A year ago today we legally adopted Sylvia and Nici, although in our hearts they were already ours.
I’d like to tell you that from that day forward, everything was sunshine and rainbows. Is life ever all sunshine and rainbows?
To be very honest, the next 6 weeks after adoption day were rough. Thanksgiving was the following week, and with it brought a lot of memories and mixed emotions. I started a new full-time job, which kept me away from home more than the kids were used to in the past. I got really sick around Christmas. The girls struggled to feel at home. It was all a lot.
As if that wasn’t enough, we were contacted about adopting the girls’ younger brother. We weren’t sure if that was the right thing for our family, but we also didn’t want to keep the girls away from their sibling. It was weeks of a roller coaster of emotions. Ultimately, we were not chosen as his adoptive family.
That was a difficult time, but also a blessing. Even though I never met the boy, I loved him very much because he was part of my family. I took the rejection pretty hard at first. Sylvia would tell me later that it opened her eyes to how much we could love someone we didn’t know. It let her see a glimpse of what we went through and how loved she and Nici were before we even knew their names or saw their faces.
Life just keeps on going.
It’s on my list to be better about updating this blog. My hope is once a week,
but that’s a long term goal. Right now there are other priorities. I keep my
Facebook and Instagram going.
School started in the fall for all three schools at different schools – elementary, junior high and high school. Then I started school, too! It’s been a dream of mine to earn a master’s degree since I was a small child. I know that sounds silly. People look at me strangely when I say that. It’s true though. When I was a toddler my mom and I lived in a camper behind her friend’s house while she got her master’s degree. I really don’t remember it. My dad worked in oil and gas so he traveled a lot. When he had time, he’d visit us or stay with his in-laws. When my mom agreed to marry my dad it was on the condition that he not hamper her from getting her master’s degree. So he worked hard and made it possible for her to do that, even with a small child.
I always admired that
story. I remember in kindergarten being asked what I wanted to do when I grew
up. I replied that I wanted my master’s degree. That’s it. I don’t think I even
knew what I wanted to do. I just knew I wanted that extra degree.
When I was in fifth
grade, my dad got laid off from his job. After giving him about six weeks to
contemplate his next step, my mom told him he had to figure out what he was
going to do next. He replied that he never wanted a job where he was required
to wear a hard hat or steel toed boots. So, he decided he needed some higher
education. For two years he went to a community college that was a 2-hour drive
from our home. He’d leave on Monday and return home on Thursday or Friday,
depending on his schedule. For two years my mom provided for us. She’d tell me
it was because she had that master’s degree. I know things were tight and my
grandparents helped out from time to time with things like my braces. Still, to
me, my mom was a super hero because of that master’s degree.
When I graduated from college with a bachelor’s degree in 2005, I was all set to go to graduate school. I had been accepted and was ready to go. Then, I got the job offer of a lifetime. Instead of staying in one place and going to graduate school, I packed up my car to the brim and headed north – to Alaska. I had the opportunity to run a community weekly paper that was disbursed to more than 20 small communities in Southeast Alaska. I lived in the capital city of Juneau for nearly three years. I grew up so much, and got to experience even more. I took a plane flying lesson, went down the longest continuous zip line in the world, went salmon fishing and even interviewed then Gov. Sarah Palin a few times before anyone in the Lower 48 had ever heard of her.
When I moved back to
Texas, in the community where I had graduated from college, the thought of
going to graduate school was always there. However, the cost did not match the
benefits. It would be very costly and not impact my salary at all. So for a
decade I just lived my life, as anyone would. I got married, had a child,
changed jobs, lost my parents and adopted two more children.
Then I went back to full
time work at the very university that I called my alma mater. With a master’s
degree allowing me to be promoted at work and financial assistance for being an
employee, I finally had my window to get that graduate degree.
So here I am, more than halfway through my first semester of graduate school in communication. It hasn’t been easy. That first week I was completely deflated. My kids had to sacrifice time and activities. I felt old and dumb. However, our family has found a new routine. The kids are so great at making sure I have the time I need to get my work done. They are my biggest cheerleaders, as is my husband, John. I’ve also realized I’m not too old or dumb at all. I find the rigorous work a challenge and a delight. Learning has been amazing, and opened up that part of me that was dormant for so long. My age and experience has been a blessing. Instead of going through graduate school because it was the next logical step, it really has more meaning. My research is in foster care, which I feel will help me be a better advocate. The long writing assignments don’t scare me because I’ve found my vast writing experience is very useful.
