To my girl, on her birthday.

Happy Birthday, Elizabeth!  You are SIX!!!  How in the world did THAT happen?!?!?!?  Oh, right... I remember...

Six years ago, I enjoyed lunch one Friday afternoon with Miss Debbie.  I still tease her that her U-turn in the middle of a busy road is the reason I went into early labor.  When your Daddy and I went in for my doctor's appointment later that afternoon, the doctor confirmed that you were likely going to come early.  After a weekend of celebrating with friends and preparing for a possible early arrival,  I went into work Monday afternoon like "normal".  I had spoken with the doctor's office earlier and they let me know if I didn't feel you moving around anymore that it would be time to go to the hospital.  Sure enough, as I sat in the RMH office, you weren't moving around.  Your Daddy recommended we should head to the hospital "just in case"... we were still thinking you would stick around longer since you were not due until November 9.

The doctors let us know when we arrived at the hospital that I couldn't feel you moving around because you had already moved into the birth canal.  We were going to see you early after all!!  We walked around the hospital for about an hour trying to get you moving quicker, but then determined we'd be better off to get some sleep and see you the next day instead.  That told us your birthday would be October 17- you would share that day with my Grandmother.  Even though she died before you were born, so much of you reminds me of her-- your big heart, your long fingers, your love for Jesus.  I know she would be so proud of you!

At 5:00am on Tuesday the 17th, your Daddy and I were awoken to a scary, startling moment- we experienced our first earthquake!!  The whole hospital shook and no one was sure what had happened.  Earthquakes aren't usual in Winston-Salem!  But we still tease that the earth shook with excitement upon your arrival... you shook up our lives and apparently everyone else's too. 

Wide awake and a little freaked out, we all laughed when shortly after 5:00am your Mimi walked through the door.  I had called her the night before to tell her I was going to have you early.  She wasn't able to sleep once she knew you were on the way, so she hopped in her car and headed to meet you.  Once it was daylight, I called Dadaw to let him and Nanny know you were coming early.  2 hours after talking to Dadaw, he walked through the door, too.  He said he just couldn't concentrate at Home Depot after I called and walked around the store saying "My baby is having a baby!"  Your Mimi, Nanny, and Dadaw were all so proud of you.  Your Mimi gave you her sense of order and diligence, your "femininity", your tender heart.  Your Nanny gave you a love of learning, your patience with others, your adaptable heart.  Your Dadaw gave you your sense of humor, your ability to laugh at yourself, your kind heart.


We enjoyed some time with Mimi and Dadaw before the doctor came in to break my water.  (And Dadaw left as that happened- he wanted no part of that!)  After several hours of labor and a very short amount of time pushing, out you were.  Remember this part?  This is the part of the story you love so much.  You came out so quickly, the doctor wasn't even in the room yet!!  Your Daddy had to help deliver you- what an honor.  Your Daddy gave you your wisdom, your insight, and your compassionate heart.  He is so proud of you.  When you came out, Daddy looked at me through a tear-streaked face and said "It's a girl and she's perfect."  Mimi said, "She has 10 fingers and 10 toes!"  And I said, "She's purple."  Leave it to me to make a moment magical...

The doctors cleaned you up and handed you to me to snuggle.  The first of hours and hours of snuggling we would do.  We snuggled through your brief stint in the NICU with jaundice.  We snuggled through your colicky phase.  Through losing lots of loved ones.  Through big celebrations!  We snuggled every morning on the couch in that golden moment when you just woke up and needed some Momma Time.  We snuggled when you were nervous about school.  We snuggled when you were proud about having a Blue Day!  We have snuggled through so many hours... and in those moments, I experience God's love in the most tangible of ways.  In fact, I gave you your love of snuggling, your messy side, and your social heart.

 Last night as I laid with you in your bed and we talked about really hard things, I prayed over you.  I prayed God's protection for not only your life, but over your heart.  Your special heart that is made up of all of the people I love so much.  And this story only involves "my" side of the family!  I'll let your Daddy share with you the blessings you got from Grammy and Pop... blessings that include knowledge, attention to others, persistence, and loyalty to name a few.

In your six years of life, you've had more heartache than some people have in sixty... and for that I'm so sorry.  I'm sorry that you've had people you love die, you've had people you love leave, and you've had promises broken.  As you begin this sixth year of your life, I celebrate your life and your heart.  I'm honored to be your Mom.  From the first moment we heard your heartbeat, we knew you would be special.  We had no idea just how special you would be... and I can't wait to see what lies ahead.

Happy birthday, sweet girl.

