I am a fan of humans. I am a fan of love.

There is not one single direction one can turn and not hear the hate, feel the rage, see the destruction.   At work it is a topic, at home it becomes nasty disputes, on social media it becomes awful heated arguments with those we never see yet call “friends”.  

Do black lives matter? Yes! Do immigrant lives matter? Yes!  Do Police lives matter? Yes! Do lives matter from the moment of conception? Yes! Gun laws along with thousands of others are flawed. Whether you voted for the man in office or not does not mean you ought to act a fool because you didn’t get your way. We are behaving as utter imbeciles.  Protesting is our right so do it with respect for that and the countless other rights we have. Each life lost in this world no matter the manner in which it was taken is a loss of a precious life. Mourn the loss and refrain from grabbing the pitch fork of blame in haste. If we don’t will it bring back the person we lost? Will it truly bring justice? Can it repair the hole in our hearts? It will prove to only give us instant and empty gratification, leaving a deep wound that needs love to heal remaining.

I am speaking of every story in the news, every hurtful dialogue seen on social media, every topic that causes division, every foul political feud. I myself have had to take a long hard look at my heart as I too want to quickly jump to offer opinions, give my idea of solutions, and point fingers of blame. Personally I came to rest on one question rather than an answer; what am I really a fan of?  I am a fan of humans and love. Some are grossly deranged, some are delicate beauties, some are the same color skin as I and some are not, some shine bright while others shadow evil with each step. I am no better than the next, I am subject to the evil traps of this world, I am the same as all others in one glorious way – I exist because I was created.

Not one of us can solve the entire world’s problems, not one of us can stop the evil that persists, not one of us can shed light on every inch of darkness on this planet alone but together we can!

So, in my own small diverse and magnificently created corner of the world I will do my part to be a fan of humans and be a fan of love. 

Forgiveness and healing are issues of the heart. I find it intriguingly frustrating that with a medical and mental health professional for close to every ailment, there is no magic remedy for forgiveness.
This is where I have been stuck for a while.
On that August day when my husband called me to tell me we were expecting again as God had revealed to him our daughter deep in the bush in Liberia Africa my heart jumped for joy! Four long years later she was finally home on American soil getting to know her family and her new normal. Our  hearts soon broke as we learned of the horrific pain she endured, pain we had no idea that was being inflicted.
The anger set in and took good solid root in a foundation I thought was unable to be penetrated. People are flawed, all people including me. In truth it is me whom I need to concentrate on the most when considering flaws.
Finding ease and even comfort in holding onto anger reflects solely on the one shooting invisible arrows.
Placing my bow aside, breaking away that stone wall built around my heart,


I must continue to allow healing to settle in and light to replace darkness.
In a country far away there are faces and smiles that I miss more than words can describe, There are tastes and smells of food that I long for and laughter that still resounds in my ears. My heart  aches to return to this place in many ways yet a mountain of uncertainty holds me back.

What is certain and crystal clear is that me heart is once again ready for missions.
There really is a professional for every ailment and for my present, past, and inevitably future, there is was, and always will be. He has walked this painful path with me every step of the way.

 

I posted and shared something on my Facebook today. I posted about an incredibly difficult and touchy subject for many. However, for me it is not difficult at all, in fact it is simple in its complexity. 
Rehoming any of my children has never been an option - ever. No matter how they entered this world and became a Neal they are forever ours, forever a Neal.
Oh my, that sounds saint like and so very noble doesn't it? Let's take a step back and talk about what no one wants to talk about.
I have been stolen from, assaulted, threatened, spent countless hours in a multitude of doctors and other professionals offices, gotten to know more police officers than I care to count, chased after run-aways, paid and still owe for treatments and foster care, and shed enough tears to fill a sea.
This world is broken and our children are the victims of that brokenness. They have become products of a society of pain, carrying anguish like a backpack.
We as parents are expected to fix the damage done in so many cases (ie: adoption) of children that are abused, neglected, forgotten, and treated as disposable human trash.
When fear begins to rule and your home is in uncontrolled and utter chaos the thought of rehoming your child may sneak in. There are other options. Options that take long and hard emotional work. The pain our children carry, however they came to own it, is our pain too. We are to help them through it - as hard as that is.
Now, all this being said I also know that there are times that safety is an issue. This is where we lean on the team of professionals we have trusted to be there. It may be tempting to turn away from your team, to blame or feel shame, to find fault in everyone. Pride and fear must take a back seat!
If your team doesn't support you in repairing your family then find another team!
Am I saying that you should allow a dangerous child to have their way? Not in any way, shape or form. Foster homes, treatment centers, and outside services can and may be the answer. In fact, there may be children who never can safely return to the home setting. This does not mean you are not family. Family is forever and everyone's looks different.
Personally, I find different to be beautiful.

