Why Special Needs Kids?

Okay, so we've established that I'm completely nuts. Not only did I decide, fifteen years ago, to become a foster parent as a single mother, I already had two children, but what the heck??? I decide to be the foster parent to special needs children. See? Nuts. But wait, there's more!

THEN I decide to adopt some of the little boogers. Whoa. Certifiable.

Yes, I agree. People tell me I'm a freakin' saint. Not so. Not so at all, in fact.

I think it's more obedience. Foolish, sold-out obedience.

See, back when I was doing the big house, tons of foster kids, crazy ranch thing, I was also practicing a very simple faith. He said it, so I believed it.

His Word said to love as I'd been loved. I'd been transformed by His love, so I knew it was real. Therefore, I needed to love that way. Simple, right? Along came my first disabled foster children. Okay, they're a little odd. Yes, it was weird having teenagers in (gulp) diapers. But that love thing? It didn't have any strings about diapers on it that I could tell.

So, I loved them. And God took care of us.

More special kids came. Come to find out that "love" thing can cover a whole bunch of inexperience and lack. I learned about PTs, OTs, STs, and all the other "t"s. (Therapies). I learned about a whole cornucopia of medicines. Meds for Seizures, meds for constipation, meds for ADD and OCD and all that stuff. I literally had a tool box locked up filled with meds for these children.

Oh yeah, children. They were little people. On the foster care totem pole - which already has an awful lot of damaged and unwanted children - the DD/Special kids were pretty much at the bottom.

But they are children. And they are people. Little people let down by parents who probably were damaged themselves. Some of my kids were from "typical" homes where the dad couldn't hang and took off, leaving a mom alone with a child she couldn't find resources to raise. The way our system is set up, if you have a job and a special kid, you won't get much help. If you put him or her into foster care, though, then they can receive all kinds of services. Or, you can quit working and go on "assistance" yourself. Decisions, decisions.

So along the road of just loving these children, I found out a funny thing: I actually did love them.

Beyond the diapers and drool and slurred speech and repetitive behaviors and braces on body parts and range of motion and equipment needs and meds and doctors appointments and tooth brushing and IEP meetings and hospital stays and fighting with everyone to advocate for these kids . . . is the bottom line fact that they are children. They didn't ask to be born. They especially didn't ask to be born the way they are. They didn't ask to be abused or neglected or abandoned.

Someone has to care.

And I'm exceedingly glad it's me.

¹²He said also to the man who had invited him, "When you give a dinner or a banquet, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, lest they also invite you in return and you be repaid. ¹³But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, ¹⁴and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you. Luke 14:12-14a

A Shameless Plea ...

Hi all -

The following is a shameless plea for help.

As many of you know, my now eleven year old son, Kameron, has had a pretty tough road. He was a 25 week premie with a grade four brain bleed (translated: he was born 3 months early because his biological mom couldn't stop hitting the crack pipe while she carried him and he should have never survived his extreme prematurity); after he came into my foster home at a year, on a ventilator and with a feeding tube in his tummy, he thrived, and around 3 years later, was off the vent, had the tube removed, and was looking great.

Then, when he turned five, he inexplicably began having massive migraine headaches, vomiting, seizures, and stroke-like symptoms. Turned out he had some crazy thing called Arteriovenous Malformations. Lots of them. They are kind of like aneurisms in his brain, threatening to burst and kill him. More than thirty procedures, including brain surgery, later - no more major seizures. In fact, he's been mostly seizure free since August 2008. Awesome!

So, now we address his other physical issues. Little man can't walk. He's been scooting on the floor, and with a special walker (called a gait trainer), he can move around some. To the Orthopedist we go. Now, we've been going to the Ortho doctor for years. But, this time, when we did a check-in hip x-ray, this is what it showed:

Now, I'm not a professional, but these babies looked bad, even to me. He needed surgery on both hips. The operation included cutting through both femurs (say WHAT?), bolting them back in the right place, and rebuilding his left hip socket.

Sure, says I. We can handle that. Ha. "We"? Kam's the one who went through it all. I just helped with the after care stuff. The surgery was September 14th, 2010. It lasted six hours, and he came out in a thing called a Spica Cast. It encased him from just below his nipple line down to his ankles, made him look a lot like a little plastic cowboy, you know, how their legs are in the ready-to-sit-on-the-saddle position? Like that.

And yes, there was a hole in the front and back for the personal hygiene stuff. Enough said.

He was home the entire six weeks, mostly because he was doped up on pain meds the first two weeks, couldn't poop the next one (kidding, kind of), and really because the only wheelchair I could fit him in was completely unable to be transported on a special bus. He had a tutor for a few hours each morning, Mr. Steve.

Transferring him from place to place - like bed to commode to wheelchair - was accomplished with the help of a thing called a Hoyer Lift. That's the pic at the top of this post.

Okay, so we get through this. He has the cast removed, and we start physical therapy, pool therapy, and getting back to school therapy. What didn't I plan for? Oh yeah. He's had major surgery on both of his legs. And both hips. Hummm. Guess there will be some weakness, pain, and general tough stuff. Yep.

But, he's a tough kid. "Survivor" doesn't begin to cover it. He is a bit cranky - ha! But, so am I by this point.

Bottom line, he, me, we, are all doing better. BUT the reason for this particular post is to, as I said, make a shameless plea for help. Kam is officially a paraplegic. Actually, I think they diagnose him as a quad, because he has a really weak left arm, and they don't call people tri-plegic. But, I don't have a way to transport him. I drive a Pacifica. It's kind of a station wagon. Not a van, not a sedan. In order to take Kameron to his many medical appointments, I have to lift him up into the bucket passenger seat, and then lift his wheelchair (which weighs 27 kilos - 59 pounds) into the back of the car.

Kam now weighs 110 pounds.

I am a strong woman, thank God. Really, I mean that. But, I am not getting any younger. And the years of caregiving are taking their toll. My back is prone to serious spasms, and frankly, I avoid taking Kameron out at all costs. Obviously, I make it to the necessary appointments; I have to. He has to see the PTs and the OTs and the doctors.

But, I have for years wanted to be able to take him out on regular family type things. To go to the park. To take him to the movies (although behavior can be a bit challenging...), for crying out loud, I'd like to just throw him in the car and go to the grocery store.

He needs a wheelchair van. Seriously.

I have looked into this for a long time; they aren't cheap. A new conversion van is in the 35k range. Funny thing is, I looked at a used Caravan, a 2000 Caravan, and the price on it was $20k. Even used, they are extremely pricey. And I just don't have the ability to finance one. There are some on Craigslist that are from the 90's that go for around $6,000, but I can't swing that right now, either. And he is getting bigger. We just got him fit for a larger wheelchair.

SOOOOO, I am asking for help. I added a "donate" button at the top of the blog. If any of you feel like you could or would be able to help in this, I would be beyond grateful.

Kam's had a some challenging times, and yet, he's a really good boy. He has a long road ahead, and frankly, as his sole caregiver, so do I.

Anything you can do would be so so so appreciated.

