Sometimes we have to force the good days to happen. When the joy is there yet the happiness is far out of reach, the forced, fake smile is placed on our faces and we put one foot in front of the other. 

My friends, this is where I find myself. Hurt by those I call friend, feeling helpless in the midst of medical mountains, facing unknown territory ahead, and watching hate in so many is extremely heavy. Although it is expected that pain come our way, welcomed it is not. 

Some of my bests happen when I am faced with a challenge. 

I am a survivor.

As brave as that sounds, even braver is the one who stills oneself in the midst of pain, feels it, embraces it, changes it. Becoming the thriver, and conquerer.  

Taking more than average to faze me or break me, I do have my limits and the straw that broke the camels back for me happened yesterday. 

Driving with two of my children to the beginning of all day doctor appointments, I hear a horn honk, look to my left, then feel the hit on my right. Looking to my right I see nothing, pull over and roll my window down. The woman that honked at me said I hit a dog. My heart sank as I looked and saw the dog pulling himself down the sidewalk. Thankfully the woman who saw it was a volunteer for a dog rescue and no joke a dog whisperer. This was a huge pit bull with a heavy nasty looking chain around his neck for a collar and he was growling. He was hurt but she said she had seen worse. Was she saying this to make me feel better or was he really going to be okay? This I cannot answer but I can tell you she was an angel! This massive, angry dog allowed her to place a leash around his neck and even pet his head. Another kind citizen called for animal control while I stood there frozen knowing I needed to compartmentalize this moment, tuck it away, and feel it later. At that moment however, I couldn't move so I stood there and painfully embraced what was playing out in front of me. My two children were watching this play out, that thought made my feet feel as if they were set in cement. 

Sadly I do not know how the dog is doing as animal control takes the dog and no information is given. Some may call my heartache for this dog silly but as I stood frozen, looking into his eyes, I saw much more. I saw my children's need to run when scared, peoples need to spew angry words when faced with pain and the unknown, my own need to stop and feel even when inconvenient, I saw the heaviness of the chains so many are forced to wear. 

My joy is real, flowing from the unending river given to me by God. My happiness is temporary and yes, sometimes forced. My feet found themselves cemented in a moment of needed emotional embrace yesterday. My children are fine and we all prayed for the dog we named '26'.

 

When humility and bravery collide, when they take over,  and we step down from our self made thrones...

We will spend more time loving and less time tongue lashing.
We will spend more time helping and less time hurting.
We will invest in people not possessions.
We will care for and treasure the Earth as if not temporary.
We will desire peace and work diligently to achieve this.
Thoughts of orphans will bring us to our knees.
Religiosity will be a sour taste in our mouths.
The color of our brothers and sisters skin will not affect our love for them.
Freedom will not be taken for granted.
Hate will be the farthest thing from our minds.
Our own selfishness will bring about moving self conviction.
We  will not view compassion as powerless, rather as unbreakable, unyielding, bold, the lionhearted manifest of our character.
Humbly we will walk in forgiveness and mercy, in every situation, in every moment, in every way.
We will choose kindness first.

Given to us were many things, thrones were not one of them. We built our own.

When the phone rang and caller ID showed the police departments phone number I knew we would be having guests. I did not expect it to be six. Similar to most other placements, this one was no different in the fact that it held complicated factors. However, I will say I was shocked by this one. I was to go and pick up the children at the police department but may not be bringing them all home. The more I heard the more I was confused and appalled. One of the infant twins had been poisoned, but by whom was yet to be revealed.
I left that night with with four delightful children. Two remained in the hospital and we would be informed later if we would foster them as well.

Miniature little angelic faces with huge eyes looked up at me and I melted. I struggled to focus on the instructions from the nurses as the stream of medical professionals came in to say goodbye to these wee ones they had all become attached to.
Grasping to all information I could to ensure the well being of these two tiny humans placed in our care, the nurses then helped us out to the van. They were so small in their car seats.

As the team of social workers, guardian ad litem, investigators, and family worked together to determine their plan, we got easy job. We got to love on these sweet ones for a few months!
These darlings certainly added a whole new feel to the Neal house, one we were undeniably blessed by.

I spend time in prayer daily for each and every one of the children that have come through our doors. I remember their names, their faces, theirs laughs.
They deserve to be remembered!  

