Few things in life (my life at least) are more powerful than love for your child. Over the past week I have watched my son teeter on the brink of the unspeakable. There were moments of body shaking fear, floods of tears, glimmers of hope, and the deepest love I have ever felt.

After several straight days of awful news I just kept thinking that my love should be able to save him. How was it that my heart could be in actual physical pain and that wasn't enough to love him out of this?

Humor sprinkled a welcomed subtle balance, as always in my life. Unwelcomed were the many test results bringing undesirable findings. However, as faces and names quickly became a trusted team of fighters for my boy the weight began to lift ever so slightly. The revolving door of doctors, respiratory therapists, nurses, and floods of other team members all rooting for our boy with visible emotion holds a comfort I am grateful for yet never want to need again.

I would stare at his face and hold his hand, listening to the rhythm of the multitude of life saving machines beeping their assurance of protection. Without fail every nurse has asked if I want the noise turned off and before they can finish the question I answer a solid and quick “no thank you”. I needed to hear the soothing sounds of those machines, in fact as he slowly improves and tubes are removed and the room quiets I fight an anxious feeling not hearing those sounds.

His strength is mighty and he radiates with courage. My son just fought a silent fight from within and is still in process of conquering this nasty beast.

Far more people than I will ever know have prayed, dedicated days, sent thoughts, and well wishes and for this my heart bursts with gratitude. Our entire family has been wrapped in arms of love in numerous joy giving ways through this time and from each and every one of us we say THANK YOU.

I do wish I could say Malachi’s journey was complete however; we still have a long road ahead of us. For this moment we will rest in today, answered prayers, and the comfort of knowing we aren’t alone in this.    

Some days are harder than others. Much harder.

Countless children have come through her doors holding the same unanswered questions and clutching to a flicker of hope.
Why? Why is their story filled with broken promises and abandonment and pain? Without ever speaking it she can see it, in fact she can feel it. She too, held the smallest grain of hope for fifteen years that her father would return, fight for her. There was no fighting for her, no moving Heaven and Earth to be with her. There was emptiness and pain and unanswered questions.


Today is Father's Day and it holds a myriad of emotions. At the core of who she is she hurts however, that hurt is enveloped in sweet gratitude.
She watches the men in her life that, even on a bad day, move Heaven and Earth to be present dads. She sees their hurt when their children hurt, their joy when the smallest of triumphs occur. She wonders just as the children who have entered her home, why was her story written so painfully different.
Hurtful words spoken in past fight their way to the surface of her memory. Oh what she would give to simply erase the memory of those stabbing words, and yet they stick like glue. Her heart begs answers to what she knows will never be given.

Jerking her thoughts back, reigning them in she rests in a memory of six little darlings that came to call. Not by choice, they entered her home and not by choice they left. Their short stay changed her for the better. In their eyes each held their own deep pain and even deeper strength. Never was there a more sweet and spicy bunch. With each hand held and prayer said she loved them and learned from them. Humbled by their hope for a different ending to their stories she knew her life was enriched by their presence.
Some days she finds herself praying through each of the gems that visited name by name and story by story. Sometimes she gets angry at the unfairness, sometimes filled with hope, sometimes laughter sets in as silly memories are sparked. Nonetheless she prays for their "why" to find peace.

Days that are harder than others make us stronger and painfully mold us into the ongoing work of art we are.

Grandfather had left the house to mom when he died. She would never say it but to be honest, she could think of nothing crueler. He was the only good thing in her life and now he was gone and she had to live each and every day in the same house that was once her safe place without her safe person. That safe place held cherished memories only to be presumably ruined in the days to come by her mother’s love affair with drugs and alcohol.  

She chose her room and began decorating, making her statement, and adjusting to her new normal. Her room had a door that led out to the black tar garage roof which, at just thirteen was the ideal place to bake in the sun. After all, being tan was critical to being cool so at least she was grateful for this. That door would also come in handy later for sneaking out at night.

It wasn’t hard to decorate when you didn’t have much. Things came and went in her life. As the need would arise for more cash mom would pawn anything she could and when there was money to spare she would (sometimes) replace it with some thrift shop junk. However, some things still held enough importance and emotional value that no matter what her mother would hold onto them. Jewelry, nick knacks, old records, and some art work were tokens of hope for her. Her hope was one of these items would yank her mother from the depths of her desire for the next fix and slam the door on addiction. It didn’t work this way and she knew it but a girl could dream.

Her brother was still small enough to not fully comprehend the dysfunction in which he lived in. His room was right next to hers and in it hung bright red, blue, and yellow fabric balloons on the wall. His crib bedding matched the wall hanging making it all cheerily flow. Her heart felt a rush of terrifying and delightful awareness each time she looked at his sweet little chubby cheeked face. She was smart enough to know how to care for his basic needs when their mother couldn’t but she was in a constant fight to keep her own head above water. How was she going to ensure he would be okay? She had to shake the thought when it dared enter. There wasn’t any time for that or any reason she supposed.  Keep moving she told herself, just keep moving.