Thanks everyone. Oh, by the way, this is how his hips look now:

Aren't they BEAUTIFUL??

Unconditional Love

The kids and I got to church yesterday. It's the first time in more than eight months, and I was glad to be there. For a lot of reasons, really. First of all, it was terrific to actually get all three kids together and go somewhere as a family - somewhere that wasn't a medical appointment.

I planned ahead.

Kobi would go down to the children's program (it's downstairs at this church we go to); Klaryssia would stay with Kameron and me upstairs in "regular" church. For this to happen, both Klaryssia and Kam would have to have distractions. Quiet ones, preferably.

Klaryssia packed her dog-eared Bible (she likes to look up "versions" and copy them down for fun), her MP3 player from Christmas (the ear bud cord is already sporting a few patches of purple duct tape - don't know HOW she breaks the cord, must chew on it), some gum, a few pens and plenty of paper.

For Kameron, I crammed his backpack full of stuff: his portable dvd player (got that for hospital trips, works like a charm, just stick in Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and we're good to go); his Leapster (he likes to do math games), a bag full of granola bars and fruit snacks (when all else fails, feed him), a notebook (to write out math problems when the Leapster joy fades), several markers, and a hardback copy of Eclipse (he likes to look at the page numbers and chapter headings).

Off we went.

We got everyone loaded almost on time (about 15 minutes behind schedule, which is practically the same as on time). Headed over. Unloaded, wheeled into church. A nice usher offered to take Kobi down to the kid's area. We settled into the almost back row, experience tells me to be close to exits in case someone's about to lose it. And, hey. It worked! Kam stayed fairly happy - I had enough of the right things to keep him entertained and almost quiet. Klaryssia LOVED the singing - she sang as soon as the words popped up on the screen, which was a tad ahead of the actual music, but hey, she was having a blast. She smiled and swayed to the music the whole time.

I was just so grateful to be there. Me and God are kind of in this quiet place in our relationship. Well, I am. I'm pretty sure He's just hanging up there, waiting on me. I spent twenty-eight years as a non-believer in Him. Long, sad, lonely years, angry at everyone and full of blame and self-pity.

Then, I met this crazy lady who was nice to me. She offered me a ride with my groceries, and later invited my then very tiny family (just Kristopher and me) over for dinner. Blew me away with this kindness. As I said, I was very sad and lonely. She talked about her church and about how God had changed her life. By the end of the night, I was asking to go.

This church, tucked into one of the fringe neighborhoods around the edges of Seattle, was small. Maybe a hundred people on a good Sunday. But they were so sweet to me, so genuinely welcoming and interested in me and in my little bi-racial toddler boy. They weren't shocked that I, a tall redheaded white lady was there with him (remember, this was twenty years ago, single moms and mixed-race kids were rarer then). They didn't press for info about his dad, or our life-style (which I expected, after all, aren't those "Christians" so judgmental?). They just welcomed us and really accepted us. That got me interested in this God they loved.

One thing led to another, I started reading - for the first time, really - the Bible, and before I knew it, I was His. I want to be clear: it wasn't the people that "talked me into" making such a radical decision. It was His Word and the response I felt in my soul, deep down where nothing was living - it spoke to me in ways I can't describe. So, I told Him, "Let's go for it!" And my life changed. Not lonely - I had Him; not sad - ditto. Plus I had this whacky little group of old ladies, middle-aged folks, and odd-balls at this church. They loved us. Unconditionally.

Then I moved to Colorado Springs to Do Big Things for God. What followed were fifteen of the best and hardest years of my life. Way too much to cram in here - there are probably older posts that cover some of it - but, my faith took some really big hits. I think I started loving Him conditionally. Based on what He could do for me but didn't, for what ever reason. I had a set of expectations in mind when I started all this work for him, and He let me down. Which sounds pretty ridiculous, because if the work was for Him, and He had a plan, then how could He let me down?

But things didn't go like I'd hoped. And it hurt me bad.

So, back to why church was so great yesterday. No one really sought us out, or especially welcomed us. No one went out of their way to say, "hi". And that was completely fine. I wasn't there for the people, necessarily. I was there to represent. My loyalty is to Him. He's done great and amazing things in my life, and even if they aren't all turning out how I'd hoped, planned, and expected, they are amazing nonetheless. And I will stay faithful.

Somewhere in the message, the Pastor talked about having unconditional faith in God; loving Him in all circumstances, like Paul did. Paul, who didn't have an easy time of things, yet never stopped loving and never stopped believing. My job is to stay faithful whatever happens, no accusations, no finger-pointing, no fist-shaking. My job is to love Him unconditionally, like He loves me. When I am faithless, He is faithful.

I need those reminders. And I think that's what church is for, really.

Thanks for reading, much love -

The Road Not Taken

The Road Not Taken

by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.^[1]

The Road Taken

I've been a single parent to special needs children for over fifteen years. This has been by my choice - I fostered my kiddos before I adopted them, and I had many other special children in my care for quite a few years. So I went into this "specialized" gig with both eyes wide open.

Now, I'm not saying it's an easy gig. Or, that I was 100% prepared for the intense level of parenting it is. But, I've really been noticing the difference choosing makes.

Let me explain.

I have a friend whose boys were born autistic. Her marriage broke up when the boys were in elementary school, and she's raised them on her own ever since. Now, they are in their late teens, and she's still alone, loving her boys, taking care of them, and trying to make their lives as happy and "well-adjusted" as square pegs can in this round-hole world.

They do movies, and sometimes the Art Museum. Disney on Ice is a big hit for them, too. They make it every year. They're a bit conspicuous at Disney, though. Her "boys" are both well over six feet and not small. But, they squeeze into the little seats at the Arena and wear their mouse ears with pride as they sing along with the Princesses. They love to go to the zoo, and the State Fair each summer.

I admire how much they do, how active they are despite some significant behavioral challenges.

But, one night over a glass of wine, as I was rambling on and on about how gorgeous my new granddaughter was, and how sad I was that my son and his little family lived so far away, I happened to notice her face. And it hit me like a forehead slap: she would never have grandchildren.

My heart just slipped down from my chest into my stomach, and I felt tears behind my eyes. Oh my word. Here I was going on about missing my son and his family, and here she was - mourning what will never happen. Wow.

I apologized. Sometimes I'm pretty slow.

The list of "nevers" for our kids can be long. Kameron may be eleven, but believe it or not, things like his inability to walk, run, play "real" basketball, swim, rollerskate, ride a scooter--these loses are just now starting to dawn on me. It's like all these years have been spent busily keeping him alive and striving for immediate goals. Things like keeping food down, breathing, and talking - these were his developmental milestones. At least as far as I was concerned.

Lately, though, I'm grieving those losses for him, and for me. All the things traditional parents of special kids have to work through over the years, as their baby grows up and they find something else he or she should be doing, but can't, I'm just now figuring out. Just now seeing the very wide chasm between Kameron and his peers in 5th grade. And it sucks.