Brokenness and Band-aids

our lovely view on that March weekend

6 months ago *right now*, I was sitting in the mountains of Georgia, enjoying having some girl-time with a dear friend, breathing easier- spiritually- than I had in months.  I had spent the day before reading the words of Hosea... and I woke up restored.

I've written what the next week was like here... it breaks my heart to even see that post again.  It still feels so... well... new.

At the retreat that weekend, I attended a "Date with God" session lead by the sweet woman who had prompted me to read Hosea.  We went from station to station experiencing different mediums through which to connect with God. One of them was a place where you would write a prayer request on a Post-it, place it on the wall, then read the others' requests and pray for them.  My Post-it said "broken."  That weekend, you'll remember, was when we had just been turned down for Foster Care.  In addition to that, I was grieving my best friend's move to Phoenix, and still wrestling with Sweet Leah's leukemia. I truly felt "broken."  In a moment of restoration, I looked at those Post-its as they were affixed later to a cross and felt the hand of God remind me that HE would heal me... no one or nothing else would do.

Our Wailing Wall... Heal us, Lord.

Oh, the irony of the brokenness I felt then.  I didn't know that mere hours later, I would find out my Daddy had died.  I didn't know that 6 weeks after that we would lose my friend Geoff.  I didn't know that 3 months later we would lose my friend Aaron.

Grief upon grief leaves one feeling beyond broken.  It leaves you feeling just plain wrecked.

Yesterday happened to be my Daddy's birthday.  He would have been 70.  From the moment my feet hit the ground yesterday morning, my wrecked-self grieved.  I sobbed in ways I haven't allowed myself to in quite some time.  I also had lots of funny internal-dialog throughout the day imagining what Daddy would say to me if I shared with him my stories.  I wanted to tell him how much I love mowing the yard with his lawn mower.  I wanted to tell him how E asked Dan why he said "dammit" this weekend. (He didn't, btw, he said "hammock"... but hearing my little one say "Why'd you say 'dammit', Daddy?" was a moment that Dadaw would have loved.)  I wanted to talk to him about how hard things are right now and have him tell me what to do.  I wanted to ask him his recipe for Country Style Steak, and then later call him to tell him that Paula Deen's worked out just fine.

Not to sound like a broken record, people... but I just miss my Daddy.

In ways I never imagined.

I think I used to watch people who had lost a parent and think, "Gosh, that must be sad," but didn't understand. I didn't get that it would be a daily ache.  A daily burden.  That every experience- good or bad- would be filtered through the lens of not having your Big Person to share it with.  And in my crazy, jacked up life... I need my Big Person.

Slowly over these last 6 months, there have been moments when my broken heart begins to heal.  Unlike the picture, my heart hasn't been torn straight down the middle.  It's been shattered into millions of pieces, each requiring their own Band-aid.  And the Band-aids are beautiful as they come!  They show up in the form of People Puppy Chow, or coffee mugs, or walks on the Greenway, or phone calls, or verses about "doing good", or comments on Facebook, or well-timed flowers, or bottles of wine, or Stan-like jokes, or leaves changing color, or looking at old pictures, or salted caramel, or a compliment, or a hug, or Country Style Steak, or even through tears.

The hard part of the last 6 months is that sometimes the Band-aids come off.  Sometimes they are ripped off... sometimes they just fall off in the bathtub.  And through it all, it shouldn't surprise me that my encouragement comes from... well... Hosea.

“Come, let us return to the Lord.
He has torn us to pieces
    but he will heal us;
he has injured us
    but he will bind up our wounds....
Let us acknowledge the Lord;
    let us press on to acknowledge him."

Return, heal, acknowledge, press on, and Do Good... cause that's what my Daddy would have wanted.  Happy birthday, Dadaw... I can't believe we've made it 6 months without you here.

things I just can't tell you.

I'm writing this blog about 24 hours after finding out my friend, Aaron, passed away.  My intent was to write the foster-part of this post yesterday... hours before our little one arrived.  But then the bottom fell out again.  The loss of another great man in my life.  And all of the sudden my post seemed frivolous.  Again, our focus shifted to the day at hand and the days to come.  Our hearts became woven with Debbie's.  And that was all that mattered.

But let me share with you our other news...  We are finally licensed foster parents.  18 months after we began this process.  1 year after finishing MAPP.  We are done.  In fact, as I type these words, I'm waiting for our first little visitor to wake up.  We are blessed to be providing weekend respite for a wee one- not a permanent placement, but 4 days of a little friend joining our family.