While it’s not without its
challenges, I’m loving going to graduate school. I’ve found that I tend to
downplay it or just complain. I had a brief but important talk with my dear
friend yesterday before church. I realized I need to celebrate this time in my
life. I need to tell people that while this isn’t easy, for me, it’s worth
My students at the college I are inspiring, as well. They boost me up. They leave me sweet notes of encouragement. They make sure I know I am cared for as much as I care for each of them.
I don’t get to do all the
things I want, and I’m even missing out on things I want to do with my kids.
That stings the most. However, my kids are watching me live out my dream. They
are proud of me. My husband is proud of me. I’m proud of me too!
So, if this site isn’t
updated often, know it isn’t for a lack of caring. It’s so I can do the hard
work to make it better. I’m out there learning the things I need to be a better
advocate for foster care and adoptions.
My mid-20s were filled with adventure and hard work. When I graduated from college I moved to Southeast Alaska on my own. A few years later I moved to the Texas Panhandle to run a community newspaper. I was ambitious and dedicated to my work. However, something was missing. I wanted to be a wife. I wanted to be a mother. I met some people online. Usually it didn’t amount to much. I didn’t like it when I’d write a nice, long email and get back a two word answer. I met a guy from another state, and that went OK for a while, but it ended very badly. After that experience I decided meeting someone online wasn’t for me.
One day a longtime friend called me. She told me she wanted
me to create another online profile and try again. I said no. She went on to
say she just had a feeling and she didn’t want me to miss out on something
wonderful because of a bad experience. I told her I would create a profile and
do it for one month, but that was it. I searched for various dating sites and
decided to create a free profile on one in which I had never heard of in the
past. If I had never heard of it, others probably hadn’t either. The chances of
meeting someone were slim.
So I thought.
I received a message one day from a guy. He said he wasn’t the person on
the profile, but saw me and had to say hi. I wasn’t impressed. Since
you can create a profile for free I thought it was pretty lazy to send
me a message from another person’s account. I never replied.
A few days later, I receive a message from another profile. This time the guy said he was the same from the other message, but he created an account so I could learn about him. We went on to email back and four for a month. When we finally met in person, it was the first time I knew what he looked like, as he didn’t know how to upload a photo. However, I really fooled him with my profile photo. I didn’t post a cute one because I really wanted to avoid attention. I posted a photo of the 0ne and only time I went to salmon fishing in Alaska. He was excited because he thought I liked the outdoors. I fooled him!
Fast forward and we are now celebrating our 10 year wedding
anniversary. We don’t have a big, elaborate engagement story. We talked and
decided to get married. A few weeks later, John gave me a beautiful ring to
make it official. I give him a hard time about it, but I actually really like
it because it shows how we work best. We talk and work so well as a team.
Our friends Brad and Elizabeth made us an awesome video for our 10-year anniversary. Thank you! We enjoy it so much, and have watched it several times.
Life with John has been full of surprises. We’ve had a lot of ups and downs, but he always makes me calm down and laugh. He goes along with my crazy ideas, but will tell me when I need to stop. There is so much I could say about my darling husband. Instead, I’m going to list 10 reasons why I love him. I’ll go the cheesy route since it’s been a decade. These are in no particular order.
John can cook very well. From polenta to brisket, John has some skills in the kitchen. He is getting a reputation at our church for his culinary skills, as well. He has won first place for brisket at our church barbecue cook-off, and people loved the food he made to fee VBS volunteers.
He loves his family so well. He treated my parents like his own. John always showed up when my mom or dad needed him. One of my favorite stories of John was one my mom told me just weeks before she died. My mom had a gift certificate for a pedicure. She really wanted to go get one and was driving again, although she was prone to falls. She went to get a pedicure and about 20 minutes later, John walked in. He came to say hi and make sure she was doing OK. She just gushed over that moment because she knew John did it on his own and because he cared for her so very much. He’s always been such a solid, stable force for Sydney and me. He has been for our other girls, as well. When I told him I wanted to adopt an older child out of foster care, he didn’t make me feel even a little crazy. He simply said “I know that’s been on your mind, I was just waiting for you to ask me.”