"I see a zebra. I see a monkey, I see a leopard..." and on and on this would go until one of us would run out animal memory. We laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling for hours sometimes, playing this game. Even if there had magically been animals on the ceiling it wouldn't have mattered as my grandpa was blind as a bat. This was what made it so amusing, that we could never stop laughing.
Following my mom's delusional stories about my father, leaving me unable to see him, I spent every weekend at my grandpa's. Just me and my blind, crippled, hilarious grandpa left to our own devices. Muwahaha!

J. T. Carter, aka Jack. Given only initials as a name at birth, the story goes that the Army wouldn't accept that and named him Jack T. Carter. So it stuck.
Stories were my grandpas best skill. He would tell me some whoppers and then I had to guess if they were true. Funny thing is, he never would answer if I was right or wrong with my guess.

I would do chores in the only part of the ginormous house he occupied, the basement. This was not just any boring basement, complete with a full bar, living area, dining room, kitchen, hidden rooms, long hallways. However the best part of this basement were the stories. Stories of many bullet holes in the knotty pine wood and the hidden doors and closets. Each and every cabinet in the storage room had a color code and separate lock containing a story of its very own.

My chore of mopping the never ending floor was by far the most comical of times. I would fill the bucket with a silly smile on my face and as if he could see me he would say "no smiles allowed" and then we would laugh. Slapping down as hard as I could the soaking wet mop, moving it to a fro he would say "you missed a spot" and once again we would burst into laughter. This was a long lasting game and never got old. No, I never really did mop that floor, ever. My only other, and most important chore was to make his toast. Not just plain, throw it in and toast it toast, this has to be perfectly golden brown, still soft yet faintly toasted toast. Four, sometimes more loves of bread would be on the silver edged formica table as I arrived. I knew exactly how much fun we were going to have based on the number of loaves! Toast. Fail. Throw them like frisbees out the door trying to make it all the way to nine mile creek. Repeat. Of course he was the blind judge of my distance all the while critiquing my throw.

Those bullet holes had a different story ever time I asked. My favorite had to be the one telling of a young lad interested in dating his daughter, my mom. This young lad came to visit and meet grandpa, intending to woo him with his smooth, slimy self. Grandpa seeing right through him began to make him dance by firing shots towards his feet. Only problem with this tale is that the holes were in the walls not the floor. There was of course the oh so believable story of the rabid seven hundred pound snake that tried to take over the Carter home. No, I have yet to find out the real story behind the bullet holes and honestly don't want to as I prefer the image of my blind grandfather chasing and firing shots at a rabid seven hundred pound snake.

Oh how I miss that ridiculously entertaining, crack me up, always joyful man!

Place foot in mouth - check! 

Last night I woke in the middle of the night feeling sick. I know my words may have stung for some people and I had no intention of this. I speak or write at times with fiery emotion yet sometimes I forget to think of others. 

Yesterday was a tough day for us. We had the second medical scare in just a few weeks. I posted on Facebook that "Parenting is by far the hardest thing in the world". Truthful as that statement is for some of us, there are many who would love to speak those words. My heart is heavy as I think about this. Unable to take back a hurtful statement I can only offer a sincere apology. 

For those who are waiting, trying, praying for children, my prayers are with you. 

"I'm not supposed to tell you that you have a booger in your nose". Not exactly the words the gentleman in the checkout aisle wanted to hear I guess since he stormed away like a big baby.
I on the other hand was beaming with pride at the fact that my sweet, say-it-like- it-is daughter prefaced her comment with "I'm not supposed to tell you" meaning she was learning what may not be appropriate or necessary to say.
For those of us you have children with special needs maybe you can relate. Our gains and strides oftentimes appear to be none less than utter parenting failures to others. Yet there we are praising our children acting like foolish baboons as we explain to the man with a booger hanging out of his nose that he did in fact benefit by being informed of this.
In our house words are treasured friends and we practice using all kinds of them in all sorts of different fashions. Some words give meaning to diagnoses and then we throw around cool acronyms that make us sound super smart. Some words make us belly laugh until we feel as though we did a hard ab workout. Some words build us up and blanket us with affirmation while others empty our entire being leaving us a casualty of their warfare.
My son, Emmanuel loves words, although his may be temporarily tucked away he loves to hear them from others. There is one word, however he feels no love for at all, in fact he despises it; the dreaded 'NO'.  Two letters and so simply spoken, this word sets our little boy into a tailspin of a tantrum. Powerful!
My love for words set ablaze my passion for writing and I feel so honored that my passion has seeped into my children's hearts. Just yesterday my daughter wrote us an eloquently written letter explaining her desperate need for an iPhone. Words!
As I venture out to the grocery store again with my children unknowing whom or how many folks we will offend I can rest assured that we have words to ease their pain.

