Lasting Impressions.

I've been thinking a lot about this idea that what you put out on the internet you 'never get back' so to speak. How a photo, video, thought or comment can 'go viral' without you having to do much of anything more than hit that tiny little word, 'POST'. How in under 24 hours, you, what you said, what you did, what you took a photo of, what you 'posted' can make an impression on hundreds of thousands of people that you don't know from places you've never been, cultures you don't understand and backgrounds you could never comprehend.

I was thrilled to have a visit with a dear friend from my past yesterday. As we were driving around, having breakfast, laughing and talking about past, present and future and generally having a great time, she made reference to me 'cussing like a sailor'. It took me aback for a second because you see I USED to cuss like a sailor. I admit it. I did. For a long time actually, and it probably started, oh, around 3rd grade and ebbed and flowed in tsunami sized waves over the next 20 years. And though I'm not exempt from the rogue expletive flying out of my mouth from time to time in crisis, as a general rule I try to express myself in more creative, less personally offensive ways these days. So being the 'non-swearing like a sailor' person that I'm trying to be now, it was sobering to realize that how I am STILL known by this old friend, SEVEN years removed from a time when our paths were consistently crossing, is so contrary to who I think I am now. But those two Whitney's; the swearing like a sailor Whitney and the non swearing like a sailor Whitney are actually the very SAME person. I did not die and come back to life in a different body, with a different soul and different vocabulary habits. All of the choices that I have made, the things I have said and done, the ways in which I've acted, not acted, pretended to act, all culminating up to this point are who I am. Though many of us wish we could cut out chunks of our past and toss them to the sharks or borrow MIB's mind swipey things and erase everyone's memories of us then, we cannot. Despite the grace of Christ through the love and mercy of others that covers our many sins and allows us to continue to move forward, grow and change, we're still stuck with the impressions we've made on others from start to finish.

And the impact is sometimes, oftentimes, much deeper and more significant that we realize. The web defines 'going viral' as objects or phenomena that are able to replicate themselves or convert other objects into copies of themselves when these objects are exposed to them. This has become a common way to describe how thoughts, information and trends move into and through a human population.

Hmmmm. To replicate or convert upon exposure. That idea doesn't just apply to youtube videos on the internet. It applies to you and to me and to every single person and situation we encounter along the way.

I'm sure my dear old friend isn't bothered in the least by her memories of me being 'the ultimate sailor'  but what about the countless other impressions I've made; negative AND positive through the years that have literally left permanent (and maybe not so permanent when they should've) imprints on the hearts and lives of others? To what are those who cross my path being 'exposed' and more importantly, TO WHOM?

I really can't say I'm sad to see 2013 go, but let me tell you, it is a year I will NEVER forget. Nor do I want to despite the heartache it held. 2013 burrowed itself deep into my spirit and began a conversion in me that will not soon be shaken. This events of this year have been refining; breaking me down, chiseling away at the unimportant, the distractions and revealing the truest parts of me; in my character, in my purpose, in the vision I have of myself and the future..in every part of my life.

And I'm glad for it. Because as a goldsmith continues to purify gold until he can see his own reflection shining back from it, I know that my God and Creator sees a little more of Himself when looking into my face as an effect of this year.

"You now rejoice in this HOPE, even if it's necessary for you to be distressed for a short time by various trials. This is necessary so that your faith may be found genuine. Your faith is more valuable than gold, which will be destroyed even though it is itself tested by fire. Your genuine faith will result in praise, glory and honor for you when Jesus Christ is revealed. Although you've never seen him, you love him. Even though you don't see him now, you trust him and so rejoice with a glorious joy that is too much for words. You are receiving the goal of your faith; your salvation." 1 Peter 1: 6-9

So goodnight 2013. In a few short hours we lay you to rest, like so many others this year. And tomorrow we rise from the ashes and trade our mourning in for dancing. And ohhhh, 2014, I think we both know, there will be MUCH to dance about.

 

Satisfaction with Real Life > Obsession with Secret Life: MOVIE SPOILER ALERT

Last night Andis and I watched 'The Secret Life of Walter Mitty' and though it had some over the top bizarre day dreaming scenes and silly jokes, overall it made a pretty profound impact on me. Walter Mitty is dissatisfied with his life. His job, his dating life (or lack thereof), himself in general. So dissatisfied in fact that he often 'daydreams' himself into amazing adventures wherein he is naturally the brave, creative, risk taking hero. Whether he is jumping out of helicopters, skateboarding across Greenland or hiking the Himalayas, his dreams are a far cry from the reality of his boring, predictable white washed desk job of a life.

Even though I am 99.9% satisfied and in love with my life I found myself resonating with his restlessness. Who of us hasn't dreamt at one time or another of the vibrant, technicolor life that the unchartered waters of our future has provided? There was a time when I made a million plans to do a million things that all involved adventure, mystery, danger and intrigue. Moving to the Philippines to save AIDS infected abandoned babies in the mountains? Check. Quitting school to become a break dancer? Check. Joining an organization that found the sex trafficked child victims of stateside families? Moving to Mexico City to be a missionary? Becoming an advocate against the Japanese slaughter of dolphins? Biking across the entire U.S, hiking the Appalachian Trail? Check. Check. Check. Check and CHECK.

Which is why I and probably so many others were drawn to this movie. It reminds us. Stirs the adventurous streaks in our spirits. Allows us to revel in the dream of leaving the dishes and the day job behind and doing something crazy big. But there was a bigger lesson to be learned from witnessing the secret life of Walter Mitty.......

A while back I ran into a friend and noticed that she seemed a little down. I asked her what was wrong. She thought for a minute and replied that she 'just wished she were different'. You see, my friend is shy. If I were to guess, she's probably the shyest person I know. And she hates that. She wishes she were more social, more outgoing and talkative. I AM social, outgoing and talkative and I love it so I of course could relate. However, if being outgoing, social and talkative is a gift I've been given (my husband may venture to say it's a bit of a curse from time to time), then being a good listener is NOT a gift I've been given. But guess what?! There is something my shy friend is so good at, that she should probably get an award! LISTENING. She's an AMAZING listener. Hands down probably the best listener I've met! And I would know because I do A LOT of talking. So if being a good listener is a gift that she's been given, then wouldn't being shy, (which has helped her develop into being a good listener), ALSO be a gift that she's been given?

You see we suffer from a 'we can do ANYTHING' mentality. And the things we think we must do well have grown to an insurmountable capacity with social media and the disease of comparison fanning the flames of our feverish drive to do and be different than we are. I'm not saying that growth and horizon spanning, self stretching goals aren't healthy and even necessary, but figuring out what we're good at, and pursuing those things and figuring out what we will just never be good at and letting it go sometimes, seems like it might be worth a little of our time.

Which brings me back to Walter Mitty. More important than breaking out of our own status quo to climb mountains and have adventures is finding the mountains and seeking out the adventure in the lives we are now living. Because if it is truly the life we are meant to live, it's exactly where we should be. Even if it includes day jobs and dishes.

My Pa-Paw Baker said it best when he said, "If you ain't where you are, you ain't NOWHERE."

And then there were Three.

"Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but THEN we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but THEN I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely." 1 Corinthians 13:12

I feel like I've been hit by a MACK truck. Actually, no, that's not good enough. I feel like Mike Tyson has sucker punched me, bitten my ear off and then his pet robot warrior has picked me up and thrown me in FRONT of a MACK truck and after a few forwards and reverses over my crumpled, pancake flattened like body, I have been peeled off of the sidewalk and flicked into the Atlantic and now the below freezing waves are washing over my body and cementing this pain into my cells like memories.

Sam, the third piece of our four child puzzle, has been placed with an adoptive family. And it's not us.

If our caseworker wasn't so tiny and cute and lovable and amazing I might have tried to pitch her right out the door like an unwanted salesperson interrupting dinner, last night when she delivered this crushing blow. We KNEW this was a possibility. We did. But sometimes knowing a thing doesn't prevent the overwhelming pain of a thing. And of course, as we were putting on brave faces and blinking back tears and choking on the worst news of the month from across our kitchen table; the table that has the perfect amount of chairs for a family of SIX, not five; we asked the same questions as you are probably asking now.

