Thanks for joining me!  I have looked at this blog for 6 months and have done nothing with it.  Not for the lack of ideas, but something else.  I simply could not put my first foot forward.  Many excuses are available for this–I have five kids, a business on life support, a broken washing machine (see five kid issue mentioned above), a dead brand new lawn mower (though the push mower works the three acres makes start to finish look like the 40 year desert journey).  As I sit here pretend-tuning out the EXTREME CHAOS two feet behind me, it still feels good to type.  This is giving me a voice that belongs to the girl that exists deep down.  THAT girl is a valiant warrior princess.  You don’t see that when you look at me, probably because I look like a frazzled mess who doesn’t parent with any grace worth mentioning.  I am the only mom I know who can park in the senior parking lot, the “babies” parking lot and the handicap parking lot on a Sunday morning. I don’t fit into a small group because at 55 I am the mom of a 4 year old who doesn’t walk yet.  Three out of five of my kids are special needs though I am suspicious for two reasons. One being that ALL kids are special needs.  The other is that my eight year old son came through my front door four years ago disguised as an angel that drooled.  When the drug store refused to fill his prescriptions because the combination was illegal for his size and age.  As the drool disappeared, the rage made its way to the forefront.  His wings fell right off his back in midflight one afternoon.  And so begins HIS story.  He was so medicated for trauma and anxiety but “they” called it ADHD.  One day THEY will stand in judgement for hiding his broken heart in a medley of ill conceived black pharma bandaids.  One day I will write all about the journey to set him free because his story is important and it might be just the encouragement you are looking for.  Or maybe this whole endless sea of my life will simply entertain you and make you feel better about your own mild mess.  I assure you it will seem mild or at least conquerable and probably more enjoyable than you had first imagined.

My oldest son is thirteen.  He is amazing.  He tolerates my faith flights which so far have taken us to Belize, Ukraine, the mountains of Colorado, and many places in between. We have buried his older sister at the age of six from the grab of leukemia.  I  (we) have escorted an alcoholic (now ex) husband to the door and he did not come back.  I (we)have adopted four children and a husband who had been a bachelor for fifty years before he was sucked in to the vortex of US. My thirteen year old actually got a congressional award for tenacity when he was in the 4th grade.  I was proud of his ability to do life without hitting the ground hard but it made me keenly aware that they picked him out of the entire school and for five minutes I almost took it personally in a bad way.  The most amazing part is how gentle his soul is and how easy it is to talk life with him because he has been on the front line from such an early age, and remains there to this day even though I work hard to make sure he gets to be a kid.

My other thirteen year old is an amazing young lady who has also endured real life.  She has Down syndrome and has more confidence in her pinky than I have in my entire blood stream.  Her first language was russian and she is the one whose face I fell in love with on an international adoption sight.  When I asked God to break my heart for what broke his, I didn’t expect him to do that quite as literally as he did.  I saw her face and my heart exploded in my chest followed by hot tears burning down my face. I knew she was coming home to me but I did have to look up Ukraine on a map.  It only took eighteen months and $24,000, of which I had none.  And yet, here we are! Seven years later.

The pair in the middle are now ages 8 and 9.  Three hundred and sixty days apart.  Amazing to have gotten them from halfway across America.  My blond haired beauty and her brown haired brother (the one who dropped his wings).  Since I have mentioned him already I will speak about her. She is an over-comer whose glass is always more than half full.  She storms occasionally and drama is her high note but she is rock solid and has found refuge in the hope of Jesus.  I cannot wait for her to discover the things she is going to love even more about him.  She is a sponge for knowledge and companionship and her most uttered sentence is “can I help?”  Her telltale sign that alerted me to her underlying street smarts was how she always called out random questions from the other room when her brother was getting in hot water.  She had learned early on to run interference to deflect his incoming bullets.  No greater love than to lay down your life or at least your best questions for your brother.  That’s her heart and she probably does not see this about herself just yet.

Last but never least is the baby.  She also has Down syndrome and her last foster family was more interested in keeping her still than minimizing the handicap…that poor kid showed up on oxygen she did not need with a head that was flat as the crib she laid in for hours and hours.  I remember getting the email from the social worker.  Do I know of anyone who would be interested in this little girl? I read over her report and thought NO because it looks like she won’t live through the next six months!! She was so medically complex.  I had the experience to manage her but I did not have the heart to let another child ever die.  And yet, who gets that guarantee? We are not promised tomorrow, but thank the Lord we are promised eternity if we ask.  That is probably why I said yes.  Also I did not EVER want to stand in front of God and try to explain to him that I thought she looked too messy when I had personally inched the world closer to the end of days by my own messy behavior.  I went to Texas to pick her up and flew her and a ton of equipment back to South Carolina.  She has been an absolute blessing and joy…

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton