Forgiveness is a beautiful gift that is given not only to the one being forgiven but as well the forgiver. Every time yet another health issue stemming from choices made by a birth mom is placed on the canvas of my childrens stories I am reminded of this gift.

He was born without an iliac vein in the right side of his groin causing (thankfully) clumps of collaterals to attempt to do the job of that one major vein. Doctors assume this was most likely caused by his mom's meth use and the rate he developed being too fast. Having had several surgeries in attempts to fix the blood flow including a bypass that worked well for nearly a year and then failed causing the pressure and pain to return he has had his share of hospital trips.
During yesterdays procedure they found that his static venous pressure was still too high. When they tested it it should have decreased with his venoplasty but it didn't budge. His pressure was between 15 and 18 all the way up to his sternum, as far as they could go. Normal pressure is 0-5 I am told with 5 being the max. So the surgeon was concerned and wants him to see a cardiologist and have an echo cardiogram.

My yesterday was heavy and hard. My sister in law was by my side holding me up with positivity. "At least we know" she said. My gut twisted and turned at the sound of the words "at least". I have always considered those to be words of weakness. I want more than "at least" for my children! However I knew she was right and slowly comfort began to settle in. We do what we always do, we move forward and face it head on with faith not fear. This is simply another colorful part of his story.

Forgiveness threatens to be taken back at times as anger and fear attempt their feat to take control. This is the hard truth. However being confident in my faith I toss that thought far aside and choose to walk in light and hope. The minds unknown is unrelenting in its soul captivating quest for answers. Patience is my least favorite of friends yet we will become closer as we wait for Malachi's upcoming appointment.

Lose ten pounds, exercise daily, spend more time with family, get out of debt, serve in the community more, stop swearing, quit smoking, and on and on and on. The infamous New Years resolutions! 

Many of us make New Years resolutions every year without fail and without fail we (most of us) fall short of our goals. Something I personally have struggled with is my desire to eliminate negative people from my circle. The feeling of a need to love people well is often messy when those people are caustic, causing stress and desiring to hurt others with opinionated words as sharp as daggers. 
Our human need for acceptance and attachment is instinctive yet we need to find a balance as we recognize this and seek to meet this need. So how can we love well and not be dragged down by those who wish to suck our joy? Might I suggest that we continue to love well and keep emotional distance when needed, knowing that those who are drowning in negativity need love more than anyone. Emotional distance is healthy and safe just as keeping physical distance from flames ensures we will not catch fire so is keeping emotional distance from joy suckers. The danger is sadly very much the same. 
We all have those people in our lives that offer their input and advice even when not asked and in reality feels more like judgment and condemnation than concern and love. What we do with those words and where we place those people in our lives is our choice. Over the years I have learned to compartmentalize my life and emotions, taking the insight offered by others frequently unasked for and either toss it out, place it aside for later attention, or deal with and be done. I find that hanging on to and/or dwelling on another's negativity is sheer poison to my soul. 
So as I look ahead to the new year I choose to see hope, circumstances that can be embraced and faced head on, conquerors not sufferers, joy invoking people, words that uplift, and people who crave goodness in others. 

"Let go of the people who dull your shine, poison your spirit, and bring you drama. Cancel your subscription to their issues."   - Maraboli

Stockings hung for weeks in wait of the magical morning that they would be filled and with delight unveil their treasures. The children were elated with their gifts, their shouts of merriment and glee at their finds filled the house. Still hung by the fireplace however, were three stockings each one silently telling their own stories. One tells of a a son whom we love and miss deeply, another tells of a daughter entering adulthood and all it holds, and the third stocking has waited yet another year for a little girl we long to bring home.
Oftentimes our emotions intertwine like a ball of yarn after the kitty got into it. Untangling this ball takes time and is best done in fragments rather than all at once. So as the days leading up to and  following the holidays bring about unsettling and unresolved feelings we may need to slow down and allow ourselves to process all that we have and all that we miss. Joy and grief are all to commonly, and in my opinion an odd couple as close friends.
Heaviness at the sight of those stockings hung in wait safely placed aside at the sight of our son attempting to walk is my hearts reminder of that odd friendship. Less than two weeks ago the doctor said their is little to no hope of Emmanuel's brain being able to give the message to his legs to walk. Emmanuel heard these words as did I. News of little hope for me was not a welcome thought but in my sons eyes I saw something I hadn't seen yet, he was mad, really mad. Not thinking much of it other than how he doesn't like being talked around I pushed it aside. Several days later I was not answering him fast enough and he placed one hand on the sofa and one on the coffee table and stood up and took a step. He fell and looked at me as if to say "excuse me but I was talking to you". So when I shed a few tears and shouted in excitement he looked at me as if I seriously didn't get it. He didn't even think about what he was doing he simply wanted my attention. Now here I was still not giving him what he needed but instead acting a fool. Slowly realizing this I attended to his dire need of a cookie and then told him he just tried to walk. If his chest could have puffed up any bigger it would have burst! Fearful of causing pain in his feet I didn't think we should try it again however he had a different plan. He kept trying! Christmas day felt like a good day for this attempt. Emmanuel's love for his grandma is beyond measure so who did he want to walk to?? Not one but both legs moved over and over again in walking motion all the way to grandma. His brain told his legs "lets go get grandma" and they did!
With every struggle and with every victory I choose hold tight to the gift of being a parent. I would have it no there way!

Fifteen Christmases without baking cookies, unwrapping gifts with, or watching his unending silliness. Grief and pain slowly began to dig a hole for the safe keeping of memories of those years. Those memories would soon be buried deep beneath layers of hurt and tears and with great attempt shoved down too far to feel or see. I wasn't allowed to miss him or to cry or to speak of him at all. Through my silence I dreamed of him and held dear with desperation and hope to the memories I had of spending weekends with him. I would often laugh out loud when I would think of him sitting reading his paper when I would come up behind and twap it. He would act surprised every single time and I would laugh so hard. Together we would catch salamanders beneath the rocks  in front of the house while my step mom would be cooking in the kitchen and all was right with the world. This was the normal I wanted to never let go of.
Aspen trees filled the the sky as I looked up while playing in the yard. Their leaves glistening and whispering softly unspoken words to my heart. I knew when I saw them I was home, I knew I had him where no one could ever take him away, my heart held my daddy tightly secured. Still to this day and I can only assume, forever, I will shed a tear of joy and take great comfort in the beauty of the Aspen trees. Those trees and their leaves helped me to never dig too deep or bury it all I guess.
Fifteen years passed, I was now married and pregnant and that hole I dug so many years earlier was opening. My heart relentlessly demanding action I called my father. His voice was the same, even the way he said my name hadn't changed one bit and my fear melted at the sound of him saying "Jessica".
My father is still the silliest man on earth, loves his grandkids with all of his heart, is the hardest working man ever to walk the planet, and one handsome guy!
My life is blessed beyond measure knowing he is no longer a memory.

To love is to risk. I desire nothing less than a world that can function as one, together in valuing humanity and risking to love before choosing to hate. Hate, although it sucks us dry of all energy leaving us empty shells has a seductive pull to it. Like a dysfunctional relationship or abusive partner it is an addictive, fear driven, soul consuming, and inevitably cowardice end to hope and life.
She smiles nearly every minute of the day with a smile that has the potential to light up the earth. Laughter is her first language, love comes natural, joy seeps from her pores. She is my sweet five year old!
My heart sank as that sweet little girl began to ask "Mom, when will the flag fly up top for all the days? When will people stop shooting each other"? There are no perfect answers for her and all the other children asking these unthinkable questions. Truth is I too ask the same questions and as I seek for answers I continuously come back to love. It may sound so cliche however I see no other proven method.
Love does not erase past wounds of children abused and neglected. Love does cover those children with a blanket of healing.
Love does not force one to make good choices. Love does forgive in the wake of consequences.
Love does not cure terminal illnesses. Love does carry us through times of trials.
Love does not feed hate into our hearts. Love does change the way we see others.
Love makes the officer put on the uniform and walk out the door.
Love drives the firefighter to run into a burning building.
Love fuels the passion to risk life and limb for the service woman and man.
Love changes the heart in a failing and troubled marriage.
Love places orphans in forever families.
Love carries parents after losing their children.
Love, my friends really is our path of hope in this troubled world.