So many of you have followed our journey in the foster care world... and I wanted to let you know how we rejoice that we are now in the "next" phase.  It's a bizarrely unknown time for us... just as the rest of 2012 has been.  We are learning in new ways each day that it is so not about us- and that we are not in charge of what's next.

Here's what I can't tell you: much of anything else.  As children come in and out our lives, I can't post about them, specifically.  On any social media format, I can't post pictures, tell names, give details.  When you meet them, of course you'll know more about them (like, with this one, how super cute she is!!), but I can't tell you details of why they are in care.  I can't tell you (if I know) family specifics.  I can't answer all the questions that we all typically have.  An awkward predicament for a public-sharer like I am, but the "rules" nonetheless.

We are grateful to finally be at this place.  And yet it feels beyond surreal.  Days before she arrived at our house, I was in Asheville closing on the sale of my Daddy's house.  Talk about the gamut of emotions...

But little did I know that those two things were just the beginning of the emotional journey ahead.

Here's what I can't tell you: why another great man is on this earth no more.  I can't tell you why Debbie and her children are in the spot that they are right now- navigating life without their trailblazer.  I can't tell you why within three months of each other two of my girlfriends have lost their husbands.  Six children have lost their daddies.  Shoot, within five months eight of us have lost our daddies.  And it sucks.  All of it.

I know what it's like to charter the world realizing each day that my Daddy is gone.  Yet I had 36 years with him... not 8, or 7, or 4, or 1.  I know what's it's like to look to your Daddy for an answer only to remember he's not there.  And here's what I can't tell you: why those babies have to find that same moment of confusion so young.

I don't know what it's like to lose my husband.  But in those moments of God-given empathy and understanding, I can imagine that loss.  My heart aches for Debbie and Nicole... just aches.  And I can't tell you why any of this has happened to either of them.

What I can tell you is that we are all hanging on by a thread.  I missed gathering with friends yesterday and I'll miss praying with our church today because I was thrust into duties of being a Foster Mom.  Ironic timing, and I can't tell you while it's lining up this way.  I'm desperately wanting to be with my church body, but I'm trusting that instead I'm supposed to be here loving this sweet one instead.

I can't tell you why things happen this way. 
 
But I can tell you this:

My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly trust in Jesus’ Name.

On Christ the solid Rock I stand,
All other ground is sinking sand;
All other ground is sinking sand.

When darkness seems to hide His face,
I rest on His unchanging grace.
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.

His oath, His covenant, His blood,
Support me in the whelming flood.
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my Hope and Stay.

When He shall come with trumpet sound,
Oh may I then in Him be found.
Dressed in His righteousness alone,
Faultless to stand before the throne.

On Christ the solid Rock I stand,
All other ground is sinking sand;
All other ground is sinking sand.

This morning, Aaron is dressed in the righteousness of Jesus.  I don't fully understand it.  Nor do I expect to on this earth.  I have learned since March that the only for-sure thing we have in this life is Jesus.  And I'm thankful that Aaron is now sitting on that solid rock.

taken from Aaron's Facebook page- where he spent this past Sunday morning.

early bedtimes and living intentionally.

Yesterday, E just couldn't get a grip on herself.  Before church she had cried at least 2 times... getting frustrated over everything.  She got mad at me when I combed her hair with a comb rather than allowing her to continue to use the plastic fork which was giving her not much success.  She was angry and weepy about everything we said.

After church, we had lunch with friends... and she was just fine... until it was time to leave.  She walked out of their house without even a real goodbye to our friend and pouted the whole way home.  And then the whole way to Home Depot.  And then the whole way home again.

The climax of this pout came when she asked if we could go swimming and we said no, which caused a magnitude of tears and teenage-sounding lines.  She managed to pull it together for a bit... but couldn't maintain the together-ness long enough to even finish dinner.  So with only a few bites of a baked potato eaten, she went to bed.

Before 6:00pm.

(Please note, DSS, we were not withholding food from our child.  She chose to skip dinner in favor of some solitude.  I promise we'll feed her well when she wakes up.  We don't let children go hungry.)

I feel quite certain that yesterday's behavior was E's way of sorting through the emotions of a previously packed two weeks.  As we've seen with her time and time again, even when her packed schedule is packed with goodness... she still needs time of nothingness to unpack.

Her Mom tends to be the same way.  Historically, when I would cram too much in to my schedule, my body would shut down with an asthma attack.  While this still happens, it happens far less now that I have the winning combination of good medicine and a husband who "makes" me slow down every now and then.