WHY would they break up a sibling group when there is a couple who wants ALL OF THEM?!?! How could they DO THAT?! Who could possibly be better for him than US? What are their names and where do they live and how can I make them DISAPPEAR? And what about his sisters? What will they do without HIM? Oh. My. Gosh......his SISTERS.  How must they be feeling right now? Knowing that their brother has been placed and they have NOT. Are they scared, sad, angry, confused? Are they putting on brave faces and blinking back tears and choking on the worst news of the year too? Oh, their sweet little hearts. The jealousy, the fear, the worthlessness, the insecurity, the LOSS. Each feeling I know well....

And then I saw it.

Just for a moment, just a glimpse and a blurry glimpse at that, but still, there it was. The story. The story that's being woven into and through the lives of these children, the story that's been woven into and through our lives and the connection between the two. It's messy and broken and like the back of a tapestry as it's being woven, it doesn't make sense. But to judge each chapter on it's own, isolated and removed from the context of the entire story is enough to infuriate you; so you slam the cover closed and using your best wind-up, launch it across the room and into the wall, never to pick up again.

(Like that moment in the Neverending Story when Atreyu loses Artax, his beloved white stallion to the Swamp of Sadness. Every 80's baby remembers that one. And I would bet that if it had been a book and not a movie, there would have been a significant 'book smashing' movement across America then.)

But then you realize it's not your book. You didn't write it and you don't own it. It's merely been lent to you. So, you mutter curses against the author under your breath as you take the walk of shame across the room to pick it up, smooth the pages and bite your lip as the tension between crushing sadness and potential gladness wages war on your will. Should I read on? I cannot. It's simply too painful. But two little words answer that question for most of us. WHAT IF? What if I just don't understand because I don't have all of the information? What if tomorrow everything changes but I miss it because I'm scared? What if there is good news right around the corner, on the next page? WHAT IF there are three little girls who need a daddy's attention as much as a mommy's in a castle all their own so that they can heal and grow and one day be able to accomplish God's purposes for them? And WHAT IF there is one little boy who needs to be the PRINCE of his new parents hearts, in a kingdom all his own to heal and grow so that one day he can accomplish God's purposes for him? We all know how that battle ends because we were created for the hope that every new chapter offers; like a tiny seed planted in the secret places in our hearts, we believe the unbelievable, see past the unthinkable and dream for the happy endings that we KNOW must be there, even if the space in between is so sad that you feel like drowning. So we read on.

And instead of hurling insults at the author of the story, the creator of this unfinished masterpeice, I think I'll choose the high road and take Julia Robert's advice from Mona Lisa Smile.

" Do me a favor. Do yourself a favor. Stop talking and LOOK. You're not required to write a paper. You're not even required to LIKE it.....you ARE required to consider it."

So here I am. Attempting to consider all that I do not see and understand about this unfinished story and dreaming of a day when I get to meet a little boy who's heart and life I will love from afar as he excitedly becomes the missing peice of someone else's story.

Because the fact remains. There are still THREE.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aHCUoDf7KGA&feature=player_embedded

NOTE: Our adoption of the girls is still in the early stages of the process and though it's 99.9% certain we will be moving toward that end as we are the only family currently applying for their adoption, there are always hiccups and unforeseen obstacles. At this point there is nothing we can do but wait for more information. Thanks for your continued prayers and support!

A rib is worth a Thousand Words.

 “Because he holds fast to me in love, I will deliver him. I will protect him because he knows my name. When he calls to me, I will answer him. I will be with him in trouble. I will rescue him and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.” Psalms 91:14-16

If you have ever made your man cry (and I KNOW all of you have because there is NO WAY I am the only mean and spiteful, heartless, self-centered wench out there), you will probably agree with me that it’s the most awful, heart wrenching, make you sick to your stomach, promise to never do it again, shocking and debilitating experience ever. Worse than a root canal. Worse than a fight with your mom. Worse than that time your bestie ditched a cry fest/FRIENDS marathon/ben and jerry binge with you to hang out with someone way more fun and upbeat. Worse than getting through the thirty minute long Wal-mart line with everything you could possibly need for the next ten months and realizing you left your wallet at home. Worse than the first time your child ever said ‘I hate you’ or you stepped on the scale and it said ‘I hate you’ or during that performance review with your boss, when they might as well have said ‘I hate you’. You get it. Worse than the worst, ok?

And after you get over the initial paper bag on an airplane I can’t believe I just did that vomit in your mouth moment, the shock and bewilderment sets in and you realize, THEY DO HAVE HEARTS AFTERALL. Even if they don’t communicate like you and they don’t cry at every Hallmark commercial that comes down the pike and they don’t need to tell you EVERY SINGLE MILLISECOND how much they love you and they prefer high fives over long emotional hugs and a good quickie over lots of movie-esque making out, they DO have a heart and shock of all shockers, it’s actually 25% BIGGER than yours.  

I was at a Christian wedding a few years ago and par for the course, the officiant pastor talked about how God designed woman; not from man’s head to lord over him or his foot to be beneath him but from his rib, to walk alongside him as a partner in life. And usually the analogy ends there and everyone smiles and moves on to the rings and the kiss and the cake, but this time it was different. This time, the pastor went on to talk about the significance of the rib.

The rib. Strategically placed as a protective covering over one’s vital organs, namely, the heart; to keep safe from harm or injury. Huh. Interesting. You mean we, as women, as wives, might actually have been given a worthy and honorable position that comes with great responsibility rather than just being simply ‘made from man and for man’? You mean there’s more to this whole ‘wife’ thing than dishes and laundry and kids and food and sex? You mean instead of spending my energy and time fighting for equal rights and equal pay and equal say and equal everything in order to prove that I am equipped, able and important when standing next to my man, there is something I can do for him that he can’t do for himself?

As I was reading up on ribs I learned that we humans have 24 ribs; 12 pairs. And in the world of anatomy and physiology these ribs are designated into three groups; true ribs, false ribs and floating ribs. I thought this was so poignant considering. True ribs are actually directly connected to the sternum (the steel like plate behind which the heart hides). False ribs are connected to cartilage that is also connected to the sternum (think nose and ear like material; not particularly fragile but not stone cold steel by any means) and the floating ribs aren’t connected to anything which is why they are so easily moved. In fact some people don’t even have them; that’s how worthless they are. And of course, I couldn’t help, but ask myself………

“Whit……what kind of rib are you?”

Are you the floating kind? So far removed and disconnected from the heart that you might as well not even be there? Floating around, now you see me, now you don’t, it’s not really my job to protect your heart kind of attitude? Would the heart even miss you if you didn’t even exist? Would it feel a loss? Would it feel vulnerable, unsafe and exposed or would it just keep plugging along, one beat at a time, not even cognizant of the absence of your protection? Or maybe the false rib. Definitely there, definitely connected, definitely aware of the importance of your position but not really committed when it comes down to the nitty gritty. Are you easy to cut away under pressure or when a problem or painful situation arises? Out of self-preservation would you rather abandon ship, plead the 5^th, detach and walk away from your job to protect the heart? When the goin’ gets tough do you get goin’, even if only emotionally?

Or are you TRUE? Are you so deeply committed and connected to your job of protecting the heart that to tear you away would literally splinter and destroy you? Would someone have to cross over your ‘dead body’ in order to access the precious heart you protect? Come hell or high water, thick and thin, better or worse, for richer or poorer in sickness and health did you come to love, cherish, have and hold until death did part you and your heart?   

Only you can answer this question. God forbid your husband answers for you because I fear, if we’re really being honest here ladies, we probably have a little work to do. Let’s face it, we all know what major damage we can do in about 3.2 seconds to these hearts whose care and protection has been entrusted to us and if we’re REALLY being honest, we probably HAVE, more times than we care to admit.

The other day Andis said to me, “It’s really important to me when you are THERE. Just there. Even if you don’t do or say anything, just having you next to me gives me strength.”

 A heart is made to be a heart. A heart can’t BE a heart and PROTECT a heart at the same time so I might suggest that in between this life we’re building for our family; with work and laundry and dinner and soccer practice, we stop and take a second to think about how and why we were created and what a glorious honor it really is.

 “A wise woman builds up her household, but a foolish one tears it down with her own hands.” Proverbs 14:1

The Shiny Penny.