I always come back to love.

Rapidly increased blood loss was occurring, mental and emotional strength tested beyond rational comprehension, as the stench of stress sweat filled the air. Was this the end they thought? Could this really be the way it would play out? Endless hours of dedication and preparation put into this one day for nothing? 

It all started as such an innocent ambitious quest yet took such a grueling turn. 

They were there to protect, that they knew and were prepared so they thought for what may be thrown their way that fateful day. 

Faith in oneself's ability is a strength. Faith in another humans assumed ability often proves ones inner stupidity.

He said to me " it's easy, no biggie, you can do it. Just go slow and you will do fine". I had learned to ride a bike just two years earlier and had ridden less than fifteen times and less than thirty miles combined and never done a race. Somehow this qualified me (in my husbands mind) for a thirty mile mountain bike race. Knowing my husband would never put me in harms way and always has my best interest in mind I agreed. Why not,  right? I can totally rock this. I mean how hard can it be?  

Race day quickly approaching, and when I say quickly I mean two days, I began to think like a biker but realized I was missing a key piece of gear to look the part of the "racer chic". I obviously needed those clip in shoes like the others had. Our dear friend, bless his heart was more than willing to oblige in selling me my "make me look cool" shoes. Not sure if he had faith in me or needed a good laugh but nonetheless he was ever so helpful. 

Our group of biker gangsters got settled into our campground the day before the race, oh yes they really did start their own gang with name and jerseys and all. After this race I would earn the right to wear one of those jerseys. I would be a legitimate Spin Mob member! I put on my new shoes for the first time at the campground as I didn't want to get them dirty before the race. Huh, this clipping in thing was a bit hard in and of itself I thought. Then came the "are you serious" comments from the gang. What was the problem? Clipped in and ready to go I took off for a practice run around the campground gravel parking lot. No one was at all surprised when I came back bleeding. Clipping in was difficult but getting my dang feet out of them was nearly impossible and it was much easier to just slowly fall to the side. Sure it would be easier on the actual race morning I went to bed. 

Racers lined up with their race faces on and not as clean of shoes and mine, as I stayed in the back not wanting to show off or anything. My sweet husband had decided to ride with me because it was my first race. What a gem! The sweepers for the race were our friends and fellow gang members. So there I was with my guy and friends, what a great start! 

What seemed like 10 miles in my legs were burning and death seemed imminent. Then I was told we weren't even on the trail yet and that it would get so much easier. Hope turned into vengeance when I saw the "trail". It was smaller than my tire and to my left were sharpened tree branches daring me to fall into the cliff they declared theirs. 

I will admit that the shoes were a bad idea and they were nearly the death of me. Trying not to clip the dang things in so as not to fall into the waiting snickering daggers I finally just got off my bike and started to walk it. Where is that " it's easy, no biggie, you can do it. Just go slow and you will do fine" husband of mine? He is behind me, dying a bit inside. Then came the realization that we were miles away from where someone could meet us and pick me up followed by the dreadful  sound of a swarm of eagle sized mosquitoes. One hundred percent deet proved to be food for the blood sucking beasts as they attacked mainly my husband and our sweepers. 

I had mentioned several times to my husband over the past year that I should sell my bike because I really didn't ride it that much but he always said no. On that trail, on that life changing day I once again said I think I will sell my bike. As he swatted his rear for the millionth time killing another blood sucking beast he said "hell yes you will". 

Two miles later and countless pints of blood donated I met my ride. My husband rode off onto a dusty road and my kind friendly sweepers went for blood transfusions. 

So I never did get my jersey and couldn't care less, sold that damn bike, and my husband has never again asked me to race.    

 

Private would not be word I would ever choose nor assume anyone would use to describe my husband and me. Our life is an open book and we have lived intentionally this way with full knowledge of the risks and rewards.
Yesterday morning started off as a typical morning in the Neal house. Children with frightening resemblance to zombies beginning to rise and walk making humanly unrecognizable sounds that only other zombies can understand. Consuming of mass amounts of cereal and waffles with a piece of fruit thrown in for good measure and substance to report to dad in case he asks commenced. My phone chirped several times in a row so I briefly tore myself away from the scene before me to peek at the need of whomever it was.
Friend requested and messaged by someone with a photo showing a young boy as the profile. This social media request came in the day prior however the small but albeit there, cynical part of me was uncertain about it so I ignored the request. Then came the message asking me if we could be friends. Still being cynical and guarded I began asking questions in reply to his message. This led to an all day conversation that eventually tore my heart out. He found our story as he was looking for a family for himself because his mom was getting rid of him.
Details are many and tangled and I will share them at a another time. The bottom line is that love is hard to find for some and such a desperate need in our lives. We not only desire it, we need it and will do most anything to find it. This is a perfect example. Our heart will lead us and when pain or fear is involved the direction is often seen as alarming and misguided.
I am so blessed to be surrounded with love on a constant basis, this I was blatantly reminded of as the events of yesterday unfolded.
My advice yet again is to love without weighing the reward, give not knowing the receiver, be kind to everyone, do not stop at fears door - push that sucker open and face what you see head on.
We ought not cease to love due to risk but love in spite of the mountain of risk before us. Love well!  

She came home from school with frantic delight about her new friend. She couldn’t stop talking about her, telling of all the things they did at school, where they sat, what they ate together at lunch. Sheer joy!

Miriam and Fahmo became instant friends at the sweet age of five years old. They shared a friendship so precious that even I was envious at times. Miriam looked forward to school knowing she would see her best friend daily. How painful the weekends became when she couldn’t see her.

Fahmo and Miriam exchanged phone numbers eventually. Fahmo’s mother did not speak English so I would talk with her sister who as well became dear to us all. Oh how I remember the first play date. Miriam waited in front of the window ever so impatiently for her friend to arrive. What was taking so long? Well, language barriers (my direction giving ability is rotten even without this) and the beauty of cultural views of time were lessons we were about to learn.

“She’s here!!”  They must have hugged for two minutes and a hundred times and they had just seen each other the day before. They played and played and played. Fahmo had even brought an extra hijab for Miriam to wear. They both had them on and said “look, we are twins”. Sweet love.

I soon began volunteering at an English for Somali women’s class and brought Miriam with. Who did she see?? Fahmo! Miriam couldn’t be happier. Not only did she get to see her best friend outside of school on these nights but the women in the class loved her. One woman in particular named Mariam took a special liking to her as their names were so close and their smiles just as big. One Thursday evening Mariam called Miriam over and gave her a gift. It was her very own hijab. Both of them were beaming as both the giver and receiver were filled with gratitude.

That hijab meant so much to Miriam and as well to me. Mariam had made a special trip to purchase this with the little money she had simply to gift my daughter with something that meant so much to her. Miriam wore that hijab with pride and no, it didn't change her love for Christ in the least. On the contrary in fact, as she wore that gift she shone with the light of love that God so desires for us to shine with all of the time. 

Memories were made in those few years that forever transformed our hearts and will never be forgotten. Fahmo moved away and Miriam hasn’t seen her in a long time but she still considers her her best friend.  

I can't help but think of this pure love at our present time of mass confusion and pain in our world. 

Head to toe she wore back not forgetting an inch of her wordless statement making self. From her black veiled face to her patented leather toes she boldly made her appearance at her daughters wedding.
Joy and laughter filled the church as the hustle and bustle of last minute wedding preparations took place. Delighted that she even came I smiled at my mother as I looked into her bloodshot eyes and simply loved her. No, she wasn't sober but she did make certain to get my sweet little brother cleaned up and dolled up in his wedding attire. Oh my, he looked so handsome and the best part is that he was still shorter than me then.
Music played beckoning my presence igniting ablaze emotions bouncing too fast to grasp hold. My mother took my arm and whispered in my ear "sorry I didn't give you any money for the wedding, I'm saving it for the divorce". There it was the anxiety that lay waiting for her next move could now rest. Many may find that comment horrible and painful but for me it was a release. Not ever knowing what was next with mom, the unknown, that was the scariest.
Daggers had been thrown, the attempted damage had been done, and now I could peacefully walk down the isle to the man I loved with my whole heart.
This part of my story is one I never want to forget as it enables me to teach and love others and to see  beyond the outer junk. Every day in the life of a child of an addict or abuser is a struggle and at the end of that is a victory. I learned very early on to treasure, to hold dear each and every day. This lesson transformed into treasuring people and diligently and with intentionality looking for opportunities to love others.