But underlying that suckiness is the very strong awareness that if it's this hard for me, this late in the game, how much harder would it have been to feel him grow in my uterus, kicking and swimming around in there, anticipating his arrival, choosing names, talking to him as he grew, having baby showers, fixing up his room...and then have all that crash around me when everything goes completely wrong.

And then it keeps on going wrong, despite your best efforts for your child. That list begins to form.

This is not to say that parenting a special needs child is a thankless, hopeless task. It simply isn't. And most of us will tell anyone that. We celebrate all the tiny victories - and I think that makes us grateful people.

But, it is a grieving thing, too. Our entire belief system has to adjust and change. Dreams for the future of our child need to be adjusted and reevaluated. Our whole world is turned upside down and inside out, and it takes time - maybe a lifetime - to get used to it. Because the reality is that the upside down, inside out world is our new home.

Whether we chose it, or it chose us. Better head on down to Target and get some stuff to make it cozy.

Love -

The Spring Has Gone Out of My Bottom

I used to think of myself as Tigger. You know, T-I-double Gah Ur? Bouncy, bouncy, something, something, fun fun fun fun fun?

But, lately, the spring has gone out of my bottom.

Maybe it's the getting older thing. Maybe it's the not getting spiritually fed thing. Maybe it's the way too much on my plate thing. But the Tigger-ness I used to have has definitely left the building.

I'm more of an Eeyore, lately. "It'll never work...what's the use? Why am I even trying?" What am I referring to? Fill in the blank - could be school ("What's the use? What good will a degree do me at my age?"). Could be this new notion to raise money for a van for Kameron ("It'll never work. People have too many other important things going on. It's a bad economy..."). Could be the work involved in Kobi's education ("Long division - again??"). Could be the constant work toward Kam's rehabbing, stretching him, trying to get him to bear weight, working with the school, and him: "Why do my hips still hurt?" - no answers. After all these months, I've run dry.

And so it goes. I used to be a glass half-full person, full of hope. And that's what keeps us going, isn't it? The Bible says that: "Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life." Proverbs 13:12 NIV

Maybe the problem isn't in the hopes deferred, or in the amount on my plate, or teachers, my own bad attitude, or anyone else. Maybe I'm looking in the wrong places to have the "longing fulfilled." Maybe I'm expecting my longings to be fulfilled by things, by school, by an easier road, or by people. But God wants me to be fulfilled by Him.

Maybe, my Answer is patiently waiting for me to get heartsick from all this deferred "hope" and return to the well of life...

We're having a baby. Or, "Grandmom's Night Out"?

So, the BIG news is, I am going to be a Grandmother. That is the strangest sentence I've ever written. I don't even feel like a bona-fide mom sometimes. I still have three kids at home, for cryin' out loud!!

But, indeed, it is a factoid. Or a factoid to be.

This baby is coming from Kami and Kris, of course (or thankfully!). You may remember they got married last July...yes, it's soon for a baby, but they are excited and I know they will make great parents. I've seen them both with children. Especially mine. Believe me, if someone can handle the oddness of my "special" kids with grace and fun, they will make a tremendous parent.

And these two do.

Kris has always had an accepting and loving heart towards all the kids we've had through our crazy home over the years. I started fostering when he was eight. He grew up with run away teen-aged girls (I don't think one of them stayed put), raging boys with Muscular Dystrophy (he used to ram people with his electric wheelchair), and a variety of children needing diapers, assistive devices, feeding tubes, and more.

When Kameron (then Kenny) came into our house at the age of one, on a ventilator and trached, it was fifteen year old Kris who treked up to Denver Children's Hospital with me to learn how to disassemble and reassemble the ventilator. They required this before discharging Kenny to us, even though we had 24 hour nurses lined up. Kris learned, along with me, how to suction Kenny's trach so he wouldn't choke to death on his own mucus (sorry, it's a little graphic); and the amazing thing is, Kris had no problem with this - at least he never once complained or balked.

Once we got Kenny back to our house for good, a process that took about a month, I remember Kris standing over the huge red medical crib looking down on him through all the breathing tubes. Kenny was sucking on his fingers and looking around the room - very calm and quiet, and kicking his feet. Kris said, "You know, how do people complain about things? Look at him . . . if anyone ever had a reason to complain and be mad, it's him. And he's so happy. . ."

Pretty wise for fifteen. Pretty wise for any age.

As for Kami, his beautiful bride, she lived with us before they got married. Kris was in Oregon, playing basketball and taking a few classes, and Kami was going through Gene Juarez training school (to get licensed as a stylist), so she lived in our home - right there she gets bravery points. I mean, living with your future mother-in-law and her kids?? Especially my special kids.

She was terrific. Sweet, funny, completely real, and she had no problem with my munchkins. Kami is the real deal.

If she can handle all of us - she can handle anything.

I'm sure they wanted a little more alone time as a couple - it's pretty soon - but babies are a visual, breathing token of your love. How awesome is that? A little person made from each of you - wow.

To both of you: I am so proud to be your mom and mom-in-law. For the record, I think you two will be wonderful, caring, fun parents. And I am sure that you will have the time of your lives raising your kids...

Remember, you are never alone. God has gotten all of us this far, and He won't leave you now.

Oh, and EVERYONE is excited to be aunts and uncles. Let us know how we can help.

We love!

Funny the Way it Is...

Kelsey called me yesterday. I was glad to hear from her. As she and Kris get more and more secure in their adult lives, the phone calls get more and more spread out, I've noticed. Not that that's a bad thing. Just different. Elesha makes up for it, though.

She was excited, talking about a new assignment for one of her classes. It's for Interpretive Reading and the assignment (as I understand it) involves her compiling a variety of information into an essay-type format and then reading/acting it out for her class.

Kelsey chose to write about Addiction for this one.

Yippee.

I never kept any major secrets from Kelsey and Kris as they grew up - not that I sat them down and brought them up to speed with all the fun-filled antics of my past. But, I always felt it was important to be honest with them about mistakes I've made, which would hopefully impress on them the incredible damage we humans can inflict upon ourselves and others as we go through life. You know, "make good choices!"

By that I mean I filled them in on my teen-aged and early adult years. They know about my excessive drug use and "partying". They know about their father's heroin and cocaine addiction. They know some of what that mess looked like in my relationship with him, and in their early lives, too. And they know how God kept yanking me back from the precipice. I was determined to die - slowly and by any means - He evidently had other plans and ultimately revealed Himself to me.

He saved me.

So, here is my Kelsey away at a Christian University. Interwoven with her academic classes for her Communications/Drama major are classes in Bible and Chapel.

And I get these calls. And we talk.

She's researching the Addiction presentation, and reading Tweaked by Nic Shef. It's his memoir on his descent into Meth addiction. As he put it, "growing up on methamphetamines". Along the way, he tried every other drug he could get his hands on, and talks about how de-humanizing that life is.

"Is that what it was like, Mom?"

"Yep."

"Oh, momma..."

"I know, honey. It was beyond hellish."

"But, look where you are now."

"Oh, I know that, too. Trust me."