He is steady in my storms. I deal with anxiety and have my entire life. However, it grew to a nearly unmanageable level a few years ago. I still struggle with it, but it’s better than it was. John tries really hard to step up in small ways so that I don’t spiral. He sees me having a hard time, and he steps in and up.
John’s love language is acts of service. He is always so willing to do simple things for me, as well as others. He will bring me lunch to work or run an errand for me. Once he left a dollar beside my purse before he went to work. I called him about it and he told me that he knew I liked to stop at the local convenience store for their coffee, which is only 86 cents, but I was trying to save money. He had a dollar in his pocket and knew I wouldn’t get coffee on my own. He thought that was silly since it was so cheap, so he left the dollar for my coffee. It was so simple, but the fact that he thought of me and wanted me to “treat” myself was so sweet.
He’s great with kids. When I first met John, I knew he was a person of good character because everywhere we went babies and dogs flocked to him. It was the funniest thing. He is always so patient and kind with kids. He took a week’s vacation to lead eight second-grade boys at church camp. He also talked me into serving with him at church by co-teaching the kindergarten and first grade class at church. He loves our kids so well, but he also pours his energy into the children of the church.
Speaking of church, John has really grown in his Christian faith. He has put in the work to study the Bible and be active at church. He has really led our family so well. He is now a deacon and takes that very seriously, helping out at church and in the children’s ministry however he can. He has helped our girls find their faith. I am so proud of him and the work he does to be a true man of faith.
John is a very hard worker. Sometimes I try to tell him to just rest. He has worked very hard throughout our marriage to move up in his company and provide for his family. Not only that, but he works hard at home and in serving others. He always finds a way to provide for us, and never complains.
He does housework! When my mom died I was severely overwhelmed. I was thrown into caring for my disabled dad, as well as dealing with grief and the exhaustion that goes with it. John didn’t make me feel bad about that. He just picked up the slack. It’s not unusual for him to clean up the house to do the dishes on his day off. He knows when I need help and he quietly steps in and does it.
John puts me in my place. He knows when he needs to be blunt with me. If I’m discouraged or upset, he knows when to just tell me how it is. I know it’s done in love, and honestly, I need that a lot. He has a way of making me stop, look around and come to my senses. This doesn’t just apply to a situation involving others. If I am doubting myself or putting myself down, he is quick to correct me and point out the good.
Has an open mind and heart. John is very loving and caring. He loves his people well and fiercely. As I mentioned earlier, he was very open to the idea of adopting older children. He also doesn’t let a person’s background or situations get in the way of him caring for them. He doesn’t care where you come from. He only cares who you are. If you are in his circle, you have an advocate and friend. He will fight for you, and protect you. You are one of his. It’s such a beautiful thing to witness.
I went to the elementary school one morning before work to
finish the registration process for my youngest daughter, Sydney. She’ll be in
third grade this year. That’s hard to imagine, but alas this is our fourth time
to register at this school. I was just going to go alone and then to work.
However, Sydney woke up and wanted to tag along to see if any of her friends
were there. We did the usual – went through the line from one station to the
next. In the gym near the stage was the same table as each year before it –
I don’t really have the time to be involved in PTA, but I do
buy a membership each year. It’s a small way to contribute and our PTA does an
excellent job at our school. I filled out the information and paid my $5.50
membership fee for the year before we moved on to another room for more
paperwork to be checked. As we were in yet another line, Sydney asked me what
the PTA was. I explained to her that it is an organization that supports the
school through programs and events. They help buy school supplies for each
class. They support teachers by providing breakfasts for birthdays and
holidays. They use fundraisers to buy equipment for the school. They produce
and sell the elementary school yearbooks. She looked at me with a smile and
said “good job, Mom. I’m proud of you for paying to be part of that.”