But even when I maintain life at a good pace, my heart and mind still race.  My emotions get as jumbled as E's do... I just usually have more coping skills to fake it better.  The introverted part of me (yes, there is one) desperately requires time alone- to think, to clean, to sit, to read, to be still... and when that part is neglected, I crumble... just like my wee one.

Dan and I are constantly making adjustments to our schedule to make sure that both of us have the "down time" needed to keep peace in our home.  This morning, my quest for peace came in a laundry washing- Quiet Time having- coffee drinking start to the day.  (Side note?  I also have discovered recently that my "state of calm" is in direct correlation to how much junk is on my kitchen counter.)  Today, while I attempt to keep peace and order in my home, I'll also be nailing down some details to close out Daddy's estate.  It seems bizarre that not even 130 days ago, my life looked so completely different.  Friday I was on the phone with a friend and as I said to her "I just miss my Daddy...", the tears came and couldn't stop.  Finding peace now looks so different than it did then... but it is peace nonetheless.

The irony of my word this year is that it is "intentional".  So funny that I felt led back in January to speak a word into my life which would cause me to pause and be aware of every most decisions I make.  So funny that before I even knew how this would feel, I was preparing my heart to intentionally choose it's response.

My heart fluctuates between being a jumbled mess and at peace... and the peace only comes from Jesus.  I have become more and more dependent on Him in this season.  That doesn't mean that in the midst of this I've made all wise intentional choices... but they have (for the most part) been intentional.  And like Miss E, I've sent myself to bed early a couple of nights because I knew that was what was best- for all of us.

But here's to a new day.  And a new week.  And a (almost) new month.  Here's to making intentional choices about how we spend our time, our money, our energy, and our emotions.  Here's to Doing Good for those around us.  Here's to starting our day on a positive note- looking toward the One who created it.

And here's to making it last until bedtime... which will hopefully be later than 6:00pm.

Some PR for my friend Muffy...

Hey y'all... just a quick commercial-post (and a chance to share some sweet pics..)

Those of you who have been around for a while might remember me posting when I met this new friend over a year ago.  Muffy (and her husband, Smitty) have woven themselves in and out of our stories in the last year+ in beautiful ways.  She was with me during my (sniff, sniff) last attempt at nose piercing, she has shown me a lovely picture of what it's like to foster a child with grace, and she has taken some great photos of my family.

Last weekend, she came to Daddy's celebration and took some great pics there- all that I'll be sharing post haste.  When she gave me the CDs that had literally hundreds of pictures of the day, she included some ones of my girl that had been snapped during a recent playdate.

 the Elizabeths... and Miss Flossie

 poor Flossie pup... those girls took full advantage of her petite size to make her play baby...

E wanted a turn in the stroller, too!

Like her style?  Well GREAT!  Miss Muffy is raising money to go with one of her besties to Africa very soon as her friend brings home their soon-to-be-adopted daughter.  (Sound familiar?)  Y'all know I have a heart for just such a trip... so I thought I'd let you know that you can help her out... by having her take your family's photos!  She's offering a deal on a family photo shoot... as well as some pretty cute necklaces and an upcoming yardsale.  You can find her over here at her blog, or message me for her contact info.

And here's one teaser from the Celebration...

It is well with my soul.

do good.

One morning when I was in third(ish) grade, my Daddy drove us to school.  Against the backdrop of Scotty Rhodarmer on WWNC, Daddy slowed his car down to offer help to a man walking along the road with his young son.  Now, where I went to elementary school, people did not just walk along the road.  Daddy knew there had to be some reason this man- and his son- were walking... as he noted to me that there had to be another reason they didn't have on coats.

Daddy offered to take the man and his son to school.  The boy, my brother, and I were dropped off, and quite honestly, I don't remember to this day who he was.  I'm not sure if he was a kid I ever saw again, or he was one of the "big" kids who I didn't know.  Or, maybe it was one of you.

After dropping us off, Daddy found out that the man's car was broken down (hence the walking along a non-walking-friendly road) and he couldn't afford to have it fixed until payday.  He told Daddy that times were tight and he was trying to make ends meet.  This was not a cry for help- he was merely telling his story.

But Daddy wasn't just a listener... he was a do-er.

As they stopped for coffee, he called his office and told them he wouldn't be in that day.  They first went to a garage where the man arranged for his car to be towed and repaired.  Then Daddy took him shopping.  The man (humbly) accepted Daddy's offer to provide a coat for his son, but Daddy didn't stop there.  He outfitted both the man and his son (against the man's arguments), then treated the stranger to lunch.  After lunch, he returned the man to the garage to pick up his repaired car.

