tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84683121947556415242023-11-15T23:24:08.743-08:00Crazyville12Crazyville, a kaleidoscope of joy, sadness, laughter, pain, disappointment, and triumph. The composition of our family. The journey two crazy kids found themselves on when they said, “I do,” 16 years ago. Faith, adoption, foster care, pregnancy, trauma, special needs, 6 girls, 4 boys, and those that only stayed for a season. The things we’ve learned and are still learning. The adventures we are taking and the big feelings we have about them. This is our story.Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-86739835758950449882020-08-23T19:15:00.002-07:002020-08-23T19:15:47.851-07:00Coming Home<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDnBmqaiCGh8LV_uy7FWHNmK1YL_wGHTsnB-Zsv0HbsN-khsAUgZs7F5TRk97JyiToJLKnVFRdSCC66UN1qQP14CT5J6L3sWWQm5MKFaPQeRkxDV4Rlot8qzH4SOb5JIcyABIZ1I-QkIK/s2048/IMG_20200823_143010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDnBmqaiCGh8LV_uy7FWHNmK1YL_wGHTsnB-Zsv0HbsN-khsAUgZs7F5TRk97JyiToJLKnVFRdSCC66UN1qQP14CT5J6L3sWWQm5MKFaPQeRkxDV4Rlot8qzH4SOb5JIcyABIZ1I-QkIK/s640/IMG_20200823_143010.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flowers now blooming in our front yard.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>"...But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him..." Luke 15:20<p></p><p>Growing up in church, I have heard the story of the Prodigal Son many times. However, this past year the story has come alive for me in a way I never could have imagined. For 457 days my child was away from home. For 457 nights I didn't know where she was sleeping. For 457 rotations of the earth, it was unknown to me if she was safe or if she would ever come back to her family. 457 days.</p><p>In the story of the Prodigal Son we don't know how many days the son was away from home. We do know it was long enough to spend all of his money, try to fix the problem himself, and eventually hit rock bottom. Perhaps he was gone 457 days...perhaps longer. </p><p>We also don't know how the father felt while his son was away. I would imagine his journal would be an interesting read. We do know he felt compassion which caused him to run to his son. I understand how he felt.</p><p>Healing and restoration takes time. Everything isn't perfect, and there is a long road ahead of putting broken pieces back together. But when my daughter called, we were filled with compassion and we ran to her. For the first time in a long time, I feel hopeful for her future and our relationship. For 457 days my child was lost and now she is found.</p><div><br /></div>Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-81941093576423629752020-06-25T17:12:00.000-07:002020-06-25T17:12:49.369-07:00I wish I had a picture<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz1-BkOuRUkoGSVgbEI5qYltKKHle_GLv1HHFLOiwDw3ONfHjg7fn_0aIk1ztZ-p4rNRk_ne34rlIkk59wXwctpQNyvC2V9DLKincb_qvYNYW62kBI4BdRw4ab2qlt3QmH8ZuoQrsqZWWm/s4032/IMG_20200625_160537.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz1-BkOuRUkoGSVgbEI5qYltKKHle_GLv1HHFLOiwDw3ONfHjg7fn_0aIk1ztZ-p4rNRk_ne34rlIkk59wXwctpQNyvC2V9DLKincb_qvYNYW62kBI4BdRw4ab2qlt3QmH8ZuoQrsqZWWm/w500-h375/IMG_20200625_160537.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-fdf65bf3-7fff-af90-930d-f67e13fb78cf"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A gift from my dear friend to remember my little one.</span></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><div>I have given birth five times in my life and been pregnant seven. I am very familiar with the process at the first doctor's appointment. This appointment takes place around eight weeks. I would give a urine sample, get weighed, complete a questionnaire, get examined by the doctor, have blood work done, have an ultrasound, and hear my baby's heartbeat for the first time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Normally hearing the heartbeat is magical, and finding the tiny peanut on the ultrasound screen is exciting. Thankfully the doctor points everything out because if you don't know what to look for you might miss it. The tiny little smudge on the screen and the sound of life in my ears was one of my favorite parts of finding out I was pregnant. At the end of the first appointment I usually went home with hope in my heart and a print out from the ultrasound machine with a picture of my tiny baby in my hand.</div><div><br /></div><div>On June 25, 2012 everything was different. I woke up that morning excited for what the day held. I had two appointments scheduled that day, one at the dentist and one with my doctor, making the most of the time my babysitter was available. After my teeth were cleaned I stopped to use the bathroom before heading to the doctor's office. Red. The color of fear when you are pregnant. I took several breaths and tried to calm my racing heart. I told myself I was already heading to the doctor. It was going to be okay, and not to panic.</div><div><br /></div><div>I went through the process: weight, urine, blood work, questionnaire, and examination. I told the doctor my experience in the bathroom. Then the ultrasound machine was brought in and my little peanut appeared on the screen with the heartbeat echoing through the quiet room. I felt a wave of relief until I saw my doctor's face. My baby's heart was beating much slower than it should be. She explained to me the only thing we could do was wait. Hopefully everything would be okay, but it didn't look good. I realized in that moment my baby was dying.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't remember what happened next. Somehow I made it out of the doctor's office and back home. What I do know is, I left without a print out from the ultrasound machine. I left without the only photo ever taken of my sweet little one. Later that night my body made it very clear this pregnancy was over and the heartbeat of my tiny little one was beating no more.</div><div><br /></div><div>Years later I still don't remember why a print out wasn't given to me. I don't even remember if I asked for one or if one was offered. Perhaps it's procedure not to give one to the mother if it looks like the beginning of a miscarriage. I have no idea. What I do know is I wish I had a photo.</div><div><br /></div><div>I can't go back in time, some days I really wish I could. Instead, I offer these words to anyone reading: My dear friend, I hope you never find yourself in a doctor's office watching your dreams fade away. My greatest desire is for you to never know that kind of suffering. I know though, all too well, that it can happen. Please remember to take the print out home with you. To all my medical friends, please hand the mama the photo. She might not know it at the time, but she will be forever grateful.</div></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZjmUWtvYVbUmCI3YbRtYUSthcpUgJWvzjwcHUiQsSYtTRhJPGhAG4QwpVsrz79gVGCQnH92eW-AZ3unr8NI2ak5XICAnr4KJ4odDHqtl1wxP2DbWKHY71l7NRIrCAfILohVTjPPdoa6B4/s4032/IMG_20200625_160620.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZjmUWtvYVbUmCI3YbRtYUSthcpUgJWvzjwcHUiQsSYtTRhJPGhAG4QwpVsrz79gVGCQnH92eW-AZ3unr8NI2ak5XICAnr4KJ4odDHqtl1wxP2DbWKHY71l7NRIrCAfILohVTjPPdoa6B4/w500-h375/IMG_20200625_160620.jpg" width="500" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-bca3790d-7fff-22a5-c1b2-6f6168dac489"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A memory blanket made for me by my best friend.</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-73027961576363594872020-05-18T18:55:00.001-07:002020-05-18T19:22:33.456-07:00An Opportunity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Some moments in my life had such an impact they shaped the person I am today. Experiences forever imprinted on my heart and soul that changed how I see the world. I am not the same woman I was twenty years ago, and I imagine I will not be the same woman I am today twenty years from now.<br />
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They are the "before" and "after" of my life. It has become a way to mark time. When you have lived in the same town for many years instead of giving directions using street signs you describe how to get somewhere by what is close by. You know what I mean, "Drive down past Granny's Diner, take a right at the playground, and it's the third house on the left with the blue shutters and the porch swing."<br />
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Instead of thinking about life in terms of years I find myself referring to things in the before and after. Some of those experiences have been so life changing, the before is almost hard to remember the before as I dwell in the after.<br />
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After I became a mom.<br />
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After I had two miscarriages.<br />
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After Joy became a part of our family.<br />
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After my daughter ran away.<br />
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After I started a non-profit.<br />
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Some of the experiences have imprinted on my heart because they were traumatic and sad, and others were beautiful and lovely, what remains the same is my life was permanently changed after them.<br />
These experiences have also allowed me to transition from sympathy to empathy. The definition of sympathy is feelings of pity and sorrow for someone else's misfortune. If I am sympathetic I can feel sad for someone else, but that sadness comes from a place without understanding. There is a subtle and slight differentiation between the definition of sympathy and empathy, but it is profoundly impacting.<br />
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The definition of empathy is the ability to understand and share the feelings of another. It's those moments when you can look at another human and say, "I understand how you feel," and truly mean it because you have experienced something similar. Understanding is powerful.<br />
It can be the thing that pulls you up when another person knows where you are coming from, it can be the silver lining when you are trying to process why something difficult is happening in your life, and it is the commonality you reach for so you don't feel alone.<br />
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If your marriage is struggling you don't ask advice from a teenager. You look for someone else who is married, who will understand its joys and challenges. When you are grieving to be told, "I understand," by someone who has never experienced what you are going through can feel like a slap in the face, but those same words from another soul who has walked in your shoes can make the darkness feel just a little brighter.<br />
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Empathy is very powerful. Each of our stories are different and we have all walked different paths. I can relate to some people and their stories, but I haven't personally experienced all things. For the stories I haven't walked through I rely on sympathy. But when I am looking for hope in my personal darkness, I am drawn to the people who can have empathy, who understand.<br />
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I would imagine living through our current season will change many of us. We won't look at grocery shopping, church services, school, or social interaction in the same way. Hopefully this time teaches us all to be thankful and grateful for the people in our lives and the community we live in.<br />
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I'm looking forward to days when people in my small town stop to chat with each other again at the grocery store. I can't wait for $4 Tuesdays at the local movie theater. My heart misses church services and hugs from friends. I long to sit in my parents kitchen and visit with them while my kids play with their cousin. I will do a dance of happiness when it's time for my children to go back to school.<br />
My heart longs for the sense of fear to be lifted, for the sick to be well, and for families who have needed to be apart to be reunited.<br />
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Beyond looking forward to enjoying life returning to a sense of normalcy, I am struck by the opportunity for us to experience empathy in a way perhaps some have never been able to before. During this season many of us have encountered new situations:<br />
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Limited supplies at the store<br />
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Uncertain future<br />
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Isolation from friends and family<br />
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Loss of work<br />
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Closure of school<br />
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Canceling of sports and events<br />
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Other people making decisions for us<br />
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This has created feelings of fear, uncertainty, and mistrust. When we are afraid our body responds one of three ways, fight, flight, or freeze. It's a natural defense mechanism that kicks in to help us fight off danger. In this process our bodies release adrenaline and cortisol; our muscles tense, our heart rate elevates, and our body prioritizes what our bodily functions are most needed to respond to the threat.<br />
We aren't meant to stay in the fight, flight, or freeze for very long. It's taxing on our bodies. The continual release of adrenaline and cortisol combined with the prioritizing of certain bodily functions can cause us to not feel well. In this state, functions like digestion are moved to a lower priority. This for a prolonged amount of time would cause discomfort.<br />
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As time has gone on, we have all felt this to a certain extent, living stuck in our bodies natural response to danger. As we begin to see our country reopen we are hopeful for the fear to begin to ease, health to be restored, and our economy to be re-ignited.<br />
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But I don't want us to miss this opportunity to understand in a small way how children who have survived trauma see the world. Those feelings of fear we have carried around with us for several weeks, they have carried for weeks, months, years. They have changed schools, gone without food and other essentials, been isolated from friends, and had other people decide their future.<br />
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Living with these fears and uncertainties can cause a prolonged state of fight, flight, or freeze. Many of us know trauma can be caused by abuse and neglect. But it can also be caused by multiple foster homes, separation from biological family, and even being adopted.<br />
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So let's pause and take a moment friends. Let yourself feel the discomfort, pain, and insecurity of our current situation. Remember this feeling. Remember this time. Remember this fear. Then tuck it away to be pulled out when you encounter children and youth who have experienced trauma. My hope is it will enable you to see past their behaviors, stigmas, and words to the root of it all, fear. And after walking through this season of life in a pandemic you will be able to open your heart in a new way to them and be empathetic.<br />
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Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-47734241018076900722020-05-05T20:53:00.000-07:002020-05-05T20:53:14.671-07:00Pressing on through Fear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I've been afraid.