It was a simple thing to do, but it struck me how Sydney viewed
it. She didn’t see it as only 3 minutes of my time and paying a fee less than
lunch would cost. She saw it as contributing to her school community.
This can be said of so many things we do. We seem to waste so much of our time worrying about what we get wrong with our kids. Did we say the hard things well? Did we raise our voices too much? Did we let too much slide? Did they have a good, fulfilling summer? Are they getting enough experiences? Will they be ready for life after high school or college?
I was talking to a longtime friend recently and she told me
about an article that stated kids usually remember the smallest things and tend
to look right past the ones we think are big. I think that’s so true. I
remember my mom chasing me with the vacuum cleaner and making the chore a game.
She’d chase us and tell us we better hop up on the couch, bed or table so the
monster didn’t eat our toes. When she got past that spot, she’d tell us to
hurry up and run to another spot. When the washer would get unbalanced and
shake uncontrollably, my mom would hop up on the washing machine with me and
say we were on a rocket ship. That maybe happened twice, but I remember it like
it was a daily routine. Yes, there were big arguments and difficulties. I
remember some of it, but not like I remember sitting on that washing machine
with my mom. Yes, I remember small, fun things about my mom. I also remember
her passion in standing up for people of varying education and abilities are
strong. I remember her buying me extra school supplies and telling me to subtly
share with those students who didn’t have any. I remember her telling me not to
talk about or make fun of two kids in our class with lice. I remember her
allowing my friends and me to each lunch in her classroom so we could relax for
25 minutes. I remember her cooking for countless friends. I remember her
bringing my best friend with us on our vacations. I took notice of what she
thought were simple things.
So what are your kids noticing? They are watching. They see you use a week’s worth of vacation to volunteer at their summer church camp. They see you getting to church early to help set up snacks or greet those entering church. They see you stop in the hallway and pick up a piece of trash that was left behind by someone else. They see you say hi to the older person in the grocery store who is probably going home to an empty house. They see you pay for the $1 drink of someone behind you in line. They see you make up a song about chores. They see you send $3 extra for a field trip so another child can also attend.
They might not tell you that they are proud of you, but they are. So hold up your head today. You are doing better than you think.
A couple of years ago I found myself longing for “home.” Although
I’ve lived in my current town for a combined total of 15 years, I needed
connection to the area where I was raised. It had been a tumultuous few years,
and I felt this sense of longing for the familiarity of my childhood.
I had just come through a long, difficult journey of taking care
of my ill parents and ultimately burying them. My mom was diagnosed with Stage
IV kidney cancer, only to die 6 weeks later. My dad was already very sick with
kidney disease and on dialysis. We spent the next 14 months working with him,
making sure he had what he needed. He tried to do well, but his grief and pain was
so extensive that it caused a lot of hurtful words and feelings. When he died
it was a sense of grief and relief. We were so sad to see him go, but so
relieved that he was no longer in such pain, both emotionally and physically.
So eight months after his passing, I was left with this longing for the home I once knew. This wasn’t necessarily my actual house, but the place that shaped me. Sydney had a few days off school in October, so I decided we would travel to the Oklahoma Panhandle, where I spent my first 18 years.
We spent the night with the parents of my longest friend. It was so lovely to be in their home again, remembering so many moments I had been there in the past. We visited another longtime friend of my family’s, as well as my kindergarten teacher. It was all so wonderful and brought a sense of home back to my heart. We drove by my childhood home, as well. It was a whirlwind 24 hours, but I was so grateful that I went.
that really tugged at my heart was such an unexpected stop in our trip. It was
a grain elevator in the town I called home. The population is probably less
than 200, and it’s not much to see. However, there was a grain elevator that
became quite popular. It was very old – built in 1929, but was officially
condemned as it started to lean. It would even shift with the direction of the
Since we were there, I wanted to see the grain elevator. I didn’t know how long it would be there, and I wanted to get a glimpse. It was across the street from a hardware store, which the owner still opens twice a day for coffee and sodas, or basically to chat with other community members. Everything in his store was exactly the same. It was as if I had stepped into a time machine. When I told him who I was, he remembered me. My grandma lived in that community for many years, and I spent countless days at her house and riding my bike to the hardware store for a soda in a glass bottle. It was the stuff of which nostalgic movies are made.