She walked through the door filled with anticipation. Today would be her best birthday ever, she just knew it. Not like the years before, no it would be different this year.  There really would be a cake, there really would be gifts. This year her mom would be sober enough to remember. She just knew it!
With that anticipation she entered the living room. It was dark, the blinds still drawn, the only light coming from a forgotten cigarette dying out in an ashtray. Not this year. Not again! Her mom lay passed out on the couch unable to be jostled awake.
As quickly as the tears fell they were wiped away. That wasn't going to solve one thing. Pity didn't fix a lick of spit. Move on she told herself, there will be better days and you will see to it. 
That young survivor marched into the kitchen and proceeded to make her own birthday cake and while it baked she wrapped her own gifts from her own toy box. Indeed a party would be had and it would look so unique and fabulous. Permanent markers were used for decorating the walls with misspelled words of joy and affirmation.
When the timer rang and the smell of the cake filled her kitchen she felt a peace wash over her. There was beauty to be found in even the darkest and ugliest of places and moments.
Pulling the blinds allowing daylight to pierce through her mothers stupor and awaken her, she invited her to her party.  Heaviness and guilt came in the form of tears from her mother. Wiping her mothers tears she presented her with a piece of fresh, delectable, straight form the box cake. Her mother began to sing happy birthday filling the room with her deep raspy tune bringing forth a resurgence of tears for both mom and daughter. This time, however there was no wiping them away, they simply let them silently flow holding one another.
From the closet her mother pulled a bright, carefully wrapped box. She remembered!

Rape. It is an ugly word that stirs a kaleidoscope of emotional responsiveness in all people.

First come the scripture peppered kind words with promises of prayers, then the horror and deep sadness expressed, soon followed by the distancing, doubt, victim blaming, and quiet threat laced notes. 

Rape. Victim. 

If you are one of them, you had better toughen up and get some thick skin. What?!

Not only has the victim just experienced one of the greatest traumas but they need to prepare themselves for the upcoming putrid truth about to smack them in the face. No one wants to talk about rape - so they stuff their feelings. No one wants to shed light on the victim shaming  - so they keep silent. No one wants to be any part of the perpetrators story - so they loudly blame the victim and passively threaten. 

I am not one to stuff my feelings, keep silent, nor take threats lightly.  

Rape. It is an ugly word that stirs a kaleidoscope of emotional responsiveness in all people.  

In all parts of the world this is a common crime, some more than others but in no place is it unseen. I find it mind boggling that no matter the cultural difference the same blame and shame exists. Things (just a few) commonly said are:

Is she/he telling the truth? She/he might be lying.

    Doubting the victim re-victimizes!

She/he is ruining the rapists life and future.

    Really?! I'm pretty sure that the rapist already did a good job of that              themselves.

She/he didn't say no. 

   What if that victim was a child, terrified and frozen, threatened? 

Ignorance and tolerance is despicable. No justifiable excuse can be given to rapists and their supporters/apologists. 

Yes we did choose this. Thanks for pointing that out!
We chose the road paved with unimaginable heartbreak, the road with no sleep, the road with constant ridicule and judgment from "friends".
Just the other day I saw a post on a private group that exists solely due to the wretched and all too common "they chose that life" comments. Instantly I was infuriated and appalled. No, this is not new to any one of us who have chosen to adopt and/or foster kiddos with any sort of special needs, nonetheless it is pathetic!
So, as this has brewed a roaring fire in me for days I have CHOSEN not to stay silent. I mean after all not many do keep their mouths shut anymore, from the poor to the white house, all seem to be busting at the seems to speak their minds. In fact I find it sadly laughable as I watch the state of our society deteriorate. That being said, I think remaining silent on issues of value, like childrens lives and futures is a worthy reason to be boisterous.
One comment I recently heard said about another family was "well they should have seen that coming" when speaking of a medically fragile child's death. Do you kiss your mom with that mouth?! Was your soul stolen by a vampire?! Yes, people really are allowed to roam free with this level of stupidity. I know, it shocks me too.
How about the comments that begin with praise, filling you up with saint-like glory and end like a reverse Psalm? Those are my favorite! I see them coming a mile away and just wait for it......the punch line! I gotta give credit to those of you who do choose to condemn, the creativity and the hours that must go into thoughts of unrestrained ugliness is at very least filled with stamina.
Now I simply can't go with out turning the table on this way of thinking. If the statement "well, they chose...." were turned???? Let's see how this would work.
Your spouse cheats on you - well you did choose to get married knowing the risks of a flawed mankind, so commence sucking it up.
Your biological child is diagnosed with a terminal illness - well you did choose to have children knowing the risks. I mean, really you could have aborted or placed for adoption.
You lose your job - well you did choose that career knowing job stability was iffy even if you were passionate about it.
Your choice of president didn't get elected - well prepare for hell on earth.
You get diagnosed with lung cancer - well you chose to smoke those cigarettes.
I think my point is clear with these examples, or at least I hope so.
To all you parents out there who are holding the hands of the children that will leave you far too soon, those that will face their abusers again, those that needlessly suffer, and those that will defy all negative odds, be strong! Your choice to carry the weight, to bear the burden for them is a priceless gift. Follow your heart and continue to choose what is right and good, continue to dismiss mans approval and hold your wee ones tight.