It's been a year since my daughter walked out the front door in her bare feet. Those first few weeks I felt like I was walking through a fog all the time. There was so much going on and so much unknown. It was terrifying.
Then DHS showed up on my front door step. Let me tell you friends, even when you know you are a safe home and you have nothing to hide, having a DHS investigation rips you apart. It's hard to remember to breath when the threat of removal of your children is staring you straight in the face.
The man who showed up at our home that day was very kind. We welcomed him in and sat with him at our kitchen counter and responded one by one to each allegation made against us. We smiled, offered him coffee, and answered all of his questions honestly. He left and we picked up our kids from school. We got coffee from Dutch Bros, helped with homework, had dinner, and tucked our kids into bed. Then after everyone was asleep, I cried.
Over the next couple of weeks there were many calls and two more people from DHS came to our home. They interviewed our kids and walked through our house. Since we were foster parents for twelve years and adopted three times, our kids were familiar with the process of having strangers walk through their home, and answering personal questions in a one-on-one interview. It's already intimidating enough to wade through this process to get your foster parenting license or become approved to adopt, when it's to defend yourself against allegations, it feels even more intrusive.
This time we had to explain to our kids the reason they needed to be interviewed wasn't because we were adopting again, but because their sister accused us of mistreating her. This was a much different conversation. Our main focus was alleviating their feelings of fear. They had been on the other side of foster care, welcoming children into their homes and hearts who needed a safe place to stay. Never before had anyone suggested they might be in danger and need to leave their home. We reminded them to be truthful and answer the questions as best they could, and we assured them everything would be okay. Even when we were wondering ourselves what was going to happen, we kept speaking hope and peace into our kid's hearts.
Time passed, allegations were proven untrue and we tried to move forward. The fog was still thick, but I needed to find a way to walk through it. At first there were so many people involved and so many phone calls. I felt like I was explaining our story over and over again. It was exhausting and honestly it didn't seem to make any difference. There were so many voices talking at me, but no one was listening to me. I felt like I was screaming and no one could hear me.
If I thought there was a solution, I reached for it. If I thought someone could help, I called them. If I heard of a program, I researched it.
It's a tricky thing to navigate when your child who is over 16 runs away. They can access many services for themselves, they don't need parental permission for a lot of things, and many programs require voluntary participation so you can't force them to do something they don't want to do. They aren't quite an adult so you feel the weight of that, but they are also not a little kid which means you can't treat them like one. I have felt stuck so many times this past year trying to figure out what is the best decision, the right course of action.
I also still struggle with how other people and organizations handled the situation. To be completely honest I felt betrayed, judged, misunderstood, and abandoned. But dwelling on those feelings doesn't solve problems, and I have other children which means I still need to interact and work with some of those same people and organizations. I'm learning to let go and forgive. I admit some days are easier than others. At the end of the day I try to remember we are all human and doing the best we can even if we don't see eye to eye.
In June of 2019 I partnered with a foster mom in the community to raise funds for weighted blankets for children and teens in foster care. That is how I ended up at 13 Nights On The River in a white booth advertising our new non-profit, <a href="https://riversidecommunityoutreach.org/" target="_blank">Riverside Community Outreach (RCO)</a>. After the event was over as we were tearing down the booth and packing up our stuff, I was approached by a woman. We had never met before and she asked if we knew of services to help a teen girl who was friends with her son and living in her home. She didn't say her name, but I knew right away she was talking about my daughter.
I felt like the ground beneath me turned to sand, and the fog around me started to close in. I smiled and talked with her for almost an hour. I shared some background information, thanked her for being a compassionate person, and gently let her know my daughter had a home and a family waiting for her to return. And I listened to her. I listened to her criticize and tear me down. She wasn't the first mom to question me and she wouldn't be the last, but she was the first to ask directly to my face, "What kind of mother?" Perhaps I will write more about my struggle with that question in the future, but for now I will tell you it feels like a sucker punch to the gut.
It's important to understand what was happening. I was stepping out for the first time in the community as the Director of Riverside Community Outreach, literally, remember the big white booth? My heart and goal was to help families impacted by foster care. It was our very first night and a stranger came up and accused me of being a bad mom. In that moment, I felt so disqualified to be standing under my white booth wanting to help families in my community. It was so easy to believe the words of a stranger. I was barely keeping my head above water. I felt like a bad mom. When she stood in front of me and asked me, "What kind of mother?" my mind told me I should just give up now, because a terrible mother like me couldn't make a difference in anyone's life. The fact that my daughter didn't want to live with me proved how disqualified I was. I went home that night feeling very bruised and battered.
Fear is a dark and ugly beast which can completely take over your thoughts and actions if you let it. Over this past year there have been many times I have wanted to write a blog post or share a thought on social media but have stopped myself out of fear. The work of Riverside Community Outreach has continued, but I have had my guard up when interacting with DHS and talking about my family.
There have been opportunities for <a href="https://riversidecommunityoutreach.org/" target="_blank">RCO </a>to partner with the school district I have let pass by because I was afraid of interacting with people who knew one of my children didn't live at home, and I didn't want to face their judgment. In my desire to protect our non-profit and my family, I have kept both smaller than perhaps they could be. For the first time in my life I have not been open to adopting any more children, and I have not pursued local media coverage in the same way I would have for our non-profit.
All because of fear.
And friends, it's gotten out of hand. When my phone rings and it says, "Restricted," my stomach clenches in knots because when a call comes through from the local police department that is how it is labeled. Recently when covid19 caused the cancellation of school and the need for distance learning, our teachers called to check in on our kids and see what services we would need to be able to successfully have school at home. Each one of those calls came through as "Restricted." Thankfully the school told us ahead of time this would be happening so we would answer the calls and not screen them. Even though I knew that in my head, my phone rang nine times with the words "Restricted" and nine times my stomach clenched out of reflex...out of fear.
Fear has been holding me back. Fear of:
What if something awful happens to my daughter?
What if DHS shows up at my house again?
What if another mom confronts me when I'm out in the community?
What if the non-profit we started gets a bad reputation?
What if the police start calling again?
What if I have to face more judgment from strangers?
What if another one of my children runs away?
What if people realize how flawed I am?
Will they still read the words I write? Will they still let me advocate for children in foster care? Will they still believe in the non-profit I started?
These are the questions that have plagued my mind and spirit. The truth is these fears could come true.
DHS could show up on my front porch again. A stranger from my community could criticize me again. Knowing one of my children left home could cause someone to stop reading my blog. Something awful could happen to my daughter. Another one of my children might run away.
The reality is even if I let fear dictate my life those things might still happen. I can't control other people's choices or the future by hiding away, losing sleep, or making myself sick with worry.
And friends, I believe in the depths of my soul I have been called by God to serve vulnerable children and support families in Columbia County. So how do I move forward in spite of the fear trying to cling to me? I fill my heart and mind with the truth from God's word.