Financial security, Monday through Friday 9-5 days, great benefits, and comfortable living were ever so comfortable. I thoroughly enjoyed my days of shopping and soap operas as a stay at home mom and was plenty satisfied with my mundane life in the burbs. Unbeknownst to me my husband's heart was being called out of complacency and comfort and we being one were about to embark on the journey of a lifetime. 

Finishing dinner preparations with two miniature humans at my feet my husband came in from work, kissed me and said "we need to talk". The tone of his voice was serious but excited making me all the more interested. Quickly pausing dinner and placing a movie in the VCR (yes we are that old) we found a quiet moment to talk.

Listening to my husband I heard the words but more importantly I was propelled into his passionate speech taking on his excitement as my own. He felt strongly and with certainty that he was being called to be a pastor. Thinking to myself  'this should be fun and a cool next part of our journey' I was abruptly shaken from my moment of awe as he informed me that he would quit his job, make no money,and go to school, then we would be called into ministry somewhere on planet earth and we would faithfully go. 

WHAT?!?! Undoubtedly this meant the end to my shopping at Dayton's and wearing designer brands and watching brainless in my free time. Would I even have free time? Would we starve to death? Surely he had to losing his mind or under the influence. Both of which would have been explainable and nearly curable. However this was unfixable, unchangeable, unhuman; this was God. Feisty being a key word of description for me I threw a small fit before God and demanded He change his mind thus changing and moving in my husbands heart and mind and He was to do this speedily. Being a merciful and loving God He did exactly as I asked, almost. He moved speedily and changed hearts. The hearts He changed were mine and our families. This pretty much sums up how my demands end when I pull this with God. Hmm, you'd think I would learn. 

Two children in diapers, no income, preparations to sell our home in place, no daily shopping happening would have been a nightmare to me just months before. Replacing this was abundant joy and blessings overflowing had taken the place of our past daily norms. Our home church supported us during this time with all kinds of basic needs and there was not one single day we went without. I Guess God knew what He was doing after all. 

Jason finished school with flying colors and had several interviews. The farthest away from home, eighteen hours away in fact was exactly where we were supposed to be. 

Young and inexperienced we set out to single handedly save all of creation for Christ. Uh oh!! Pride alert!! 

So much more to this story.......

Oh how thankful we are to our amazing family at Fayette United Methodist Church for their patience with us and willingness to see us as moldable and usable in the learning and seeing beyond high hill we chose to stand on and fight. Magnificent lessons were learned and far too much fun was had there in Ohio! 

Graduation day, one by one names being called as proud parents shed tears of jubilation and young adults rise to walk. Receiving the hard worked for diploma and throwing the cap in the air were and remain one of the greatest honors in our young lives. That honor, that day, those tear filled parents are not, however, part of my story. I never waked, never received that hard worked for diploma, never threw my cap.
Instead of that walk and the pride of holding a diploma I cared for my brother and watched my mom deteriorate. Stuffing the emotions that daily threatened to knock down my survivor walls I pressed on.   What choice did I have? Failure was not an option. GED, some military, operation after operation leading to the eventual donation of half of a hand, and there I was, back in the thick of it. Having no where else to go, I went home.
Downward spiral and/or escalation of behaviors, either one could describe my mothers existence at the time. I had learned that succumbing to the numbness was lifesaving but it was becoming harder by the day.
Numerous surgeries resulted in numerous medications and to my mothers delight I was on home pain meds. The pain was excruciating and I couldn't figure out why it still hurt so badly even after my mom administered my meds. Unable to to sleep through the pain I woke one night and made my way to the kitchen. Turning the corner I found my mother on the floor giving herself a shot in her leg, it was my pain medicine. No wonder I was in pain! My survivor barrier walls temporarily crumbled as I went back to my room and wept. I had seen a lot but the sight of my mom injecting my medicine into her own body and knowing I was in pain was simply too much to comprehend.  My heart was breaking with agonizing sadness while my anger fought for first place in this emotional battle.
Quickly the walls were built back up and emotions tucked safely away. I made a mental decision to deal with the pain knowing I wouldn't have any relief. I remember always telling myself "it can't get any worse" but oh was I wrong.

Still today I am but wet clay being molded and shaped. That molding albeit painstaking is enlightening and filled with beautiful mystery as I grow. My questioning of God's whereabouts during my horrific life moments has waned as I see His goodness in all that I have. Blessings are abundant and even in the darkness He was and is there.