But do I? Do I really remember where I am now? Maybe this many years out (it's been almost as long as Kesley's been alive), I get absent-minded about where I was and where I was most definitely headed. Much of who I am today, many of the reasons I care so deeply about my family, my children, is fiercely entangled in who I was when I finally turned to God.

Beyond saving.

I thought so. I was determined to get rid of my pain one way or another. I was racing toward that cliff edge.

He got in the way.

Twenty years out, the intensity of that has faded. I forget from whence I've come. I forget how messed up, how far gone I was.

Meanwhile, I have this daughter discovering God. I'm watching her draw near to Him, listening to her talk about Him - telling me about things I used to know so clearly. Her deepening relationship with God reminds me how much I'm missing, invites me back to the warmth of His fire, offers me a blanket and a place to rest.

Now, will I take that blanket? Am I finally ready to rest?

There's the rub. I don't know if I am. I can see the fire and am drawn to it's heat - I am freezing out here. But something keeps me back. Some stubborn part of me resists the comfort I know I'll find. I'm sitting on a log by myself. Just sitting. In the cold.

What am I waiting for? No clue. Therapist Lisa would tell me to stop wondering what I'm waiting for and just get my butt over to the fire...hummmm I'll have to think about that.

I Have a Confession. . .

I have a confession to make:  I haven't been to church in months.  Really, months.  Since Rain's wedding in July.  That's a very long time.

Why?

Lots of reasons, I think.  None of them good, none of them important enough to keep me from worshipping in fellowship with other believers.  I think.

Maybe it's just enough trouble within my heart and just enough difficulty getting there. I still haven't re-established a healthy communication with God; still not praying/talking with Him regularly; still not "in the Word" as we Christians like to say. . . I used to devour His Word.  Literally eat it up. 

I miss that.

I miss talking with Him and hearing from Him.

So, why am I resisting?  No clue.

I haven't stopped believing.  I know He's real.  I know He is good. I've walked with Him for twenty years. . .

Every Sunday, the kids ask if we're going to church. 

We don't go. 

It's always been difficult to go to church.  Well, not always.  Mostly since we moved to Colorado Springs, that's when the "difficult" started.  At that time, it was just me and Kelsey and Kris.  A young, firey white girl with two little bi-racial children (who were adorable!).  For years, I discounted the polite looks, the quiet exclusion from conversations, the sense that somehow my little family just didn't fit in. 

I found myself switching churches.  I'd never thought I'd be one of those.  After all, we have trouble relating in our families, why would a family of believers be any different?  But somehow, it was.  Somehow, my heart just couldn't take not mattering.  I was in Bible studies, in choirs, led children's worship with my trusty guitar, went on ladies retreats, joined small groups, led small groups. . .and still failed to make strong connections with anyone.

I was a single mother, going to the denomination's Bible College, working full time and taking classes full time, and still "ministering" in the church . . . and I never felt so alone.

It certainly didn't help when I bought a huge house out in the country and filled it up with handicapped children.  My enthusiasim and passion and belief carried us far - especially in making all the parts of the house and care for the children work - but even then, I couldn't truly connect to the Body.  When I approached the Pastor about someone from the fellowship helping with my special needs children in a Sunday school class (both for the children and for me, so I could attend services and not be sitting on the pavement outside holding an unruly child on my lap listening to the service over a speaker); his response was that if I felt there was a need, probably God was calling me to that.

Naively, I thought well, okay, and started a Special Needs Children's Sunday School class.  So, not only did I get to care for my kids 24/7 at home, I got to take care of them and other kids on Sundays, too.  And, I now had the extra job of finding helpers for the class.  Wow.

But, I don't want to go into all this here.  I mention it to say that I'm pretty sure that a huge part of why I am not going to church today is that, while I've found a Pastor I respect, and going to his church completely satisfies my heart - I am still very aware that my special child (now only Kameron), is a little different (well, alot) and doesn't fit into any nice age group of Sunday School children.  With his mental and physical delays, he's better suited for a first or second-graders class than his chronological fourth grade one.

In short, he takes more effort.  And, even in our large church with all it's many many ministries, there doesn't seem to be anyone who wants to take on this little child, even for a few hours on Sunday.  And it breaks my heart - again.

He benefits so much from God's Word and from the music - he memorizes scripture like crazy, and he's the first one to ask if he can pray for you if you have a problem.

But, he is different.  He is in a wheelchair and talks funny and is in diapers. He can have inappropriate behaviors (like throwing the playdough around and laughing like a lunatic).  He isn't an easy child, I know this.

But doesn't he matter to God?  Of course he does.

Shouldn't he matter to a body of believers? Of course he should.

He is the least of these; one of those Jesus spent time with while here.  Kameron matters greatly.

I have to say that I hate writing this.  I feel like I'm being horribly disloyal and expecting too much and that the problem must be mine, not anyone else's.  Like if I really want to go to church with my handicapped son, I should go - full speed ahead and damn the consequences.

But the zeal and fervor that kept me plowing ahead like that for so many, many years is pretty much gone, now.  I am tired.  I am tired of fighting to be included - heck, not even included, just to get in the door (there's no handicapped access to the children's ministry).  I'm tired of cheerfully smiling at the pretty young couples with their beautiful children who all quietly step back a few paces and try not to look like they're checking us out.  I get it all the time out in public, twenty years of it.

It hurts too much to see it in church, too.

And so, another Sunday is spent at home.  And I hurt.  I hurt for Kameron, I hurt for Kobi and for me.

At some level, I hurt for those missing out on getting to know Kameron, too.  He is a very special little boy.  He deserves that love and acceptance.  But, I'm just too tired to fight for it right now.

Okay, so this "bad economy" thing is beginning to irk me.

You hear about it everywhere - it's causing people on my favorite TV shows to lose their TV jobs, commit TV crimes, and act in very uncharacteristic (for their TV character) ways.

I've shared that I've needed to downsize. You know, selling a few things: my cherry red LG steam washer/dryer combo; my stainless steel french door Jennair refrigerator; my king-sized all solid wood four poster canopy bed . . .

But, this is just NOT okay.

I had to leave Therapist Lisa.

See, I am between health insurance plans, and the

one that "let me go" didn't cover her. So her (sorry TL) fairly hefty fee's been coming out of my ever-shrinking pocket. BTW, she is worth every single penny.

First, I tried cutting back. We went from weekly to every other week. It helped, but really I still couldn't afford her. Mostly I just wrote the checks and prayed (literally) that everything would still get paid.

Here's the crazy part: that didn't work so well. But (important "but), it did buy me some time, and I think that was a good thing. I've got a notebook full of her really good, insightful, tailor-made-for-me instructions, and if I'm smart enough to apply them, I think I'll be okay.

Don't get me wrong. I had a choice. I could have tried desperately to find other ways to make more money. At this point in my life, I am thankfully, still pretty employable. But (another important "but"), that completely flies in the face of all the advice she's given me. One of the reasons I slid so far down into the emotional/mental health quicksand was because of all the frantic activity and chaos I'd allowed in my life. Extra jobs on extra jobs. No way to find coverage for the kids (shocker - not too many folk are qualified and willing to watch my super-special little brood). No life for me. The payoff in income was never enough to offset the damage to my soul.

