God wiff us

“His name shall be called ‘Immanuel’, which means?”

I paused waiting for someone to answer.

“God wiff us,” came from a small raspy voice in our little circle. And then several more voices said it quickly in that "I knew that too" way.

“Right. Immanuel, which means God with us,” as I turned the page.

The livingroom was dark except for the light of the tree. I kept the kids up past bedtime to wait for Daddy and Uncle John to get home from the Christmas Eve service. We all gathered together on the floor to read our beloved and well-worn Advent book. I wish I could tell you that they all sat perfectly, soaking in every word.

My kids are really good at that special art of yelling whispers, that tone that’s almost like a growl: “She’s pushing me” “I can’t see” “Its my turn!” “I wanna read it myself!” “Ew Mom, Micah’s drooling!” “I CAN’T SEE!”

I read, “For God so loved the World that He gave his only begotten son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but live forever.” I closed the book, with a small bit of relief that it was the last page. “Ok lets pray.”

The little ones thanked the Lord for Christmas, for “this food” (we weren’t eating), the Christmas tree and a few other things. And then the older ones prayed for their sick brother, a teacher with cancer, and that in the morning they would remember that Christmas isn’t just about presents but about Jesus. Ok, they’re getting it.

Christmas morning we had a big breakfast before diving into presents. We’d all “had Christmas” twice already with Grandparents. So the kids were surprisingly patient to have breakfast and watch a little of White Christmas and  play while we cleaned up.

~~~

This morning I woke up to a news feed full of beautiful Christmas pictures. Clean, smiling children in matching Christmas pajamas in front of a perfect tree. I searched the pictures on my phone to contribute a Merry Christmas from the Spencers.

Um, nevermind.

My kids weren’t really in Christmas PJs at all, much less matching. I should have given baths the night before but ran out of time. A few of the stockings had fallen from the mantle because they were too heavy. The tree had been “redecorated” several times in spite of my empty threats. Our presents are wrapped in Disney Princess paper and not the Pintrest-trendy craft paper and twine. And it’s nearly impossible to get Abby and Kate to sit still for pictures and look at the camera. (It’s just too much to ask, apparently.) Micah's on day 3 of a fever and my kids all had some awesome bedhead going on. Do people fix all their kids' hair before taking Christmas pictures???

We're kind of a mess.

But. 

We had a wonderful Christmas. We played board games and made cookies and watched movies. The kids ran through the house playing (loudly) with their new toys. We had a big, delicious (if I do say so) dinner and went to bed full and happy. I love my big crazy family and I can’t imagine it any other way.

Today is the day after Christmas. And I’m thankful that today, Immanuel still means God with us and that God is still with us.

The creator of the world, came as a child. I know all about what it looks like to birth a child and watch them grow. God came as that? He came in the most humble way possible. He became one of us. To save us. He knew we needed saving. 

And the only way to do that was to be with us. 

Immanuel. 

Savior... which is Christ the Lord. “God wiff us.”

Rather you're having a picture perfect year, you're a hot mess (like us), you're going through something difficult or celebrating your best year ever: He's with us. And that's all that's needed, all that matters.

Merry Christmas 2014, from our family to yours.

When they don't come home (Encouragement for failed adoptions)

I wrote this post some time ago. I never published it and I'm not sure why. Maybe it was too painful then.

But in light of a friend walking this same rough road right now... and a recent precious gift... I think its time to share.

I've never experienced a miscarriage. So I don't know that pain and I can't speak to it. I've never had a child go to heaven. So I don't know that pain either. But I did have a failed adoption. Its a very unique, horribly painful experience. And I know that in those first days after it happened I cried harder than I probably ever have in my life. I knew that God promised him to me. And while, to the world, and to my friends and family, it made sense that I brought Mabry home instead (because I heard the Lord tell me "2"), she was never the "instead of". She, like all of my children, was her own sweet, precious, amazing gift and still is.

The Lord said two. And two came home. So was Oleg never "meant" to be ours? Did God change His mind? I never made sense of why it happened. Because really, it doesn't matter now. I don't have to know.

To this day I deal with the pain that my baby boy is out there somewhere. Yet, I have to trust that God is good, that He's sovereign and He has a plan to prosper me and to prosper Oleg. 

Oleg age 3 1/2, just months before we were to come for him

In my heart, he will always be my baby. He was taken by a Ukrainian Orthodox Priest to be raised by monks. Never to know the love of a mommy. When people ask me how many children we have, of course the answer is six. But in my heart, there are 7.

Oleg turns 10 in February. And every year I pray for him. Because I also believe that as a mom, the most powerful thing I can do for my children is to pray for them. And even if I can't hold Oleg, or cook for him, or take him to school, or wipe his tears, or laugh with him... I can pray. The best that I could do is all that I can do. And nothing can take that from me.

Failed adoptions are messy, ugly, painful, and publicly miserable.

Maybe you know this pain. Maybe you've known it more than once. I want to encourage you, don't let it make you turn your face from the Lord. May it make you bury your face in His chest. As His child, nothing comes to you that He hasn't allowed. There is purpose in it. You might not know the purpose this side of heaven or if you think you do, you may not like it.

The child that you aren't holding needs you to run to the Lord. Don't let the enemy steal the power of your prayers as well. 

Run to Him. Run to the One who sees your heart and knows your pain and hears your cries. The only peace, comfort, and power you'll find is there. 