Her sweet little voice softly asked as we snuggled "mommy, why did my tummy mommy give me away?"
Open adoption does not simply mean the annual sending of letters and photos to birth families. Open adoption means that we are open with our children about where they came from, all beautiful parts of their story, and willingly place our hearts out there for these hard questions.
Her eyes expectantly awaiting my answer she held onto me as if the tightness of her grip would lessen the pending blow of truth she feared she was about to hear. I wondered how long she had been contemplating asking this question. What had her little mind come up with and imagined as she pondered?  Time froze as I was brought back to the delivery room enveloped in one of the most beautiful moments of my life. Josephine's precious cry brought forth a river of tears from her tummy mommy. This was not a woman that was giving away her child, this was a woman that was giving the most selfless gift a person can give.
Snapping out of my memory I regained focus on her waiting gaze. "She did not give you away, my dear, she gave you life and the gift of a family. She blessed you far beyond what most mommies can even think to do. She gave us the gift of being your parents. She chose you." Curls framing her now content face she spoke in a whisper "I really love her you know" as she drifted off to sleep.
How do we know when and what to say as parents? How do we not fail these angels put in our care? They are fragile and moldable and far too breakable. It baffles me that we were not given individual, child specific manuals for our wee ones. You know the one that would come with a 'this is exactly to do at this very moment at this very stage' manual. Seeing as though this imaginary manual will never exist we must rely on faith.  That same faith that pushes us to take the next step, speak the next word, and love a bit better may very well be our manual.
I have learned to cherish every moment in life as a parent even the rotten ones. Yes, there are moments, some longer than others, that are unbearably painful producing internal scars. However those scars taught me and molded me and broke off chains that held me back. If not for the willingness to endure the pain I would not be delighting in my present comfort and joy.

DECEMBER 3rd 2015

We lived in Ohio, had just two children, and were madly in love. He called me from the barbers and as we talked about the weekend plans it hit us, "oh crap we forgot our anniversary again". Yes this made for three years in a row. Then a fabulous streak of impeccable memory power as we remembered our anniversary for years. Until today! Who do we have to thank for reminding us of this magical day? Facebook. In my 'on this day memories' was the 'hey, by the way dork face you forgot your anniversary' reminder.  Below was my shining moment post of when I remembered last year.

For 20 years I have been blessed with the joys of marriage to the man of my dreams. I have picked up 5 trillion pairs of socks and underwear from the floor, loved him through the mullet years, done every dangerous sport known to man (okay not every), ran races, raced mountain bikes, birthed babies, adopted babies, loved others babies, fought some good fights, shed all kinds of tears, and followed this man any and everywhere. The crazy thing about this thing called love is that I wouldn't change any of it! Each day I can't wait to see what kind of crazy joy life brings our way. I am so madly in love with my guy still! Thank you Jason Jason S. Neal for being the tremendous man of God, husband, father, friend, pastor, and trainer you are! I love you!! 
PS. you left your underwear on the floor again......

I am so proud to say that we remembered for over ten years straight so in all honesty we were due for a forget. This is a great feat. Since we celebrate our love every day maybe we will celebrate today the fact that we love so much we forgot.

You all know that I am all about transparency so let me just be real here for a moment. There is a feeling of guilt (small feeling) and so I feel the need to justify a bit.

Yesterday went like this.....
4:30 am Jason slides three quarters of the way down a highway driving the hour to work.
Jason begins training a gazillion people and somehow remembers all their names and stories and genuinely cares.
Jason begins his competitive push to take more steps than all his Fitbit friends.
5:00 am I wake and read my daily love note from my husband and pray for him and all my children.
5:30 children begin to flood the main level of the house one by one searching for the freaking elf (who's idea was this anyway).
5:45 I quickly pay some bills.
6:00 make sure the seventeen year old is in the beginning stages of waking - this is a process.
Pick up mess left from night before starting from the basement and working my way up.
Start laundry
Get meds ready for kids
Wake second round of kids up.
Re-wake seventeen year old (yes his alarm is going off in background)
Breakfast
Laundry
Shove kids out the door (lovingly of course) as the bus is coming
Next round of kids up, feed them, find the elf, give more meds, and put on the bus.
Oh did I forget to mention that I am either holding or being chased by Emmaunel this whole time?
Get peed on - yep there's a highlight!
Three left at home get media time (for my benefit not theirs)
Quickly write a bit in my book
Switch gears and call my husband to discuss the new property
Attempt to be a realtor
Load up three children for a doctors appointment
FLU SHOTS!
Stop at Target and push a wheelchair and a cart and get stared at. Wonder if this was because I only remembered to put make up on one eye or maybe it's simply my awesomeness. Ha!
Pick up yet more prescriptions
Home
Laundry
Put dinner on
Check emails and return a million
Fail at being a realtor
Write
Talk to my husband for no reason other than to hear each others voices. LOVE!
Shop online quick
Speak with a teacher
Talk with five families about adoption - long story
Kids home - hungry animals
Get peed on - remember this is fun!
Remember that I promised to go to pizza night at church with the kids.
Jason gets home and changes quick.
Take a moment to stop and pray for the unfolding events in San Bernardino
To church for pizza night and leave three kids there for Catechism
Home for the soup I put in the crock pot earlier - real dinner
Help child with homework
Speak with real realtor - life saver!
Snuggle with my boy - best!
Respond to more emails
Pick up kids at church
Put rascals to bed
Kiss my husband and fall over

This is my cleansing of guilt blog.

"I'm sorry but you will never conceive without me" were the words that seemingly came so easy for this doctor to tell us. Prior to the flooding emotion of devastation my thought bubble filled with "so awkward!". Long story short, there was no viable fallopian tubes in this mama, I was broken, a baby maker I would not be.
Since I was small girl I dreamed of having babies and being a mommy. I even picked out names for these future children. How could this dream really be crushed? How could I not be what I knew in my heart I was made to be?
It must be my husbands fault I secretly thought. His initial lack of desire for children must have been some crazy sort of curse on my fallopian tubes. Yes, I am aware of the ridiculousness of this thought now but at the time it made perfect sense and gave me someone to blame. I wanted a baby, lots of babies and now I couldn't have any?! My heart was aching in a way I had never felt and I had no clue how to deal with this pain.
We left his office with utter hopelessness and seething anger at everything and everyone and sadly each other. As much as I wanted those babies so did my husband. His heart was shattered in a million pieces yet I blamed him and had little compassion for his pain. My selfish desire and anger was all I could see. Eventually he too became angry with me thus forming a great divide between our once knit hearts.
We had prayed to be parents and faithfully believed that God would answer our prayers our way. When He didn't we quit on Him and quit on each other. Our pain turned to anger then turned to callousness and we separated. Less than a year into our blissful matrimony and our world collapsed.
Although the sun shone the darkness of those days only darkened.
That same God who had chosen him for me and me for him with a mighty love for us brought us back together. Our fragmented hearts began to heal and once again intertwine.
Then one day I fell ill. Symptoms plagued me that I had never before felt and I was terrified. Calling my friend for advice she suggested a pregnancy test. Certain that I was dying and not pregnant (as we hadn't involved the doctor in any way) I went to the drug store and bought a pregnancy test and Immodium AD. The cashier looked at me funny as if she needed my verbal justification for my issues and/or purchases so I gave it to her, saying "it's one or the other" and walked out.
Two lines meant..... WHAT THE?!?!?! It had to be a mistake right? I called my husband and he being the wise man that he is told me to call the doctor, you know, the awkward one. Doing so immediately he responded with orders to go straight to the ER as "it" had to be an ectopic pregnancy and I needed an emergency procedure.
My husband and I waited in the cold and sterile smelling room for the doctor to bring in the ultrasound machine. She was the sweetest resident with a tiny voice. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she turned to us and told us to look at our baby that was in just the right place, my womb. Our miracle! Her little blinking light of a heart was by far the most beautiful thing we had ever seen. We  were in love wit hour little miracle.