I'm pretty sure we have enough to keep the lights on and food on the table. The other things will either continue to wait or not. My experience is that some will, some won't. But God has always been faithful to us. We will be okay.

My sweet little mom and my dad lived through the real Depression. I've heard stories . . .

None of them included the great sacrifice of quitting counseling. Or, maybe having to eat out less and perhaps drop the Netflix subscription.

I am beyond grateful for my motley little family. We have a good thing going on: each other. I am SO proud of all my children, and I really know that our love for each other and God's love for us will safely see us through. However that pans out.

Tons of love to all of you. You don't know how much I appreciate you for listening to my musing (some would say rambling).

Talk to you soon.

The Stunner next to the Airstream
is my mommy, btw. From back in Her Day

But Today

Sometimes, I am Nazi Mom.
A shrew-like meanie who scares small children
and belongs in a fairy tale, tempting children into her oven using treats.

But Today, I will hug more and yell less.
I will listen to my children more, and avoid them less.
I will be their biggest fan.

Sometimes, I eat too much, sit too much, drink too much wine
and stay up too late watching TV.

But Today, I will be kind to myself. I will not snack.
I will move more, drink less, and put myself to bed
by 11:00.

Sometimes, my brain shifts into overdrive. It gets stuck
in un-winnable one-sided arguments and worthless what-ifs, with
thoughts swirling around like water in a toilet bowl that never finishes flushing.

But Today, I refuse to contribute to my own misery. I will remember
that I am the Captain of my own mind. I will not take anything personally or
make assumptions about anything. I will keep a quiet heart.

Sometimes, I feel overly responsible for other people's feelings. I try to anticipate
how my actions and choices will affect them, and I act
based on that, rather than simply live my life.

But Today, I will allow God to take care of the world.
If He needs me, He knows where I am. I will live in His freedom.
I will live my story. Mine.

Sometimes I go nuts thinking about all the things I want to do
and be and try. I get overwhelmed and end up frozen,
not doing anything at all.

But Today, I will be intentional about my life. I will think
about what my priorities are,
what I really love, what feeds my soul,
and purpose to take baby steps in at least two areas - today.

Sometimes, I feel oppressed and tormented. I feel weary and shell-shocked
and can't believe I have to take another step.

But Today, I will remember that we have an enemy who hates us
beyond all reason and wants to destroy our lives. Today, I will refuse
to give him influence over my heart.

Sometimes, I question God's motives. I wonder,
"If God is so good, why does this happen?" or, "If God REALLY loved me,
He'd (fill in the blank)."

But Today, I will trust Him. I will trust His goodness. I will trust His love for me,
His good intentions toward me, His plans. I will not behave like an infant in my faith, whining about what I can't have or be or do. I will be an adult, today.

Just for Today . . . I will believe.

As always, I love you guys, and thank you for reading.

I'm a Tricksy Girl

Here's a quick update on the TV fast. If you recall, I let it slip to Therapist Lisa that I tend to over-watch television. Kind of a turn it on and tune out thing? So, she challenged me to turn it off for SEVEN days. At the same time, in church, I kept hearing about us trying to find comfort from stuff (any stuff - TV, drugs, drink, food, friends, etc.) rather than face our pain and junk and take it to God. So, knowing that I have many many "comfort" things that help me not at all, I agreed to turn it off.

I actually did pretty well with the no TV thing. Only watched one lateish night, started with a DVR'd Law and Order - I do love that darned show - and then watched Marley and Me, which of course had me sobbing.

That was helpful. I need to cry more.

The thing I noticed immediately was my computer time increased. Not so much Facebook or Twitter, which surprised me, but def more time cruising and exploring: reading other people's blogs, looking up random stuff, checking out Italian learning programs and sites. I didn't work on my writing like I wanted to, although I had some more ideas on framing my story. 'Course, ideas don't do diddly if you don't act on them.

But, I also noticed that I have spent more time talking with God and reading His Word. So that's a huge positive. And, I did tackle a big personal project that I've been avoiding. It's not quite finished, but it's about two-thirds of the way done.

I'm really working on recognizing baby steps as positive progress, and not slapping myself around for not "accomplishing" anything because of some nebulous, fictional, grading scale I have that says unless I get it all done - preferably now - I've failed.

“With what shall I come before the Lord,

and bow myself before God on high?
Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves a year old?
Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, with ten thousands of rivers of oil? Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?”
He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?

- Micah 6:6-8 esv

Okay, I can work on those. Oops. I'm supposed to be "being" more and "doing" less.

See how my mind works? Now I'm stressing about being and doing. UGH!!! Where's that remote??

Love you guys, thanks always for reading...

Nothing Earth-Shattering to Say...

Hi guys -

Nothing major to report on tonight. I just wanted to move past my last post a little!

Tomorrow in the early morning, I'll be walking with my friend, Manager Kimi at the lovely Seward Park. I will be taking my camera along so I can post tomorrow night and show all of you who aren't familiar with Seattle how gorgeous it is.

Now, of course, the weather has shifted a tad from the hot sunny days we had early this week. The cloud cover is back, and it's a bit dampish. But, hey! That's why we have such greenery, right? I think it's also why we have so many birds - all that dampness encourages worms and so on.

Andrew is at his mom's for the whole weekend. From yesterday through Monday afternoon. He's called both days and I'm not sure how he's doing. He can be a bit dramatic. But those of you who pray, I'd appreciate it if you'd pray along with me in this. We love that little guy, and really want what's best for him.

Meanwhile, Kobi's ninth birthday was Thursday, and I'm taking him and a few friends (his and mine!) to see Up. I've heard terrific things about it, and it'll be nice to have a little diversion during this seven day no TV thing. She didn't say I couldn't do movies.

Kris and Kami are moving him into what will be their new apartment in McMinville, Oregon this weekend. Kami goes back to Colorado with her mom next week to do the final wedding prep. All this change is coming down fast and furious!

Where'd I put that trash bag??

Scripture for the day/week/month/year/rest of my life:

" Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need.
I can do all things through him who strengthens me."

Philippians 4:11-13 esv

Well, obviously, I haven't learned to be completely content, but I remember where contentment lies. I'm working on that. "I can do all things through him who strengthens me".

Much love my faithful readers and friends.

Note: sorry about the funky formatting. After I changed it for the scripture quote, I couldn't get it off italics. Argh. Oh well!

Letting Go

A few weeks ago, I declined a placement. That means I said "no" to a nine-year-old, needy little girl who's been in a residential treatment center (like a step above a mental hospital) since she was six. Three years of growing up institutionalized. Not in a home. Not with a mommy or a daddy, or any facsimile. Not with her brothers or her sisters (she has five, all in foster homes). No one to tuck her in at night. In fact, according to her paperwork, she often has great distress around bedtime, and has to spend time in the "quiet room". Think a little bigger than a closet. Empty so the child won't hurt herself.