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?

3:00 AM. Sleep nowhere in sight. My eyes may have a desire to close but can't through the tears and the spinning of my mind.
Someone has to stand in the gap for her - the HUGE gap, in our system, in our world. By now we have had over one hundred foster kids however this story, this injustice, this new reality has rocked me to the core. I learned long ago not to say that I couldn't be shocked however nothing prepares a heart for the hope and desire to be loved in the eyes of a tiny one with the biggest undeserved story.
Feel the hurt, embrace the truth in what is and move forward. This, I can do and sadly so can she. That is what chokes me up really. That she has too.
Fostering is wretchedly glorious, life changing, sacrificial, endless learning, and humbling. I love that it is what I was made to do, really I do.
Humor must encompass this reality otherwise I would be a bumbling idiot. In this, our present day truth we have in our house..... three languages that I as the mom (you know the asker of questions, answerer of all, chef, cleaner, saver of baby dolls, etc) can only speak one - English. This is a comedy show alone! Yes, I have learned "milk and cookies" out of survival thus the reason I am able to write this today.
If the language barrier wasn't enough we added in the dreaded lice. Now that I have you all itching your heads (don't worry this is a natural reaction to the word) I can say thankfully and proudly, that I am an expert at this as I have had (now) 21 foster kiddos with lice. Remember I said that fostering was humbling? One example... all those kids with lice and my kids nor husband and I ever got it! UNTIL...... I sent the kids to camp two years ago. Yes, they came home with gifts. I felt so defeated! Now our guests have made a comeback in our new sweetie and although we caught it early and only one head has fallen victim it is my least favorite of tasks.
I like a clean house (people even make fun of me for this) but I feel like a clean house holds a sense of order. With this many bodies in one house we desperately need order!
So as tears fall and I pray for our new little one this early morning laughter is mixed in as I am sanitizing what I am certain has no need to be, washing all things cloth, and vacuuming every square inch. So much for not looking like a bumbling idiot! Note to our friends and neighbors: it is safe to be around the kids. Well, as safe as it was before that is. I mean I am not promising no practical jokes or pond falling in type stuff. That is not covered in this disclaimer.

We must give of ourselves fully to what we are called to do. Our lives ought not be filled up with mere emptiness, rather abounding with excellence and a pouring out of oneself.  Go ahead, put your heart out there. Trust in what you are made to do and who made you to do it.

"If I look at the mass, I will never act, If I look at the one, I will."

 - Mother Theresa

There I sat, in a heap of unmovable pity. My own voice my enemy and my truth clouded with black smoke of pessimism.   Not my usual self. Not my normal "fighter" attitude. 

I have to honest, when we were planning our trip to Liberia to get our son, with joy overflowing as well came the emotional long awaited news of finally being able to begin the process of adopting our daughter. We had known for nearly three years that we loved her and wanted to add her to our family.  The joy was, in truth, mixed with a sense of exhaustion. It felt as if I were in the delivery room embracing my new child and the doctor telling me I was pregnant again. 

Adoption is a wild ride and full of emotional set backs, tears of joy and pain, fear, frustration, fundraising, oh my goodness.... fundraising. 

We made a promise to our family both near and far that we would carry this adoption pregnancy to term. Not out of obligation but out of a deep love and longing for our family to be complete - she is missing from our complete.

The exhaustion has been wiped away and our whole family is more then ready to get our girl, to share life with her, to be blessed by and to her. We are now filled with expectation and anticipation. Each and every time I check my email or pick up the phone I wonder if the good news will come. We await the day that we get the call to go and get her. 

Oh wait!

As we wait for that call we have to finish working to get the funds to pay for the adoption fees. 

So we wait and we fund-raise, and fund-raise, and, well you get the idea.

It absolutely astounds me that I even have a single friend left on social media after all my posts are about our adoption. Yet, somehow not one person has been rude or even stopped saying kind words. Although I know you all think we are nuts - this may be true. 

This blog is about seeing the one - not the masses. 

Our one is a beautiful girl who with each passing day awaits to be unorphaned, to come home. I see her face in my mind every time I close my eyes and hear her raspy laugh and can't wait for her to be amongst her siblings enjoying being a Neal.