She wrote with practiced precision each name we had given her and with a wink and a half smile wrote the last two. Our 2015 Neal family ornament was complete. This is one of my favorite traditions that my husband I do together. The kids start asking for the new ornament by Thanksgiving time with great anticipation.
When I met my husband I knew I wanted twelve children. He on the other hand wanted none. Thankfully his heart changed and his desire grew along with mine for a large family and a house filled with children. Today our house is filled with the noise and laughter of children and our life is more blessed by the day. Nine kiddos in America, one amazingly beautiful girl in Liberia we love and adore, and well that leaves the two we have yet to meet.
Adoption is a very personal decision however often viewed as a topic that others feel free to open the floodgates of their opinions. I cherish the hearts behind the well meaning insight. Our family's unique design can stir up a plethora of emotions for people. I pray the emotions are ones of contagious compassion for others, acceptance of  individuality, deep sadness for those orphaned, and unconditional love.
The day was sunny and hot as we waited in line for the car wash. Our tear stained faces watched the world around us merely going through the motions without much awareness.  Several team meetings were had, stacks of forms and paperwork filled out, her room was painted and furnished. Just one last meeting and she would come home. Words are powerful and that day at that meeting the words spoken changed everything, "Its not if she will perpetrate, it is when". I am not sure what part was more devastating, knowing she couldn't be our daughter or having to tell the kids or hearing that this sweet girl at the young age of five had been through a hell so utterly painful she struggled to function.  It wasn't until this meeting that we (or our workers) were given any of this information and the decision albeit painful was an easy one as we thought of our kids at home and their safety.
All wounds heal in time and all we could do was pray that the little girl that we thought was coming home with us would find her forever family and our childrens and our hearts would mend.
We had seen photos, and heard lovely stories, knew a bit of her history, but had not met her or held her hand or heard he giggle. Being honest this was unsettling yet relieving.
I remember asking my husband why this little girl that I had never met yet loved so dearly was not to be our daughter as if he had the answer. He just held me and wept.
Our uniquely designed family is nothing less than a miracle. God is the artist in motion when we feel no movement. He never stops painting our story. We wait with anticipation watching the unveiling as our hearts are ready.

More thankfulness....

She wore a  black wig and was my worst nightmare. I feared Rabbi Black's wife with every inch of myself. I was the rebellious one, the one that may have been the cause of her stress lines. For the life of me I can't remember if she was my teacher or just the unlucky one assigned to tend to Tova  (my Hebrew name) aka Jessica.  My years at Talmud Torah taught me little of Hebrew as I payed little attention rather they were times of safety and feelings of love and security. I needed those folks and am so thankful for this part of my story.

Massive in size and sound he wordlessly imparted terror into me. Drill Sgt Sledge appeared to the meanest and scariest human ever created and he was all mine. Crap! With his every command my stupidity increased as I without fail replied with a question as to why he wished for me to do such pointless duties. His creative punishment and patience he had with me actually broke through my thick skull. I learned from this massive and mighty man about responsibility and perseverance. He added lessons of humor as he would would eat my Oreos sent from home while I did push ups in front of my entire platoon. Thankful for this man and his lessons. 

The procedures and surgeries went well into the double digits when I simply could't take it anymore. Dr P was a long shot at a second opinion but hey why not? Permanent marker was used to make the line above my wrist, the line marking where the amputation would go up to. Waking up fighting the fog I reached for my missing hand.  Thinking the drugs were playing a trick on my mind I let myself drift off to sleep. Again waking and feeling for the lack of my hand I still found something there. I had half of a hand! Dr P explained how and why but my joy filled ears only held onto the words "we were able to save half of your hand". Thank God!

Thanksgiving day is wrapping up around the Neal house but I plan to continue sharing my moments of gratitude and catching up on my overdue thank you's. 

  

There was far too much to get done as I plugged away at all the Thanksgiving Day meal prep but how could I say no as I looked into the eyes of my child as she asked "will you please come to church with us"?
Cliche as my next statement may be, it is ever so true. It was exactly where I needed to be and exactly the words I needed to hear, precisely what my eyes needed to see, and my heart needed to soak up.
I love painting word pictures for willing eyes to read but last night I sat and relished the work of an artist silently using only his hands to tell a story playing out in front of my eyes. All while a wise white haired man in a white robe used words to reveal a story of deep gratitude and impart his wisdom into hearts and minds.
Children were invited to come forward to hear their very own story and then share their hearts, their thankfulness was valued.  Josie stepped up to the microphone, her small voice speaking bravely her thankfulness for family and mommy. Tears welled but I did a good job holding them back until my husband holding our new son spoke. He spoke the words our son cannot while his eyes confirmed them to be true. Let the waterworks begin, yes I couldn't hold the tears back and they simply fell.
That white haired man clothed in a white robe speaking words of wisdom that I trust to speak into my life challenged me (really everyone) to show gratitude in the simplest and oldest way possible, thank you cards.
Now due to my being behind on getting my thank you cards out by about twenty nine years I will paint for you. Sadly I know that many will never hear or read my personal gratitude as our paths crossed but only for a moment. It still matters.
This painting if you will, will be long and portioned out in to digestible sections. My life is far too blessed to have this be short and to the point.

So it begins......
I was young and small and they adored and spoiled me. I still remember vividly the smell of Grandpa and Grandma Gold's house and can still taste the diet Sprite she would always give me. The parents of my mothers boyfriend, my brothers grandparents, my solace. They loved me well.

She pinched me so hard and so many times and we would fight some days on that recess playground until we were out of energy. She was my best friend. She saw me completely unguarded and vulnerable and still loved me. She knew me and I knew her. We fought what life threw our way like a two woman army and I think we won. She protected me all the way through high school in her crazy dysfunctional way. My gift from above, my friend, my sister, my maid of honor, my Nicky. Forever indebted and grateful.

He joined the air breathing world when I was only ten years old and he changed my life with his own first breath. He beat the odds of being born of an addict healthy and strong and even chubby. He was loud and perfect. He was my brother. He had it rough, much harder than I, but he not only made it, he barreled through barriers. I am so thankful to be his sister.

Jello was not my favorite because it tasted good but because of her silliness. My stepmom would put jello in the front pocket of my overalls and then make absolutely ridiculous noises while trying to distract me. Then... bam! She would smash my jello filled pocket spraying my face and the room with jello. The laughter we shared neared the point of needing oxygen. My father chose well, better than well, perfect. I adore my parents!

It hit me at 4:30 this morning that yet again we get to see one our son's "firsts". Several tears of joy trickled down my cheeks as this thought warmed my heart. He has these eyes that say so much and are filled with awestruck wonder at each new thing he sees and feels. I could live off a diet of simply taking it all in, watching him watch his new world.
Our Christmas tree is already up and was put up while he was napping one day. When I brought him downstairs he began to laugh from the depths of his soul and point to the tree then to the door. He was clearly stating that apparently during a momentary lapse of judgment we allowed a tree to be brought into the house. His laughter, as always was incurably contagious and we all laughed together. Things got serious though when we put lights on this outdoor object and began to treat it as if it were a dear friend as we fluffed, fixed, and made pretty this crazy tree. Emmanuel is laid back and goes with the flow, that's just the kind of kid he is. True to who he is he went with it and embraced the tradition albeit with hesitation and a clear wonder if we would be bringing any other outdoor objects indoors.
As I think about all that I have to be thankful for a lump forms in my throat and my heart swells. Surrounding me are children that I have prayed for that repeatedly call out the most beautiful word, "mom".
My husband without fail writes me a love letter every morning. This is what I wake up to. Words of encouragement, affirmation, peace, joy, and true love bless the start of my every day.
My friends and family enrich my life with unconditional love and laughter.
I hope and pray that the blessings I receive will be what pours forth from who I am. I desire to love as I am loved!

Naked in November.