How horrible is that? Put a six, seven, eight year-old girl in a "quiet room" by herself right before bed time? Doesn't the staff have time to read with her, pray with her, kiss her good night? Oh, that's right. They have ten other children in their Cottage (cute name, like a fairy tale or a vacation resort) to get to bed. Oh, and there's no religious indoctrination, so no prayers to comfort the little girl.

Hey, grow up kid. This is a tough world if you haven't figured that out yet. Maybe the fact that before you came to us you were ripped from your home by policemen, medicated, restrained, and moved into several different homes before you landed up in our "treatment facility" should have clued you in. No wonder you don't want to go to bed at night.

The agency I work for brought me her packet. The packet is the thick pile of paperwork that covers much - not all - of a child's life in the system. It includes things like Psych evals, school IEP's (Individual Education Plan, for the "special" kids), and various social worker weekly, quarterly, and annual reviews of her behaviors, placements, medical stuff, etc. It also has court records, that talk about the circumstances of her removal from home and her parent's progress (or lack thereof) toward getting her back, visitation orders, blah blah, blah. They're pretty scary things. Even for an experienced foster parent.

But something in her packet spoke to me. Her age, for one thing. She's still so darned young. My other kids at home are four, eight and nine. She could really fit in. Plus, I have another bedroom. And most importantly, I am pretty certain I could help her. I have years of experience with damaged children. She's at an age where she could definitely stabilize given some serious family time with lots of love and boundaries and hugs. I've seen it happen, and something in her packet called to me.

Now here's the stinky part: I just couldn't say yes. I thought I could. I mentally planned getting the extra bedroom ready, who to contact at our local elementary school, checked into how her visits with her siblings went, talked with my agency about getting a special approval on my foster license for her. . . and the morning of what was to be our first meeting, I canceled.

This hurt on so many levels. The little girl didn't know about me (thankfully), so it wasn't about letting her down, but it really killed me to recognize my own weakness. To actually admit to myself and to the professionals I work with that I couldn't, in fact, do it all. It hurt to leave her there, to not be her rescuer. This thought led me to a twinge of self-awareness: why do I think I am the only rescuer for her? Then I argue: I know the statistics. I know she is unlikely to find a home given all her needs. It's hard enough to get people to take one typical kiddo; these more "involved" children rarely get placed in good, loving homes.

But I can't do it. I can't take another baby girl with intense, high needs and: a) take decent care of the brood I already have; b) get my own act together; which leads to c) a is dependent on b. And adding baby girl would lead to: d) me moving into a state hospital. The whole house of cards would collapse.

My heart is heavy, though. I want so badly to be the instrument God uses to reach this little girl; and that one, and that one, and that one. . .

"learn to do good;
seek justice,
correct oppression;
bring justice to the fatherless,
plead the widow's cause."

Isaiah 1:17

May is Foster Care Awareness Month: My personal prayer is that every family, every person who can, would check his or her heart and see if he, if she, has room for just one child. Just one. Please consider it. Please honestly consider what you can do as part of your community to help one hurting child in a way that is meaningful and maybe sacrificial. They are our children, and our future. Thank you.

Is This Contributing to My Misery?

Therapist Lisa says that I have an "overactive, over-developed sense of responsibility". I think that's a nice way to say I'm co-dependent. Or that I have no life of my own and I've chosen to make it this way - ouch ouch ouch.

I don't like hearing that a lot of the mess I'm in is my own doing. I'd much rather blame someone else - for instance, God. After all, isn't He the Supreme Ruler of the Universe? Do I not belong to Him? Therefore, it stands to reason that He can fix all this junk. . . am I right?

Unfortunately, when God created us as His image-bearers, He forgot to make us mindless, will-less, puppets. He gave us choice. Some old, long-dead theologian called it the terrible gift of free will. The thought is that God wants us to want Him. He doesn't want us to love Him because we have to.

But it's a double-edged sword. That rebellious, stubborn part of us that helps us survive this world, that strong spirit we pride ourselves in, is also the part that keeps us shaking our tiny little fists at the loving One who created us. And if you're me, blaming Him for all manner of consequences I've brought on myself and for not running my life the way I want it run. I also tend to blame Him for the nasty choices others have made that damage me. Basically, I want God to be my sugar daddy (do they still say that?), not my God. Not the One who knows best, sees all and will, eventually, put every yucky thing right.

Humm.

So, in line with me taking responsibility for my side of life, for the choices I can make and the things I can control, Lisa gave me this little thought to think before I make a move: will this contribute to my misery?

It fits right in with detaching from the outcome. If I make good choices - ones that won't contribute to my misery (don't you LOVE that word, misery?), and then detach from the outcome (let God be God - not me), theoretically, life will be easier, more joyful, and carefree.

Okay, that sounds too simplistic, doesn't it? But what if she's right? What if it works? What if God - Who I completely believe in - can be trusted?

Wow. . .what a concept. I have to ponder this awhile.

Love you guys - thanks for working through all this with me.

Detaching From the Outcome Part Deux

I've been a foster parent for like fifteen years. During those years, I can not count how many people have said to me two things. One: "I don't know how you do it", and two: "It would just kill me to have a child come into my home, fall in love with them, and then send them back".

To answer both questions, I have no idea how I do it - seriously, it's God 'cause I am so woefully inadequate to be a parent. If I had to write up a resume (an honest one including my sordid past), you'd think so, too. So there's that grace factor, big time.

To answer the second...it does kill you.

I've had many children in my home over the years. Actually I don't know how many, because I've never counted them up, but it's more than a few and less than a ton. Let's say, a passel.

Some of them came and left abruptly. In the beginning of my illustrious professional mommyhood, I had a teenage girl, we'll call her Helen, who was in my house for less than 2 hours. We picked her up at the Juvenile detention center, drove by the MALL for something, and guess what? Helen leaped from the car, took off into an apartment complex, and was never seen again.

Some kids were only short term. They and their families needed a break, and then they go home to continue working things out. That's terrific, of course. Some kids come so angry and so damaged that no matter what you do, no matter how much of you you pour into their life, it isn't enough and they have to move on. Usually those moves are after several weeks and months of trying, and the reason for the move is to keep the other children safe (and me sane). Those moves are sad, too, because you want them desperately to "get it". To realize the hope you are trying to offer them - but all you can do is pray hard and realize that sometimes all we get to do is plant seeds. Even kids have the right to make bad choices.

Then you have the rip your heart out moves. My first one was early in my fostering "career". Kesley and Kris were around six and nine, and this beautiful little Native American/African American girl was placed in our home. She was maybe two, possibly almost three. Cute as anything, yet so serious and sad. She came to us suddenly, with a quick call and barely time to find out her history. The social worker breezed in with Chelsie, dropped off her and her tiny toy suitcase with her belongings, and left - saying over her shoulder, "You might think about adoption, we are planning to terminate parental rights".

Whoa. Well, of course, we promptly fell in love with this brooding little toddler. We got to work getting her to smile, helping her walk (because she wasn't yet), in general, investing into her little broken life trying to heal her with kindness, gentleness, stability, and love.