~~~

For my birthday last month, my mother-in-law wanted to buy me a piece of jewelry of my choosing. (I'm a little bit Etsy obsessed, and she knows it. :))

And I'd had my eye on a mothers necklace. Simple, no initials or birthstones. Just arrows.

Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord... Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, so are the children of one's youth. Happy is the man who has his quiver full of them. Psalm 127:3-5

Six arrows. And one wing, tucked in the middle. For Oleg.

And as a finishing touch, my husband's birthstone hangs from the clasp sealing the necklace. Which is just perfect and made me cry a little bit. ;)

His ways are higher than my ways and His thoughts higher than my thoughts. And had I been able to "chose" my family... genders and birthorders and levels of development and adoptive countries... it might have looked a lot different. But I'm so thankful that I couldn't. And that I didn't. And that I still don't. 

"The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the Name of the Lord." In all this Job did not sin nor charge God with wrong. Job 1:21-22

I'm not promised tomorrow. I'm not promised that I'll have my home or my husband or my children tomorrow. But in this moment, I'm thankful for what I have. It hurts that Oleg never came home. 6 years later, it still hurts. But through my pain, I want to be like Job. Not sinning or charging God with wrong. But to say with all my heart, blessed be the name of the Lord.

Transforming

This one.

My firstborn. She gives me a run for my money.

She's smart but she thinks she knows more than I do.
She's kind but easily annoyed.
She's joyful but tears can come in the blink of an eye.
She loves the Lord but she has some deep questions that she wrestles through.
She's the oldest but she's not the mom.
She's not a little girl but she's also not a teenager. 

She's my tween. I didn't realize how literal that term would be.

I'm usually too hard on her. I'll readily admit it. It comes from a good place in my heart-- I want my children to have a standard of obedience and respect. But the Father is so good to gently remind me that she's His before she's mine. She needs me to be a Godly mother that extends grace as lavishly as its extended to me. There are consequences. And there is grace. I'm still learning. We both are.

She needs me to listen to the many many many many many many things that she has to say. She needs me to laugh at her jokes and tell her that she's beautiful. She needs me to be on her team and in her corner at all times. 

I'm still figuring out how to navigate the drama, the strong will, the forgetfulness, the insecurities and the eagerness to please. When I know that she gets all of that from me.

"Mom the girls double dog dared me to straighten my hair for the last day of school."
Oh, well then, that's serious. It must be done.
"I mean, we haven't straightened my hair since third grade!"
FOREVER ago.
And... 'we'??

Ashley has gorgeous curly hair. Its as wild and bouncy as she is. But like almost all young girls with curly hair, she hates it. She'd rather it be sleek and straight. But Ashley's hair doesn't like to be straight. It curls from the very root. When I flat iron it, long strands will twist and wave in defiance right after I straighten them. Much like the little girl who carries them.

So this morning, while the house was still dark and quiet, we stood together and I slowly and methodically straightened every strand. She sat on a stool and waited patiently. She winced when the heat came to close to her ears or face. She couldn't wait to look in the mirror when it was done and see the transformation. 



