Extraordinary Ordinary

 

     This weekend writing ideas were free floating around my brain.  Probably because I was hunkered down trying to get a writing assignment completed.  It was technical writing, which is still writing, and so it's good.  But, my creative side becomes suffocated and thus, infiltrates my thoughts with imaginary blog posts, quotes, and potentials for a great fiction novel.  I was all over the map, people.
     One thought that kept coming back was the idea of valuing people's stories; those unique pieces each of us hold, that are only ours.  Lately, in life, I've been trying to pay attention to those stories.  And what I've learned is when we listen to the stories of others, we begin to have more compassion for people different from us. When we put stories to faces, and stop judging everyone by our perception of their lives or actions, we make room to see their humanity, their extraordinary, ordinariness.
     A person I have been blessed to know better in the past few months is a lady, who happens to be transgendered.  I got to email back and forth, and have a cup of coffee with her.  I got to hear her story, in her words.  You see, she happens to be transgendered, but that is not her whole story.  It is a piece.  She also happens to be a fabulous writer, who has children, and loves her family and friends.  We have a lot in common.  She spent her career serving our community at home and abroad.
     During our conversation over coffee, we talked about her transition.  She graciously gave me glimpses into what life was like then.  I will not go into detail.  It's her story to tell.  But, during the telling of that story, she repeatedly mentioned how she did not handle some things right.  She said she had some unrealistic expectations of people.  She described how she wished she would have had more patience with people, been more understanding of their fears.
     I sat and soaked up her message.  Here was someone who very publicly faced something seen as controversial to many people in the area we live.  And instead of talking about how some mistreated or spoke badly of her, she spoke of how she learned to have more compassion.  She proudly talked of reconciling relationships with old friends, of how kindness and love win in the end.
     Our conversation had a profound impact on me.  And this is how it has been in my life over the past ten years.  I have met people through my job, church, and social life, who at initial appearance seem very different from me.  We talk, hear each other's story, and suddenly, what seemed like an immense gulf, starts to narrow, and our humanity begins to span the divide.
     In the last year, I have learned a lot about people, my faith, and who God is, and who God is not.  I have skirted with the fringes of some of these ideas for years, but have just never quite been able to put my finger on it.  Here is what I've learned.

God is perfect love, and most of us aren't there yet (myself included).
God is compassion, even towards those of us who struggle with showing compassion.
God is love in action, and we are His hands and feet.
God's love is sacrificial, and ours should be too.

     When I look back on my life before this journey in faith, I cringe a little bit.  I think of all of the times I spoke before I thought.  Let's be honest.  It still happens from time to time.  I think of how I let the cynical voice in my head dictate my expectations for people and judge them because of their circumstances or choices. I think about how I was so sure that I knew the "right" answers and all others were wrong.  It makes me cringe.  It makes me sad to think of the people I hurt; the relationships I missed.  I still struggle at times with that cynical voice.
     But on the days I wrestle with guilt, I look at my kids and have hope.  With this generation, in my family, they are being raised to do life different.  We are raising them to seek out the story of others, especially when they don't understand them.  Not that you have to try very hard to do that with children.  They are naturally inquisitive.  They don't know anything about assumptions, stereo-types, or cynicism.  Not yet at least.
     The other night I was reading Ann Lamott's book, Bird by Bird.  In it she quotes a man as saying, "You can safely assume you've created God in your own image, when it turns out God hates all the same people you do."  It is a quote that cuts to the heart of who we are, and what we believe.  Who have we created God to be?
     Today, while dropping of my son in the car rider line at school, I got to witness more extraordinary ordinary.  My little man got out of the car and stepped up onto the sidewalk, about the same time as a darker skinned little boy in the car in front of us.  When they saw each other, both their faces broke into huge grins.  They literally ran to each other, gave each other a giant hug, and then proceeded to hold hands all the way into school, totally oblivious to any outward differences with each other.  They are four, and apparently life doesn't get any better than having a good buddy's hand to hold on the way into school.  It was such a beautiful thing to see, and I cried all the way out of the parking lot.  The little extraordinary ordinaries get me every time.
     So, today, dear reader, as we are bombarded with images of hate from around the world.  As we struggle with judgement and sometimes focus on what separates us, let's just stop.  Let's sit down with each other, have a cup of coffee, hear each other's precious story, and challenge ourselves to see beyond the surface issues.  Because though there is much darkness, there is also light.  And light always drives out darkness.


   


   

When Big Names Come to Small Cities

If I ever ran into a Hollywood star, one of two things would happen.  I would either walk past them, having no idea who they are, or I would see them and think, "Oh, that's so and so.  How neat," and walk on.  Needless to say, I'm just not that enamored with Hollywood stardom or fame.  I don't get starstruck.