It was working. After the first two weeks or so, Chelsie smiled. Then, she laughed. Wow.

She would walk with the big kids and me down our long, dirt driveway every morning to wait for the school bus. Kelsey was completely smitten with this "baby sister". Kind of like a little doll that gave hugs and kisses. Chelsie loved Kelsey, too.

Then I got the call. Mom had enlisted the aid of the Tribal Council and they were taking over the case. Chelsie was being returned to her mom. The next day. No transition time, no warning, just back to mom. Boom. Kelsey still talks about it, remembers it, remembers Chelsie. I do, too.

Over the course of fifteen years, this type of sudden, painful moving of children happened several times. Again, I didn't keep count, but each time, whatever the reason, whoever was to "blame", it still hurt. It still needed grieving because these are little people we are talking about here. They wrap their little selves all around your heart and a chunk of yours goes with them when they leave.

So, here we are again. I've been fostering little Andrew since November of last year. He's four. He had and has anger issues. He is absolutely entitled to, he's been in eight homes in his short life. Never any warning to him, no preparation, just hop in the car with the social worker for an outing, and end up in a new bed that night. Try explaining that. Try understanding it. When you are four.

I loved on that little man thoroughly. Firm boundaries: "We don't say those words, Andrew. We don't throw shoes at people or windows or doors, Andrew. We don't spit, hit, slap, bite, scream...". From rages lasting hours at the beginning, he now can take a fairly decent little time-out in his room (four minutes on the timer, once he stops screaming). He gives hugs and kisses. He is a funny, sweet, caring little guy.

The only time he gets scared and shuts down is when he is seeing his mom. I don't need to go into any of it here - it doesn't matter anyway. Suffice it to say that mom has an attorney, and the state is now moving forward on Andrew returning home within 90 days. Mom's attorney wants it to go faster, but who knows?

Here we are again. It's hard to grieve well in these circumstances. I heard a foster mom just the other day say it's like being told your child has a terminal disease but they give you the exact date and time of his or her death. Yeah, it's like that. Add in being strong for the kiddo, not verbally or visibly worried about him going back to the situation that got him in your home in the first place and being strong for the rest of your children - they will be grieving too.

How do we do this well as a foster parent and a family? I have no freakin' idea.

Like I said, a chunk of my heart will go with Andrew too. I will always remember him, pray for him, love him. He is my son. But, she is his mommy. I will wrap him up in a blanket of love and place him in my Father's huge, amazing hands and trust - really trust - that He, Andrew's real Dad, has it under control.

And then, I will probably do it all again. Because everyone needs someone to love them.

Detaching from the Outcome

Okay - so do you ever have phrases and sayings that buzz around your brain for years - or am I the only one? Things like the Big Mac song:

Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun

Or chants like Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack? The theme from the Love Boat? Anyone remember Lilly Tomlin on Laugh-in..."one ringie dingie, two ringie dingies..."? How about all the words to Yellow Submarine?

It truly amazes me how these things stick in my brain, but I forget what the kid standing in front of me is called. And I probably named him or her. I once called my son Willie. He had to remind me that that was our dog's name. His name is Kris.

But I digress.

Therapist Lisa told me something the other day (or week, it's a little fuzzy). I was sharing how I am a very good starter. You know what I mean? I have lots of ideas - great ones, probably - and get all excited. I plan, think, scheme, research - generally spend a lot of time and energy on said Great Idea.

But implementation, that's a different story. Somewhere in the scheming I start to pull back. Maybe I get afraid. Maybe I'm unsure of how it's going to turn out, so I stop. No one likes to look stupid. No one likes to FAIL. Risk is risky, right?

But we've all heard, "nothing ventured, nothing gained"; and "if you keep on doing what you've always done, you'll keep on getting what you've always got". Pithy sayings like that.

What does all that mean, anyway? When you are in the throes of something you think might be good, might be fun, might be life-changing and you freak out...I can practically guarantee that those little slogans won't help you much. In fact, they seem to up the ante on pressure. "What ifs" trump pithy almost any day.

Therapist Lisa gave me a good one, though. She said that I needed to "detach from the outcome". Just that simple. Detach From the Outcome. Cool. Do your best, work it, and release. In fact, release while you are doing your best and working it.

Okay... so I'm trying it. And you know what? It's working. I'm dipping my frozen toes into the swirling hot tub of life. We'll see how it goes. I don't want to push my luck. Hot stuff can burn, you know.

But for now, this is me, detaching from the outcome and signing off.

My Mom Logic

I've been a mom for twenty-two years. Crazy. In that time, I've raised, helped raise, and am still raising a bunch of kids.

You would think I'd have tons to say about Mom Logic, but I really don't. I don't find anything logical in being a mom. Let me explain.

Back many moons ago, when my two original children were very young - Kris was maybe three and Kelsey was around six months old - things were really rough. The Divorce was in the works, and my ex-husband had fled Seattle for Louisiana. We were living with my mom, which had its ups and downs, because mom and I have history, and she was pleased about The Divorce. I wasn't.

I had a full time job downtown in a stock brokerage - which required a lot of dressing up and looking nice - was dragging both kids to and from daycare (on the bus), and doing all the other basic mommy stuff like shopping, cooking, laundry, doctor appointments, diaper junk, baths, teaching my son, Kris how to ride a bike...you get the point.

So, most of the time, I was exhausted.

The only thing that kept me going was my new faith. I was a baby Christian. This belief came at me from out of the blue. The last thing I'd planned on was "finding Jesus". After all, I was an enlightened Seattleite. We don't do Christianity. That's something for primitives (to paraphrase Deepak Chopra).

In fact, I was horrified when I took this step of faith. Terrified of what people would say. Not sure what that was about, I didn't have too many "people".

But I digress. So, here I am, an almost complete wreck, parenting two beautiful kids by myself and feeling the walls closing in. I remember sitting at the kitchen table after a long day of work and mommying. Kris was probably outside, my mom wasn't home yet, and Kelsey was sitting on the kitchen floor wrapped up in some toy. She was a fat little baby, pudgy little cheeks, pouty little lips, and a round little head with hardly any hair. You know, the kind you strain at getting one of those Velcro bows on so people will know she's a girl? Like the pink clothes don't say enough?

I remember sitting there with my head propped up on my hand watching her play. She had her back to me, and all I could see was her little round self hunched over whatever it was she had. The place where her head and her upper back met looked like they were stuck together - like she had no neck, kind of like a little snowman baby or something. Only with arms and legs. And not so pale.

As I watched her, exhausted from the day, and anticipating years more of this, a massive rush of love completely overwhelmed me. It almost made me cry.

This perplexed me. I asked myself: how can I love her so much? I mean, what the heck? She was a pooping, crying, hungry, drooling, demanding blob of personhood, requiring constant supervision and gobs of money. I had given up my rights to my own life for this insistent, ungrateful little thing...what was up with this crazy wave of emotion?

And I swear, I heard God say to me, deep in my heart, "That's how I love you. You offer Me nothing at all, you deny Me, you break all My rules, you take and take, and rarely say thanks. But, I would die for you, Kathy".