He was only two years old and found wandering the streets in only his diaper in the middle of November. On call for emergency foster care we received the call to go and pick him up at the police department. I found it a bit odd that there was a tone of laughter in the officers voice but quickly brushed it off. Maybe he had just heard a funny joke.
My mind already forming a picture of this little boy naked and afraid needing to be scooped up and held. As I arrived and an officer walked me back to where the wee one was again I saw smiles. How could a small little boy naked in November have anything funny about him? Then I turned the corner and saw him. I too began to smile, a smile that still forms each time I think of him. He was HUGE! Not fat, just huge. He had been given a police t-shirt to wear that although was big still did the trick because he was huge. His size was shocking but it was his smile and the joy in his eyes that brought the smiles. He was a bundle of delight! This not so little boy joyfully ran up to me and my plan of scooping him up was so not happening. I sat down on the floor with him instead. Everything he did was big, he ate big, he played big, he laughed big. But, out of the blue he would take my hand and look up at me and say "I love you" in this tiny little soft voice. That boy will always bring a smile to my face.
Thankfully he was one of few feel-good endings. He was a wanderer and with his size was able to maneuver doorknobs and had simply decided that night he didn't want to sleep but rather he would take a little stroll.
He soon went home to a very worried and I might add, very tiny, mother.  

Wearing my Ralph Lauren white polo and cut off Guess jean shorts I shined like a glow worm amidst the all black leather and rock t-shirts. My first "out in the boonies" pig roast (lets be real here - party). Trying to fit in as best possible I was eager to oblige when someone told me to yell "hey Jay". What emerged was quite a sight! Read this slow then take a moment to close your eyes and feel my fear, please.
Black leather fringes hung from beneath the arms of his biker jacket that opened enough to proudly reveal his ACDC t-shirt. Levi's jeans painted on his body left little to the imagination, his ensemble complete with unlaced Nike high tops. Wait! That is only the attire, there is far more to this unforgettable eye candy. Seven earrings hung from each side of his face proudly framed by one of the best mullets ever known to man. In each hand of this man of unsurmountable studly-ness was a beer with one, of course holding a Marlboro.
Now that I have allowed you to enter into my fear/humor/what the?? moment feel free to die laughing or vomit, whatever you need to do.
This, the scene set before me was all mine and I was terrified. Good thing I can roll with the punches. His first words to me were "hey baby, I'm a rock star". My reply seemed logical with "okay, sing me something". Now this I didn't expect, and please make note that I was still Jewish at this point. My mullet man chucked his beers and cigarette, dropped to one knee, looked up at my eyes and with all his heart  began to sing "Jesus loves me this I know....". I was certain all the people at this party were nuts, all Christians were nuts, I was nuts for not running the other direction but oh was he cute in such a bad boy way.
That punk and I still share the love for craziness and passion for each other like we are newlyweds.
Confession???
I kinda wish he'd bring back that mullet. Shhh, don't tell.

I hesitantly write this post. Our world and the people I live in it with are in a bad place. I don't think this comes as a shock to anyone. My heart is hurt and my mind is reeling from all the devastation and hate surrounding us.
I have not known what to like, share, or post on social media about any of the atrocities throughout the world as of lately. So I haven't. However my silence (rare for me) is powerless, holding great and loud volume.
Last night I awoke with a fright. Was it a nightmare? No, it was a reality, one in which I so wish I could have called a nightmare.
Years ago I had felt strongly that I needed to see the other side of foster care, the side in which the kids came from. With a passion for volunteering and a great respect for our law enforcement I applied to be a police reserve officer. I could do all of this with a family of men and women who unbeknownst to me would teach me far more than I could have dreamed. Quickly I saw the other side as I wished, far faster than I had hoped and much too up close. As we would leave a call and get back in the squad I would look at the officer sitting next to me preparing for the next call. They did not even have time to feel the heaviness of what we just experienced. They placed that emotion safely away in an invisible holding cell only to be let out when the world didn't need them. My admiration for these men and women grew with each and every call. They went to school for law enforcement with the harsh reality that that is a far stretch from the ocean size job they have. I watched rape victims frozen in fear be calmed, family members of victims feel heard and given undivided attention, violent jerks treated with the utmost respect, and children removed from homes by loving arms. If you look closely in their eyes at these moments there are tears, the ones that refuse to fall for if they start they may never stop. These men and women counsel, referee, laugh, problem solve, teach, and so much more with every shift they work.
My fright that woke me was that these men and women are being broken down. What if we didn't have them? I fear that society is losing sight of this what if. They are the ones who run towards the gunfire, into buildings ablaze, after the killers, and refuse to give up until justice is served. We need them and yet take them for granted. Why? This question plagues me and before we go crazy with accusations based on something we hear or saw reported stop and think who are you going to trust if your child is kidnapped, or your house is  broken into? Sad as these thoughts are this is reality and we live in a broken world that is a better and safer place with our men and women of law enforcement. They would and do take bullets for you every day. They leave their homes and kiss there spouses and children goodbye not knowing if that is the last time - for us!

My life as an open book? Not by choice at first, but certainly now.

A child of an addict doesn't get to say who knows what goes on behind closed doors. For me this was a breath of fresh air, one I wouldn't admit at the time however the knowledge that others knew gave me an odd sense of security.
My mother was a beautiful woman with a deep laugh, one that came from her belly and filled the room. She was stunning and gentle and loving and yes she was an addict. Growing up I saw the woman behind the drugs and alcohol that painted an awful picture, I knew my moms heart. That woman would sit for hours and brush my hair and play games with me and watch movies. Those moments I hold so dear, those moments are the ones I chose to define my mom and still do.
Mine was not the house friends came to hang out or had the best birthday parties at. Mine was the house of an addict and her daughter desperately trying to make it through each and every day. Every day was a battle for survival for my mom. The dark pain that plagued her was her internal battle, one that she often lost.
The day I lost my father was a day that changed my forever. No he didn't die, I wished he had as I felt it would be easier to understand. Rather he too was stolen by my mother's addiction. An addicts choices soon become out of their control as the power of the drug takes over. Not to enable nor minimize the choice to use but rather make clear the understanding of the downward spiral in saying this. My mothers state of mind fueled by past personal wounds and buried hate fed continuously a diet of mood altering chemicals found a sure fire way to alienate me from my father.
That was the day I became a survivor. That was the day I stopped crying.

I write this to shed light on the child I was along with the children that have and are walking in my shoes. They need us, even though they push us away, even though they are unbearable. They hurt, a hurt they cannot put into words. Love them, and love them so well that they feel it forever. They need to know someone cares, someone sees through the outer junk and finds their hurting and fragile heart.

SEVEN

The door was cracked open to our apartment once again. I knew this meant she wasn’t sober but the mystery of her mood started the racing heart in my chest. School went well that day for once and I even had a skip in my step on the way home. That skip quickly went from my feet to my heart when I found her passed out and not moving on her bed. Was this the time she was not going to wake up? My seven year old self began the routine I was all too familiar with. I began to tap on her cheeks yelling her name. Nothing. I determined she must be hungry so I fed her some watermelon. Nothing. She never swallowed. Running down to the caretakers apartment I remember thinking this is the day that she won’t wake up again. The paramedics filled our small space adding great fear and a feeling of claustrophobia. Her body was jostled and shocked as I watched. Why was this happening? Did I not hide her liquor or flush her pills that morning? This had to be my fault I thought.  

After she was stabilized and admitted I was allowed to see her. The overwhelming emotions stuffed deep down and smile on I walked in her room knowing what to expect. The tears and the apologies and the promises flowing I smiled and forgave her. I was seven. I was in control. I was the parent.

The select and blurred memories began as I simply couldn’t take it all in any longer. Feelings I refused to feel through the prison wall I placed securely around my heart were kept at bay. This was my life and I was no weak victim, I was in charge and I would survive. 