However, last night, my BFF (the hubs) and I went to hear Donald Miller speak.  I was extremely excited about this, as I love his writing and his often uncomfortable questioning of how we live out Christianity, of how we do life.  My husband, he was a bit lukewarm on the whole thing.

In all fairness to this man, he had just spent 10 hours putting out fires at work and was exhausted.  Also, he doesn't spend a whole lot of time searching for the meaning of life and getting all existential.  He goes out and creates meaning.  He kills something and drags it home.  He is the "make it happen guy."  His whole job is about helping people do their best work. But, he loves me, and judging by the look on his face, he really loved me last night!

As we found our seats, and they were sweet seats people, I happened to glance up three rows and see this.

Now, you might be thinking, "It's a blurry picture of a dude. So what?"  But, let me tell you that "dude" was Donald Miller, The Donald Miller!  The author of Blue Like Jazz and the soon to be released, Scary Close.  

So, being the incredibly calm person I am, I jabbed the hubs with an elbow and loud-whispered, "There's Donald Miller!  Oh my God it's Donald Miller."  My husband gave a nod and made a "uh huh," sound.  Clearly he was not understanding the gravity of the situation!!  

"Look how close he is!" I loud-whispered again. "Oh, I should go talk to him!  Do you think he would take a selfie with me???" 

My husband gave me a look that conveyed, "I love you, but you are such a nerd," all at the same time.  It was a look of pity.  I hate it when he does that.

But, it became apparent at that moment, that while Hollywood and movies don't get me all in a tizzy, authors, and thinkers, and entrepenurial creators clearly send me into giddy land. I was nerdstruck.  Nothing against, Donald Miller.  He's not a nerd.  In case you ever read this, Donald, you're not a nerd!!! 

After my husband's reaction, I decided the best thing for me to do was keep my rear end in my seat.  No one wants to be that crazy lady at the Donald Miller talk, right?  Except, I still did, a tiny bit.  But, I reigned in that inner nerdchild, and stayed seated.

A few minutes later, Donald Miller was introduced and took the stage.  He was engaging, funny, authentic, and my very tired hubby ended up really enjoying it.  He talked about the three ways to attain meaning, to make an impact, to leave your mark. While there were things he mentioned that I didn't necessarily agree with, there were so many things discussed that impacted my heart.  Questions like, "Are you waking up every day with a project?  Are you building community?  Are you finding redemption in the suffering?"

These are questions I mulled over last night. And this morning.  And probably tomorrow...  We have been given this one great, BIG life.  What are we doing with it?  Donald said, "We were not created to coast through life."  And that stuck.  Is that what I'm doing, coasting?  Is that what I want to model for my children, coasting?  I have been in a coasting season for a while now.

I am about to enter a difficult season.  Long before Donald Miller and his awesome books, we decided to foster. It will be difficult.  There will be no coasting.  But are there other areas where I coast; work, relationships, ect.

How about you?  What are your dreams?  How do you stay out of coast mode?  In what moments do you feel you are living to the fullness of what God created you to be?  Just some heavy questions to ponder over your morning coffee.  Let's raise our collective mugs to always diligently living with purpose and on occasion, allowing ourselves to be nerdstruck.

Have a great week friends.

Jumping Off a Cliff

This weekend, the hubs and I spent two full days in training.  Two full days discussing, learning, and filling out paperwork, all so our family can become a bridge resource home.  In normal words, we are going to be a foster family.  After all of the information this weekend, we have decided that we are doing the equivalent of jumping off a cliff.  At one point, we were asked to write down one question we still had about foster care.  I wrote, "Are we crazy?"

So many questions have been asked by family and friends.  I thought it would be appropriate to answer them here, in the hopes that they might provide a glimpse into our hearts.

"Have you thought about what it will do to your own kids?"  
Though I know that question is being asked from a place of love and concern, the sarcasm monster rears its ugly head in my brain with that question.  The smart aleck in me says, "Nooooo, we never thought about our bio kids when making this decision.  I'm sure it will be a cake walk for them!"  But, then reasonableness takes over, and I recognize what this question is really asking, "How will this affect your kids?"
The answer to that is tough.  We have spent hours talking with each other and the kids about what changes we can expect for our family.  We have talked about the joys we will have, and we have talked about the problems that we will run into along the way.  Our daughter has a fairly realistic view of what we are stepping into.  She is excited and apprehensive, a bit like her momma.  Our son is young and just excited at the thought of possibly having another boy in the home.
Before we completed our home study, we had an honest discussion with our kids.  We made a commitment as to what our limits are as a family.  We know what we will accept, and what we cannot accept.  We also know that despite our best efforts, there will be challenges.  We believe God is big enough to walk us through those challenges.