And I got it. There is no logic to it. Love is totally illogical (nod to Mr. Spock). But it's written deep in our hearts. We long for it. We die without it. Good mommies pour it out constantly, daily, for years and years. And frequently, we don't get thanks. We don't get fame. We don't get fortune. We get sleepless nights, ER visits, late night phone calls, wet shoulders from crying babies, crying toddlers, crying teenagers, and crying young adults. We get barf, coffee, ketchup and other junk on our white shirts. Sometimes, we get our hearts broken.

And we love them. We love our babies.

I'm sorry, I can't find any logic in that. And I'm completely fine with it.


This post is my entry for the Mother of All Bloggers contest. If it is chosen, I will be begging for your votes. Just a heads up! Thanks, everyone.

Avoiding Eye Contact

A few weeks back, Pastor Mark was talking about suffering people. Actually, he's been teaching on it for a few weeks, because he's been in 1 Peter, and there's a lot of suffering in there.

So, as he's talking about people being real, and allowing others into their pain, he said something about how when we know someone is in pain, we don't like to ask, because we don't like to see others cry and because we might feel like we have to do something for them.

This thought's been in my brain hanging around ever since.

Today, two things happened that brought it to the surface: I spoke with a young woman at church - let's call her, Sarah, who was with a little bit older woman in a wheelchair (let's call her, Anna). Now, Anna was probably mid-twenties, and she has CP (cerebral palsy) I think, and is kind of bent up. She had a tray on her chair with two things: a hand towel (which tells me she probably drools a bit), and a pink iPod docked in a speaker set attached to the wheelchair tray.

I saw these two at church last Sunday on Easter, sitting in the foyer together watching the service on the flat screen. They caught my eye for a few reasons, one of the biggies is that I completely identify with sitting out in the foyer with a person with special needs. Over the last fifteen years, I've spent many Sundays watching services from Nursing Mother's rooms (I have no nursing babies), foyers (even when there was room inside), and, most memorable, sitting on the sidewalk outside the church listening through the overhead speaker holding one of my special kids who was a bit challenging (to say the least). During those years, I honestly don't remember too many folks joining me so I'd have some company.

So I have a considerable amount of empathy here.

Today, Sarah and Anna were back. This time, just inside the doors of the sanctuary. I smiled as I went past the first time, having things to do - like picking up my kids from the nice people in children's ministry. When I came back up, they were out in the lobby, alone. Now, I don't know if anyone else talked to them, but I do know that a lot of conversation was happening around them. I went up. We talked for a minute. I asked her if she was a caregiver, and she said she only helped on Sundays. She is a friend of Anna's family and Anna loves to go to church - she loves the music and being around the people. Sarah is a young, attractive girl. I'm pretty certain she had other things she could be doing with her Sunday.

She chose to help Anna and Anna's family.

Last week, I saw her loading Anna into a van by herself, today she was standing by herself. Our church has hundreds of people milling around after services. They were alone. Two weeks in a row that I know about. I am not condemning our fellowship. Like I said, I don't know that no one spoke to them. All I can speak to is my personal experience in a variety of churches over the past fifteen years. Very lonely years. It's almost like having a person with intense needs puts a bubble around you. Like no one knows what to say, so they avoid eye contact, and move away. Or, they give you a quick smile, and move away.

This is how I feel when I see guys standing at freeway exits with cardboard signs. I avoid eye contact. I know that I really can't help them. I don't even know if they actually need my help. But, because I feel guilty that I am in my car, and they are standing out there with a sign, I avoid them. Avoid any chance of interaction.

Now, one time, Kameron was with me in the car and we were heading to Physical Therapy. I was stopped at the light, and there was a guy. Kam starting yelling, "Hi! Hi!" to him, being a friendly sort of nine year old. So, I rolled down the back window so he could say hi better. The man, turns out his name is Scott, was shaking Kam's hand and genuinely happy to talk to him for a second. In fact, he kept saying, "God bless you" to Kameron. This all makes me think.

Why do we assume that the less fortunate are wanting something from us? Yes, often they are, but sometimes, maybe all they want is for someone to stop and see them, talk to them, give them a second of human interaction in a kind way, not like they're freaks or something.

Doesn't that apply to all of us at some point in our lives? Haven't you ever had a time when you desperately needed someone to just see you? To ask you how you were and mean it?

I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but I guess I just want all of us to take a few minutes out of our lives and make that eye contact. Take a risk, say "hi" to the street person, go introduce yourself to that mom alone with all the kids or that person in the wheelchair.

I doubt that it will change the world, but I can almost guarantee it will brighten up theirs for a moment. And maybe yours, too.

Reality Bites

Back in the mid-'90s there was a movie called Reality Bites. I haven't actually seen it, but the title's always intrigued me. It's one of those little snippets that move through my mind like those little floaty things you see in your field of vision...you guys do know what I'm talking about, right? You know, they look like junk you'd find under a microscope...?

Sometimes the strangest stuff will pop into my head. Like almost every time I participate in a group prayer - especially if we're standing up and holding hands - I inevitably want to say, "Keep coming back, it will work if you work it!" While swinging our hands back and forth. That's from my brief stint in Al-Anon. Also from Al-Anon, "Don't be in the middle arranging all the outcomes" (like that's possible), from SmokeEnders, "You're a puff away from a pack a day". Pitiful, I know. Such is the flotsam and jetsam in my head. No wonder I'm in therapy.

Anyway, lately I've been thinking a lot about the Skin Horse. That wise old toy from the Velveteen Rabbit. I say wise, because I can't remember how many pastors I've heard quote him, so he must be pretty darned wise - right?

This is another thing I've never actually read front to back. But I like the premise. The actual full title is: The Velveteen Rabbit or How Toys Become Real and it was written by Margery Williams back in 1922. Rabbit was a Christmas gift to a boy. The Boy loved him at first, for about two hours, and then Rabbit was quickly forgotten in the bedroom. I love how the author describes him as "shy" by nature, and says that most of the other toys put on airs and snubbed him - basically, this stuffed bunny had really low self-esteem. Only the Skin Horse would talk to him.

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

The Skin Horse Tells His Story

"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him.

You can probably see why pastors like to quote this passage. I think we tend to want to listen to all the prosperity crap some preachers put out or the bad theology we make up ourselves; that we blame God for the mess in the world and in our lives (even the stuff we cause ourselves). In reality, Jesus spoke numerous times about having trouble in this world - He certainly did.

There's another scripture in the Old Testament that says that God has placed eternity in the hearts of men...maybe because that's in there (that longing for eternity), our hearts hurt over all the crap around us and in us. We know in our heart of hearts that it isn't supposed to be like this.

In the meantime, I guess the key is for us to remember that we are becoming Real. And, if we are honest with ourselves, the Realest people we know are the ones who've been through the most stuff and accepted it rather than blame, deny, and avoid it.

But, we all wish we could become it without these uncomfortable things happening.

I love you guys - thanks for listening.