Screams and blood and chaos precede intense emotion.
I can only imagine that this was the scene that played out in the eyes of witnesses of the recent attacks, of all attacks in truth. What if for a moment we unpack these events through the individuals emotions? I am going to try. Before I start I will add that I have not ever been a bystander or victim in a public attack. However, I will add that sadly I have been both victim and bystander to a my share of traumatic situations.
First we have the perpetrator and as much as I try and desire to have compassion for him or her I struggle as I know many do. What was he or she thinking? What was their motive? Simple ugly hate? Yes, I am certain they fell away and were the victim to some pain in their life at some point. However, I as well as many have too and we don't go around blowing things up, shooting, or stabbing people. With this individual I have little to no ability to dig deep enough to find compassion. This leaves me with a bit of guilt in my stomach or maybe disgust. I'm not sure.
Victims are injured in these violent attacks. I have and many of you have read personal stories of survivors. Fear seems to be a secondary emotion as things occur so fast that little time is given to even feel it. Pain surges through their bodies and strength they never knew they had takes over as they go into survival mode awaiting their rescuers. What of those who do not make it? Of that we will never know their last emotions and thoughts. I pray that a sense of peace and calm came over them. Those that made it are often haunted by nightmares and memories for years to come with new fears threatening to take over their every move. PTSD is wretched! They have months and sometimes years of physical therapy ahead of them. The road to healing is long.
The families of the victims. I cannot begin to imagine what it feels like to await news of a loved ones safety. The pain of hearing of a loss of this type is something I cannot speak to and know not the pain. I hurt as I think of this for them. The anger that lurks with high demands to shadow all peace in the hearts of the survivors family members. In all traumatic events those who couldn't be there to save or fix can often feel weighed down by a heaviness of guilt.
The witnesses, victims without visible injuries, scared for life. They watched in horror not knowing when it would end. Seconds feeling like hours and unable to release images from their minds. Unthinkable pain!
Police officers, Fire fighters, EMT's, all rescuers must place all emotion aside for the moment and rush into the scenes of the unimaginaible, not stop and cry, not break down. They are there to rescue now and feel later. This is what they willingly signed up to do and do it proudly. For them I am forever grateful. In the extremely chaotic situations they must stay calm and remain fair to all. They do not get to choose whom they rescue, they simply rescue. When they feel I can only assume they flood with tears that dare never to cease. Yet as we know they put that uniform back on and do it again the next day - for us all. Lest we not forget the spouses and families of the rescuers that live on edge on a daily basis. Prayers for them ought to be unending.
As I am certain I did not include all who endure pain and missed someone and something, I am merely trying to make a point. My apologies for leaving anything or anyone out.
In each case and in every person a great deal of emotion is felt. One might say life changing emotion. Not one emotion over the next is more real or holds more importance, nor does the individual experiencing it.
I posted on social media yesterday my frustration in so much hate in the world and it aroused massive emotion in several people. Rather than get more upset as I read the outpouring of opinions I felt a sense of gratitude and relief for a few reasons. Our world and the people who occupy it have not by any means lost their passion and strong will. That even in our difference of opinions I know that most would save someone of different race and religious belief from a burning building because of that same passion for life. That brings me comfort. Yes, some are evil but let's  face it this is not a new fact. It is an age old truth. Evil is here and we will face it and we will have to choose how we deal with it.
My suggestion and hope for this world is that we see others with the same value as we wish for ourselves and loved ones.  No matter how many times it has been said and how cliche it sounds we are the ones that must be the change we wish to see. That change must challenge us to open our hearts and minds, to be patient with all things new, a willingness to learn, and place judgement aside. We can inspire others to do good, inspire others to others to love first, inspire others to seek peace. We have the power to inspire!
Let's live 2 inspire!

Walking Shoes

Staring at him sleeping ever so peacefully my heart borders on the brink of explosion. His story, our story, our worlds morphed into one, and my mothers love spreads farther then that of the largest ocean.
From a trauma at birth to a selfless love of a birth mother to a perfectly timed adoption to an infection caught in the nick of time to... well, today. Here, now, I get to be his mother and I get to be part of the story of his uncrushable goals. He is driven and determined with such splendid effervescence.
Emmanuel is, along with the family are slowly but surely learning some sign language. He has a few words that are favorites like 'more', 'eat', 'please', 'thank you', and his newest favorite is 'shoes'. Fully understanding what was upcoming and the outcome of being able to wear shoes following surgery Emmanuel has been focused on shoes. Without fail every trip to any store that sells shoes he has to touch them and hold them up to his feet. Until just yesterday that was a far out of reach goal, honestly a strong doubt for me. Nevertheless I let him hold those shoes and embrace the dream he had.
Thankfully for my sanity, the busyness of opening a second Peak Physique (no we are not the owners), a few foster kiddos, and a multitude of parenting dilemmas I had little time to dwell on the fear and doubt I carried.
The morning of surgery went miraculously smooth from getting out of the house and traffic to Emmanuel not being bothered that he couldn't eat. He was all smiles and hugs and kisses for the nurses. He even raced his favorite nurse who happens to be in a wheel chair too. Jason held up beautifully without completely passing out as person after person came in to repeat in detail what they were going to be doing in the operating room.

