Free

It's been a pretty reflective kind of day. I think Good Friday naturally causes that to occur in me, but I felt extra aware of what was going on today.

This morning was totally peaceful, quiet, still. Denzel spent the night at Grandma and Grandpa's, Patrick went to work around 3am, and he took the dog with him. I was all alone with my thoughts. I don't know if it's so rare that I'm alone with my thoughts, but for some reason they were loud this morning. Yup, my thoughts were loud.

I got ready for work and the house was silent. I was maybe even feeling a bit lonely because Denzel wasn't there-maybe I wasn't used to the quiet-who knows. All I could think about was this dreaded meeting I had to go to. Not dreaded as in it's going to be so boring. Dreaded as in awkward, unpredictable, and ALL about me. It was the kind of meeting where someone who is unpleased with you is about to unleash all their frustrations and paint you in the worst possible light. That's the kind of dreaded I'm talking about. I texted a few friends who knew about the meeting and they encouraged me a lot. I tried further to keep my mind off of it (so as to not aggravate my psychosomatic symptom--a stomachache that was literally making me sick). Sorry, I'm a social worker, I diagnose, that's what I do.

I was ready much earlier than normal-duh, I had no kid around! So I went outside to water my plants. Gardening has always been a peaceful and calming thing for me. I walked around to each of the plants and gave them the life that they've been starved of the past week. Sorry little plantys, I've been busy this week. I got to the apple tree-planted before we moved in, but obviously still very young-and in a world of hurt.

The owner before us was training the limbs of this tree to grow out on a wire like wine grapes. I know, it sounds weird. She had the branches tied down tight to make sure the branches grew horizontally, not like the tree is supposed to. I've been wanting to cut the branches free for some time, and I had a couple of minutes. I grabbed some scissors and started to cut it free. Tie after tie I cut loose, and I swear I heard the tree gasping for air, like I was giving it freedom. Freedom from these ties that someone else imposed on this poor tree. I was sort of expecting the branches to resume their natural shape immediately. Not really sure why I thought that would happen-it had been several months, maybe even a year or more that this tree was being trained like this, and honestly, I was a little disappointed when it didn't work out that way. Isn't that just like life though? We've been trained for so long to do something that wasn't natural, or not the way it was intended, and when we're cut loose it still takes a while to resume our natural shape. I know, I know, it's a crazy epiphany to get from a tree in the backyard, but I'm not exaggerating--this tree spoke to me. I started to tell Patrick about it tonight and he started to chuckle a little. I told him I was so serious about how much I've been thinking about it. I think he felt bad for laughing :) But...I would laugh too, it's sort of silly.

I went to the meeting, and honestly, it was a joke. Insults were passively thrown at me, false accusations were made about what I'd said or done, and I really didn't get much of a chance to speak up about it because she (the accuser) talked for 1 hour and 50 minutes of the 2 hour scheduled meeting. I literally just sat there and took it. And in the end nothing was resolved. Duh.

I continued my rushed and semi-stressful day, and now I find myself in a similar position to this morning. Kiri is asleep on her dog bed, Denzel has been asleep for a while, and even Patrick is passed out. I'm here alone again, with my loud thoughts.

Something brings me back to the tree. I don't know why. But I keep thinking that the apple tree and I have a lot in common. For so long I've operated a certain way-stressed, busy, frantic, exhausted...and repeat each day. But a couple of weekends ago, God cut me free. He came by with the scissors and cut off my ties. I was free! But my branches haven't gone back totally to what they should be. I think part of it is figuring out how I operate with this new heart-this heart transplant that I've received from God who so faithfully pursued my heart-how do I fit that into the life that continues to be stressful, busy, frantic, and exhausting? It all started with attitude, which, let's be honest, is a BIG deal for me :) My attitude was 100% transformed. So now it's learning to live with a different shape-the shape I was intended to be. I'm going to stop reaching out for what feels comfortable, and reach for the Lord who spoke my very existence into being. The very Creator that said Andrea will be a treasured woman, an advocate for children, my precious daughter...and not a tree. But I'm grateful for the tree, because today it made me think.

On this Good Friday, I challenge you to think about what is tying you down and let God free you from this distorted idea of what you think you should be. Freedom is precious, and breathtaking, but it's not always easy. How remarkable though, that the path was made for us on this day, so many years ago. Today was the day Jesus decided that your freedom was more important than his life. So he's waiting to cut the ties and let your branches free.