Nearing Christmas the house was ablaze with lights and overkill on decor. Our festive environment encompassing us all with hints of holiday spirit. In our tiny little house lived our ever changing and ever growing family. Four kids and mom and pops crowed in yet there was and always will be a 'vacancy' sign up.
Our weekend on call proved to bring about blessing and excitement that night with a call from the social worker. Just a short stay was what we were told. Our very first teenager! To be honest here we had full intentions of not bonding with another child so as to never feel hurt again. Yeah, that was stupid! The delivery was made and we met her at the door with shining eyes and overly large smiles, ready to love all of the pain away. We were not met with the same enthusiasm to say the least.
Our festive home with all of its Christmas cheer and outstanding decorating (if I do say so myself) did not impress  her one lick of spit. So we tried the "we are here for you and love you" speech that produced flames from her ears. Okay, we need a different approach quick but uh oh there is a problem. We are clueless!! Good on our toes we promptly faked it and pretended to know exactly how to parent a teenager. Yep, she was on to us immediately. Whew, we were only an hour or so in and this was exhausting.
Then it happened, her eyes locked with mine and she was mad, really mad. I was the lucky one who got to be the target of her fear, anger, confusion, the whole ball of wax. What an honor!  I had nothing but raw truth and transparent me to offer. I told her my story and my lack of pity for the fit she was throwing yet understood her being upset while not knowing her exact feelings. This was followed by the Neal house rules of respect and then........
SILENCE.
Deafening silence with eyes locked. This was the excitement for the following four hours. We stood two feet apart with no words, eyes glued with some sort of invisible super glue for four hours for a reason. She wanted me to quit. She knew I would, or she thought I would. Not this mama! My heart said all it needed to say in that silence. You are worth it and I care. Finally she looked away and went to her room. Exhaustion set in as I sat down and I wept for this child whom I now loved. Darn it, we weren't going to bond!
Nearly a year of a magnificent roller coaster ride with her ended and she went back home.
There were food fights and laughter so hard we could barely breathe, screaming so loud our ears felt as if they would burst, silly faces every morning, running away, coffee always on for the officers that even fell in love with her, her practical jokes on dad, and endless more memories made. We missed our little ball of spunk.
I am happy to say that that little ball of spunk is now a grown up ball of spunk with determination and yes still spunk! She is a gem and we are so grateful that we got to fill in for a bit.

Neal's 'family meeting' time!
Fidgeting fingers and bouncy bodies and thought filled minds attempt to focus as our weekly family meeting, now long over due, begins. As Jason starts us off with a devotion of gratitude and hope, his words blanketing us all with love, I visually examine each one of my children. One is turned with one ear facing dad while building a castle out of blocks while one is hanging over the sofa fidgeting with the carpet. Another has their hood up and pulled tight and picks at fingers, another snuggles in as close as humanly possible to mom. While yet another desperately tries not to touch their phone, and another fights the boredom of the moments lacking play and begins to search for toe jam, lastly another attempts to understand the need for such a time as this.
The above word picture may make some cringe as you personally visualize the scene. Our society tells us that those children ought to be sitting still and focusing their attention on the adult speaking. Our society is in love with "normal" however that is a cuss word in our home. We don't do "normal" we do unique and personal and meaningful. Individualize your life - this is what we do at the Neal home. So as you envision the word picture I will unpack it a bit. Those children are feeling uneasy about what they may hear, what they may want to say, what emotions they will see and trying to remember the appropriate response to those emotions. They are secretly hoping that they do not need to unleash an uncomfortable emotion, yet also excited that we are spending this time together although it is tough it is cherished, and of course their internal battles with telling their bodies to sit still and their minds to focus yet only to have wandering thoughts of ponies and Minecraft. I applaud their ability to remain in the room!
We cherish our family meeting times in the Neal house. It is a time to "let it all out" and get updated as a team. The kids, even though they spend endless hours with one another often know little about what the others are thinking or going through. This is a time that opens that door to conversation and understanding.
This meeting had a focus of all things new in the Neal home. We have moved, we have new schools, and we have a new brother (that mom had to go away to get and now has been in the hospital too much). That is A LOT!
My heart feeling saturated in more love than humanly possible swelled as our meeting ensued. Little hearts and minds openly sharing their not so deep and some really deep thoughts and feelings. Our meeting ended with everyone on the same sheet of music, knowing what one another is thinking, going through, and rejoicing about in their lives. Did you know that Josie is proud of her ability to see sight words all over the world? She wants everyone to know that and now her siblings know and want to help point out sight words too.
When we sit and listen, really listen to each other we learn new things that deepen our love for who we are.
Family meetings are a great way to focus in on what matters in our lives, our families and it has no bearing on the size of the family.
Questions about how to make this work in your home? I am the self proclaimed "Come Hell or High Water I Will Make These Family Meetings Work Even Through All My Epic Fails" Queen. My failures eventually turned learned successes are not secret and I would love to share ideas with you.

"We lost the poop".
For many this may be the silliest or grossest thing you have heard, however let me share with you how devastating this was to our ears and why we heard these words.
Yesterday morning I received a call from our pediatrician informing me that our new son's lab work had come back with some significant concerns and we needed to be admitted that afternoon. The news hit hard, harder than I expected. Honestly, why I don't know but my ears and heart were prepared for multiple things, however it seems just not one I didn't know about. Syphilis from birth. What?!
Taken aback by this news and the urgency to get him to the hospital along with my lack of understanding of this diagnosis brought forth a raging river of uncontrollable tears.
Pulling myself together following calls to my family, I robotically packed a bag for my son and I and prepared to leave.
Upon arriving a feeling of unease consumed as far too many people knew his name, they were waiting for him and that brought no comfort. Admission was fast and friendly with tons of smiles. Then began the barrage of ologists and specialists and never heard before terminology. Plans were made, history was discussed, questions were asked, blood was drawn, ears were cleaned, potty was measured, and on and on. Whew it was like a friendly circus of new faces and friends. All of which Emmanuel loved, yes even the vampire. He found him quite funny actually.
And.... the most treasured gift Emmanuel can give the doctors had of course requested, the POOP! This gift my friends is given only every couple of days and takes a great deal of effort. Hence making this a treasure. Well, Emmanuel being the rock star that he is gifted the doctors along with the entire sixth floor with his odoriferous treasure last night. Then came the worst news; the wrong specimen container was used. We lost the poop!
So as we await our lumbar puncture and other tests that are stressful and no fun we are choosing to focus on Emmanuel's hidden treasure.
Please I beg you, dear friends, to join us in the poop prayer.

(Serious prayers coveted of course)

Her heart was pouring out through tear filled words as she asked us to take her child. Emotion had overtaken her. She was in a rough spot yet had the strength to do something even a harder for her child. I will never forget that call, that day, or the sound in her voice. Her pain, her selflessness, her love was evident.
Our daughter, her daughter, knows only this beauty about her and loves her dearly.
Months passed, endless paperwork was filled out, meetings were had, joy and laughter shared, and then came the long awaited gift of the call. Mom was in labor and wanted me to come. We left this up in the air so mom could sort through her emotions without pressure. So it was a delightful surprise to get this call. The room was filled with love and joyous hearts awaiting our princess. I was there when she was born! Grandma was there with her expertise and love and support. It was truly beautiful, magnificent really.
Mom did what most would say can't be (emotionally) done; she held her and breast fed her. They don't know the strength and depth of love of this woman!
Our sweet girl was tiny and a bit undercooked so she spent some time in the NICU, nineteen days to be exact. That was tough for all of us. Mom now had to prolong the pain of placing her child and we had to wait and wonder if she would change her mind. Instead of choosing to look at it negatively mom invited me to come into the NICU with her and together we loved on our sweet girl. Jason and I both spent every moment we could there but I can honestly say that my favorite moments were when mom and I would look down at this baby we both loved and stare in silence. Oh how I admire this woman.
The day came for Josie to go home. The plan mom had was her and Grandma would bring her to us at our house rather than us take her. Even that word "take" seems hard on the ears, let alone the heart doesn't it? Instead mom replaced that harsh word with one of love. Love that simply cannot be defined nor explained. She had planned to bring her child to us and we would all spend time together around our little blessing.
The moment we opened the door an odd mix of feelings arose. We were receiving a gift like no other, an unimaginably one of a kind breathtaking gift. The gift of a child. The arms that held that child also held eyes of the giver of this gift. This woman had carried, felt every kick, spent sleepless nights with nausea, wept for, and dreamt of a bright future for her child. Here she was in front of us with our Josie, our gift. Her grandmother next to her with silent tears streaming was radiant with love for her grandchild.
This moment was imprinted on our hearts as one never to be far from our minds. A true picture of love.
It has been several years since we have seen these women but have been in contact. What most people don't know is how painful it is to look back on this beautiful moment from their view. We have and hold Josie each and every day. They don't and that hurts. That hurt is one I have been close to and witnessed yet never felt. I cannot begin to imagine how it feels each mother's day, birthday, first day of school, and so on. I say this so you all can understand it is (at least in our case) not for a lack of desire or love but of great pain that few of us will ever understand that birth family - adoptive families connect.
Through that pain and loss Josie's grandmother pushed forward. She contacted me and asked for a get together. We were delighted! We didn't tell Josie until the morning of as we knew she would be too excited to sleep. We were right and she could barely focus on school that day and upon walking in the door exclaimed "hurry up we are going to be late to meet my tummy grandma"! We had the sweetest visit and Josie loves her 'tummy grandma' so much. She showed her photos of her life and of her tummy mommy as a child and told her all about herself. Josie already felt as though she knew her at least a little because grandma never misses a birthday or holiday with a special card and a coin or dollar in it. As our visit came to an end Josie asked her grandma of she would come to our house sometime. You should have seem her smile when she said yes!
I can't wait to watch this love continue to grow.