It's 5am. I just woke up and while the coffee is perking and I'm rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I'm already scrolling through FB and then Instagram and THEN Pinterest and don't forget Twitter. (Actually DO forget Twitter because I don't do that. Doesn't fit into my minimum character usage requirement.) And then it begins. The thoughts of inadequacy, fear, doubt, self-hatred, jealousy, envy and every other not awesome feeling that comes with the act of COMPARISON start creeping in, one by one; silent, sneaky, snake-like little things and before you know it, I'm hating myself for a MILLION and one reasons before the sun is even up.

"Aw, man. She looks SO good in red!" "Wow, I've always wanted to learn how to make a quilt." "Andis would LOVE it if I could make a meal like that." "They look like they're having so much fun." "I USED to be that size." "Her short hair is cute." "Her long hair is beautiful." "That outfit is bomb."  "They're having TWINS!" "He started his own business and it's wildly successful!" "She just started homeschooling."

Remember the essays we had to write in elementary? They all had a theme such as 'This summer I....', 'For Christmas I......', etc. Well the "theme" in my head is just as painful as writing those essays except it seems to write itself and it DOESN'T. STOP. EVER. "I wish I spoke like that, wrote like that, acted like that, looked like that, cooked like that, loved like that." "I wish I had a kitten or a puppy or a new car or a baby or that couch or that phone or that adventure or that thought or that personality trait or long eye lashes or worked from home or that kind of faith, or, or, or, or, or.....are you starting to catch on? Facebook Envy. Pinterest Psychosis. Instagram Illusions. You've heard the terms (or maybe you haven't because I just made at least one of those up) and probably experienced them all to varying degrees yourself. You can be the most settled, secure, confident, happy and joy-filled person and STLL struggle against feelings of fear, doubt, insecurity, self-hatred and general crappiness about your life when you hold it up to anothers. It's the shiny penny syndrome and it's not only a buzz-kill but it renders you UN-USABLE by God. Because that line that they fed us when we were kids? The 'You can do and be ANYTHING you want' line. Well, it's crap. We were created, unique and purposefully to accomplish unique and purposeful things, NOT to do everything or be everything. And when we get wrapped up in the 'EVERYTHINGS' that we think we should or could be doing, is when we end up doing NOTHING that we were created to do. One of my fave preacher's ever, Cody Whitfill of our home skillet, River Valley Christian Fellowship, shared a message once about the importance of guiding and helping your children find their purpose and what they might naturally be designed to do because NEWS FLASH, they won't be good at everything and in trying to be, they might actually end up accomplishing the wrong things or nothing at all. This was revolutionary to me. Not because I have kids but I guess maybe because in a lot of ways I'm still a kid on the inside? Yeah, let's go with that. And despite my most valiant efforts at being independent and Godly and confident and self-assured and proud and content with who I am at 32, there is a tiny little fifth grader with chipmunk cheeks and purple and pink splatter paint glasses and a really bad mullet wearing sweat pants and matching Keds screaming on the inside, "LIKE ME! LIKE ME! LIKE ME! I'm cool! I promise!" I'm learning to hug that little fifth grader, tell her she's got some growing to do but that it's all gonna be ok and send her on her way because the truth is when you compare yourself to another you either end up feeling better than them or you end up feeling worthless next to them and neither camp is a healthy or happy place to set up shop. And let's face it. Being cool isn't always as cool as cool people think it is, despite what social media portrays. And even though I haven't met a penny yet that could talk, I'd much rather be a crusty, rusty, slightly green one anyway because I bet if they could, they would be much better story tellers. So, rusty pennies put your HANDS UP! We got work to do. Margaret Cho said it best, "I'm not gonna die if I don't succeed as someone else. I'm gonna succeed as myself." More you. More true. Get started. Success is waiting.

"....whenever they measure themselves by their own standards or compare themselves among themselves, they show how foolish they are." 2 Corinthians 10:12

" Do not conform to the patterns of this world, but be TRANSFORMED by the renewing of your minds. Then you will be able to test and approve God's will; his good, pleasing and perfect will." Romans 12:2 

George Banks is saying NO!

LEAKS. Lots and lots of leaks is what we woke up to this morning at 3something am. In the closet, and the bedroom and the other bedroom and possibly the kitchen by the time we get home this afternoon. I can handle a lot of irritating things but leaks are not something I'm good at dealing with. Andis would definitely agree with that statement as he is most often on the receiving end of my 'not good at dealing with something', and unfortunately it came sooner than later this morning. Like the torrential downpour, thunder and lightning that raged around us OUTSIDE of 606 Main, my inability to get a grip on myself and all of the fear, worry, frustration and finger-pointing caused a raging storm of its own, INSIDE of 606 Main.

"If our house leaks, it will get on everything. It will ruin the ceiling and the walls and the floors and our clothes and our shoes and our bed and out pillows and our bedroom furniture that we just financed and then it will SPREAD! Like gangrene to other parts of our house and it will ruin our fridge and our countertops and our stove and our cabinets and our pots and pans then I will have NOTHING to bang around!" "If our house has leaks, it won't pass a health inspection and if we don't pass our health inspection we won't be able to get the kids as quickly or AT ALL and if we don't get the kids, our lives will be empty and lonely and empty and lonely; food will lose its taste, the sun will lose its warmth, everything will be black and white and my life might as well be OVER!" "And even if they DO let us take the kids with a leaky roof, the money and time we have to spend fixing the leaky roof will be taken away from the money and time that we had intended to spend getting their bedrooms and bathrooms ready and the family car that we need to haul them AROUND and the bedding and lamps and rugs and backpacks and clothes and pillows and shoes and furniture that they will need when they come to live with us and we'll NEVER get it all done and we'll NEVER be ready for them and THEN, our lives will be empty and lonely and empty and lonely; food will lose its taste, the sun will lose its warmth, everything will be black and white and my life might as well be OVER!" 

Might we say that the propensity toward over-reaction has quite possibly imbedded itself in my genetic code?! Insert movie scene from Father of the Bride where George is consoling Bryan after he buys Annie a blender, and Annie loses it, HERE.

George: I thought maybe I should help smooth things over. So I took Bryan out for a drink. Thought we could have a talk, man-to-man. But as I sat there and listened to his side of the story... I realized this was a golden opportunity. If I ever wanted to get rid of Bryan MacKenzie, this was my chance.
Bryan: You know those banana shakes she likes to make, right? Well, that's why I thought she'd like a blender. I guess I can see her point. I mean, a blender does suggest a certain... reference to sexual politics, but... I swear, it never entered my consciousness at the time.
George: I believe you.
Bryan: You do? Would you tell Annie that for me, Dad?
George: This was where I was gonna lower the boom. But instead, I looked into his weepy eyes and found my self saying:
George: Sure, I'll tell her.
Bryan: Oh, good! 'Cause I know whatever you say she'll believe.
George: Not only was I not getting rid of the kid... I now found myself talking him into staying.
George: You know, Bryan, Annie's a very passionate person. And passionate people tend to overreact at time. Annie comes from a long line of major overreactors. Me. I can definitely lose it. My mother. A nut. My grandfather. Stories about him were legendary. The good news, however, is that this overreacting... tends to get proportionately less by generation. So, your kids could be NORMAL.
George: As if that wasn't enough, I went on.
George: But on the upside, with this passion... comes great spirit and individuality... which is probably one of the reasons you love Annie.
Bryan: That's what I love most about her.
George: That's when it hit me like a Mack truck. Annie was just like me, and Bryan was just like Nina. They were a perfect match.

I'm sure Andis was NOT thinking we were a 'perfect match' this morning as I was stomping around, banging pots and pans, pointing fingers and muttering disrespect and unkindness every chance I got. Indeed he was not. I am happy to say, however, that we got through BOTH storms; the rain let up, our house didn't crumble down around us and instead of calling into work and heading straight for the courthouse we actually ended the morning with 'i love you's', hugs and kisses. And as I listened to the radio on my way to work, this statement was shared:

"God's plan for your life cannot be thrown off course by the circumstances of your day."

Bullseye. Straight to the heart. How arrogant, prideful and hypocritical could I be? To claim to have faith enough that God can turn the ashes of our childlessness into the beauty of a perfectly patchworked family but who CAN'T knit that family together because of a leaky roof? Really? No. I mean REALLY?!

"Then the disciples came to Jesus in private and asked, "Why couldn't we (do it)?" He replied, "Because you have so little faith. Truly I tell you. If you have faith as small as this mustard seed, you could say to that mountain, 'Move from here to there.' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you." Matthew 17:19-20

So I'm done. I'm done sweating the small stuff. Leaky roof? Psshttt. I say BRING ON THE RAIN; it will just put us THAT much closer to the rainbow of love that's on its way. And that, is worth a MILLION leaks.