**Picture of this apple tree is not the one in my backyard, but this one is being trained in a similar way.**

Storm

"I'm actually okay." Are the words that I continue to hear from my husband. And he's sincere. But I didn't really understand how he could be okay. His grandpa Bill passed away last Friday in his fight with cancer, and his family is actually doing okay. There's been a lot of grieving, a lot of crying, but there's been a lot of fond memories, storytelling and laughter too. And while I'm so appreciative that they remembered him in his truest form-a man that constantly told hilarious stories, knew the history of *everything* that went on in Southern California, and the only person I've ever known to have a smile on his face every single time I saw him-it doesn't really make sense to me. That's just not my experience with death. I've only ever known intense sorrow, mourning, and lots of unanswered questions. That's been my last experience with death, until Friday. But with Bill, I've had a whole new reaction altogether.

I've questioned God a lot in the past month or so. Not the existence of God, but how and why he does things, or why he even allows certain things to happen. I've justified some of my questions with biblical truth, but there came a point where I felt eye to eye with the creator of the universe and said, "You are not good. This is not good." Someone with incredible wisdom and incredible experience at church said it like this, "There are moments that you feel like saying F you God." Now. Peel yourself off your chair. Gather your chin off the floor. Yes, I said F you. But listen, I believe God knows my heart BEFORE I even put these thoughts together. So what I'm being right now is honest. What I'm being right now is truthful, vulnerable, raw and real.

What could I possibly question God on that would cause such a reaction? Well, death is an obvious answer in light of recent events. Or how about children who suffer? I have seen and heard stories of things that happen to children that would make you vomit. Seriously. And you tell me that I'm out of line in questioning God on that? I heard about someone else's story with their first born. The baby was overdue and placenta wasn't functioning fully. They did an emergency c-section, but the baby couldn't take her first breath because she developed a lung infection in utero. The baby basically suffocated and died immediately. You know what their reaction was? They grieved for a time and said, "God is good." Are you serious right now? How does that prove God's goodness? Did I miss something?!

I've felt bombarded with these huge issues, and have thought What if what I believe isn't really true? What if Heaven is just a place we here on Earth talk about so the loss can be bearable, and help us manage the sorrow? What if I'm wrong?

Well, God heard me loud and clear, and met me intimately, personally and perfectly in Bill's memorial service.

Patrick, his siblings, myself and a couple other people they knew sang Biebel's Ave Maria at the beginning of the service. It wasn't really a problem for me to sing through the whole piece-even with all three endings to that first section. Everyone had kept their emotions under wraps for the whole 5 minutes. Huge relief once it was over. Then the pastor came up and spoke. What I appreciate most is that there was so much hope in what he had to say, but it didn't at all dismiss the hurt, the pain that people were going through. So often I feel that funerals are all about looking toward Heaven, talking about hope-and while I think that's a necessary part, I don't think it's healthy to ignore or quickly breeze over the hurt. This guy didn't do that at all. He talked about Jesus and how he wept for Lazarus. Oh yeah, he did weep. He talked about how God doesn't just walk through life with you as a support (he does), but he hurts with you too, he grieves with you. My heart started softening in this pivotal moment that I remembered that Jesus was fully human, and...he gets it.

Then the line that I feel was spoken directly to me yesterday, "If God was good before, then in His very nature, God is good *even after* Bill's death." It was spoken so tenderly, so beautifully, and yet it pierced my heart so deeply, I thought I might be actually bleeding from the inside. Ok Lord, I hear you. You took my questioning, defiance, whatever you want to call it, and met me so intimately, so personally, that I can't help but feel loved by you. See, some other God could have struck me down dead just for questioning his plan, his reasoning. I DON'T EVEN DESERVE TO HAVE THE ANSWERS, and yet God spoke a small piece of truth that would resound with (maybe) only me. I don't feel shame, I don't feel guilty, or bad, I feel intimately loved by the hand that made me intricately in the womb. And maybe you read that statement and are thinking, "Ummm, okay?" Maybe it doesn't mean anything to you. But to me it was the open arms of God, embracing me where I am, all the while settling my heart of unrest. In that alone I can say, God. Is. Good.

The storm isn't over. In fact, I have a feeling it's only just beginning. But if this is what it takes to go deeper with God, so be it. I think maybe that's the first time I've ever said that in my life. I can't guarantee that I'll always have this attitude, but at least for now, I've been satisfied enough to see what else is in store.