The ultimate challenge has been set before me. This challenge is held in the eyes of my new son. It is a deep desire and longing emanating from his eyes. He looks at his siblings with near worshipful beaming eyes as they ride their bikes, run around the house, and simply stand up.
Pity? Not one ounce. Those same eyes look down at his own legs and broken feet and the look transforms into one of determination I have never seen. He smiles big, scoots over to the nearest and highest table and pulls himself up. He stands on those broken feet held on by frail and skinny legs and lights up. He is proud!
He brings me to his wheelchair and wants to go outside, to go fast, to push it himself. He wants to run!
I stare at my son as if he is an infant, taking all of him in, his every move, facial change, learning him and loving more and more each moment. I study him and he studies me. I wonder if he has figured out that I don't run?
I really don't run, ever. I am really good at many other things and there are plenty of other runners in this house. Leaving the running to them has settled just fine in my soul until now. Until those eyes.
You see, I really like to workout too, for a while until I get the desired result and then I sputter out. I think honestly that my husbands significant addiction to physical activity must be balanced out by my conditional love for it. Well, that thought has been challenged by those eyes.
So as I look at those eyes and as he learns more and more words the day is nearing that the gleam may fade if his hopes are crushed. I have to battle with the albeit sounding crazy struggle of the question of, 'will I run for and with him'?
My struggle thoughts :
Running hurts my lungs
At 42 my bladder is not a fan of running
It is cold in MN like 361 days of the year
Running hurts my legs
Do I really have time?
Oh and lets not forget that running hurts

Emmanuel's realities:
He only runs if someone runs with him (for now)
He feels tremendous pain everyday and smiles!
He  thinks bladder issues are hilarious
He can squeeze it in his schedule

I will run for and with my son!

*If you see me and I have the look of death on my face please refrain from calling 911 and if you think my legs appear overly sweaty kindly throw me a Depends and move on.

Yesterday proved to be a day for the books!
The blonde (a bit too blonde) hair attempting to uphold my deceptive yet understandably far-reaching goal to maintain the age of 29 simply had to go. Suspicion was telling me that just maybe a few folks were on to me anyway.
Sitting in the chair awaiting my "grown up" hair color, my one and only stylist and I chatted away in the lack of presence of children, in itself a small gift. As our topics floated one direction to another it came out that she had just styled one of our foster sons. My heart swelled as she told me all the kind words he said and all the memories he shared with her about his time with us but one thing he said took my breath away. He said that we are the reason he wants to do foster care. This young man always had a smile on and could charm anyone and his heart was and is just as big as that smile. I cannot think of a better foster parent! What a blessing this was to hear and along with my hair taking its new personality I thought to myself "this is a great day"!
I would have settled for that however more blessings were to come my way. No joke, 10 minutes later I received a message from another foster child that saying he misses us a lot and wants to see us and is moving back in our direction. Yet another young man who stole our hearts that we miss daily. Joy was flowing from my eyes just thinking about seeing him again. this guy is one of the funniest and most talented young men out there. If there was a picture in the dictionary for perseverance it would show him! I cannot wait to see him!!
Again this would have been plenty for one day or month for that matter however......
Yep, more blessing! My hair still processing and growing up I was unable to answer a call I received form a friend.  Letting it go to voice mail I was able to check it on speaker (yes I did this in the salon - how rude) but I am pretty sure that all ears that heard it were more than touched just as I was. My friend called only to say how thankful she was to see us celebrate our sons 'firsts', being an example, and telling me I am an amazing mom. As she lovingly spoke these words she spoke so deep into my mommy heart that I wept. I am so glad that I let this call go to voice mail as I can and will keep this forever. Words are so powerful and these were ones I was uplifted by and will never forget.
I am certain that the design of this day was not mine and although the blessings are mine to hold the glory is not mine but belongs to the Creator of it all.
 Today may not be as fluffy feeling as Emmanuel goes for his first doctor appointment. I would love to be able to say that I am prepared for the words that will be spoken today but that would be a lie. In all honesty I rarely feel fear however I am struggling with this today as I look at my sweet boy and know his future holds some big hurdles. Please do not interpret this as deflated joy or lack of hope it is simply reality and together the Neal clan will walk this out along side our little guy. Funny how words can cause so many emotions and have the power to change lives. Praying that the words we hear today our hearts are ready for.
Clinging to that blanket of blessings from yesterday!  

He is home and the joy is overwhelming in the Neal house. Adoption is a gift, a blessing. 

I have shared numerous updates and photos on social media showing the joy and the gladness in our sons face. But..... Yes, there is always a but in adoption. In the spirit of transparency and truth and in hopes to continue to shed light on adoption I will share the not-so joyous moments with you. 

His delightful seemingly endless smile sometimes fades during the day and his eyes look far off to a place I know is thousands of miles away. He has no words to help us understand how he feels. We have to be that in tune with his eyes, his expressions, his story. I wonder if his birth mother is looking off in the distance the same way? Is she looking with thankfulness and hope for her son and his future or is she looking with sadness and an aching heart. The truth is both. 

Emmanuel left behind a birth mother, a foster family, siblings, friends, and the only "normal" he had ever known. Now he is in the frigid state of Minnesota having to wear layers of clothing every day, see new faces, and learn a whole new "normal". 

This is adoption. 

Feelings fluctuate like a roller coaster during the process of bringing your child home and people often think that once your child is home all is well and that roller coaster stops. Nope! Your ride has just begun, a whole new ride with new twists and turns. 

His siblings love him and they are jealous and they are sad that they can't understand him sometimes. Most of his siblings are adopted and bringing him home brought unwanted feeling to the forefronts of their sweet little minds and hearts. Their joy is mixed with a bit of sadness and unanswered questions.

This is adoption.

Our trip to the pumpkin patch and apple orchard was a blast and E's smile was contagious throughout the day (short of the wagon ride he thought was lame) however it was our roughest night yet. He awoke with his first night terror, yes I said first these are a sure bet after bringing your wee one home to some degree. It took quite a while to get him to wake fully and calm down. Our hearts broke for our little boy. What was his mind thinking? His heart feeling? 

This is adoption.

"You are a saint". This is a commonly made statement when people hear stories such as ours. Let me say that this is false and the only time I want to be seen as a saint is when my children refuse to eat my meatloaf and then if it works I'm down. We are not saints. We are willing to walk through the fire over and over again for the sake of our children whether adopted or not but sainthood I think not. I have no idea how to care for his hair, skin, and know little about CP. Saint? No! Quick learner? Yes and this will save my butt. 

This adds another topic. Why do I not know how to care for these basic needs of my son? In order to answer this I must share a story. 

She called me in the middle of the day saying she was going to leave her baby at the homeless drop-in shelter, she couldn't do it anymore and she would come back for her in a few days. This was a mom I had mentored for a while and she was dear to me. As hard as I tried she would not change her mind so I met her there and we drove to the county to discuss her options. Jason and I were new to fostering and were oh so green but we knew the county would be the place to start for her. Props to the county workers who sat for 3 hours trying to help her understand the long term consequences of this decision. The pain was evident in their faces yet they were so gentle with her. In the end baby was was placed in foster care, in our home. Months went by and mom showed no signs of being able to care for her child, not for a lack of love however. We were asked if we would be willing to be her adoptive family. We were overjoyed! We loved this little one as our own. There is this thing called concurrent planning in the system and it works all angles at one time for the best interest of the child long term. As we were planning for upcoming holidays and shopping for cute little outfits the county was working to find any relatives that did or do not want to adopt her. We knew this and were feeling confident as no one had been found willing. The call came just days before we would sign some papers that an aunt had expressed interest in adopting and a worker would be coming soon to pick her up. The pain is still fresh from the loss of our sweet little girl even after all these years. She was gone in an instant leaving a gaping hole in our hearts and one of the hardest things I have ever done is clean out her closet. Thanksgiving and Christmas outfits, tiny socks, a new winter bunting, and stuffed animals that she would never play with again. This is why I do not know how to care for my new son's hair and skin and know little about CP. The what if's are real and painful and there is always time to learn later. 

