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.