And the Lord reminded me once again, that He is the one shaping us both. Mother and daughter alike. He'll use us if we put ourselves in His hands. It takes surrender. It takes patience. There will be heat, but there will be transformation. 

Today, her new do won't last long. But I'm prayerful that the work that the Lord is doing in her life runs deep.

I'm really not the one straightening her out at all. He is. He's straightening where its needed and making a beautiful thing of the curls. He's masterfully creating and molding that sweet girl into exactly who He wants her to be. 

He's transforming me too.

And today I'm thankful for the promise that He will continue His work until the day of Christ Jesus.

But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord. 2 Cor. 3:18

And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns. Philippians 1:6

Fiery Pineapple

I love color. 

I love the way color can draw your attention and evoke emotions. Color is all around us, but the beauty is "in the eye of the beholder" as they say. 

In high school one of my favorite songs was "Deep enough to dream" by Chris Rice. The thought of seeing new colors in heaven was absolutely captivating to me. Even now it makes my breath catch in my chest.

Its random but love the names of colors too and how they usually relate back to nature. After all, they were His to start with. Every color has a name that helps capture it and I love figuring them out. A few years ago at a women's retreat, each woman got a journal that was a sweet shade of orange but I couldn't quite name it. It was sort of a dreamsicle color but much softer. My best friend said "It's cantaloupe." I joked, "This is why I love you!!!!!!" It's a silly thing, but a perfectly named color just makes my heart happy. My living room is glacier blue and my bedroom curtains are the perfect shade of cayenne pepper. And all is right with the world. ;) 

The Lord uses color to speak to me. It's probably why I love it so much. I have lots of stories of this but the one this week made my heart soar and I have to share.

It was a typical weekday afternoon and I was driving the mom taxi. A suburban half full of squirmy kids; on my way to fill up the rest of the seats.

I had Micah, Abby and Kate and they all insisted on sitting together on the back row. They were having conversation that you would expect from 3 kids of their age and development. Intense debates about things like who loves Daddy more.

The conversation ended as they watched the Tennessee hills whiz past the Suburban windows.

And with full confidence, Kate slowly proclaims, "Je-jus loves... all of us."

That alone would have been enough to warm my heart but I'm telling you... with timing that only the Lord could orchestrate (and one of those moments that seems to pass in slow motion) we passed under a huge tree, hanging over the road: a breathtaking shade of fiery, pineapple-y yellow. And it almost glowed as the sunlight shone through it. Not a single leaf on this tree was brown, nor still green. It. was. Gorgeous. It was God speaking. He was shouting a confirmation of what came from my 3 year old's lips.

The heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament shows His handiwork. Psalm 19:1

"He sure does Kate. Jesus loves us."

I can't tell you how many times I've seen this color since that day. In friends' clothing, in mums at the grocery store, even in my own fall decorating. People would say it's one of those things... like once you buy a car you see it everywhere... but I know in my heart that every time I see this crazy gorgeous fall yellow: its the Lord telling me that I'm loved. He's winking. "Don't forget. I love you."

I wanted to take a picture to remember it forever but I was... ya know, driving. Kids. And honestly, it was too sacred to capture anyway. It was my love note. My wink. This picture was the closest thing I could find to share a little piece of the glory with you, but even it doesn't fully capture...

Photo Credit

How does the Lord wink at you? I've heard some people say He winks through things like butterflies or pennies.... but my God winks are colors. Sometimes it means different things- confirmation of decisions, peace when I need it, or just sweet nothings. Its our language, me and the Lord.

Can I just encourage you for a minute? 

God loves His kids. It's confirmed in scripture again and again. If it were only you left in the world, He still would have sent His Son to die so that you could be with Him in Heaven. And can you imagine if you were trying to tell the person that you loved, how much you love them but they weren't paying attention? 

Seek out the Lord this week. Ask Him to open your eyes to they ways He might want to speak to you. I would venture to say that daily, you'll find that He's softly... and sweetly... whispering His love for you.