stepped outside to look at the grain elevator. The rain had just subsided, and
the sky was beautiful. The Oklahoma Panhandle hosts some of the most
magnificent skies, by the way. The grain elevator was more amazing in person,
as I could hear all the creaking and moaning as it kept its balance to stay
upright, despite its huge leaning. The way it stood just awed me. It really
said a lot about where I grew up and the people who made me. I felt blessed to
have called this tiny town and community home.
spoke to my heart in a strong way. We may go through mighty storms and winds,
but God holds us up. With God by our sides, we may lean or sway, but we don’t
fall. We may endure what we feel are the worst of times, but those times will
strengthen us to endure. Others may just be watching and waiting for us to fall
and crumble. We may be forever changed, but we still stand. The outside may
look damaged, but our core and our faith keep us from completely toppling over.
I know it was
just a grain elevator, but in that moment, it was what I needed to start my grief
journey from years of hardship and grief. The road “home” truly led to healing.
I’m so glad I went to that little spot in the middle of the Oklahoma Panhandle when I did. The grain elevator was later burned down and demolished because of safety concerns. That happens in life, as well. Sometimes there are things that were once beneficial to us that we need to put behind us. What was once helpful can become harmful. So that leaning grain elevator in a town nearly forgotten by most continues to teach me.
I never thought much about school supplies. Sydney has been in elementary school for a few years, and while the list grows with each year, we could handle it. Only buying school supplies for one person also made it easy. So when two junior high aged girls became part of our family, all of a sudden things were different. Our finances were all over the place that summer all ready. We hadn’t originally planned on taking in two children, and the needs added up quickly.
Shortly after the girls were placed in our home, we heard about a local event for foster families. We live in the Texas Panhandle so the local chapter of National Angels for us is Amarillo Angels. I was already familiar with the organization, as our church life group had been part of their Love Box program. This event was a nice of fun at the Discovery Center, as well as receiving free school supplies. I knew we’d only do foster care a very short time, so I thought we should utilize the resources available to us while we could.
When I told the girls where we were going, Sylvia was not
impressed. She felt that people who did things for foster care kids didn’t truly
care – that they were simply trying to make themselves feel better. She also
figured the school supplies would be cheap, generic and not age appropriate.
We had a nice time at the Discovery Center and were met with warm smiles and greetings. When we left, we stopped to pick up our school supplies. We were given six large bags filled to the brim. It took all of us to carry them to the car. Once we got home, we took inventory of the supplies. We had name brand items that were great for junior high kids – binders, highlighters, pens. There were also things for Sydney going into second grade – markers, glue and facial tissues. We had to supplement the supplies, but that generous gift saved us hundreds of dollars at a time things were already financially tight.
A few weeks later I was going through the bags of supplies
and noticed something I hadn’t previously seen. There were five notes – each
one individually addressed to a person in our family. John and I read our notes
and gave the girls theirs. Sydney brought hers to me to read with her since it
was in cursive handwriting. It was a lovely note thanking her for sharing her
parents with her new sisters and encouraging her. The note also read that God
sometimes gives us big, hard things, but turns them into blessings. She smiled
from ear to ear as I read each word. She then got some tape and placed the note
on her mirror in her bedroom. A year later and the note is still attached to
the mirror. She says she likes to read it when she’s having a difficult day. To
her it’s a reminder that she is seen, heard and loved. Although she was never
in foster care, someone took a moment to make sure she felt just as special as
the kids who were new to our family.
That’s what I so cherish about National Angels, although I’ve
obviously bias toward Amarillo Angels. They focus on supporting the entire
A few months later Amarillo Angels helped us again. A local church life group wanted to hold a pumpkin carving day for a few foster families. John had to work that day so I took the three girls to the park for some fall fun. There were only three families at the event in order to keep it fun and manageable. The families in the church group supplied the pumpkins, carving materials and snacks. It may have seemed like a small thing to them, but it meant so much to me. I had wanted the kids to carve pumpkins, but was apprehensive. The pumpkins and supplies can add up fast when there are three kids. Plus, with John working on the weekends, supervision would be solely up to me. I wasn’t super excited about overseeing three kids with sharp objects. I’m also not known for my graceful knife skills. The hour and a half we spent at the park that cool, fall afternoon, were priceless. It was so comforting to me personally to have the support of this church group. It was a treasure to see the families love on my girls and offer me some support as a parent.