I have spent my entire life committing verses from the bible to memory. This is mostly credited to my mom who made it a priority for my siblings and I to learn God's word. I am very thankful for her commitment especially when we weren't very interested in cooperating. One of the verses that has kept coming to mind over and over again is 2 Timothy 1:7.
"For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind."
The paralyzing fear that wants to take over isn't from God. Romans 8:1 reminds me, "There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. "
2 Corinthians 10:5 tells me to "take captive every thought." And Romans 8:31 bears the promise, "If God is for us, who can be against us?"
I'm ordinary and flawed. My family life isn't perfect. Everything good in me is from my relationship with Jesus and His saving grace. I am compelled by His love to care for my family and serve my community. I am often scared. In spite of fear and because of my faith in Jesus, I will continue to step out and share my story. In the hopes you will see past imperfect and flawed me and be encouraged, inspired, and challenged to open you heart and home.
~Abby</span></span></div>
Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-84271078981273635242019-10-04T20:24:00.001-07:002019-10-04T20:24:07.767-07:00Dreams Can Still Come True<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Beauty and the Beast is my favorite Disney Movie. When I was a little girl my dad took me to the movie theater to see it. We didn't go out to the movies very often when I was a kid so this was a big deal. When Belle first came on screen she secured a place in my heart forever. She had brown hair and brown eyes, loved to read, and sang beautifully. She felt slightly out of place in her town and longed for adventure. 10 year old me with my brown hair and eyes made an instant connection with the animated princess. A dream was birthed in my heart. I wanted to grow up to be Belle.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Many years later in 2003, I was in my early twenties and decided it was a good time to pursue my dream. I wasn't married and I didn't have any kids. I had left school and was working at a YMCA as a preschool assistant. After doing internet research and making phone calls with human resources at Disney to figure out the audition process, I started saving for a plane ticket and hotel costs. I had a plan and was putting it into action. It seemed like it was only a matter of time before I would be able to pursue my dream.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">My plan was interrupted when I answered a phone call that changed my life. The previous Christmas I had met a baby girl who was in foster care. She and I had an instant connection. When her plan changed from return to parent to adoption, I received a phone call asking me if I was interested in adopting her. I knew in a moment I was meant to be Hope's mom, and my future took a new path. The money saved for a plane ticket, instead when to a deposit for a little rental home in St Helens. I completed the necessary classes to become a foster parent and Hope moved in with me. Six months later, my husband and I got married and we became an instant family of three.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Life moved at a fast pace as we continued to be foster parents, had biological children, and finalized Hope's adoption. My husband and I were serving as Youth and Children's Pastors at our church and he also taught technology at one of our local elementary schools. I soon forgot all about my dream of being a princess, except when I put in the DVD and would sing along with Belle while my kids watched the Disney movie.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">While I was deep in this life of motherhood, I heard our local community theater was going to be putting on the Broadway Production of Beauty and the Beast. I was so excited. Some of the most talented people in the community were going to be directing the stage, orchestra, and music. I knew it was going to be a well done show. I wanted so desperately to be a part. I had been in plays and musicals in high school and college, but that was many years prior. With my husband's support, I decided to try out.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I walked into the Olmscheid Auditorium with a million butterflies in my stomach. It had been 7 years since I had auditioned to be in a play. When I stood on the stage I remembered why I loved musical theater so much. There is something magical about the theater. The smells, the lights, the sounds. I was so happy to be standing in that auditorium. I sang and read along with several other adults auditioning. I have no idea what I sang or how it went. It's all a little fuzzy in my mind due to my nerves. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I do, however, remember very clearly when the director made an announcement about the costumes. The costumes had already been rented and the actors would need to be the right size in order to be cast. I was crushed. I understood the incredible detail of the costumes and the fact they were rented required specific sized people to play the roles, but my body which had carried and given birth to multiple babies was not the size of the Bell costume.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I left the theater that night and drowned my sorrows in Ben and Jerry's ice cream because I believed there was no way they would cast me in the role of Belle. I was completely surprised when I received a call back. I went back to the theater and sang, read, and did some basic choreography with several other people who had also received a call back. Once again I remembered my deep love of the theater. I still knew the rules about the costume, and when I wrote my size down on the audition form I figured that would be the end.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">A few days later, the head director called to tell me they loved my portrayal of the character so much they decided to have a local seamstress make my costume so they could give me the part. I was over the moon ecstatic. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was one of the happiest seasons of my life. I would spend my days loving my kids and spend my evenings rehearsing at the theater. I loved the singing, dancing, and acting. I loved the people. I loved the sense of excitement in the air as the show date grew closer. I could have practiced endlessly and still loved it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">On opening night I stood in the wings and felt a rush of joy as I waited for the musical to begin. I listened to the overture and the opening monologue telling the tragic story of the man turned beast. As the first few notes of the opening song played, I felt a wave of nervousness. But as soon as the words, "Little town, it's a quiet village," came out of my mouth I was home. The nerves evaporated and I was completely immersed in the moment.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">At the end of every show we would get to meet the audience. Those moments were magical as boys and girls would come hug me and take photos. They believed in their hearts I really was Belle. To advertise the show I also did readings at the local library. In those precious days I was able to live out a childhood dream. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I still enjoy looking back and remembering that season of my life. As I reflect I am reminded of the importance of not giving up on your dreams. They might not come to fruition like you imagined, but that doesn't mean something beautiful won't happen. You are never too old to fulfill a dream. So many times we think if we didn't accomplish it in our early twenties then we missed our chance, but that isn't true, friends. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have dreamed for many years of writing a book. There isn't a book with my name sitting on a shelf at Target...yet. But I have the privilege of sharing my words with those of you who read this blog. I dream of speaking in front of groups of people encouraging them to embrace the messiness of foster care and adoption. I'm not standing on any big stages...yet. But I get to laugh and cry with people over cups of coffee about the things I have learned and am still learning about loving kids from hard places. Since I fell in love with the community where I live, I have wanted to open a Kids Pub where children can hang out and feel safe while drinking a root beer floats. It hasn't opened...yet. But this past year I became the Founder and Executive Director of Riverside Community Outreach, a non-profit that serves vulnerable children and supports families in Columbia County. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I believe as long as we are breathing we can be dreaming. I am a 38 year old mama of 10 who is still reaching and striving for more. Just because I didn't write an amazing book, become a motivational speaker, or open a kids pub in my twenties doesn't mean those aren't still possibilities. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I became a mom, I thought my chance at being a princess was over. I was wrong. Are their desires and ambitions in your heart you have been carrying around quietly? Do you believe you've missed your chance to fulfill them?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Let me encourage you. What are your dreams? Go for them! It's not too late, you aren't too old, your moment hasn't passed. Dreams can still come true.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">If this blog has inspired, encouraged, or challenged you to open your heart and home to vulnerable children please comment here or on our Facebook page and share.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">~Abby</span></span></div>
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Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-88704274720936139842019-08-16T19:48:00.001-07:002019-08-16T19:48:56.614-07:00The Ideal Foster Parent<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our first adoption ceremony 2006.</td></tr>
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<br />Recently I had the opportunity to speak at my local Kiwanis Club meeting about <a href="http://riversidecommunityoutreach.org/" target="_blank">Riverside Community Outreach</a>, <insert link="" to="" website=""> the non-profit I run. The Kiwanis Club in my town is one of the most generous groups of people I have ever met, and I always enjoy the time I get to spend with them. At the end of my talk there was time for questions. A lady asked me what makes an ideal foster parent. Wow! What a question. It seemed simple enough to answer except the woman asking the question had no idea my personal story or what was going on inside my head. The problem for me was all those lovely people in the room knew I had been a foster parent. If I described what an ideal foster parent looked like, they might think I was that person. In this season of my life, I feel less than ideal.</insert><br />
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As I sit here and write this blog post, I have a teenage daughter who still is living away from home. If you follow my posts then you are already familiar with the story. If not, you can read more about it <a href="https://www.crazyville12.com/2019/05/dwelling-in-unknown.html" target="_blank">here </a>and <a href="https://www.crazyville12.com/2019/06/i-got-knocked-down.html" target="_blank">here</a>. All of the interventions we have tried to help her have not succeeded. The most recent was the chance to live with family, but unfortunately she didn't choose to embrace the opportunity. She is staying with friends and working towards emancipation. Although the lines of communication are open and we are able to love her from a distance, she doesn't want to live with us. The heartbreak I have experienced watching someone I love reject being a part of my family has been brutal. The pain of watching my child run towards a life I have tried so hard to protect her from is gut wrenching. I am in the middle of one of the most challenging seasons of my parenting life, and I dwell in a state of the unknown.<br />
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When faced with the question of ideal, I cringed inside a bit. But then, I answered her question, and friends, I think the answer was good, and true, and is the parent I am striving to be. Although I am no longer an active foster mom because I have transitioned to being an adoptive mom, the ideals are still the same. In fact, I think it is what I am striving for as a mom in general to all my children regardless of how they came to be a part of the family. Here are the answers I gave to her and my thoughts about each one.<br />