Emmanuel squealed with delight as each new person came in declaring them "his". I thought he was just being his happy self but I now believe different. He understood every single word and with a peace I envied and excitement seeping from his pores, he was ready!  He wanted to get those walking shoes!
I held it together exceptionally well all the way into the O.R. as he drifted off to sleep with a smile on the entire time and patting the nurse' hand reassuring her it was okay. Then it happened, a nurse said "I'll walk you out" and the floodgates opened. All the 'what if's' and doubting fears fought to take over as the tears just fell. "What if the surgery didn't work and they couldn't get his feet flat'? and "what if he would never be able to wear shoes?"
Thankfully my husband was as hungry as a bear straight out of hibernation and had mere moments to get food or someone was going to be in danger. This "hangry bear" pulled me out of my tear-filled funk. After filling our bellies we began our 8 hour wait for our son to come out of surgery.
The first call came informing us that his Botox and Phenol injections went smooth and were all done and they would be starting the surgery with updating us every hour and a half. The second call came and things were going well, really well, in fact the nurse said the doctors were "very proud of themselves for some reason" and she would call again in another hour and a half. Less then a hour later the third call came in informing us that the reason the doctors were cheering is that they were done and were closing!
The nurse asked if we had any questions. My voice quivering I said "Yes, we have just one, are his feet flat?" She could hardly get out the word "yes" before she began to sob along with me.
His dream, his goals, his faith are undeniably solid.
Let the shoe shopping begin!!

Was that you I saw protesting outside an abortion clinic? Was that you I saw at the town meeting speaking about the need for unity and love for all? Was that you serving at church on Sunday? Was that you volunteering at the local soup kitchen? Was that you I saw an article about in the paper glorifying all the public good things you do? Yes, indeed it was.
Was it you I saw helping the filthy woman with several children bag her groceries after she paid with food stamps? Was that you helping the orphan get an education and clean water? Was it you that stepped into the elderly mans apartment to keep him company? Was it you who I saw unashamed walking into the prison to visit? Was it you that had lunch at an immigrant owned restaurant? Was it you that people referred to as merciful, kind, and selfless? No, sadly that was not you.
Rather you were seen as a bystander and witness to it all yet never lifted a hand. What you didn't do speaks far louder than what you did. What was left seen and untouched was done by a grotesque heart with awful intent.
Closets are meant for clothes and closed doors for proper privacy, they are not meant for selfish secrets lying in wait. The pathetic example this sets for others falls on the shoulders of the self righteous leaving one more empty then a corpse. Act with sincerity, speak with honesty, live with integrity. Let your secret and public self become one.

Its claws dug deep as my thoughts became wildly engrossed, temptation slithered in like the snake it was. Holding tightly as my grip slowly began to give way, my loyalty and values quickly making way for excuses and justifications. Could I really do it? Could I really be that person, simply walking away? I have been happy, loved, cared for, doted on, and yet I made a choice. 

I cheated. 

After years of passionate and sincere concern, and the pure desire to see only the best for me I walked into another's hands. I will never be the same. 

I didn't intend to do it really, it just happened. In a moment of desperation I reached out to another for comfort. I picked up the phone and before I knew I was in the hands of another hair stylist. She meant nothing to me. I felt dirty the entire time, holding all intimate details about my life a secret, a secret that I only share with one. 

I am so sorry Danielle! 

Danielle, it was never you, it was me. How could I think for one minute that the drive was too long and too far? There is no there you. There is no other GB and Co. 

If you will have me, I want to come back. 

Statistics changing for the worse by the minute, children wait in hospitals, shelters, and unthinkable conditions in a country that has a plethora of resources, our very own USA.  One resource we lack? Foster homes –good solid foster homes with parents willing to put their hearts on the line for the youngest of our people.

Social media is plastered with disdain for refugees, gun control, gender identity, LGBT communities, and the list goes on. Might I suggest we take that energy and passion and redirect it? If those who are so eager and quick to blurt out their passionate words about a wall being put up to keep “them” out, and desire only to take care of “our own” then, if I dare ask, why aren’t you?  