Nearly five months after that original trip to the Discovery
Center was adoption day for Sylvia and Nici. As we were being interviewed by a
local news station, Sylvia was very quiet. The last question the reporter asked
was, “What is something you learned in your experience that you would like to
tell older kids in foster care?” Sylvia spoke up quickly. She said that she
wanted other kids, especially teens, to know that people actually care about
the well-being of others and genuinely want to help. I teared up as I thought about
how the simple love and support of Amarillo Angels, as well as others, had
changed her heart.
You will often see things about National Angels and Amarillo Angels on my blog and social media. Because I’ve been on both sides of what they do, I have a very special connection for them.
I’m a person who remembers a lot of dates. Some are just ridiculous. Some I wish I couldn’t remember at all – like those tiny little dates when my mom went to hospice or I learned that my uncle died. I think I sometimes drive my family crazy by mentioning little dates. Over the past year, I’ve brought up small things like when we applied for foster care and when we received our license.
Last night my oldest, Sylvia, brought up a date. It really
is a big point in our journey as a family. I hope that each year we can quietly
reflect on it with joy. It was your typical summer activity – Vacation Bible
School (VBS). However, it was the biggest surprise for me last year.
See, when we were getting near finalizing our foster
license, I had one daunting thought in mind – VBS. The VBS at our church is
large and hectic. It’s a lovely time of fun and fellowship, but it takes a lot
of dedicated volunteers. When it looked like we would get our foster license in
May, I literally prayed to ask not to get a placement until after VBS. I just
didn’t understand how we could possibly take on all of the responsibilities.
Not only would John and I be volunteering, but Sydney would be attending with a
friend each night, and it ends pretty late. How would be possibly incorporate one
or two more people? On top of that, these people wouldn’t know us well at all.
We met Sylvia and Nici toward the end of May. We had a few individual meetings with them to do fun things like bowling or manicures. They had come to the house a few times for dinner. The weekend before VBS they were coming to spend the night. When they heard us talking about VBS, they really wanted to see what it was like. They were too old to participate in the activities but could volunteer. We got permission for them to spend Monday night with us so that they could come to VBS and go home with us. We’d bring them back to their foster mom’s home on Tuesday.
It was an interesting evening. It went really well! The
girls didn’t know anyone, except for one boy from their school. They were quiet
but did what was asked. They seemed to really enjoy their time. The next day,
they asked if they could volunteer all week. John called to ask their foster
mom and she agreed. We voluntarily had them stay with us all week for VBS. (Be
careful about what you pray!)
Throughout that week we got to know each other in a way that we most likely would not have otherwise. We got to share stories and preferences. We got to work together and rely on one another for something that was beyond our family. John even helped in crafts when he could, so the four of us were often working together during some pretty chaotic situations.
We came out of it with an appreciation and knowledge for each other we had previously had. Also, the girls got to know other people in the church. I saw men and women devote time and energy to my girls during a week that already requires so very much. They talked to the girls about hair products, movies, pop culture, and faith. It all had a place in gaining trust and reputability with the girls.
At the end of the week, Sylvia and Nici went back to their foster mom’s home. They moved in with us five days later. I remember how natural it felt because we’d already spent a week together – a week that was one of the most hectic and demanding of the year. We already had a relationship and knew some quirks about each of us.
Last night, as we sat in the activities room of the church waiting for VBS to start, Sylvia came into the room. She sat next to me and said: “that was so weird.” I asked her what she was referring to. She had gone to one of the back offices to leave something for my friend. When she was there, she saw several people she knew and they all greeted her with excitement. She said that a year ago for VBS she knew no one, and now she’s a very familiar face. The four of us split up for volunteering this year. As we sat in the living room after VBS, we all agreed it was weird not to be together. Imagine that. Such a sense of regret that we didn’t do “our tradition” when we’d only done it once anyway.