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1) Be willing to love someone even if they don't love you back.<br />
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Oh boy, yep, we started with a big one. I know in my head that someday my children will be grown up and will find people to love and start their own families. I know someday I won't be the number one woman in my boy's lives. I am already starting to prepare my heart for that day. However, I was not prepared to be my child's second choice from the moment they entered my home. But here is the reality, I was not the first mom for some of my children. There is a deep love and loyalty to birth families which is how it should be. The family connection is strong. But it forces me to ask myself the question, "Can I truly love unconditionally?" If I am always in second place, or if I don't even make it on the platform, and I am never loved back, will I still give my all to be this child's mom for as long as they need me? If there are never warm and fuzzy feelings but only the strength of my commitment, will I still keep loving? It's a difficult question and one that is important to face with honesty because that may be what is required of you to be the parent your child needs.<br />
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2) Be willing to advocate, advocate, advocate and then advocate some more.<br />
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You are the voice for your child. When a child is in foster care they have a case worker and an attorney, but those people have a list of children they are providing services for. The child in your home is one of the children on a long list. This means they are relying on you to speak up for them to make sure they are receiving the services they need. This is heightened when you have a child with a higher level of special needs. The need to speak up and sometimes fight for your child doesn't end with adoption. You will always need to keep advocating for your children in a world that doesn't always understand trauma.<br />
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3) Be part of a community.<br />
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Being a parent is hard work. The responsibility of raising children to be healthy, successful, and productive adults is a huge task. When you add on the complexities of being a foster or adoptive parent it can be exhausting. Find your people. The reality is, people who haven't walked the road of fostering or adoption won't truly understand where you are coming from. The good news is you are not alone, there are others around you who are on the same journey. Find them! This doesn't mean you can't have a supportive group of family and friends in your life who aren't foster parents or who haven't adopted. There is just something about being able to really understand what someone else is going through. You want to have people you can call anytime and share your fears, frustrations, and victories. You want the other person on the end of the phone to know you need chocolate when you say, "Well, the honeymoon is over." And you want someone to jump up and down with you in excitement when your child finally uses the toilet instead of the corner of their bedroom. Get yourself into community!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFqvBr-Uw1yZ3CtDdvGbqlUN7HKuPOY4TbfnTJmZKUM2bh_896Y08VqqIIAW6tbnUcCaYBCZcQ6syzPDHTorIi4xb0LYniHLwri-E2BPXYZw69B4aCd4MqUuLesQ3gkWOhpIZvRMus8pIN/s1600/DSC08194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFqvBr-Uw1yZ3CtDdvGbqlUN7HKuPOY4TbfnTJmZKUM2bh_896Y08VqqIIAW6tbnUcCaYBCZcQ6syzPDHTorIi4xb0LYniHLwri-E2BPXYZw69B4aCd4MqUuLesQ3gkWOhpIZvRMus8pIN/s640/DSC08194.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our second adoption ceremony 2015.</td></tr>
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4) Stop caring what other people think.<br />
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If you engage in foster care and adoption your family will look and act different than others in your neighborhood. If you jump in to the deep end of parenting children who have survived trauma, have attachment disorders, mental health concerns, developmental delays, and sensory processing struggles your parenting will be different than others in your neighborhood. If you already have several biological children and then add more to your family through foster care or adoption your family will be bigger than others in your neighborhood. This means you need to stop worrying about what the neighborhood thinks. Not caring about what others think is often harder than it sounds. I have gone to Walmart with my children and people have actually pointed and counted out loud as we have walked by. I have carried a screaming child out of more places than I can remember. Multiple times people have thought my 15 passenger van was a shuttle or a daycare bus and tried to get in it. I have been asked over and over again if my children are all mine. And I have been instructed by friends, family members, and complete strangers how I could do a better job parenting my children. I have to choose not to let other people's opinions dictate my choices. It is a conscious decision I need to make every day. You can read more about this in the <a href="https://www.crazyville12.com/2019/04/keep-pressing-on.html" target="_blank">blog post</a>.<br />
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5) Be willing to get your heart broken.<br />
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Once again we are back to a tough one. Remember earlier when I talked about unconditional love; am I willing to love someone who may never love me back? I also need to be willing to love someone who might leave. Foster care is meant to be temporary. The goal is reunification. This means I need to love, advocate, and care for a child who might leave. I have heard people say over and over again they could never be a foster parent because they would get too attached. Friends, is there really such a thing as getting "too attached?" What people are really saying is they don't want to get hurt. It's human instinct to protect ourselves from pain. It goes against our nature to willingly put ourselves in a position to get hurt. The truth is on the journey of foster care and adoption heartbreak is inevitable. I can't sit here and tell you it won't happen. I can't promise you a happy ending to each child's story who comes into your home. I have experienced the heartbreak of saying goodbye to children I loved deeply. You can read more about that <span id="goog_1005228145"></span><a href="https://www.crazyville12.com/2019/04/when-fostering-breaks-your-heart.html" target="_blank">here</a> <span id="goog_1005228146"></span>and <a href="https://www.crazyville12.com/2019/04/when-reunification-is-best-plan.html" target="_blank">here</a>. What I can tell you is there are thousands of vulnerable children who need you to put your heart on the line for them. I read a quote once that really summed it up well for me. "I used to wonder if I was ready to be an adoptive parent, and then I realized a child is never ready to be an orphan."<br />
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Those five answers were the words I spoke just a few weeks ago. To be a foster parent is a high calling; a labor of love. Friends, I am far from ideal. But I am in the game, all in. I am fighting and loving every day. These past few months I have been knocked down, and I don't know how this chapter in my life will end. I am dwelling in the unknown living in the state of "okay" and "not okay." I make the best decisions I can at the time I need to make them with the information I have available.<br />
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But here is the most important thing I can tell you. I would do it again. I would love someone who might not love me back, advocate, build community, let go of what other people think, and be willing to get my heartbroken. Even now, when my heart is aching from rejection and I have been knocked down so hard it has caused me to doubt myself as a mom. Even now, when I don't know what the future holds. Even now, in the middle of the journey, I can tell you I would choose to become a foster and adoptive mom, again. The truth is the world doesn't need ideal, it needs willing. The thousands of vulnerable children don't need perfection, they need action. They need the actions of ordinary people putting their hearts on the line and getting in the game, because children are worth it.<br />
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If this blog has inspired, encouraged, or challenged you to open your heart and home to vulnerable children please comment here or on our Facebook page and share.<br />
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~Abby<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCJUi7JVvTgVgu7UGrYjus8q8PpCGfUKLx3of6EEVlvWaJ_GDuUK9WAurcfm07bKuJaATQ7UDbOjsG3qp8h9ootzok8_Vx8S-_gNJJDyvzRkTzBtURLoMU7zdZBjRYVjOIviC2ktfQGPPX/s1600/IMG_20170614_101829_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCJUi7JVvTgVgu7UGrYjus8q8PpCGfUKLx3of6EEVlvWaJ_GDuUK9WAurcfm07bKuJaATQ7UDbOjsG3qp8h9ootzok8_Vx8S-_gNJJDyvzRkTzBtURLoMU7zdZBjRYVjOIviC2ktfQGPPX/s640/IMG_20170614_101829_1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our third adoption ceremony 2017.</td></tr>
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Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-38050117426296596212019-07-06T16:14:00.001-07:002019-07-06T16:15:11.655-07:00Twelve is a Big Number<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSoLoII2jgNf3AhWNBVYGwwUPZZFdsP1JcLWjpEItVHDBY-OXpu4DDaZ6meHJMr82l0eaddQ9PVAQfkTw60Imkb1s_N0YYHVtIuyQ_SWFF3jfXgl9secRqtcj0EiiHgzHWuCDhL3ZZxJ3O/s1600/IMG_9479.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1594" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSoLoII2jgNf3AhWNBVYGwwUPZZFdsP1JcLWjpEItVHDBY-OXpu4DDaZ6meHJMr82l0eaddQ9PVAQfkTw60Imkb1s_N0YYHVtIuyQ_SWFF3jfXgl9secRqtcj0EiiHgzHWuCDhL3ZZxJ3O/s640/IMG_9479.jpg" width="635" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our crew of kids 2012.</td></tr>
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I grew up greatly admiring the Walter family. They had seven children, a combination of biological and adopted, and had been the people to encourage my parents to adopt. I had seen the photo albums from when I was little with our two families sharing fun memories together. I didn't remember the activities since I was too young, but it was clear from the pictures they were wonderful times. When I was eleven years old my family traveled to New York for our first Walter wedding. My dad was officiating the ceremony of the oldest daughter, Robin, and we were all invited to the celebration.<br />
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Attending that wedding changed my life. The event definitely had an impact. It became the standard for my own future, and the reason there was a lip sync performance at my reception. But even more than the actual wedding was the time I spent in the Walter home. There were so many people. There was hustle and bustle, noise, and activity. There were people coming and going and something was happening all the time. And I loved it. I loved the sibling interactions, the conversations, the laughter, the meal times, and the dancing. It was that summer a seed was planted in my heart. I wanted a big family.<br />
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Now I didn't fully realize at the time, just how big my family was going to be or how it was going to come together. I just had this feeling in my young heart this was the future household I wanted.<br />
It's one of the things I love about being married to my husband. I mean despite his obvious good looks and charming personality, he also came from a big family. I remember Sunday afternoon lunches with his family when we were dating. Once again I loved the noise, laughter, and conversation. At that stage of my life I wanted 6 kids and Matt wanted 12. Well, 15 years later we have 10 who call us "mom and dad," 2 who went straight from my womb to heaven, and 6 more we loved for a time while we were their foster parents. Our home has always been full of children, and I wouldn't have it any other way.<br />
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It hasn't always been easy. I remember going shopping with more babies than there was room in the cart. It was quite a challenge to find space for the groceries around the children. There was a time when I needed to plan an extra twenty minutes before a trip to make time to buckle everyone properly into their car seats. Now as my children grow older they are going in many different directions all at the same time. I can't tell you how many times I've needed to be at multiple events all at once. Life is full of constant juggling.<br />