And with that, I'll leave you with a song:

I'll praise you in this storm, and I will lift my hands.
You are who you are, no matter where I am.
Every tear I cry, you hold in your hands.
You never left my side, and though my heart is torn.
I'll praise you in the storm.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To Bill Anderson, the man that helped build the family that I now have the pleasure of being a part of. The man that worked hard, loved harder and joked the hardest. The man that loved me like one of his own, and loved my son, his great grandson, even more. We love you great grandpa, and don't worry, we'll keep telling your stories for years to come.

Denzel,

I can't begin to describe how much I love you. How much I would give for you to be happy, healthy, satisfied, successful. And as challenging as some moments are (i.e. the last 2 hours), I would do them all again to spend these precious moments with you. The miracle that you are, and the life and love that you represent are remarkable when I take a moment to think about it. In all the crying, all the boogers, your anger and frustration with me trying desperately to figure out what this "da" means over the last 12 "da's," the temper tantrums (that honestly only last seconds)...in all of that, I see you peacefully drifting off to sleep and praise God that he gave me you. You are worth it all, my sweet boy, and you will continue to be worth everything and anything we go through together. And I don't expect you to understand right away, because I didn't, but that same feeling is a mere glimpse of how God feels about you as his child. He loves you more than anything-you personally. So much that he would die for you to live, and live life abundantly. He cares about the decisions you make, the journey you choose and the people you love. So, thank you for being the physical form of God's love for me, and allowing me to experience it even deeper than I imagined. You don't know how much I cherish you. You will always be loved my bubbas, by me, your dad and the Creator that knit you in my womb. You are wonderfully and beautifully made.

Love,
Mom

Today I Couldn't

I can't describe this day better than the title listed right there-Today I Couldn't.


I just couldn't.

I couldn't handle my job.
I couldn't handle another excuse from a family that doesn't follow through.
I couldn't handle a coworker.
I couldn't hold back the tears at work.
I couldn't handle being away from Patrick for...now 4 full days, and counting.
I couldn't deal with the emotions of a family member going through chemo.
I couldn't deal with feeling alone.
I couldn't deal with being a single parent.
I couldn't deal with feeling stuck in traffic, because I was.
I couldn't deal with pulling my pants up again because they're now too big.
I couldn't eat lunch because I was so busy that 4:30 rolled around and I had to pick up my son.
I couldn't remember to bring everything home from daycare.
I couldn't remember to tell someone at church I wasn't going to make it to rehearsal tonight.
I couldn't console my son.
I couldn't get my email on my phone to work.
I couldn't remember to call a friend back.
I couldn't figure out how I was possibly going to fit in 20 hours of work into Friday.
I just couldn't.

But I did give my son a bath and smiled at his big beautiful brown eyes.
I did hug and kiss him more than ever.
I did nurse him and watch him fall asleep peacefully in my arms.
I did cry.

I thought about all the things that just seemed like too much today. It was all too much. But staring at him so peacefully sleeping, I thought about how blessed I am to have this little human love me in a way that shows me just a little of what it feels like to be wrapped up in the love of God. It's perfect. It's peace. It's exactly what I needed for a day like today. I wiped my tears, and placed him in his crib. Shut the door to his room and tried to click the snap on my bra, but it wasn't working. There was something in the way....a block. A big, wooden block. A 2-inch block was in my bra and I didn't even notice. It was the purple one that Denzel was carrying around all night. I had to smile. Especially after a day like today.

I'm not magically feeling okay again. But I am going to give it another shot tomorrow. And sometimes, that's all you can do. Thank you Lord, for caring about my deepest heart's desire, and for continuing to teach me in moments like these.

Making the Judgment Call

We've become a pretty casual society. Formal dress is not really common place (have you ever tried finding a formal dress?!), people are often late to...well, anything (guilty as charged), and we take advice from bloggers. I realize the irony in that sentence :) After reading a blog that someone posted on Facebook today, I question exactly what I read now and how it influences my parenting specifically.