Snoop-Lion, Pt. 2: The New Face of Nanny 9-1-1.

NOTE: If you didn't catch the first part of Snoop-Lion's story, you can find it here: http://whitneygoble.blogspot.com/2013/08/snoop-lion-pt-1-life-in-balance.html


To make Snoop's case even more heart wrenching, he had a family! For TEN YEARS! And when he was just over 70 years old, they dropped him off at the shelter because they recently had twins and he was barking too much. Oh really? Barking too much? Because that's so odd for a dog and really the only solution would be a kick in the pants to the nearest shelter. Bravo! MEAN AND TERRRIBLE, NO GOOD PREVIOUS OWNERS! I really really dislike you and we've only met on paper.

Enough about Snoop's dreary past, I'm here to tell you about his bright and shining FUTURE; as the new face of Nanny 9-1-1. For those of you who aren't familiar with the show, basically some no-nonsense British former nannies can be hired to whip your family into shape if you have unruly kids which are usually a product of their unruly parents. She spends a day observing and then the 'transformation' begins. You can read more about it HERE: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nanny_911.

My recommendation for Snoop's future is a similar show but one that focuses on PREPARING unsuspecting childless adults who think they have a clue about what's in store in this glamorous journey called 'Parenting'. It would go a little something like this:

Enter Snoop from stage left.
Bark without ceasing all night long for no reason.
Poop without ceasing all night long for no reason.
Hold your poop in, until you are inside on the rug and then let loose like the tsunami in China.
Don't listen. Don't come when called. Don't do what your told.
Embarrass your parents in front of their friends and neighbors.
Be mean to the other kids in the neighborhood.
Turn your nose up at healthy food and hold out for the left over cheese filled weiners.
Run away every chance you get when no one and everyone is looking. Run faster when said parent starts to chase you. Snap at parent when they grab you by the collar because you aren't getting your way.
Sleep. Repeat steps 1-10. Over. And over. AND OVER.

NOTE: I wrote the above MONTHS ago when I was in the throes of adoption remorse which isn't REALLY remorse it's more like significant irritation at how out of whack your life seems at the time. Now, as I stare in the face of the end of my sweet old man's life and reflect upon how powerfully he has impacted OURS, the pooping isn't so bad really. You know what they say. Hindsight is 20/20 and you don't know what you have until it's gone. What they say is true. Here is, the REST of the story.  

So, Snoop-Lion is dying on me. And all of a sudden like. Almost overnight he has stopped walking and eating and I see the light in his eyes getting dimmer and dimmer. When we adopted him six months ago we knew that we were risking another loss sooner than later. Considering his age and his health and the trauma of spending several years in a shelter, the employees there were surprised he was still as spry as he was. Andis reminded me of the possibility that we could be burying him in a matter of months, weeks, days even. I was ok with this. All I knew was that I couldn't bear to let this sweet oldie live out the rest of his days, weeks, months; whatever he had; in a 5x5 cell with limited love and no people to call his own. He had been 'lost' in the worst way by his former family; purposely lost. And as tragic as that was, the timing of us finding each other couldn't have been more poetic. Because in the deepest part of my heart I believe beyond the shadow of a doubt that if we hadn't been given the opportunity to adopt Snoop six months ago, we would NOT, in any shape or form, be trying to adopt FOUR older children RIGHT NOW. Learning to love and care for him through his age and his attachment disorder and his lack of proper bonding and his quirky behaviors that we didn't understand and the things that scare him because he had been abused and the ways he is ok being apart from me because he was neglected and the fact that I didn't train and teach him from the time he was little have prepared me, in small and big ways, to become a mommy to children who will probably struggle with much of the same.

A long time ago I heard a story or theory rather on the idea of souls making agreements with God before they were put into bodies and sent to Earth. Agreements about where they would go, who they would love, how they would impact the world and those around them. And not every agreement included an easy, walk in the park life for these souls. In order to accomplish small and big things, significant sacrifices were sometimes required. I don't believe that we were pre-destined to live a certain life and I very much DO believe in free will and natural consequences but what a beautiful idea. What if, before I had a mind or a body, my spirit and God sat down over some heavenly coffee and had a conversation about the 'what-ifs' and 'what-fors' and 'how-tos'? I feel like it would go something like this....."There will be a child. And that child will become something GREAT and will impact my Kingdom on Earth for decades to come. But before that can happen, that child will be abused and neglected and placed in an orphanage and forgotten and YOU must find and save that child in order for it to have the opportunity to accomplish such things but in order for you to find and save that child, you must lose a child of your own and experience grief and loss and sadness and separation. It will only be through this common bond of loss that you and this child can truly become all that I have prepared you to be." And we wouldn't REMEMBER these conversations if they really took place, we would just encounter the possibilities as we meandered our way through life. And sometimes it would just WORK, like a perfect storm. You know that feeling; where everything seems to be in place for once and it all goes smoothly as if there is a Divine hand pulling the strings.

Snoopy was one of those strings. And regardless of if  the vet tells us we have five hours or five days or five months left with him this afternoon, I will be eternally thankful for the 'Agreement' he made to live a life less fortunate so that he could bring great fortune to us. Thanks Snoop-Lion. You are my favorite geriatric dog. Adopting you was a GREAT idea. xo.

Joy Comes in the Morning.

NOTE: If you haven't read the first three parts of this story, please DO or you might be confused! ;) They are Pt. 1-A Seed is Planted, Pt. 2-A Seed Begins to Grow, and Pt. 3-The Harvest.

And then I saw them. Their perfect faces framed by a professional's lens. Tiny smiles strategically placed to cover up the sadness, the scared-ness, the insecurity, the vulnerability, the lonely nights and no one to leave the light on and no one to stay up late with them on Fridays with movies and popcorn made on the stove and just enough soda to make it a party and please check under the bed for the millionth time for monsters and kiss it and make it better and fight for me when I don't know how to fight for myself and frighten me with how intense your love for me is and catch me if I fall, hold my small hand in yours when I'm crossing the street, hide and seek for hours and jars of fireflies just because it pleases you to see the wonder in my eyes and learning how to dot i's and cross t's and how to say thank you and pretty please with a cherry on top and how to properly hold a mop and snuggles and lovins and whoppits and noodlers and groupers and I love you the mostests and passing tests and failing to do your best and loving beyond limits and limiting the t.v. and junk food, but then candy for no reason, season upon season of growing and learning and loving and you're mine, all mine, no one can hurt you, harm you, farm you out, lose you, ever again because in that split moment, in less time than it took me to blink, I became a mother.


And though these four children don't even know I exist, I have barely slept since then. Wondering and worrying and grieving and praying and praying and praying and imagining and preparing and painting and filling out seventy pages of applications and health inspections and training and training and training and inching my way, one task at a time to the moment when I can hold them in my arms and look into their eyes and begin to earn my mommy badges, one by one.

I will extol you, O Lord, for you have drawn me up

and have not let my foes rejoice over me.

O Lord my God, I CRIED to you for help

and you have healed me!

O Lord, you have brought up my soul from the depths;

you restored me to life from among those who go down to the pit.

Sing praises to the Lord, O you, his saints,

and give thanks to his HOLY NAME!

His anger is but for a moment and his favor is for a lifetime.

Weeping may tarry for the night but JOY COMES in the morning!

As for me, I said in my prosperity,

   “I shall never be moved.”

By your favor, O Lord, you made my mountain stand strong.

You have turned for me my mourning into dancing.

You have loosened my grief
and clothed me with JOY

that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.

O LORD MY GOD, I WILL GIVE THANKS TO YOU FOREVER!

NOTE: Unfortunately, these are not our children yet and even though my soul rebels to even say it out loud, there is a possibility that they might not ever be. Andis and I will be certified to foster/adopt by Thanksgiving however and will hopefully meet our first four forever babies sometime in December, but nothing is set in stone. Naturally there are a LOT of variables and things that would need to go RIGHT, between now and then, but regardless of how this story ends, we hope you will join us in praying for (L-R) Shelley- 9, Shawna-7, Shyanne-11 and Samuel-8 to become part of the Goble family and the Smithville community because really, in my heart, nothing else will do. We will keep you posted as we get closer! Thank you for reading about our adoption journey so far. We hope that you will keep your mind and heart open to the 20,000+ children in Texas alone that need forever families; especially sibling groups and children older than 6 as they have a very slim chance of being adopted. You can learn more about the process to become certified to foster/adopt by following the link below. Please feel free to get in touch with us if you have any questions about the process. We don't know everything but we would love to share anything with you that we can and put you in touch with someone who does know if we don't!

http://www.dfps.state.tx.us/Adoption_and_Foster_Care/children_in_our_care.asp

He called a little child and had him stand among them. And he said: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven and whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name, welcomes me."
                                                                                                             Matthew 18: 2-4

The Harvest.