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Our grocery bill is enormous, the dirty laundry pile is always overflowing, and it is never quiet during waking hours. I know some people look at us and shake their heads in wonder. But I look around my home and love what I see. Well, maybe not the mess, but definitely the people. I see an unshakable bond that has been tested but continues to hold strong. I see memories being made and love being shared. I see family.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5jB1IBmowVmRIAUGmxUXr3YWeU6DAfibltCa9b0V-GDhtqwuHm5HMGrG33A03Om7zoUi1_B6cyOr7EicAE5vghGLNVzKfw1kVceUzihDHqHK__F7uy9AdU1htui6ruGvGyrWByV5Wy1pf/s1600/IMG_20190622_092647.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1446" data-original-width="1600" height="577" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5jB1IBmowVmRIAUGmxUXr3YWeU6DAfibltCa9b0V-GDhtqwuHm5HMGrG33A03Om7zoUi1_B6cyOr7EicAE5vghGLNVzKfw1kVceUzihDHqHK__F7uy9AdU1htui6ruGvGyrWByV5Wy1pf/s640/IMG_20190622_092647.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our crew of kids 2019.</td></tr>
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One of my favorite movies is Cheaper By the Dozen. The movie stars Steve Martin and Bonnie Hunt and tells the story of their large family with twelve children. I can identify with a lot of the film like the family van being full of fast food garbage, the chaos of school mornings, and the parent's struggle to balance work and family. It's also full of funny moments like when the kids soak their oldest sister's boyfriend's underwear in meat. My favorite part of the movie is towards the end. One of the kids has run away and the family is out looking for him.<br />
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The next door neighbor says to the mom, "I always knew one of your kids would land on a milk carton. Twelve is just too big a number...you'll never find him."<br />
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To which the mom responds, "Oh, we'll find him. Like you said, twelve's a big number."<br />
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Having a large family isn't always sunshine and roses. And being the mama of children who have difficult histories of abuse and neglect adds a layer of complexity. Recently my family has walked through a very challenging season. One of my teenage children decided they didn't want to live here anymore. Adoption can be messy. It's a wonderful thing that I fully support, but it comes with its challenges. The trauma some of my children endured before coming into my home is heartbreaking and it has had long term effects. I can understand attachment disorder and trauma in my head, but it doesn't make walking through rejection any less painful for my heart.<br />
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In the movie, the young boy who runs away is soon found, and the family is able to reconcile. In just a few minutes everyone is hugging and smiling and everything is okay again. I wish I could say my story was the same. Minutes turned into hours which turned into days that turned into weeks which became months and still my child didn't return home. I was left to carry the weight of not knowing what to do. Although my child felt independent at 16 years old, I knew they still needed direction. They had two more years until adulthood and the completion of high school. I knew both in my head and my heart their future was at stake and the possibility of difficult life-long consequences was looming in front of them if they continued down their current path.<br />
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But friends, like Bonnie Hunt says in the movie, "Twelve is a big number." I am blessed to be wrapped in a big family. There hasn't been a moment my family hasn't been praying for me and supporting me. There hasn't been a moment they haven't had my back. And when a solution was found, it was with family.<br />
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Even though I didn't know what to do, I did know who to call. When I reached out for help the person on the other end of the phone simply said, "That's what family does."<br />
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There still hasn't been a movie ending to this story. My child still isn't living at home with me. My heart still aches. I still don't know what the future holds. But I have hope. I have hope because my child is with family.<br />
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~Abby<br />
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Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-33581259415339238422019-06-15T22:22:00.000-07:002019-06-15T22:22:27.771-07:00I Got Knocked Down<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdYZWqEFKtkcXvZrUNBHB5DtbBoV8vy5-VhlxunOpfz7aimkmAF6aUVZ88bT8Gzq9ZK78yQ3cuCiKVPwvZOQCOYMc3B8JxXwJ7MjEM4fHYksbtflZbUEoPWDJcmuFpFBDpxYyNAI-I4E-3/s1600/IMG_20181121_103231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1098" data-original-width="1600" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdYZWqEFKtkcXvZrUNBHB5DtbBoV8vy5-VhlxunOpfz7aimkmAF6aUVZ88bT8Gzq9ZK78yQ3cuCiKVPwvZOQCOYMc3B8JxXwJ7MjEM4fHYksbtflZbUEoPWDJcmuFpFBDpxYyNAI-I4E-3/s640/IMG_20181121_103231.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting a salute from Captain America at Disneyland.</td></tr>
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You know the scene. It's in dozens of movies. There is a fight and the hero of the story is clearly outmatched by his enemy. He is down on the ground and the big bag guy is looming over him saying these words, "Stay down kid."<br />
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Every day I am living two realities simultaneously. I am okay and not okay at the same time. My daily routine hasn't really changed. I go throughout my day as I usually do. I drive my kids to school and all their activities, make meals, do laundry, check homework, and a hundred other tasks to keep my home running. I spend time with my husband, family, and friends. I attend church and other community activities. I keep moving forward because life doesn't stop. Even when things are difficult, stressful, or sad, life keeps right on going. So I keep going with it, but it is never gone from my mind one of my children isn't living at home. This means even while things are moving forward something is always wrong.<br />
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This sense of things not being right has a way of creeping into my days and catching me off guard. It's little things like when the friendly guy at Dutch Bros is amazed I have 11 people in my van. He comments on how wild that is, and I drive away with tears in my eyes because there should be 12. The absence of someone's face in the most recent photos from the latest birthday party stares back at me when posted to social media. The innocent question from a family member at the barbeque if all my kids came to the party, and I have to figure out how to respond. These moments bump into me all day long.<br />
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There is a desire in part of me that wants to quit. I want to curl up in a ball under my covers and refuse to face the outside world. I want to give up. I want to stay down.<br />
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But that is not an option. I am the mama of 10 children. Although one of them doesn't want me at this stage of her life, it doesn't change the fact I am her mom forever. Although it is painful, I keep loving her the best I can. I keep showing her what family means. As I walk out this journey in front of my other children, I am also teaching them what love and family means. It is the middle of a difficult season. I currently have more questions than I have answers. I don't know how it will unfold. I don't know what the future holds. I take it one day at a time. I weather the punches when they come, and I hold onto hope when its light breaks through the dark moments.<br />
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There isn't a manual for this. There isn't a step by step plan for how to navigate these waters. But as I have been dwelling in this uncomfortable space there is a verse from the bible that has provided me with guidance on how to spend my days. "Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18<br />
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Rejoice always<br />
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This isn't how I pictured my life. Other people have made choices outside of my control that have caused me great pain. However, I have complete control over my attitude and how I respond to what is happening. I can choose joy. Joy is deeper than happiness. Happiness is an emotion that is completely reliant on how I feel. Joy, is a choice. I can choose to walk out this difficult season with joy in my heart even on days I feel sad. This doesn't mean I don't acknowledge, accept or process my feelings. I have many feelings that can shake me to my very core some days. It just means I realize I can choose joy in spite of how I feel, and my feelings don't need to rule my choices.<br />
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Pray continually<br />
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Notice how the next part of the verse tells us to pray continually, not worry continually. This season of life has been teaching me the difference between prayer and worry. I am very good praying and giving my cares and concerns to God. Then promptly after saying, "Amen," beginning to ponder, contemplate, and try to solve the problem myself. I would say I am an expert at worry continually...the praying continually needs some work.<br />
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Give thanks in all circumstances<br />
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There are so many things I can be thankful for every day. Even on the most challenging of days I have much to be grateful for. Fifteen years ago I married the man of my dreams, and he and I have been partners in crazyville ever since. I am blessed to be the main chaos coordinator in our busy household. My children fill my heart with great joy. My family and my husband's family are incredibly supportive, and I have friends who have held my hand through the most challenging times. My home is warm and comfortable, and my needs and the needs of my family are met. And every day there are small things that remind me I am not alone; a surprise bouquet of flowers from a friend, a phone call from my mom, snuggles with my kids.<br />
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This verse has been my lifeline. The thing that has kept my head above water. In this season of not knowing what to do, I focus on these three things. As I write this blog I am in my pajamas, eating a Domino's pizza, and I have cried several times today. I tell you that information because I know many of you reading this blog are walking through your own difficult season. Your story may not be the same as mine, but you know what it means to be okay and not okay at the same time. Perhaps you are even feeling like you are only not okay. I don’t want you to think for one moment I am picking a verse from the bible to placate or trivialize your story or mine with a trite response. This is the verse I am living and breathing in real-time. Choosing joy, giving my concerns over to God in prayer, and being grateful for the blessings in my life is how I am surviving this journey.<br />
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There are several things that keep me focused on this verse.<br />
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The first is music. For the most part it is worship music. My playlist is currently packed with songs that declare God is fighting my battles for me, reminding me to pray and not worry. I also jam out to Disney music and 80's hits when I need a pick me up. The important piece is music keeps my head in a good place and helps me control my thoughts. It is way too easy to let fear take over, and my thoughts can spiral downhill very quickly. Music helps me fight this.<br />
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The second is leaning on trusted friends and family. I'm naturally the kind of person who likes to do things on my own. Asking for help or admitting I don't know what to do is challenging for me. These past few weeks I have asked for help many, many times and the phrase, "I don't know what to do," has become an anthem of mine. Allowing other people who love me and care about me and my family to help carry this burden has been essential to keeping my head above water. Being real and sharing what is on my heart and asking for prayer has been critical.<br />