It’s amazing what some time will do. Things that seem
daunting and impossible, can be our greatest memories. God will find a way to
make it work for the good. That’s certainly what He did for us.
As I sit here, I can’t help but think about how oddly funny
this situation is. You know those moments when you just look around and giggle
to yourself? That’s how I’m feeling at this moment.
It’s rare I get much time to myself. I had to come to town
today for an appointment with my counselor. I had told my husband that I wanted
to try to go somewhere afterward with my computer to write and gather my
thoughts. He encouraged me to do so. After a great appointment with my
counselor, who also thought I needed some quiet, alone time to write, I went
looking for a place to go. Nothing were also venues where I just didn’t feel
like I fit in there. I know that’s just my own anxiety getting to me, but since
this was for me to relax, I respected those feelings. As I sat in a full
parking lot, try to decide to and go home or find a place to eat, relax and
write, I had a thought.
So here I sit in the cafeteria of one of the local
hospitals. Why does it seem oddly funny to me? Because I’ve spent a lot of time
here, but never to give myself a relaxing afternoon.
My youngest daughter was born in this hospital. She was in the NICU for 12 days. Those days were filled with lots of emotion, recovery for myself and hours at the hospital. I would come to the cafeteria in between visitations to try to get some nutrition in an attempt to be able to provide her milk. My body had been ravaged, she was born five weeks early and that milk never came. However, I persisted in my efforts, eating a salad or sandwich when the last thing I wanted to do was to eat.
I returned four years later, when my mom was diagnosed with Stage 4 kidney cancer in the ER. I brought my dad and my daughter for a meal or a snack just to get them out of her room for a moment. We’d sit together over crab salad – a favorite of my dad and my daughter – and talk about what the future would look like without my mom in it. We returned a few times before she died six weeks after her diagnosis. The food and conversation was different each time, but the heartache and grief were the same.
Throughout the next 17 months, I’d return to this place. My dad, who was battling diabetes, severe nerve damage to his back, arthritis and kidney disease, had been on dialysis years before my mom died. Once she passed away, I honestly expected him to shortly follow. He fought. He worked so hard to carry on with his life. He did his treatments, went to appointments and even saw a counselor. Life was rocky. My mom was gone and no one could replace her. My brother was going through a drug addiction and lived with my dad, would caused much stress and worry. Still, my dad worked hard to be his best for my youngest daughter. They were very close, and he’d also promised my mom he wouldn’t just give up when she died. For those 17 months, he was in and out of the hospital for a large variety of issues. Still, when he called one day to tell me he needed me to meet the ambulance at the hospital, I knew our time was coming to an end. He spent more than a week here – some in ICU and some in a regular room. He would hardly eat, but if I got him crab salad from the cafeteria and my daughter brought it to him, he’d eat it. After a week, he was moved to hospice. That last day at the hospital I remember going to the cafeteria, drinking a Diet Dr Pepper and looking out the window, noticing the hospice where he was about to be transported. It was the same place where my mom had gone. I also remember leaving that day and thinking I hoped I never went back to that cafeteria.
Here I am – the hospital cafeteria. I chose it because it was a place where I was comfortable, I could sit as long I wanted and it had good food. It’s also a place I feel my parents with me. Odd, maybe, but the truth. We had a lot of hard conversations here, but we laughed some, as well. I feel like even though so much has changed since they died, so much has remained the same. The food selection, the decor, the location is all just how I remember it. I wish I could sit here with them and talk about all that has changed. I wish we could talk about how I now have three kids, making the only grandchild they knew the youngest in our family because I adopted teenagers. By the way, my parents would have rocked at being grandparents in our situation. If two people were suited for supporting us during a foster care and adoption situation of two teen girls, it would be my parents. I tried to buy my youngest daughter some crab salad, but the cafeteria was out today. I look around and realize I’m probably the only or at least one of the few who have chosen to be here today. I seen families having hard conversations. I see tired parents of grown children. I see a family near the window laughing between saw moments of silence. I see a small boy running to the window to look out at the city, seemingly unaware of the gravity of this place.
So here I sit, relaxing, enjoying some time alone and reflecting
in the most unexpected place of reverence.
