one of all, a father who called his little girl (who couldn't have been more than 7), a "bitch" because once seated on the Ferris wheel she got scared and started crying, necessitating the carnival worker to let her back off - and I guess embarrassing or annoying her dad. It all made my heart ache.

None of us are perfect parents. Of course there are times when I'm tired or cranky or just plain "done", and I have raised my voice at Owen ... and I always almost instantly regret it. Maybe it's because I'm not a yeller by nature, and I am 100% against corporal punishment, but I can't understand the kind of behavior I witnessed at the fair.

I don't think I'm slack on discipline when it's needed, I certainly want to raise a well-behaved, polite, considerate child, and I try to parent with gentle firmness. I scratch my head over how anyone can believe that their children will be respectful and obedient if the adult that they love and look up to is flat-out mean and disrespectful to them?

Time and time again Owen reminds me that he sees and takes in everything, and I can't help but wonder how those kids at the fair feel when their red-faced, bug-eyed, spittle-flying parents are yelling at them. And what kind of adults those very same kids are going to grow into ... and how those kids will parent their kids. It saddens me; it makes me worried; it makes me hug Owen even closer.