This blog that I read was about not yelling at your kids. No doubt something many parents have struggled with, and it really seemed like great advice. There was even some scripture referenced toward the bottom. But one point didn't sit right with me. It read, "Don't be a repeater. Say something once and then punish the child if they don't immediately respond." It seems harmless, except that I've read research about how children at this age can hear the exact same sentence spoken 3 times and take away a different kind of comprehension each time. The study was quoted in The Tipping Point and was actually done for Sesame Street. (You didn't know Sesame Street used research to guide their show did you?!). The study found that when something is repeated 3 times (3 being the magic number), a young child more fully comprehends by the 3rd time, and takes away different aspects of the comprehension each time. Adults however, don't have this same comprehension. (Duh, that's why we all hate watching Blues Clues repeat...wait...repeat...wait...and repeat again. Or how about Telletubbies!?! No more again, again!)

I'm a little bit hippy when it comes to parenting. I choose medicine last and natural remedies first; I'm still breastfeeding at 13 months; I generally like to give my 1 year a short age-appropriate explanation of why I asked him to do XYZ because I think it's important he understand the why; I don't like to give him much sugar or salt, I let him determine the sleep schedule his body needs, and (I know you were wondering perspective on this hot topic) he's on an alternative shot schedule. I think there is definitely more extreme than me, but I'm not necessarily a "traditional" parenting style type. But the thing is, Patrick and I have both done a lot of research into some of these key issues. Then we weigh in anecdotal evidence from our own child (because why would I compare him with another kid who is so much different?). The very last little thing we consider is what other people have to say. You know, the Facebookers, the friends at church with kids the same age, the grandparents, and on occasion, a blogger who has some interesting insight. But not solely based on one of those things, and certainly not a blogger alone.

I think we owe it to our kids, and ourselves frankly, to start making better judgment calls based on more reliable sources. And sometimes that source is our mommy or daddy gut. If you have a 43 hour unmedicated labor because you want the best for your baby, don't let others tell you you're crazy. If you are okay with waking up twice a night with your 2 year old because they take 2 naps a day religiously, don't let another person tell you you have to let them cry it out. If you give your child a bath in the morning instead of before bed, be empowered by knowing he/she is invigorated by baths and doesn't get sleepy, despite what others say. If you choose the shot schedule, an alternative schedule, or no schedule-go with your educated reason. But don't just take someone's word for it because they know how to type and hit "publish." And please don't take my word for it-do a little homework and figure out what's best for you and your family. In the end, those are the people directly affected by your decisions anyway, and everyone else has the very same choice.

What about ME?!

Sometimes I'm really selfish. The house is a mess, laundry needs to be done, the baby is covered in food (which I sometimes wonder if any of the food makes it to his mouth and subsequently to his stomach), and I just get home from work. I'm tired, I've been working all day, AND pumping AND I come home to chaos. Alright, maybe that's a slight exaggeration. I come home to disorder. Then I see my husband falling asleep, because he's had a long day at work too, but I don't think about that. I'm already in illogical mode. You know, when you see the facts before you, but you *choose* what you want to feel. It looks like this...

"What about me?!"
"Why do I have to do it all?"
"When do I get a break?"

Then I start resenting. I resent all my responsibilities, all the people, everything. I told you, it's not logical. It's actually pretty selfish. And I can sit here blogging and tell you that I feel selfish right now, but I'm not in any hurry to change my attitude. Eventually though, the smoke starts to clear and I'm reminded of how grateful I really am of all the responsibilities, the people, the everything. You see, without responsibilities I would have no job that I love, no bills to pay because I would have no stuff. I wouldn't have my son, whom I love more than my own life, nor would I have my husband who is sometimes the most godly form of love I've experienced here on earth. I wouldn't have a roof over my head, because I wouldn't have an incredible family who has *welcomed* us to stay with them until we buy a place of our own. I wouldn't have two dogs that get excited to see me EVERY time I come home. None of it. I wouldn't have one of those things.

So then I go back to my illogical thinking.

What about me? Well, yesterday I was able to spend almost the entire day with my son. Some beautiful quality time, just he and I. Then the 3 of us went for a family walk with the woofies and it was perfect. I guess it doesn't need to be about me, it can be about we.

Why do I have to do it all? I cannot tell you the last time I picked up dog poop. I know this statement seems random, but seriously, since we've moved here I've picked up dog doo maybe twice. TWICE in 4 months! If I were doing it all, I would definitely be picking up more Cleveland Steamers. I walk by the laundry room to find some of my clothes have been nicely folded in the basket. Definitely wasn't me who did that. Several times I've come home to dinner already made, and child already fed. (I know he's already fed because the evidence is all over his face :D). So...I guess I don't do it all.