I first came up with the name Honeycomb Grace when I saw Proverbs 16:24,
“Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.”
I had a health page for a while because of my weight loss journey. When we started our foster care journey, that dissolved. I like this verse and this title because I hope to share sweet and healing words that offer grace.
Thank you for joining me here. I hope you find it to be encouraging and sweet to the soul.
Hi and welcome my website/blog! This is new for me. I’ve had a personal blog for years, but it was mostly a scrapbook of our lives for my family.
This is different.
First, I want to start by telling you a little bit about myself. My name is Amanda, and I’ve been married to John for nearly 10 years. We have three daughters, Sylvia, 14, Nici, 13, and Sydney, 8. However, Sydney came to our family first. When John and I got married we were told we would have a very difficult chance of having our own children. We were pleasantly surprised when we found out we were expecting Sydney. She arrived early and very tiny, but so mighty. We were and are so thankful for that miracle we call Sydney.
After a few years, we hadn’t gotten another miracle. We
decided to look into adopting a small child through foster care. We went to a
few classes, but the timing wasn’t great. I was not feeling well, but we didn’t
know why. My mom was also in poor health. Later we found out I had a huge
kidney stone, which was the cause of my health issues. My mom’s diagnosis
wasn’t so simple. She had Stage 4 kidney cancer. She died about six weeks after
the diagnosis. Not only was that a huge blow to our family, but my dad was
disabled and required much care. The thought of more children was no longer
even an issue. When my dad died 17 months after my mom, it was the first time
in a while we could focus on ourselves. We enjoyed the time. We went on a
couple of trips and just really enjoyed one another.
That fall things shifted. I feel like the word “called” is so overused and abused, but that’s truly what it was. The leader of a local chapter of National Angels made a presentation at our small group from church. She was talking about the need for support for foster families. When she started to talk about the statistics for older kids aging out of foster care, there was a strong pull at my heart. The one that got me the most was that within a year of aging out of the system, 66% of children will be incarcerated, trafficked, homeless or dead. That devastated me. It made me think that if we were to attempt to adopt through the foster care system, maybe an older child would be best.
That thought kept occurring to me. It was brought up time and time again through various avenues. It just felt to be a consistent message in my life. I finally got up the courage to ask my husband about it. We were sitting in the car and I told him I wanted to adopt through foster care and I wanted it to be a girl who was over 10 and who would most likely age out of foster care if she was not adopted. I just knew he’d think I was crazy. He simply looked at me and said “I know that’s what you want. I’ve just been waiting for you to ask me. Yes, let’s do it.”
Over the course of the next few months, we worked with a placement agency to get our foster license. It seemed to take so long. Those periods of simply waiting were the most difficult. When there were no more classes to take or forms to submit or anything to actively do, it was hard. During that time “Wreckless Love” by Cory Asbury was new. It was a popular song at our church. My dear, dear friend, who also happens to be our church worship pastor, would sing it with such conviction. She knew our hopes and our burdens. I’d listen to her, feel the Holy Spirit on my heart and uncontrollably cry. I’d think about all I had come through in my life and how God always brought me through. I thought about our possible future daughter and how much she must have endured. I thought about how maybe she was waiting for a forever family, scared that she may never get one. That song was my foundation for many months.
Then, it happened. Our agency knew of two girls – sisters ages 12 and 13. While two wasn’t the original plan, we’d recently decided that a sibling set might be best for us. We met them a week later. After a few weeks of hanging out with them, together and individually, they spent the night at our house a few times. They moved in a month after our original meeting.
There will be plenty of time for me to fill in all of the details, but for now I’ll keep it brief. We got two more miracles! The girls were adopted about 5 months later. It wasn’t always easy. In fact there were times it wasn’t remotely easy. However, it was right. It was more than right. They are ours and we are theirs. We now have three miracles, although not in the way we originally planned. God’s way was better, as it always is.
We are now a family of five! We have issues as any family would, but we are so grateful to have one another. In many ways it feels as if we’ve always been together. We all know we were a family designed by God. When I hear “Reckless Love” on the radio, I can’t help but feel such gratitude and love. God knew what we needed – every single one of us. He led and way and we were obedient. His reckless love took over our lives and made us new.