Vacancy!
That is my cover photo, an empty nest with a vacancy sign. It was five years ago that my family and I were in South Dakota. On one of those 'save your life but won't really save your life' railings on the side of the certain death drop offs was this nest. An empty nest with a vacancy sign was simply sitting there, no doubt placed by someone. I found instant comfort while simultaneously having the air sucked from me when I saw it. The meaning was far greater than its mere placement and size. Did I have a vacancy? Was my heart open to who and what was to come at any given time? Was I willing? Empty and clearly used in the past by a loving mother bird that eventually set her wee ones free. Could I do that again? Could I endure the pain, shed the tears, purposely love and knowingly lose? Or was my wording, my thinking, wrong? Losing was something those in need had already done, enduring mountains of unthinkable pain was sadly their specialty, selflessness was mine to choose and choose it I must.
Their eyes wide with a longing to trust yet a fear that guards and overpowers that urge they walk into our lives. They need our vacancy, your vacancy.
I have held meth addicted babies that tremor and cry with every touch painful to their sensitive young skin. I have cried joyful tears with a father who was reunited with his children after mom went on a binge and took them. I have tucked in thousands of little noses and toeses. I have seen social workers cry so hard they shake. I have adopted! I have seen arrest deportation warrants placed on five years old's. I have taught children how to get dirty and prayed some would learn to stay clean. I have filled that vacancy sign many times.
There are not enough vacancy signs!
My heart and willingness is no heroic-one-of-a-kind thing. You have it too! I have seen it in thousands of people. You don't have to take in 100 children. You don't have to take in a teenage boy if you have a teenage girl (PLEASE don't). You don't have to wear a cape or have some kind of super human power. You DO need your arms to hold, your heart to love, and you door to open.
Please would you consider becoming a foster parent and fill your vacancy?

Adoption cost facts made as simple as I can......

Adopting from foster care -
 Home study done through county - $0
 Finger prints for background and Adam Walsh checks $70 (ish) per person
 Meetings with county adoption workers $0
Court fees (including birth certificates etc.) $2000.00

Amount the state reimburses for adoption of waiting children - $2000.00

Medical and dental can/will be covered.

Funds available for camps, respite, and small per diem if special needs.

We have adopted five children through foster care, 1 privately, and two (almost) internationally. I can tell you without hesitation that adoption through foster care is incredibly amazing and worth it. Some of the perks are that you are with your child and are bonding the entire time, tons of support from the county, better chance of family history, and so on.

After finalization of a waiting child adoption the support can continue if you wish. You have the choice as to how much ongoing assistance you receive, how much bio family contact, etc.

Go to your local county website and check it out! Kids are sitting and waiting and praying and hoping to have forever homes.

Could you be a forever home?

Forty three years.
I have breathed the air of this glorious planet and built upon the foundation given, watched as my canvas was and is painted, and continue to be the coauthor of my own adventure - for the last forty three years.
We are hard pressed to find another soul walking among us that has not faced their share of distress and misfortune along with umpteen stories of miraculous survival and strength. These word pictures play out in colorful charm and allure most of the time. However, all too often, lurking behind the shadows of that charm and allure lies deceit and good intentions laced with self absorption that inflicts deep pain.
With a recent health scare my life has been rocked, opening my eyes, strengthening my will, and shining a new light on the value of life. Now more than ever I see the the importance of bold truth, loving without judgment, seeking to change a broken world, and standing firm for what is right.
What is right? For starters, caring for the orphans and the widows. This is right. If every family opened their homes to just one child just one time we would put the system out of work. Simple? Yep. Stop telling me that you could never do what I do. Yes you can. I find it near impossible to think of doing what you do yet if it would change the world I would. In all truth, most people when faced with dire need to do what is right, they too will step up.
Taking care of the planet. Do this. It is right. We will leave this planet for our children and their childrens children so take care of it.
Your body, your temple. Take care of it. You only get one! This is right.
Put others first, shut your mouths and open your ears, let all condemnation come to a screeching halt. Feed the hungry. Seek justice for those facing injustice. Never seek vengeance. Forgive those who have hurt you. Be grateful to those who sacrifice for our freedom. For the love of Pete, NEVER burn the American flag. These things are right.
Is it really so hard to do right?