Hate has become little more than white noise as words fly with frequent fire from the tongues of many.

hate

1.to dislike intensely or passionately; fe.el extreme aversion for or extreme hostility toward; detest:

2.to be unwilling; dislike:

In contrast……..

love

1.a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.

2.a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend.

Ahh, love. What a softer feel it has even in the very sound of the word. For all of us the word love has not only feeling and meaning but more importantly, memories. Children waiting for safe homes and forever homes deserve those memories to be beautifully real.  As we treasure of friends, family, country, so ought we treasure the seemingly forgottenchildren of America.

For a brief moment place aside the hate and negativity (yes we all have some) replace it with the desire to change the world for a child. Your own world will be transformed, your heart renewed, and your hate will slowly dissipate – if you only let it. Live 2 inspire! 

My emotional, rabbit trail blog....... this day holds so much.....

Do Not Resuscitate - some of the heaviest and trauma filled words I have ever had to hear. I can't even recall the face of the doctor or his name, it was all a blur really. However through that pain and blur I had to find the strength to say one of two small words - yes or no. Those words never seemed as big as that day, big and selfish and unbearable. Finding the strength deep within I said yes.
My mother was suffering, there was no doubt about that and the doctors could do no more to repair what she had done to her body over the years. Even with that knowledge it made it no easier. June 18th the phone rang and my heart sank at the words being spoken. She was gone. Then came the tide of emotions. Anger, sadness, guilt, remorse, relief, peace even attempted sneak in, confusion, fear, free. Sorting them out wasn't easy and proved to be a lengthy process. In fact I am certain I am not done grieving and that's okay.
This day holds my mother.

My original plan was to write about my reflections of our time away but then came the memories of years past and well, that changed the plan. I suppose those memories are meant to be a part of my reflections as well, and as intertwined as they are so will my blog be.

Our first family vacation with Emmanuel home held great anticipation. Planning for our family size is challenging enough and then we add in the emotional expectations of yet another first for our little boy. My mother's heart wanted only the best time had and the best memories made.
We started out on our great adventure to the Black Hills of South Dakota with our van packed and mom made activity books, a perfectly planned trip was underway. With fabulous foresight we purchased a couple of ibooks chosen by the children, one of which was turned on right away, 'Out Of My Mind' by Sharon M. Draper.
By the end of the first chapter my meticulously planned and dreamed up hopes for our trip faded into a magnificent new reality. What does my son want for this trip? What would he say if he could tell me, ask me? I wrapped my mind around the new idea forming. Let's let him show us and tell us what he wants on this trip. He has no problem getting his point across and being heard so why not let him? Thus far he has informed us of his disgust for leaving fun places and not being able to take snakes home with him, his love for the beach and fearless desire to open reptile enclosures. He has shown us he is not one bit claustrophobic, he is not impressed by huge animals next to the van, loves all creatures and believes ice cream ought to be eaten with every meal. I am not sure if he understands what a perfectly planned vacation is however I am positive that he understands the value of time together. His favorite part of the vacation thus far is being fought over by his siblings. He loves to hear "no I want to be Emmanuel's buddy" and he just laughs with delight. So do I!
This day holds my beautifully failed plans.

The cabin was quiet as my eyes opened and begged to focus, a very welcome peaceful sense of quiet. Jason, Titus, and Miriam had long since left for their hike up Harney Peak and Kira, Dayton, and Jordan had begun their trek back to Minnesota in the wee hours of the sunless morning. Yes, Kira and her boyfriend Jordan came out mid week and joined us on vacation. It wasn't planned nor was the heartbreaking news of her miscarrying the baby that was already deeply loved. Family and some rest and relaxation were in need for both her and Jordan. So they drove out to meet us. Seeing them relax and be refreshed and getting to love on them was a blessing. Collectively we grieved in our own ways, some silently, some used words, some just cried,  nonetheless we all miss baby Elijah.
This day holds my grandson.

In the stillness of the morning with a cup of blueberry tea in hand my thoughts drift to my adventurous husband taking two of our kids up a mountain. His love for the outdoors, adrenaline rushes, and his kids combined never fail to make good stories. The anticipated stories came as the children burst through the cabin door already talking a mile a minute. Stories of the mountain goat dad refused to let Miriam pet and try to take home, stories of the competition between siblings, stories of my sons need to use the bathroom the entire hike.  Laughter and memories fill the cabin with joy as my husbands looks at his children with great pride.
This day holds my memory making husband and best father in the world.