".....some other seed fell on good ground and began to grow. It grew taller and began to produce. Some plants made thirty times more, some sixty times more and some a hundred fold." Mark 4:1-9

I know all of you have that friend. The one who tries to assist you in explaining the unexplainable and connecting the dots. And timing for friends like this is irrelevant because if it was 'meant' to happen, there is obviously a good reason so they take a "let's just figure it out" kind of approach; the sooner the better in their minds. I, too, have a friend like this and I wouldn't trade her for the world. Is her timing always impeccable? At FIRST glance through the eyes of a freshly grieving woman, no, definitely not, but hindsight is 20/20 and I'm SO THANKFUL for the powerful (though seemingly inappropriate at the time) ways God has used her in my life and as a marker to guide us a little bit further into our adoption journey.

It was the Sunday following the loss of our baby girl and I got a text from said friend that a Christian orphanage had come to present at their church and the man presenting said they had JUST received an infant; a girl, that very weekend. In fact, I might be stretching it a bit here, but PROBABLY sometime the same day that I lost mine. WHAT DID IT ALL MEAN?! I lost my baby, here was a random baby; both girls, did I want more information? OF COURSE I wanted more information--ANYTHING to fill the gaping hole in my abdomen that led directly to my heart. I would have taken that baby girl in a heartbeat. Thankfully, God inserts a mandatory 'pause' button sometimes where we would employ no reason, self-control or wisdom because come to find out, that baby girl came with FOUR older brothers. NOW did I want more information? NOOOOOOOooooooooooo I certainly did not. That was all the 'more information' that I needed. Was I sad that there was a baby girl out there that needed a mommy? Yes, absolutely. Did I grieve for her losing her mommy like I lost my baby? Yes of course. Was it uncanny that I had ALWAYS wanted a crop of boys and then a tiny little princess? Hmmmm, yes it was. Did the thought cross my mind that overnight we could have our very own relay team and that THAT would be frightening but awesome? Hands down yes. But NO ONE in their right mind adopts five kids at once. NO ONE. But of course Andis and I and our families joked all weekend about the prospect. Well, maybe I joked and they all sheepishly laughed, knowing that my middle name changes from Kay to 'Insanity' from time to time and secretly wondering if they might need to check me in somewhere JUST IN CASE I got a wild hair. A geriatric dog is one thing, an insta-family including an infant bears a tad more discussion I would imagine.

And we needed time. We just lost a baby. We knew we WANTED to adopt but we were thinking more along the lines of ONE CHILD in the arena of 1-3 years old or 4 or 5 at the OLDEST. I mean when we said 'old' we didn't mean OLLLLLLDDDDD. And we certainly didn't mean a baby and four older brothers. Are you crazy? That's ridiculous. We couldn't possibly handle something like that. We are just two people, we've never even had kids, we wouldn't know the first thing to do, we couldn't afford it, where would we PUT them all?! Oh my gosh why am I even still THINKING about this, this is ridiculous. MOVING. ON. NOW. But even though I didn't know it until later, it was too late. The seed had been watered and was growing at a rapid pace.

A few weeks went by. Naturally, Andis and I continued to grieve; together and individually. Some days were harder than others. One particularly hard day when the anger had started to set in, I stomped into the kitchen and very pointedly informed Andis that God OWED me babies. See I have never been disillusioned by the fact that God's sovereignty is something against which I constantly struggle. I have had a rebellious, strong willed, disobedient heart since birth it seems and the 'maturity of adulthood' hasn't curbed it in the slightest. Following Him is a choice I have to make every day. It's not something that has come naturally for me, ever, and though I would love to think one day it will become easier, I'm just not sure. But until then I'll continue to choose to follow which I think is probably ok with Him actually. He DID create me afterall. So as an effect of my wily, tempestuous heart, it has always taken a certain amount of Godsmackdown to produce humility and dependence in me. Though not in the midst of it, most of the time I welcome the events, circumstances and occurences that produce these things because I LOOOOOVE the closeness to God that it brings and I know I can't produce that on my own. So we kind of have this unspoken charter between us; I rebel, he provides appropriate and timely smackdown, we get tight and then I start to wander again and so on and so forth. It works. Well, on THIS particular day I decided that it had stopped working.

"God OWES me babies." I said matter of factly. "I know He didn't cause this and it's not His WILL that we lose babies and I know that He USES these life circumstances to help me refine my spirit but seriously can't he do it with MULTIPLE BABIES rather than NO BABIES? I'm seriously DONE with the no babies thing." And just like that, without me even realizing what was coming out of my own mouth, I. Had. Asked. For it. And I'm sure he was sitting upstairs clapping and grinning like a mischievous school boy who had just pulled off the greatest prank of all. Because now, I could not blame him for my future troubles, no matter how overwhelming they be. I had asked for this. Clearly. Demonstratively. And with a witness present. Oh. Shoot.

"I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels--a plentiful harvest of new lives." John 12:24

A Seed Begins to Grow.

NOTE: If you haven't read the first part of this story, A Seed is Planted, you can find it here:

http://whitneygoble.blogspot.com/2013/11/a-seed-is-planted.html


And so Andis and I be-bopped along for four and a half blissful months of pregnancy (well, maybe not ENTIRELY blissful) without sparing even a moment to think about, consider, and pray over the adoption seed that God planted in our hearts. At ONE point I asked him if he had thought about adoption since we had gotten pregnant to which he replied, "Yep.", to which I replied, "Me too.", and then we shrugged our shoulders and continued be-bopping along the rosey path toward parenthood. Which is what MOST people do who are getting what they want at the time. Regardless, all was right with our world. And then that world came crashing down around our heads when we lost our baby on Sept. 7th to a placental infection. You can read more about that, here:

http://whitneygoble.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-elephant-in-room.html

And you know, when you experience tragedy of any sort, the first question you always ask yourself, God and those around you, is....WHY?! Why me? Why this now? Why this way? (Ani Difranco) As if the happening of it in itself demands an explanation from someone, somewhere. Often times though we don't get an explanation nor do we ever come even remotely close to an answer that satisfies. God doesn't speak to us like he did way back when; with straight up answers and burning bushes and fiery clouds and booming voices and angel messengers. And I'm pretty OK with that. I think I would die of a heart attack if he actually DID respond to me shaking my fist at him and demanding answers. As far as I'm concerned, I'm better off that he ignores my three year old tantrums for now. So when we don't KNOW, we fall back on what we DO KNOW. And what Andis and I did know during that time is that God says this: "I KNOW the plans I have for you. They are plans for GOOD and NOT for disaster. To give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11 And that answer was enough for us. Did it hurt? YES. Were we confused? YES. Did it seem unfair? YES, YES, YES. Of course, being HUMAN, in our finite though stubborn minds, we still tried to 'connect the dots' if you will which was probably part of the plan all along. Because without direct, booming voice from the sky communication, how else does God have to communicate with us but to woo us, clue by clue, step by step, down the path He is clearing for us; the path that leads to His infinite and inexplicable love, grace and blessings.