When do I get a break? ...well, I guess I'm writing this at a time when I'm not nursing/pumping, not changing a diaper or feeding a little mouth, not doing laundry, giving a bath, listening to a spouse, mediating drama or circumstances, not house hunting, I'm not eating, sleeping or working out...so I guess this is a break.

I'm guessing you get the picture.

When I think about it like that, it's all pretty silly. I mean, I can almost laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. But I did allow myself to think those things in the beginning. And how easy is it to say, "I deserve this or that." Deep down I know what I deserve. I deserve none of what I have. The Bible says the wages of sin is death. Well, you could give me a crown and scepter and call me queen of sin, because I'm human, I have limitations, downfalls, and sometimes I'm just plain selfish. I deserve death. But the beautiful truth is, I've been given grace. I've been forgiven. Refreshed, restored and given another chance.

I would never say the selfish feelings won't come again, chances are that they will. But at least for now, I'm going to choose to extend the very same grace I've been given, and let it all go. I'm going to let this writing be my exercise of acknowledging what's there and releasing it.

I invite you to do the same-right now. If there's something you're harboring, do your mind and your body a favor-just let it go. It's not easy and no one is saying you weren't right or you're not deserving. Once you let the selfishness go, it's freeing. Really it is. So if you don't do it for the other person, do it for you. After all, you deserve it right?

Passion Unscripted

I think I'm a pretty passionate person. Maybe not overtly so, at least not right away when you meet me for the first time. But if you know me, I mean really know me, you know that God has really laid some specific things on my heart-one being this pursuit of the work God has called me to do. I call it my life's purpose.

My purpose, I think from God's perspective, has never changed. I believe that he has created me passionate about children from the beginning for a reason. My perception of it, however, has evolved greatly since college. From my perspective, living out God's will for my life, my hands, my feet, my knowledge-it's all a beautiful masterpiece, a creation if you will, of timing, events, relationships and other things I'm sure I know nothing about. And over it all is God. In all His glory. Do not misunderstand-I am no where near God. I am not close to anything he could sneeze into existence. Rather, it is his intricate plan that reflects his goodness and leaves me in awe.

Ok, enough poems, let's talk the tangible. I work in foster care. I read case after case of despicable  horrific and unspeakable things that children-babies in utero through 18-have been exposed to. I get calls of social workers trying to place 6, yes, 6 siblings all in homes at the end of the day. I see kids with terrible behavior and know that the reason they're throwing things, biting, kicking, screaming, crying, pulling out their own hair even, is because they have been exposed to things you and I never will. Or worse, they've been a part of it. They don't always just witness the domestic violence, sometimes they are the victim. I see the darkest part of the world-in my mind-when I see the child that has been changed negatively because of their circumstance. People often think adopting is all about picking out the "perfect kid" to grow their family. While I don't want to be pessimistic...that is just not reality. Fostering is no walk in the park. These kids come with issues, and some more than others. But I don't think it takes a "strong" or "perfect" family to foster. I think it takes a shift in perspective.

What if you saw it as your problem? What if together we acknowledged that our community-no matter where you live-needs to do something to protect children? How could you change the life of a child? I know this sounds like a commercial you've seen before with the terrible pictures, the flies, the tears, the unsanitary conditions...but really. What are you doing to protect children? You don't have to work for an FFA like me. You don't even have to post anything on Facebook if you don't want to. What if it was as simple as being aware of the children around you? What if you knew your child was friends with a foster child and you invited them over for dinner and got to know them? What if you looked out for those kids? What if you prayed for them? These are all very simple tasks that really don't take much effort on your part, but can make a huge difference in the life of one child.

Or...just throwing it out there...you could open your home to a child. "WOAH Andrea! Those kids have issues, behaviors, they cry and get angry! In my home?!" Why not? God has invited you into his house, and you have issues, behaviors (some WAY worse than a child's!!), you cry, you get angry...what's the difference? The difference is action to the call. Even Jesus himself came for the lowly, the poor, the prostitutes, the exiled, the sick-and I'm not talking about the flu sick, the sick as in demon possessed, blind beggars, people with disgusting skin diseases that were highly contagious! And he loved them. You know who else he loved? Children.

It's true, I'm passionate about specific things. But what would passion be if it weren't passed on? Not nearly as powerful I think. It's time to start taking a Godly perspective in what we do, and let's start with taking care of God's children.

What you have done for the least of these, you have done for me. ~Jesus