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The third one is to ignore the negative voices trying to bring me down. It is important to know the difference between leaning on trusted friends and family who love me and listening to people who enjoy getting in on small town drama. The real truth is there are many people who have an opinion about my family's current situation, and many have felt free to share their thoughts. But if you haven't walked in my shoes the last seven years, you should be slow to make judgments. I am learning it's okay to walk away from someone who isn't speaking life and hope into my life. And it's okay for you to as well.<br />
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It would make sense for the hero in the movies to stay down. He is usually pretty beat up by the time the line is said. But if he is a hero that is worth anything, you know what he does. He stands back up.<br />
I've been knocked down. Some days it feels like I am walking a bit hunched over. The punches keep coming, and I'm not sure when they will end. But allow me to let you in on a little secret. My favorite superhero of all time is Captain America. And in case he isn't yours, let me tell you about him. Whenever he gets knocked down, and even when he's told to stay down, he always gets back up and says, "I can do this all day."<br />
I will keep getting back up. I will keep choosing joy, praying continually, and being thankful in all circumstances. I am a warrior. I am a mom. I will keep fighting for my children, all 10 of them.<br />
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-Abby<br />
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Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-90635682346893491122019-05-11T22:51:00.002-07:002019-05-11T22:54:08.932-07:00Dwelling in the Unknown<br />
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<img height="480" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/Ae-PSKWnBS0zzEYOTCS4n1_FzSYPGcqMQVtVNGRjvB4TZD4rRJR_bHyJbGKOkbZ5B-us3a7gJ6jALf7FwA7hEsSc8Wd-1PO99C-_XeAQYc0oaz_TtwEQ9kI4QZTNrxYPqbjB9Qnv" width="640" /></div>
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I wanted it to be a short walk. A few moments of uncertainty quickly replaced by answers, solutions, and a plan. I wanted to move through this uncomfortable place of not knowing relatively quickly to the more secure land of understanding. Yet, here I am dwelling in the unknown. I don't know what tomorrow holds. There is no handbook with step by step directions of what to do. There is no plan. I only know what I am doing in this moment. And this is where I am dwelling. To dwell means, to remain for a time. I don't know how long this time will last. The vagueness of the future is unsettling. To live without a timeline is stretching me in ways I have not experienced before. This doesn't mean I am inactive. The calls, conversations, emails, research, and advocacy have been exhausting. Every time a potential solution is available I pursue it diligently. At the end of each search, the answer is still the same, unknown, and so the dwelling continues.</div>
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Seven years ago I sat in a courtroom and listened to the fates of four sisters get discussed. For three of the four girls the future seemed settled. The oldest was going back to her birth mom. DHS and the court felt she was old enough to be successful and her mom could parent one child. The youngest girls were on a path to be adopted by Matt and me. But for the middle little girl there wasn’t a plan in place. Her current foster home wasn’t pursuing adoption. As I sat there my heart was broken. This young girl needed a family to step in and advocate for her well being. At that moment, I knew in my heart she needed us.</div>
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This wasn't the plan. We hadn't expected to adopt a nine year old girl. Our previous foster and adoptive parenting experience was babies and toddlers. We felt out of our league and in over our heads. Yet, we couldn't shake from our hearts the truth that each and every child deserves someone to love and fight for them. So we stepped into the uncharted waters and welcomed another girl into our family.</div>
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Thirteen days ago that little girl, now sixteen years old, walked out the front door of our home and refused to come back. The pain of someone you love walking out on you is excruciating. At first it doesn't feel real, like a bad dream you will wake up from at any moment. Then anger and frustration settle in. You can't understand how someone you have loved and cared for could treat you so badly. Next the sadness comes and permeates your heart, and you weep like you have never wept before. In the midst of the sadness a fear rises up inside that wants to rip you apart. This is the reality of where I currently reside. The people around me expect me to have answers and look to me for a solution to the problem. I have no answers. I have no solutions. I am in a dark forest, and I can't see my way out.</div>
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It feels as if a hundred times a day someone is asking me, "How are you?" The friendly young person at Dutch Bros, the talkative guy at the gas station, the checker at Walmart. It's a common and simple question used to be polite in social situations. And I smile and say, "I'm good." This is a complete lie. I am not good. I am heartbroken. I am barely keeping it together. But that isn't the answer the stranger wants to hear. It causes me to wonder how many times I have asked others the same question, and how many times they have lied to me, just like I am lying to those around me. It's not an intentional lie. It's just the pat answer you give with a smile to the world. Usually as we ask people how they are we are in a hurry going through our lives. If we stopped long enough to look at the person we are talking to and really see them, we might notice the tired mom, the lonely man, the hurting family.</div>
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This time of dwelling has reminded me how easily I get caught up in my own life. How quickly I prioritize my to-do list over relationships. How many times I choose to ask someone how they are doing and don't take the time to really listen to their answer. It's convicted my heart to remember to let my plans get interrupted.</div>
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The other day someone in line at Dutch Bros bought my coffee. It was such a simple thing, but it touched my heart. In a season in which I am living in the unknown, every single act of kindness is noticed. This also reminds me who I want to be. I want to be the kind of person who helps when I can. Once again, too often I am caught up in my schedule for the day. I forget to send the flowers, write the text, give the hug. The sweetness of another human deeply impacted my broken heart. Let me never forget to pause and see people and help when I can.</div>
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The forest is thick and often seems dark in this time of dwelling. I can see shards of light pierce through the heavens. A call from a friend, a hug from one of my children, coffee from a stranger. The light reminds me this season will not last forever. A day will come when I will be able to walk out on the other side. The book of Psalms chapter 30 says, "Crying may last for a night, but joy comes with the new day."</div>
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While I dwell here in the unknown, I will focus on what I know to be true. The promises of God. They stand true even in the darkest of circumstances. He promises to "never leave me or forsake me." (Deuteronomy 31:6) He also promises to "work all things together for good to those that love God, and who are called according to his purpose." (Romans 8:28)</div>
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Although I can't yet see the path out of the forest of the unknown, I know the words of my God are true. Although I can't yet see how things will work together for good, I can trust in the One who sees the past, present, and future. And although there are moments when fear grips my heart, I can rely on the assurance my God will never leave me or forsake me. I am comforted knowing these same promises apply to my wayward child. The God I am putting my trust in loves her even more than I do. In that truth I will rest while I continue to dwell in the unknown.</div>
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Abby</div>
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Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-80525922047549478832019-04-30T21:30:00.000-07:002019-04-30T21:52:08.372-07:00Keep Pressing On<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="640" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/XI41hYLVK964av3fpBXDO-mUSLXZXDifdJyPBqzvCzKCD0eFwzvTn12eWBhUa1UEh4pTelFpnEPxVHL9dJ-mm0yM3rBjYaoR3jy7pRqhi1xJA9EPero3B-oVD4o54kWpvsnqgmYj" style="border: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; transform: rotate(0rad);" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Justus in his flag football gear.</td></tr>
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It was a hot summer day and we were at the Scappoose Football field to watch Justus play flag football. Our favorite thing to do on those days was enjoy a snow cone during the game. It was the perfect treat and would last the same length as the football game, which made it a fantastic option for Joy. Normally Joy would finish her snow cone and Matt would walk with her across the field to the van while I rounded up the other kids. Often she would protest, because she really wanted to stay and play flag football herself, but she would still walk with Matt to the van.<br />
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But on one Saturday afternoon she decided she wasn’t going to leave the field. We tried talking to her about how it was time to go home and eat lunch and the yummy food we were going to have. We tried turning it into a game of chase heading the direction toward the van. We tried singing songs. We tried the firm voice. It didn’t matter. She wanted to stay in the middle of the field and play. She didn’t want to go home. It was time for new games to start and Joy needed to leave the field. Matt went to pick her up and she immediately became limp and slid through his arms. Thankfully he is a tall and strong man. He lifted her up over his shoulder with ease and began to carry her off the field. <br />
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All the while he is speaking to her in a calm voice explaining over and over again, “You’re okay. It’s time to go home.” The kids and I follow them trekking across the high school field. Walking behind Matt and Joy gave me a front row view of all the people around us. The staring was impossible to miss. I can only imagine what people must have been thinking. <br />
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It was a big field and a large parking lot to walk across. Joy doesn’t have a very big vocabulary. She has some words and also uses an ipad to help her communicate. That day everyone around could hear her clearly say two words, “Help, please.” To add to the drama, I had purchased a red snow cone for her to eat that day. Let me see if I can paint this picture for you. She is slung over Matt’s shoulder saying the words, “Help please,” with red liquid oozing out of her mouth. It totally appeared as if Matt was kidnapping a bleeding child. It was quite the sight. I can completely understand why people were staring at us. To be honest I’m surprised no one approached us to ask what was going on. It looked just terrible. My best guess is Matt’s calm demeanor and body language communicated to the crowd everything was okay. <br />
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Today, we look back and laugh about the experience. We are so acutely aware of how it must have looked to those around us. Of all the days for me to choose a red snow cone instead of blue or purple. I can assure you, I never picked red again.<br />
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It’s a good reminder to keep pressing forward, even if everyone around is staring at you. Sometimes you just need to keep moving even if what you are doing does not make sense to anyone else. Matt knew Joy couldn’t stay in the middle of the field. If she did, she would get run over by 50 kids playing flag football. He also knew in that moment there wasn’t going to be a way to change her mind. He knew he needed to get her safely to the van. He made a decision that was best for her even though it looked bizarre to those around him. If you believe what you are doing is the best thing, then press on. Walk right past those staring people. It’s okay if they don’t understand. It’s okay if they question. It’s okay if they think you are crazy. Press on. <br />