I remember when I first said it out loud. "Maybe we lost this baby so that there would be room in our hearts to adopt an older child; one that probably has a slim chance of being adopted." Andis and I were driving to my parents' house the day that we lost our baby girl. I was in that safe space; the space between harrowing trauma and the settling in stage; the fuzzy, snuggly, surreal space. The lots of vicodin space. It's only when you're in that space that you can say stuff like that. Drugs tend to do that, but a combination of drugs, adrenaline, exhaustion and shock remove all barriers completely. It really is quite nice considering. I had more clarity and peace in those few hours than I did for weeks afterwards. See Andis and I were actually doing really well considering we had lost a child a mere eight hours prior. In fact, we were surprised at how successfully we were grieving together. Though it felt weird and a tad inappropriate to compare the loss of our child to the loss of our dog, we were confident that if we hadn't suddenly lost our sweet boy, our dog Jackson, six months before we wouldn't be doing near as well as we were. He was our first significant loss together as a couple and I KNOW the experience prepared us for the level of compassion, tenderness, communication and love that we would need to get through this loss. So naturally, thinking about the loss of Jackson as compared to the loss of our child, led me to think of the almost too immediate ADOPTION of our 12 year old arthritic, inside pooping, wax filled ears, non listening, non obeying, incessant barking precious dog Snoopy who looks JUST like Jackson and who would have lived his geriatric days out in a 5x5 concrete cell instead of on an orthopedic bed in a warm, loving home- had Jackson not died of lymphoma a few weeks before. You can read more about that story, HERE:

http://whitneygoble.blogspot.com/2013_08_01_archive.html

And whether or not the connection was intentional or purely conincidental, the effects of that simple conversation began to lay the foundation of a journey whose path was, at that point, shrouded by grief and loss.

"...some other seed fell on good ground and began to grow. It got taller and began to produce...Some plants made thirty times more, some made sixty times more and some............."

A Seed is Planted.

"Let’s start at the very beggginnnninnnnng! A very good place to starrrrrt,” (in my best Julie Andrews from the Sound of Music voice).

 

After having an ectopic pregnancy in 2010, Andis and I were uncertain that we would ever be able to get pregnant. We didn’t worry about it much then as we were both knee deep in a house remodel and pretty demanding careers, but of course it was always a present thought in the back of our hearts and minds. And as the ticking of our biological clocks would ebb and flow, we would find ourselves wondering just what WOULD our future family end up looking like? Andis and I both determined early on in our relationship that one day we would adopt and like most people who haven’t had to put a lot of thought into it, we assumed we would have a few biological children and then adopt a few after that. It’s not that we wouldn’t have done it any other way; we just hadn’t been faced with having to think about it any other way.  

 

So we didn’t actively TRY to get pregnant but we didn’t actively NOT TRY either and after about three years of it just not happening for us, we decided it was time to get busy; in every sense of the word. Taking temperatures and making healthy choices and boxers vs. briefs and lots of yams and reading the blogs and praying the prayers and you know, the other stuff. A month went by and two months and four months and six months and we noticed our glances were becoming more anxious, our palms a tad sweaty. So after a few doctor appointments and a few discussions we decided that if we weren’t pregnant by October we would take it to the next level so to speak. We didn’t know exactly what that meant but we tried to push the ‘what-ifs’ aside and we just prayed harder. “Lord please bless us with a baby! Lord, please let me get pregnant. Lord, I know you can do it, we need a little help here.” And then came the more desperate prayers, “Looooooorrrrrddddd. Are you even freaking listening? Good grief. Throw me a bone here. I can’t be the ONLY woman in Smithville without a baby. Or I guess I CAN, but I reeealllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy don’t want to be. You’re killing me Bigs. C’mon already.”

 

And every now and then, when the desperation would really sit in, we would take a step back from the mental picture of the family that WE wanted and ask ourselves….what if? “What if this isn’t the plan? What if, because we’re so focused on this particular path to children, a world of possibility is passing us right by?” And so, like a stranger in the middle of the night, Adoption came knocking and we hesitantly let him in.

 

ADOPTION. It almost felt like bad word. Like saying it out loud meant we had given up…or worse, meant that God wasn’t going to come through for us. Which really only ever means that God might not be giving you what you want, when you want it and how you want it. We all of a sudden became excruciatingly uncomfortable with the idea. This great philanthropic thing that we always KNEW we would do for YEARS all of a sudden felt like a very real and necessary option on a dwindling list of options. But still, we were three months out from ‘D-day’ so we convinced ourselves that “It couldn’t hurt to get certified”, “We could always choose not to adopt” or “We could still get pregnant. You never know! People try for WAY longer than we have.” Then there was, “Maybe we could foster! You know; commit to a child who is not our own without really committing…just in CASE we get pregnant.” But we didn't make a move.

 

And so it goes when you fight against the dreams, plans and purposes secretly planted in your heart from the beginning of time. And all the while you ask yourself, 'WHY can't I stop THINKING about this?' I remember my exact moment of surrender as clear as a bell. In church on a Sunday, enveloped by the voices of worship around me, I just gave it up. I offered up my family, my children; the images of the babies of my dreams on the altar of self-sacrifice and I GRIEVED for them. I typically try to hold back the tears in public; actually, no, that's a lie. I don't do that. And this time was not any different. Behind closed eyes in a private sanctuary all my own I met God, shared my doubts, fears, hopes and wishes and gave him the peice of my heart that I had been holding back for so long; the heart-shaped locket part that held the picture of family I thought I would have. And other than the streaks of mascara on my cheeks, you wouldn't have noticed that anything was different but in the 3 minutes and 30 seconds of that song EVERYTHING changed.  And what do you know, when I opened my eyes and looked through the clear lense of surrender and peace, what did I see before me but the backs of four of the most precious heads I've ever seen; obviously siblings, obviously adopted and obviously passionately loved by a mother and father that had not known them since birth. And just like that, in the blink of an eye, without even my knowledge, the seed started to grow. 

 

So like adolescents at their first school dance, we timidly and with much reserve signed up for our first information class on fostering/adoption. We hadn't talked at length about what we had hoped to find but we were definitely interested in a baby. That's what all first time parents want right? Babies with a capital B! Not much else makes sense afterall. So our class was scheduled for a Tuesday but we never actually made it. We didn't make it because the Sunday before we found out we were pregnant! We. Were. ELATED. And just like that, we put the adoption book back on the shelf. And as we began to praise God for blessing OUR plans, we didn't realize that a plan much larger than ours, His plan, had begun to slowly unfold.  

Mark 4, 1-9

"Again Jesus began teaching by the lake. A great crowd gathered around him, so he sat down in a boat near the shore. All the people stayed on the shore close to the water. Jesus taught them many things, using stories. He said, "Listen! A farmer went out to plant his seed. While he was planting, some seed fell by the road and the birds came and ate it up. Some seed fell on rocky ground where there wasn't much dirt. That seed grew very fast, because the ground was not deep. But when the sun rose, the plants dried up because they did not have deep roots. Some other seed fell among thorny weeds, which grew and choked the good plants. So those plants did not produce a crop. Some other seed fell on good ground and began to grow......."

A Way to Devour.

"Be clear headed. Keep alert. Your ACCUSER, the devil, is on the prowl like a roaring lion, seeking a way to devour." 1 Peter 5:8 

September 7 should be deleted from the calendar. It is by far the worst day in the history of worst days in my world. It will only ever signify destruction and death to me. And apparently a good bit of the rest of the world feels the same way considering the following events have also taken place on Sept. 7 sometime in history.

1921-Continued unrest in the mining industry.
1934-Submarine Price Fixing around the world.
1940-Germany starts it's blitz on London with 57 nights of consecutive bombing.
1942-Staligrad turned into a fortress city to defend Russia from German troops.
1955-Hurrican Gladys pounds Texas coastline and Hurricane Flora on her way.
1978-Kennedy investigation re-opened.
1979-Chrysler 1 billion dollar bail out.
1984-Salmonella outbreak leaves 500 people affected in UK.
1992-South African soldiers fire on demonstrators killing 24.
1993-A significant increase in Jamaican crime is documented.
1996-Tupac Shakur Shot.
1999-Greece experiences a 5.9 earthquake that leaves 150 dead.
2004-Hurrican Ivan destroys 90% of Grenada and leaves 92 dead.
2006-Mining disaster in Russian kills 21.
2007-Truck crash in India leaves 85 dead.
2008-Fannie and Freddie taken over by government.

2011-Plane crash kills 42 members of the Russian Professional Hockey team.

2011-Major flooding on the East coast due to Tropical Storm Lee.

Now to be FAIR, the UK Lusitania sets a trans-atlantic record, Mark McGwire hits his 62nd home run beating the most revered baseball record in history, and the DOW has record one-day gains on this day in history ALSO, but that hardly holds a candle to how the hearts of people around the world have been maimed for decades on this day in history.

And my story isn't much different. Not only was Sept. 7 the day that Andis and I lost our sweet baby girl to a random and unlikely infection in the placenta this past year, but it was also the day that I chose to end the life of another baby, 16 years ago, in a small abortion clinic in Austin, Tx.

You see I was THAT girl. The sweet and innocent preacher's daughter turned rebel; wheels spinning, hormones raging, searching for God, searching for acceptance, searching for identity, searching for anything that meant anything. And I found it in the front seat of my mom's minivan with a blonde haired, blue eyed neighborhood boyfriend who probably would have married me if I had let him. He was good. He was honest. He was kind. But he was a boy and I was a girl and we were in love and when his parents were asleep and we thought the world and God weren't looking, we pretended we were adults. And in 7 seconds, the course of our destiny was altered beyond our fathomable comprehension. The weeks and months after that were a blur. Because really how else do you cope with existence in a space where the zit on your best friend's chin and prom dress shopping are the priority when the life of a child, your child, despite what they tell you, hangs in the balance of your tortured heart. But still it wasn't enough. The truths I was taught as a young girl wasn't enough. The compassion, empathy and love I felt for that baby wasn't enough. The determination and strength I had as a hard working teen wasn't enough. The boyfriend who would have married me on the spot and done his best to be a good father wasn't enough. None of it was enough when held up to the light of my selfish, sinful heart.  And so, on a sunny day in September I made the only decision I knew how to make at that point in my life. A selfish one.

But that is not what this story is about. This story is about my Great Accuser; the one who prowls around my life and my heart like a roaring lion, constantly seeking a way to devour me. He who cannot be named, Satan, the Devil, whatever you want to call him, he's real and he's more powerful than you can ever imagine. You see I've held the guilt of that story in my heart for 16 years. I've worn it like the scarlet letter on Hester Prynne's chest, or rather, worn it in secret, over my heart like the Reverend's tatoo; seared over scar tissue on a nightly basis, but it wasn't until I lost a baby, and then another and then another and then another that I started to really feel the effects of that guilt and the way it could be used against me. And though I've never seen him, or met him or heard his voice, I feel his lies creep up and into and around my heart like choking vines determined to smother out any shred of life and truth and hope that exists there. "Of course you can't get pregnant Whitney. Did you think for a moment you could? You gave up your chance when you murdered your unborn living breathing child at 12 weeks, 16 years ago. That was an opportunity God gave you to rise above and be holy and you threw it away. You don't deserve to be a mother. You are only and always will be a murderer. And that baby you just lost, the one you held in your hands wishing you could breathe life back into its frail body looked just like the one you WILLINGLY had torn to shreds, ripped limb from limb and sucked out of the safety of your womb through a vacuum hose, locked in a canister and tossed in the garbage. In faaaaactttt, it wasn't much younger so the 'embryo' that you thought didn't have an identity or a nose or eyelashes or fingers, DID actually. You know the one that you thought was too young to feel pain or know what was happening, well, actually, it DID. I made sure of it. Just like I'm making sure that you remember exactly what it felt like, sounded like. That you know and will always know that it was YOUR decision, you made it and no one else. You are a murderer. You have been for 16 years and you will be until the day you die. You don't deserve to be a mother. You are worth nothing." 

"Mother," said little Pearl, "the sunshine does not love you. It runs away and hides itself, because it is afraid of something on your bosom...It will not flee from ME, for I wear nothing on my bosom yet!" 
"Nor ever will you, my child, I hope," said Hester.
"And why not, mother?" asked Pearl, stopping short...."Will it not come of its own accord, when I am a woman grown?"

It's easy to believe. Who wouldn't? It does seem to be the truth after all. But THANK GOD for September 8th and the new story that it brings.     

157,680,000 and counting......

5 years.

60 months.

240 weeks.

1,800 days.

43,200 hours.

2,628,000 minutes.

and 157,680,000 seconds ago I married my best friend.

October 4 (not 5th for those of you who have been slightly confused in the past), 2008, 7pm.

It was the best day of my life and I have had 1,800 best days since then. And when I say 'best' I don't mean best like picture perfect, something out of a Nicolas Sparks movie like 'The Notebook'. I mean as much as Andis looks EXACTLY like Ryan Gosling and my hair is naturally and perfectly red, there are fireworks less times than there aren't. Don't get me wrong. There ARE still fireworks, but after five years of marriage, fireworks look different. Fireworks look like him getting up at 5am and feeling around in the dark for his gym shoes so he doesn't have to turn on the light because it would wake me up, or me taking out ten million bags of trash even though I'm already running late for work because he's been at a wreck all morning and would probably forget to take out the trash because he's already blinded by his hangryness and I don't want him to feel bad about that. It looks like cleaning up poo every morning because you didn't say no when your wife brought home a geriatric dog and loving that dog anyway and not making her do it everytime even though she's the one who begged to bring him home. It looks like sanding and staining and caulking and painting a 100 year old house and turning it into a home together even though every time you do it, you both swear it's the last time you'll do it. It looks like communicating when you don't want to, doing things you don't have to, thinking of someone else always, grieving for the dog  you lost to cancer and the baby you lost for no good reason. It looks like growing out a beard even though it's itchy because she likes it and attempting to shave your legs everyday just in case today is THE DAY. It looks like being proud of each other and fighting to protect your heart and dreaming of a future that includes hairy ears and wrinkles and pudgy bellies, or maybe pudgy-er bellies. It looks like LOVE and love, as we know, is a verb.

                Here's to my favorite verb and the 157,680,000 best seconds it has created so far.

                           Happy 5th (belated) Anniversary my darling man. I heart you big time.

It's Just One of Them Days......

...that a girl goes through. When I'm angry insiiiiiiiddddeeeeeeeeeeeeee. You get the point. And if you lived with even one toe in the 90's you will probably remember this song. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a9ZTiymoC5A Though you might be shocked to know the artist was MONICA and NOT T.L.C. Who knew?! And WHO IS Monica?! I think someone is lying about that. T.L.C. TOTALLY did that song. Pssht.

So yeah, one of them days. When I am literally, unequivocably, irreversibly, immutably, irretrievably, unalterably, unrepealably and a million other words that end with 'ly', completely, ridiculously EXHAUSTED by myself.

Not exhausted in general, but exhausted in specific. Exhausted. By. Myself.

And obviously I can't get AWAY from myself like I can an irritating co-worker or a nosy neighbor or a smelly cat (for all you F.R.I.E.N.D.S. fans out there) so the only realistic solution is....THIS.

Head. In. The candybowl. I know when people use this expression they really are joking because of COURSE we all have enough self-control NOT to actually put our entire head in the candy bowl. Or maybe you aren't lucky enough at your place of employment to have a candybowl the size of Alaska and even if you WANTED to throw self-control to the wind, the you without self-control wouldn't fit. That, however, is not the case in my life so I will accept a round of applause for the fact that I have employed insurmountable levels of self-control  for the past year and a half that this Alaskan sized candy bowl has been mere steps from my desk. And most days I chuckle and just imagine drowning myself in chocolate like the rest of you, but I say again. It's just one of THEM days. And I just happen to have a candybowl large enough for my head.

In all seriousness though.

The things I want to do, I cannot seem to do no matter HOW HARD I TRY and the things I LOATHE, well, you can bet I've just laced up my running shoes and am preparing for a sprint. I call these wham-bams. Well, I've never really called them that out loud per se, I just think of them that way. Well, actually I JUST thought of that, but maybe I will start calling them that from here on out. So, for lack of a better analogy, let's go with one that has stood the test of time. The chicken and the road. We all know that the chicken shouldn't be crossing the road. We know that there is water and grasshoppers and other chicken friends and chicken babies and a warm barn and a sheep, er, chicken dog to keep them safe where they ARE yet they insist on crossing to the other side like morons with tiny little brains. And shockingly, they get there sometimes without experiencing sudden death. But WHAM! They realize that they shouldn't BE THERE. There is nothing FOR THEM. It's something they shouldn't have done. It's no good. Es no bueno as Andis likes to say. So, they realize they made a mistake and they try to cross back over but mid-sprint a car comes and so they dart back to the 'dark side' (for lack of a better term) and this goes on and on until finally they can't take anymore and they run with all their might and BAM! a semi, out of nowhere sends them to the roadkill cafe. See, this is how I feel when I gravitate towards the things I shouldn't do and think and be and try and do and think and be and try. And once I get there I realize it's NO GOOD FOR ME, es no bueno so I try to re-trace my steps but I immediately find myself smack in the middle of the road with a two ton truck named GUILT heading right for me. And guilt is scary and it doesn't feel good and I try to avoid it so I turn around and run back to the thing I didn't want to do in the first place, but did anyway...the thing I'm trying to run FROM, I end up running towards. And this ridic cycle continues like clockwork in the form of bad habits and candybowls and it seems there is no end in sight....on days like this.