"What if you have to give them back?"
Dear friends, that is the goal, to give them back.  Steve and I firmly believe that the best place for children is with their biological family, if at all possible.  We believe mentoring bio parents and loving their kids until reunification can lead to reconciliation of families.  We know it will be difficult work.  We know we will work with families very different from ours.  We know we will struggle with emotions of anger, frustration, and sadness.  We know we will be coming face to face with brokenness, every day.
I had a sweet friend ask me, "If you knew you would only have your son for a year or two when he was born, would you have still had him?"  My response was, "Of course, he's my son!"  "It's the same thing," she said.  "We don't know how long we get them.  We just have to love them while they are here." We think God is big enough for that, too.

"Can you handle more kids?"
This one makes me laugh, because honestly, there are days when I would tell you, "No! No more kids!"  The days when they drive me crazy.  The days they fight.  The days I wonder why there is pee on the wall in the bathroom!
But, then there are all of those thousands of moments, when I'm hugging them, snuggled up next to them, or just watching them play.  I think about all of those kids, approximately 400,000 nationwide, who are in limbo.  Who's futures are uncertain, because they are in the foster care system.  And, I think, "Someone should be snuggled up to them, telling them they are worthy, and just watching them play."
I look at my husband, who is a walking testament to the power that loving families can have in the life of a child.  Not a day goes by when I don't recognize the way the Morris' saved him.  They could have said, "We have too many kids!"  They could have said, "He's too broken."  But they didn't.  They took him in and loved him just as he was.  Without that sacrifice of love, Steve and I would have no love story.  Our family would never exist.  The world would never get to see our daughter's amazing creativity, or our son's ability to make everyone smile.  They would not be here.
So, on days when I don't think I can handle anymore kids, God gently reminds me every time I glance at my husband, "Yes, you can."

As for all of the other questions, I don't have the answers right now.  But, I do humbly, have a few requests.  Know that we will be hard to hang around sometimes.  We will be taking care of kids that have endured trauma, and trying to create a "normal" family life for bio and foster kids alike.  There will undoubtably be behaviors, tantrums, and awkward conversations.  Please be patient with us.  Please listen to us without judgement when we need to vent.  At some point, I will probably say something like, "I just can't do this."  Please offer an ear, a shoulder, or let's be honest, a glass of red wine.  Sometimes, we will just need to talk out our hurts.  But above all, please pray for us.  Pray that we know what to do and say in all of those moments when we don't know what to do and say.  Pray for our bio kids, that in the hard moments they understand the massive love we have for them, and the importance of the work that we (our family) is doing.

Through all of this, we know God is able.  We know this cliff looks so high, and the fall will be tremendous.  But at the bottom, we have faith that waters of healing will be plentiful, and joy indescribable waits.

Ugly Tears

Last weekend, I watched, The Help.  I've read the book, and seen the movie exactly 1500 times.  After that many viewings, it's not the tear jerker it use to be, except for one scene.  In that one scene, I cry every time.  Not little dainty, sniffly crying.  No dear friends, I ugly cry.  You know, the scrunched up, hiccup, snot run down your face, cry?  That's me.
About the time little Mae Mobley gets her bottom spanked for using one of the "used toilets" left on Hilly Holbrook's lawn, my eyes start watering.  After a few more scenes, it flips to Aibileen crouched down in front of a tearful Mae Mobley.  Tears pour down my face, as I watch Aibileen smile and  look Mae Mobley in her beautiful face, saying those now famous lines, "You is kind.  You is smart.  You is important."  She nods her head with each sentence, encouraging Mae Mobley to say it with her.  Mae Mobley is a chunky, two year old, whose mother is ice queen, Elizabeth Leefolt.  And in that scene, it is not just the viewers watching the precious exchange, it's Elizabeth.

By this point, I'm full on ugly crying.  And here's why.  In my busy schedule, trying to juggle all of the requirements of life, and also trying to make it look effortless, I wonder how many times, I am Elizabeth.  Elizabeth, the character so consumed with everything being perfect, that she finds imperfection in her precious two year old.  I'd like to think I'm not that eaten up with keeping up, but some times I wonder.
My children are far from perfect, and in the spirit of transparency, so am I.  But, I sure spend unintended time making certain we are scrubbed, smiling and socially acceptable.  I suspect we all do on some level.  The reality is though, that we're not.
We have bad days, weeks, sometimes months.  Behaviors get out of control, feelings get hurt, and there are temper tantrums.  Once in a while, it's the adult version.  My house gets grungy.  The minivan gets disgusting.  We do ugly well, people.
But in the midst of all of that, what my kids really need is me to stop, crouch down, look them in the eye, and talk straight into their hearts, "You are kind.  You are smart.  You are important."  Because the world will keep on spinning, whether my house is clean or not.  TV and marketing will keep selling us the lie of all of the things we need to be "happy."  And the career "road to success" will stay ever ahead of us, bidding us to chase it.
Time with our loved ones, however, is not guaranteed.  And, somehow daily, we need to stop in the chaos, and remind each other of how precious we are.  Take a loved ones face in our hands, look them in the eye, and speak to their heart, "You are important."