Will You not bring us back to life once more
so that we, Your people, will find joy and pleasure in You?
O Eternal One, show us Your unfailing love;
give us what we truly need: Your salvation.
I will hear what the True God--the Eternal--will say,
for He will speak peace over His people,
peace over those who faithfully follow Him...
Psalm 58:6-8a (The Voice translation)

Rainy Day

It's fall break. And it's raining. All. Weekend. 

Jake is out of town and today my friend (who's husband is also out of town) brought the kids over and we spent the afternoon trying to occupy the kids with crafts. 

Which only worked for so long before they were all in the backyard playing in the drizzling rain.

9 kids, 2 moms, no dads. Unconsciously holding a rotation of children in our laps while sorting out the mysteries of parenting and marriage. 

You know you're talking with another mom when you can wipe faces, help someone off the potty, clean the kitchen, use a serious of snapping and hand motions to slow down and/or silence a loud/running mob, and never miss a beat in conversation. It's a maternal super power.

Today really felt like fall and I was reminded that Thanksgiving is soon. And in my heart I gave thanks. For big things and little ones.

Friendship. Family. Rainy days. Take-out pizza. Profound truths uncovered and sifted through together. Stampedes of rain boots. The sound of laughter and tag. Injuries, tears and prayers for boo-boos. Toilet paper tube owls. Shreds of construction paper that will be found around the house for days. 

Isn't it amazing how, through the lense of gratitude, a day that was supposed to be "wasting time" ends up feeling more like a precious gift. And I'm grateful for that too.

A {{special needs}} mom

I shared this photo the other day on FB. As names of friends who "liked" this pic popped up... friends who have their own special kids... tears filled my eyes, thinking about each one of them and the strength they have. Some are close friends and some I know only through online groups. But we all know. We all get it. The things we go through that only other special needs moms and dads know about.

Good ol Rosie the Riveter

45 lb. 7 year olds throwing tantrums on the floor and needing to be carried to bed. Putting on your 9 year old's socks and shoes because he never gets the socks straight or the shoes on the right feet. Shedding silent tears because your 2nd grade daughter is telling you something about her school day and though you've asked her to repeat it several times, you still don't understand what she's saying and you're both frustrated. The knot in your stomach when a special education teacher emails to say they want to make an "IEP addendum".

But there's another thing we parents have in common. The indescribable high of the child you fight so hard for... accomplishing something new. Being a little more independent. Sure, other kids their age did it long ago. Your younger children did it long ago. But when you've sat for hours on the floor of a therapy room with a baby in leg braces, anything she accomplishes in life makes you want to jump up and cheer and then stop to ugly cry.

Micah and Abby ride the special ed. bus. Every morning at 8:05 we go out to our porch. They settle in to wait on the top step, adjusting the weight of their backpacks behind them. And I look up, 2 houses down and watch the group of kids and parents waiting at the bus stop together. Their bus comes first and I watch it load up and pull away as a few moms linger and talk.

Then our bus comes. It pulls into our culdesac, backing up a time or two to make it around the circle, stopping right at the driveway. Micah runs straight to the bus door while Abby and I walk the long way around on our sidewalk because she has an aversion to getting her shoes wet in the dewy grass. The size, noise and vibration of the bus are overwhelming to their senses, so it makes Micah extra hyper and it makes Abby extra scared. Because of her fear and low muscle tone, I help/push Abby up the steps onto the bus and tell Micah to settle down in his seat. The full size bus is nearly empty, its just the driver, an aid (sweet Mrs Joyce) and two other kids besides mine.

"I love you, have a good day!!"  I stand in the yard and wave at the two pieces of my heart on that bus. 

And then its gone.

And I hope that their aids will give me good updates in their communication log so I can know how their day goes.

But this year, I've made a goal of getting them to walk to the bus without me. Every day this school year, I've been trying to slowly stand back and encourage Micah and Abby to get on the bus themselves. First I only took them to the mail box. Then a few weeks (with a few days of exception, when Abby wouldn't have it) of just taking them as far as the yard.

Today I stayed on the porch...
they walked together...
got on the bus...
and it pulled away without any assistance from me.

Accomplishments for Micah and Abby mean a world of unspoken joy, pride and tears for Mom. And I go back in my house feeling like I am, in fact, Rosie the riveter.