The good news is, I have never been alone in this. And neither have you. Romans 7:15: "I don't really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don't do it. Instead, I do what I hate."

"For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep you from doing the things you want to do." Galatians 5:17

Our hearts are divided by nature. One foot in this world and one in a mid-air jump, reaching for the next. But you know what. It's doesn't have to be just us and the road. If I were to see a chicken trying to cross the road, I would stop, park, get out, chase the chicken down, jump on it, pick it up, and walk it across the road (or put it in my car and make chicken and dumplings when I got home said NO ONE, EVER). And of course a two ton truck named GUILT could still try and run us both down but being larger and more able to navigate, you can also bet that it's likely I would get that chicken to safety. If it would let me. It could scratch me and peck me and then I could drop it and it could start the same crazy cycle all over again, and that would be it's choice, but it wouldn't HAVE to be that way. Because I want to save that chicken. And I think that chicken wants to be saved. So if I could just pick my head up out of the candybowl and wipe the chocolate out of my eyes for long enough to see that not all chickens end up in dumplings. Some of them make it back to the other side of the road where they belong, and they actually stay there. As long as there's chocolate. ;)

Why Do Good Things Happen to Bad People?

I know you just did a double take and yes, to confirm you're not cray or severely dyslexic, I turned that around on purpose.

I happen to know for a fact that every single one of you reading this was at one point an elementary aged child and I happen to know for a greater fact that every single one of you has stomped your foot and exclaimed with all the passion and fervor that your 3rd grade mind could muster, 'IT'S NOT FAIR'. Except it was probably more like, 'It's NOT Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaair.

Am I right? You know I'm right. In fact, if we were all to be truthful about it, we probably used that expression WAY past third grade, I mean, I think I might have pulled it out of my sleeve all the way into 6th or Senior year of college AT LEAST. Wait, I didn't make it to Senior year of college (which totally wasn't fair by the way) so more like.....yesterday. Yeah, I think I might have used it yesterday. But I've totally matured. I'm never using that expression again.

And true to form, as if they all signed a mutual agreement about what the appropriate response would be when we were born, our parents or whatever adult in our lives that happened to be present when they passed around the 'Life is Not Fair Response contract', would immediately and without sorrow, remorse or even an ounce of sympathy, respond just as passionately with "No one ever said life was fair, tsk, tsk." Or if your parents were REALLY creative like my mom was, you might have heard something more existential, like, "It IS fair. I COULD make you windex all fifty of the windows in this house." (That usually did the trick.)

Regardless of how it went in your house, we were all born into this world without wasting much time before believing the fallacy that we are inherently awesome, wonderful, good, nice, decent, civil, awesome, loving, giving, awesome people and that because we are awesome, wonderful, good, nice, decent, civil, awesome, loving, giving, awesome people nothing bad SHOULD ever happen to us. And when it does, it's a personal affront to our awesomeness.

So we trudge through the muck and mire of the unfairness of life; crying, whining, wringing our hands, screaming 'IT'S NOT FAIR' in a million subtle and not so subtle ways and blaming everyone and everything that happens to come across our path for it. We use it as an excuse to hate our parents, our friends, our selves, our teachers, our preachers, the President, our spouses, our bosses, our children, our neighbors and everyone else. We blame our laziness, selfishness, meanness, spitefulness, uglyness, hatefulness, and general lack of creativity and resourcefulness on it. We use it as an excuse to feel justified in not believing in others, in love, and in God. I'm sure you've heard the classic, "If God was REALLY good, bad things wouldn't happen to good people."

And I must admit, I've elbowed my way in there with the best of them; furrowing my brow, shaking my  heavenward pointed fist and demanding some reasonable answers. But, as they say, it's all about perspective, yes? Because I wonder what would happen if instead of taking the million good things for granted and throwing a two year old tantrum about the 7 bad things that have happened, we paused to realize that ONLY 7 bad things have happened when it could have been a million. Which, in all actuality, we probably deserved more than the million good things that were given instead.

I heard someone, somewhere, sometime define grace as 'giving someone something they don't deserve' but what hit me square between the eyes was mercy, in that same sentence, being defined as 'not giving someone something they TOTALLY deserve'. (Like that driver that cut you off the other day. You know what you were thinking. I was thinking it too.)

Because the truth is, we're NOT awesome. Or wonderful or nice or giving or loving or awesome. And if we were to REALLY be given what we deserve, it would be a terrible, horrible death, over and over again.

So. I'm reframing this timeless question. And here's a few personal reasons why.

1. After my ectopic pregnancy in 2010, there was a slim to none chance that Andis and I could ever expect to get pregnant on our own without help. But we DID! We got pregnant! On our own without hormones or doctors or needles, just good ol' fashion love! Which means we can get pregnant AGAIN! 

2. We got an infection in the placenta and the only solution to that infection was the baby had to go. If my body had not done what it did, we could have been faced with the impossible decision to either abort our child OR we could have continued in the pregnancy and at best I would have ended up with no child AND a hysterectomy or Andis would have ended up with no child and no wife.

3. We lost our dog Jackson six months ago almost as suddenly as we lost our child but if we had not experienced that, I feel confident that we would not be handling this grief with such success, unity and compassion for each other.

So the new question is, WHY do GOOD things happen to BAD people? Your answer may be different than mine, but I believe it's because we were created by an amazingly loving and passionate God whose commitment is to 'never leave nor forsake us'....anytime, ever, but definitely in the midst of pain....even if His nature and our choice requires Him to allow it in the first place.

"For I know the plans I have for you," says the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

So, keep on throwing your two year old tantrums and raising your tiny little fists to the sky if you must, but just know that Option B is available and it's pretty dang reasonable.

The Elephant in the Room.

The remains of my dead baby are sitting on my husband's nightstand in a small white metal box. Nothing about that fact is fair. Our bedroom; the room where we watch a million movies and give a million snuggles and steal a million kisses and laugh a million minutes and beg for a million tickles and work out a million miscommunications and say a million prayers and sleep a million sleeps and dream a million dreams and wake up to a million perfect sunrises and share a million morning smiles is currently a temporary grave.

I contracted an infection in the placenta which caused me to go into premature labor and around 6:30 the morning of September 7th, our baby girl was born at home, into my hands, at 14 weeks. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't save her. And now I'm left with a broken heart and a small metal box on my husband's nightstand that holds a quarter size pile of ashes that make up her entire existence. She didn't have a name. She didn't even have a gender yet. Other than my obsession with meatballs and my swelling mid-section, I wasn't even aware of her until she was already leaving me behind. I felt her kick, one time, as the life left her body and her spirit was soaring toward heaven and into the arms of Jesus. I'm not sure if I'm thankful for that kick or not. What's supposed to be one of the most humbling and powerful feelings during pregnancy has left me hollow and haunted.

I keep thinking about what she might have been. If she would have been a sassy, bossy, know-it-all like me or sweet and patient, humble, kind and giving like her daddy. If she would have had cankles that would make a rhino jealous or if she would have run like the wind. If she would have grown up to save stamps, save her pennies or save lives. If she would have struggled with her words or if we wouldn't have been able to shut her up. The list of 'what if's' goes on and on, but it's pointless and depressing to consider all that might have been though. It's more important and beneficial to hold my thoughts captive to what is true which is that she IS the most absolute perfect version of herself that I could ever hope for her to be. My earthly dreams of the life she could have lived pales in comparison to the life she is now living. She will never strain against her true nature to love and be loved. She will never struggle with selfishness, self-esteem or saving herself until marriage. She will never succumb to peer pressure, depression or too much chocolate cake. She will never give in to abuse, bullies or self-hatred. She will never know fear, the consequences of sin or what separation from God feels like. She has gone from one warm, safe, wonderful place to another without hint of hesitation or regret. She is secure in her destiny and safe from Satan's schemey schemes and wily ways. She is free and always will be and THAT is very fair.

And for a rebellious heart like mine, one more good reason on a list of good reasons why I'll make sure I'm there one day too is not something to be scoffed at.

Goodnight baby girl. See you soon.....................................................but not too soon. xo