This is adoption. 

To make your hearts feel better I can tell you that I had the pleasure of talking with that little darling and her aunt a few years ago and she is doing great. 

This too is adoption. 

It takes an unhuman amount of love and bravery combined with an adventurous, lil' bit of crazy, and passionate spirit to adopt. Its not for the faint of heart yet I have seen some of the most soft spoken, seemingly timid folks be the strongest advocates and outstanding adoptive parents ever. Love does not cure or fix the damage from past wounds nor does love ensure a smooth path ahead. Love does however change our outlook, the way we put one foot in front of the other, the way we press on, the way we endure what comes our way, how we parent, how we live through sleepless nights. Love makes us laugh instead of cry with each new behavior or diagnoses. Love carries us through and is without doubt our foundation. 

Adoption is love.  

Meth ravaged through her veins for nearly nine months. This monster in drug form fought to control and kill both mother and child. Meth lost!
Today is World Gratitude Day. Each and every time I look at my daughter I am filled with awe and wonder. She made it, she survived. God had bigger plans for her, a world of promise and hope and every good thing. She is a beautiful story of beyond a conqueror. That tiny peanut came blasting into the world a fighter with no intentions of being less than incredible.
With a plethora of diagnoses and a file two inches thick that little girl became ours forever. Thankfully none of those initials or papers define her. The choices made for her before she was born were not of her own. The woman making those choices was wounded, addicted, beautiful, funny, valuable. She is loved.
All of my children are proud of their stories. It is where they came from and they cherish the women who chose to bring them into this world. Often while at stores or on vacations I am asked to buy a memorabilia for a tummy mommy. Done! Grateful for their hearts and their desire to love.
My children teach me on a daily basis how to love well. The eyes of a child see delight and hope in a world that is routinely dark.
Today, be grateful for your story. Albeit not defining, wonderfully life shaping.

August of this year, just a mere month ago I opened up, I was transparent. I learned (still learning) many things from this. I learned that if I love the unlovable yet don't speak of it, do it away from the general population, and of course attempt to always fix them that this is an acceptable kind of love. However due to my big mouth and outspoken love I continue to be cast out of the circles that give lip service to my exact motives. Those whom I have ministered to as a pastors wife for years that have come to me with stories of deep wounds from the church are now a part of my own story. Truth be told this is a good lesson. I never would have understood the way I do now how it feels.

Here's the kicker... all I've done is love. 

This love comes at such a great cost, yet I won't stop loving because a few religious stone throwers feel the need to force everyone to love with conditions. 

I don't need to defend any specific group of people as most do a fine job on their own. This is an issue of the heart. An issue that is so uncomfortable to people that fear and hate flood their minds and then absolutely ridiculously stupid statements fly out of their mouths. 

Why does how and whom I love anger people so? Does it really matter to you on a deep personal level if I love my ex-con neighbor, Muslim neighbor, or homosexual neighbor? Does how and whom I love consume you so much throughout your day that your focus simply can't stay off of me? News flash... I'm not all that! 

Jessica, why are you so fired up?

I woke this morning to this :

"I just can't take your anti-Biblical, anti-rational stances anymore. I have to unfriend you so that I do not respond. I hope you continue to minister to those with whom you come in contact. I think your ministry to orphans is commendable. I will pray for you."

Is unconditional love that offensive? How sad it is that so many not only miss but willingly ignore the opportunity to love well. My life is richer because of those whom I love and those that love me back. 

Emotions are a pain in the butt and parenting is far too hard some days!

When the twins were brought to us via foster care we were given a mountain of "they may never's, they won't, they cannot's". A plethora of limitations for 8 pound babies was a heavy load to carry. Those words and negative claims drove us as parents to fight even harder for these wee ones. We desired to change their words from "cannot's and never's" into " can's and will's"! Nine appointments per week for nearly five years, advocating until we were blue in the face, refusing to settle, and pouring in strength, positive words, and a strong faith has paid off. This journey is far from over and we often have set backs and new challenges but we embrace them head-on with a fierce determination.
Just yesterday a boy on our 6th grade daughters bus asked her if he paid her if she would perform a sexual act on him. The nauseating feeling that arose in me was one I can't fully describe. However, please don't get stuck on what the boy did as that is not the point. Remember those words and titles? If those were her forever story, her identity, who knows how the outcome of a situation like this would have turned out. That little girl didn't freeze in a state of anxiety, she didn't do what the boy asked out of fear, she got ticked off and told him to shut up. This is huge for her and makes every pain staking appointment gone to, meeting had, and tears shed worth it!
In parenting I find that without humor I wilt and most likely come close to death on a daily basis. So, to give you a bit of a chuckle and insight into my daily life you simply have to know the way in which I was informed of this.
My daughter was in the middle of doing her homework and looks up at me and asks me if I know what a $@*$*$ * is, confidently sure that I didn't and she having learned such wretched information knew it was her obligation to school me. However two other of my children were also doing their homework in the same area. Commence the school lesson I never wanted my children to learn as she spat out her one disgusting sentence explanation leading to mommy's much longer explanation of anatomy and appropriate vs. inappropriate discussion of such parts and their uses. I will have you know that I had a lot of things on my to-do list for the day however this was not one of them.
That courageous sixth grader chose to get on the bus this morning (not mom's 1st choice) and proceed to face this with bold strength. She has a meeting with the AP first thing when she gets to school and the look of empowerment on her face was out of this world as she walked out the door today.
Emotional overload for parents is a continuous roller coaster of joys and pains. Gonna be real here and say I hate roller coasters!

Transparency is a funny thing. We expect it from others yet peddle fast away from daring to expose ourselves this way. Maybe its because the moment we are transparent we are instantly vulnerable leading to possibly being wounded by others. If we are wounded then we face the choice of how to deal with those wounds along with the ones who wounded us. That brings about a whole other dilemma - reconciliation and forgiveness. So now we have our list:
transparency
expectations
vulnerability
wounds
reconciliation
forgiveness
So if we just run back up to the top of the list and scratch the transparency we are good right? Nope! We still have the issue of our desire for others to do so. Back to the top? Yes! Well that is if we truly desire authentic relationships and genuine love. Ahhh, love, that might be what the list is missing. Let's see if  we place love in between each word how would that change our outlook on this?
transparency
LOVE
expectations
LOVE
vulnerability
LOVE
wounds
LOVE
reconciliation
LOVE
forgiveness
LOVE.
Wow, that is much easier on the eyes. Now can we implement this, can we take hold of, and be the people we expect others to be?

I was, past tense and painfully so, a closet love-er. That can only mean that this is officially my "coming out" announcement. That is not meant to be taken lightly or said in jest. Quite the contrary in fact. Unwritten rules are everywhere in every walk of life and as an evangelical Christian, conservative, and saver of all sinners there are a couple of groups of folks that are to be kept at a distance. That is unless of course we can 'fix' them in turn saving them, making us heroes.
We love as Christ unless or until we face the ones that won't change, won't conform. What then are we to do? We speak of our willingness to be martyred for God yet are unwilling to be socially cast out of our circle of comfort.
Who are those I am speaking of? Those we keep much distance from yet never forget to pray for their deliverance in our bible studies and prayer groups?
Homosexuals and Muslims. They are to blame for my coming out and my being cast out. Let me reword that just for fun. My friends are to be credited for the eye opening, unconditional love I will never fear to show.
I have been cast out, unfriended, and now am on the 'pray for her' list by many. I suppose this was one way to sift and get prayed for.
I have been asked "why I feel the need to come out with this?" by several. I guess a another question that begs being asked is "why did it take you so long to speak up?" There is freedom to be had in being transparent, in being unashamedly loving of all. To be clear I have never been a quiet person that held my tongue however with each passing day I see my friends ridiculed, judged, condemned, and too often this is done in the name of Christ. It makes my stomach turn. I can and will love out loud all those who are in my life - not just a a select few. I am not the Judge but I will strive to love like Him.