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We are currently in the midst of some hard parenting days. And in all honesty I feel like the world is staring. In reality it’s not the whole world, but I have felt the sting of judgement many times in the last few days. Parenting is hard work, and parenting kids with special needs or trauma backgrounds is even more challenging. There are times Matt and I make difficult decisions because we believe it’s in the best interest of our children. <br />
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We don’t claim to know it all. I wish we did! We haven’t found the “How to Parent Perfectly Method That Works Like Magic for All Children,” book. I wish we had! If you have children, like me, I’m guessing you are in the same boat. You are trying your best every single day. Can I just encourage you? Keep moving forward, keep pressing on, keep being the best parent you know how to be for the kids in your home. And let the people stare.<br />
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AbbyCrazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-90606140455548375832019-04-22T19:57:00.001-07:002019-04-22T20:08:20.619-07:00Blades of Hope<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8AeSLPatxWDNDFjwe5wMBSseVz7_oV9DnoOqsSB9eyx1dznZZd7JgYErnvdc4C9x4VAnf6jdGbzZMpOp3Rx1JW4lUPqaGUjZYnc6mwgzy-MTeKRXyQ1ODFO_t_I_rXsVilv3wiWbnaT2f/s1600/IMG_20190415_092415.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8AeSLPatxWDNDFjwe5wMBSseVz7_oV9DnoOqsSB9eyx1dznZZd7JgYErnvdc4C9x4VAnf6jdGbzZMpOp3Rx1JW4lUPqaGUjZYnc6mwgzy-MTeKRXyQ1ODFO_t_I_rXsVilv3wiWbnaT2f/s640/IMG_20190415_092415.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First sign of our new front yard coming in.</td></tr>
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Our front yard is currently a muddy mess. We purchased our home three years ago. The people before us spent a lot of time perfecting their flower beds. In fact, the day we moved in, the seller took me on a tour of the yard and told me about all of the flowers. Although the yard was beautiful, it was not practical for our family. We have 10 kids and they really just need lots of grass to play in. So a couple of weekends ago Matt rented a tractor and ripped up the front yard. Then he spread grass seed in the upturned ground. The only thing left to do was wait.<br />
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It’s been raining the last couple of weeks, and the front yard looks pretty awful. The kids have pointed out several times that it doesn’t look like any grass is growing. I must admit until today, it was a pretty pathetic sight. But today, today, I saw the tiniest bit of green fuzz covering the earth. <br />
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I think the front yard reflects how life sometimes looks. <br />
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It wasn’t that the yard was ugly or uncomfortable, but it wasn’t the kind of yard that gave my children the most opportunity to live out their potential. They don’t need beautiful flowers, they need a place to run and kick a soccer ball. I think we are being called to leave the beautiful and comfortable to meet the needs. And it might be a muddy mess. It might look pathetic. It might look worse than when we started. But oh the hope that is restored when those delicate blades start to grow. The vision that is revealed when what was only an inspiration is lived out.<br />
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We are in the midst of a season of change, and I must admit it looks a bit like our front yard. There’s more mud and mess than anything else. We have a vision, a concept, an idea, but we certainly don’t know how it’s all going to work out. Matt rented the tractor, and put in the hard work of tearing up the ground and planting something new. To be honest, he crossed his fingers and hoped it would work. We are putting in the work and crossing our fingers for this new season. It would have been simpler and easier to leave the front yard alone. It would be simpler and easier for us to continue on a current path of life we are familiar with. We chose to dig up the yard because we have a vision of our children playing together and getting the most out of the space. We have chosen to change our lives because we have a vision of a community that cares for vulnerable children and supports families in need.<br />
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Through this process I am learning a lot about change. Here are my thoughts. We don’t have to change. We can choose to stay on our current path of life. Just like our front yard could have continued to be a lovely piece of property with flower beds. Following a new direction or calling in life doesn’t mean our current path was wrong. After 14 years of serving as pastors to youth and children, Matt and I are stepping down from that position. We have loved being pastors, and we could have chosen to live out the rest of our working days as pastors. We aren’t making a change because something was wrong. We are making a change because we feel God is calling us in a new direction. This new direction has given birth to the non-profit we started, <a href="http://www.riversidecommunityoutreach.org/">Riverside Community Outreach</a>. Our mission is to serve vulnerable children and support families. We are excited and scared to take this leap of faith. This is stretching us to move beyond our comfort zone and stretching us in new ways. To be honest, it’s a little uncomfortable, and a bit messy.<br />
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This brings me to my second thought. Change can be downright messy sometimes, and often looks worse before it looks better. Have you ever organized something in your house, like a closet or a junk drawer? The best way to do it is pull everything out and go through it all, and then put back what you need in an organized fashion. Every time I organize an area in my home I end up throwing things, and giving things away. I always find I’m holding onto more stuff than I need.t’s always a huge mess of a pile in the middle before the task is completed. Once I’m done though the mess is gone and the end result is a much more efficient home. We can’t be afraid of the messy middle. This can make us feel uncomfortable, but I don’t know of a single verse in the bible that calls us to live a life of comfortable. I do know many verses that call us to love people and meet their needs, and talk about something that can get messy.<br />
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And finally, in the midst of change we need to hold onto the reason why we are doing it in the first place. Hope is a powerful force. I remember filling out mountains of paperwork, draining our savings account, and spending hours on the phone to adopt our daughter, Joy. The hope of bringing our little girl home to be a part of our family was what kept me going when the process was grueling. The small, but sturdy blades of grass in the yard are a reminder to me of hope. In the muddy ground after showing no sign of life for weeks, the blades pushed through the earth and made their debut. As we enter this new season of change, I will remember to hold onto hope as we break up new ground and begin a new adventure.<br />
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Abby</div>
Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-28593203978544911652019-04-18T21:11:00.000-07:002019-04-18T22:08:16.030-07:00My Parents<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiadxD5kOrb5DGeSA5_3uPST6BObRv8n8Cnyl0xPLSBdm9qDz3e45B-vkAHyGpkRW1RjDzwePUy644X7GnnYtHtB8694fG3TrUMbmMoB3dMyGgdJplCK0tYknj4Tdt25LQ0sf4HVrBWEYgX/s1600/FB_IMG_1549422237377.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="864" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiadxD5kOrb5DGeSA5_3uPST6BObRv8n8Cnyl0xPLSBdm9qDz3e45B-vkAHyGpkRW1RjDzwePUy644X7GnnYtHtB8694fG3TrUMbmMoB3dMyGgdJplCK0tYknj4Tdt25LQ0sf4HVrBWEYgX/s400/FB_IMG_1549422237377.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mom and me on the day my parents picked me up from the adoption agency.</td></tr>
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In the early 80's it was very difficult to find adoptive homes for biracial babies. My parents who were unable to have biological children just wanted to be parents and raise a family. They didn't care about gender, race, ethnicity, or color of skin. They just wanted little ones to love and call their own. That is how my brother, sister and I came to be a family.<br />
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It was from my parents I learned that biology isn't what makes a family. It's choice, commitment, and unconditional love. I don't remember my parents ever marching in a parade or waving signs or making big statements about how people should treat each other. They just lived it. Day after day they loved the three of us. I have always known I was adopted. It was never a secret. In my home, it was something to be celebrated. My parents always told us we were special.<br />
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It wasn't until I faced the outside world I learned not every family was like mine. It was at school I first received questions about why my brother's skin was a different color than mine and heard being adopted meant your parents didn't want you. Kids can be mean. But my mom was home every day proving those kids wrong. My mom would make us hot breakfast every morning and read us a devotional. After school she would have a snack ready and listen to us share about our day. She was always there to help with homework, encourage us to practice the piano, and make sure we got plenty of rest. She told me how my birth mother loved me so much she made a hard choice for my best interest. And how no one could possibly love me more than she and my dad.<br />
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My parents and me on my wedding day.</div>
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My dad worked multiple jobs and went to school while I was a kid so he could provide the best life for us. I remember years he worked nights at a hospital so he could further his education during the day. The hours he put in to make sure all of our bills were paid while pursuing more education must have been exhausting. He never made me feel like I was a bother to him. I always felt like he was happy to spend time with me whenever he could. He used to take me out on father-daughter dates just to spend quality time with me. He understood how much I loved the theater so many of our dates included Italian food and a fabulous play. I was his girl, and I never doubted it. I performed in musicals, and plays and sang in multiple choirs all through high school. My mom never missed a single show or concert. Today my parents are incredible grandparents loving each of my children.<br />
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I knew I could be an adoptive mom because my mom showed me how. It is because of my parents' example, I have been bold enough to walk the journey of fostering and adoption.<br />
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Abby<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My family at my brother's wedding.</td></tr>
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Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-83374969749466020422019-04-16T11:19:00.002-07:002019-04-16T13:02:43.098-07:00Homeless<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In front of the rental house getting ready for a walk.</td></tr>
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I stood in the school office of Lewis and Clark Elementary School and listened to the secretary tell me how to fill out the paperwork I held in my hands. The explanation was simple, except for when she asked me to show proof of address. At that moment in time, I had nothing to show her. I left the school office and drove to the home where we were living to come up with a solution. It was the first day of school, and I needed to find a way for my children to be able to attend. The secretary said it was as simple as showing her a utility bill. If only I had one to show her. <br />
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A couple of months before, I came home from picking up kids from school to find an eviction notice taped to our front door. The landlords had decided to sell the house, and we had 60 days to vacate. This was the second time we were going to be evicted from a rental because it was being sold. <br />