And then he went on his way.  To the best of my knowledge, he never spoke to this man again.  (But we all know that man heard more than enough Stan Stories during those hours together to last him a lifetime!)

He did not do this act of service as a way to get "credit".  He did not do it for any repayment.  He did not do it for praise... in fact, he's probably angry at me that I told you all that story just now.  He did it because he did good.

He loved people, and he loved them well.

He taught me how to love people... and reminded me of my "mission" each time we spoke.  No matter whether in person or on the phone, we always left our time together with an "I love you.".. then he always followed that up with "Do Good."

As my heart has ached these last 3 months with the loss of my Daddy- these words keep coming back to me.  I'll interrupt myself to give you all an update on how I'm doing in that regard... it's hard, y'all.  There is not a day that goes by that I don't end up in tears.  As I watched my parents grieve when my grandparents died, I (morbidly?) wondered what that would "feel" like when it was my turn.  And I'll tell you... I had it all wrong.  The sadness is constant.  The pain is always just below the surface.  My heart is both raw and numb with hurt.  Yes, life is going on... but it is always tempered with this nagging of something being "different."

In that same vein, the only time that I feel "normal" is when I am doing good.  When I get outside of myself to care for the needs of others... that's when I feel okay.  That's when I feel like I'm going to make it.  And that's when I know that I am made that way because that's how my Daddy raised me.

One of my fears is that with his death, many people will suffer from not having his "good" done in this world.  In fact, the night before he died, he rode his lawnmower up to his neighbor's house (without asking) to mow her yard.  No thanks were needed- he just raised his hand to wave at her as he finished up and headed back down the hill.  Who will do that now?  Who will decided to take the meals to the people up the street when their family won't be there for Thanksgiving?  Who will buy the coat, the meal, the car repair for the man who desperately needs it?

And then it hit me... I will.  You will.  We will... together.

Join me as I honor my Daddy's life and venture into a cooperative movement to "do good."  This is not a "pay it forward" concept in the sense that once you "do good", you're done.  This is a way for you to reach out to those around you and share love as you take care of those in your life.

Over the next few weeks, I'll filter through this website, through Facebook, and through a new site several ways that you can focus your good works.  I'll offer some products you could use to create gifts that provide moments of hope... cards, mugs, bags, Rwandan pens, etc.  Through your own stories, we'll restore some peace in this world as you share with us all how your life changes as you "do good".

Here's the beauty: any money raised through the items sold will go to fund more "good" in this world.  Together, we'll put some much needed items in the pediatric oncology unit at Baptist Hospital.  We'll send support to some widows in Kigali.  We'll use our resources- collectively- to make some big things happen.  And individually, your "good" efforts will bless those in your own spheres.  Everyone wins.

I can't wait to share with you the stories of hope.  I hope you'll join us.  I'll post products as soon as the website is finished- look for it the first week in July.  But this weekend as several of us join hearts in Asheville to honor Daddy's life... I hope we'll remember the good that he poured into us all.  And I hope that we won't stop there- I hope that we'll, in turn, do good.

He'd like that.

Daddy meeting E for the first time

The Daddy I grew up with

The Daddy I knew best

Dadaw, E, Alex, and Nanny

Hope and Change.

Today was a big day for my family.  Miss E and I met the Vice President of the United States.

I'm always a bit starstruck when I stalk meet famous people, but today's was super memorable.  E and I headed downtown after Art Camp for a treat and ended up spending 20ish minutes with Mr. Biden.  We were joined by some dear friends who (honestly) just happened to be walking/driving by when we arrived... a serendipitous moment if I've ever had one.

As we took picture after picture with the VP, (and, yes, E made fish faces in most of them,) I got caught up in the importance of that moment- that one small chunk of time.

I am certain that today was from the Lord.

Not just because I met someone who is part of an administration who I support... but because part of my heart that has laid stagnant for weeks months now was able to reignite.  The seconds before Mr. Biden came in were thrilling- watching the staff and Secret Service do their stuff.  Watching the manager at Wolfie's learn that her store was about to hit the big time.  Watching my friend shake hands with the Vice President after telling him he (my friend) had recently become a US Citizen...

It was good, y'all.

And it gives me hope.  Hope that part of my heart is not stagnant permanently.  Hope that moments of joy and excitement will seep into my days.  Hope that I will be able to tell stories with exuberance of the good things in my life.  And knowing in it all there will be change.  Change that I can't share these moments with some of the people most dear to me.  Change that some moments in my life won't get celebrated by the people who taught me to tell the stories.

There is hope and there is change.

And in them both there are blessings.