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I took down the eviction notice, packed up our kids and traveled to Corvallis for the weekend to participate in my husband’s brother’s wedding. When we returned home, it was time to put on Vacation Bible School at our church, and then direct a state-wide camp for 250 kids. The first 30 days of our 60 day timeline was gone in a flash. I started packing up our current house and began looking for a new place to call home.<br />
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At the time we had 9 children plus Matt and myself. As you can probably imagine, the rental market for a family of 11 was basically non-existent. In fact, I went into a local rental agency, and the receptionist laughed at me. The days kept going by, and I kept finding nothing. I tried my best to appear calm and confident to my children as I packed up all of our belongings. I didn’t want them to be worried. Inside though, I was a mess. I was responsible for 9 children, and I had no idea where we were going to live.<br />
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That’s when the miracle happened. A couple in our church had just purchased a small house to use as a rental investment. They offered to let us stay there until we could find more permanent housing. The house was only 1,100 square feet but it had 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. At that point in time if it had only been a studio, I would have been thankful. The prospect of living out of our van was becoming more and more real. We moved most of our stuff into storage except the very basic necessities and into our temporary home, just before the 60 day deadline was up.<br />
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It was supposed to be for just a few weeks while we continued the search, but time went by and we still didn’t have a permanent place to live. So there I was on the first day of school trying to figure out how to register my children. That was when we asked the gracious couple who had let us stay in their home temporarily if we could be their first renters. I was worried they wouldn’t let us, and I would have understood. I had discovered in my search that trying to find a home for a family with 9 children wasn’t very simple. People assumed we would be terrible renters who would destroy their home. This was just one of many assumptions people have made over the years about my large family.<br />
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Thankfully, Tom and Vickie agreed to rent us the house. I’m sure they were apprehensive about the number of people who would be living in their home, but they rented it to us anyway. All of the utilities were included in the rent except for garbage. I started garbage service and took that utility bill into Lewis and Clark so my children could start school. I felt such a sense of relief walking out of the school building knowing my family had a place to call home for as long as we needed to. Tom assured us as long as we paid our rent, we could stay in the house. He had no plans of selling it. We had never missed a rent payment and I was confident we wouldn’t miss one in the future, and so my heart was at peace.<br />
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Charity’s was not. I had tried so hard to not let the stress of the situation affect my children. Apparently my middle daughter, Charity, felt more concern than I realized. When we told the kids we would be renting the Weaver house, she wanted to know how we could be so confident it wouldn’t get sold, and we would have to move again. Since she had experienced this twice before, she didn’t feel the same level of confidence and my word wasn’t going to be enough to satisfy her. She wanted proof straight from the source. I told her she could talk to Mr. Tom about it. <br />
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The next time she saw him, she looked at him with her big five year old brown eyes and asked him if he was going to make us move someday. He looked back at her and told her she could stay in his house as long as she wanted. She believed him.<br />
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We lived in the Weaver house for a year and a half. I learned a lot during that time about what we needed verses what we wanted. We ended up clearing out the storage unit we had been renting and only had what fit in the house and shed. The house was snug and cozy for a family our size. This gave us great opportunities to grow and bond as a family. We especially learned how to be patient with each other. Fast showers, sharing floor space, and playing outside in the yard whenever possible became survival skills to keep the peace. Looking back, although I would have preferred not to have the stress of not knowing where we were going to live, I am so thankful for our time in that rental house. It tightened our bond as a family in ways I couldn’t have manufactured in a different environment. I am still thankful for that time of closeness.<br />
<br />
We now live in the house of our dreams. It’s almost 3,000 square feet which still feels huge to me. It was quite comical when we moved in since we only had enough furniture for one room. The rooms of course have filled in the past three years, and we added another member to our family. On days when the volume is loud and my house feels full, I laugh and remind myself of where we have come from. It keeps me grounded, reminds me what is important, and rekindles my heart of thankfulness.<br />
<br />
I will never forget the kindness of Tom and Vickie Weaver. There are people who make such a profound difference in your life their imprint on your heart is permanent. They chose to help us when we really needed it. They said, “Yes,” when they could have said, “No.” The world would be a much more beautiful place if more people were like them.<br />
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<br /></div>
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Abby</div>
Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-85191995813873992962019-04-09T20:21:00.001-07:002019-04-09T20:21:20.108-07:00When Fostering Breaks Your Heart <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRS_n86iAnt3Y-XwA2NpVkiO9BV-E1h2vnCX9IILy1P4hykcvZbTgIh8BjDBUe3-3L51cpPgrKBsk0LX8AApypnkkaVMm8ovH1l6huq03SxONsipPb0PhyFxwTihBKAC0-lRws14W5hqO5/s1600/IMG_20190203_174828_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="570" data-original-width="843" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRS_n86iAnt3Y-XwA2NpVkiO9BV-E1h2vnCX9IILy1P4hykcvZbTgIh8BjDBUe3-3L51cpPgrKBsk0LX8AApypnkkaVMm8ovH1l6huq03SxONsipPb0PhyFxwTihBKAC0-lRws14W5hqO5/s640/IMG_20190203_174828_01.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holding onto mama's hand.</td></tr>
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Foster care is temporary. The first goal is always reunification, and putting families back together is a beautiful ambition. I shared a wonderful story of reunification in a past post. But today's is about the reality of what it means to be the mama to a child you love, who will one day leave.<br /><br />I still remember folding up those tiny baby clothes and lovingly placing them in her bags. Each soft, fluffy, and pink outfit had been purchased with such joy. I loved this baby girl. When the phone call came informing us she was going to live with her grandparents, I fell on my knees. I pleaded with God to change the hearts of others and let me keep being her mama.<br /><br />I had prayed this prayer before when I first became a foster mom, and my little girl stayed forever. This little one did not, and my heart broke.<br /><br />I folded up the clothes and blankets and made the short drive to the DHS building. There was this deep desire to just keep driving and never look back. I didn't. I pulled into the parking lot, unloaded her belongings and gave them to the two strangers in front of me.<br /><br />I wanted to cry, and scream, and plead for them to please let me continue being her mom. I wanted to promise them anything in order to keep the baby I loved so deeply. Instead, I kissed her soft cheek, smiled, and handed her to the outstretched arms of her grandma. Then I drove away as tears rolled down my cheeks.<br /><br />And even though my heart had been broken, when the next phone call came from the child welfare office, I said, "Yes." Because that is the calling. To love fiercely and completely even if it is only temporary.<div>
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Abby</div>
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Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-1876151829709980692019-04-08T21:02:00.004-07:002019-04-08T21:03:41.337-07:00Making Room for More<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrjoYO7BJ_Q3XAD3PREVJJxIl9ueSiezrOU-Kh9NspcwiB0sd5DmJkmR8N6f76Tye7NuATZEGKvENbPf_JnnEmcx6ET3_GO0QkxsCR2gcIIZ5SeLGYRIcdRAN5auClRWmKf5-ucVYbKmL0/s1600/IMG_20190408_204937.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1150" data-original-width="1600" height="458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrjoYO7BJ_Q3XAD3PREVJJxIl9ueSiezrOU-Kh9NspcwiB0sd5DmJkmR8N6f76Tye7NuATZEGKvENbPf_JnnEmcx6ET3_GO0QkxsCR2gcIIZ5SeLGYRIcdRAN5auClRWmKf5-ucVYbKmL0/s640/IMG_20190408_204937.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dreams.</td></tr>
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Let me just start out this post by stating a couple of things (because my mom reads this and I don’t want her to panic). No, I am not pregnant (it’s not even a possibility anymore) and we are not in the process to adopt more children. That being said, I have a heart that is ready for more. Here is what I mean by that statement. We have 10 children, and it would be very easy for me to set my heart against welcoming any more into our home. In fact, that is where I have been recently. I have lived in a place of full and finished. A schedule so compact there isn’t room for any flexibility. <br />
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There was one other time when my heart was in a similar state. I had two miscarriages in 2012. This was a very difficult season in my life. My first trimester with my son, Josh was scary. I spent part of it on modified bed-rest. When he survived past the 12 week mark, I was so grateful. Shortly after though, a new emotion entered my heart. I was disappointed. Let me explain. At a church ladies retreat in 2013 after the two miscarriages and while trying to get pregnant again. I felt I heard from the Lord. Sitting in one of the evening sessions, I felt Him speak to my heart that He would redeem the two babies I had lost. To seal the moment, I wrote J&J on a seed packet. The theme that year was seasons and there were seed packets to represent spring. I tucked that packet away into my special box at home, and waited for God to fulfill His promise. I knew this would be my last pregnancy. I decided this must mean God was going to bless me with twins. When the ultrasound showed just one beating heart, at first I was relieved and thankful. Then, I was sad. I thought I had heard so clearly from God that day at retreat. Yet here I was with only one baby in my womb. It seems like such a silly thing to be upset about, but I was. It was deeper than having multiple babies. My faith in my ability to hear from God was shaken. As a woman who has loved God my whole life and striven to follow after Him, it was deeply wounding to me to feel as though I heard Him wrong.<br />
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With all of our biological babies we waited until they were born to find out their gender. There are so few genuine surprises in life, and as a lover of surprises, I enjoyed waiting. So when I told my husband with certainty that we would be finding out the gender of our baby before his birth, he knew something was wrong. I had a box of girl clothes and a box of boy clothes. I wasn’t going to get pregnant again, we were no longer fostering due to the size of our family, and clearly God wasn’t speaking to me, so I only needed to keep one box. Looking back I can see I was just upset. With the amount of stuff in our garage, it didn’t really matter if I kept both boxes of clothes. But at the time it seemed imperative to me that one of them leave the premises immediately. Fortunately, my husband was used to dealing with my pregnant emotions and encouraged me gently to give it some more thought.<br />
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I don’t remember what book I was reading or even what the words said. I do remember I was sitting in the waiting room of an office while one of my children was at an appointment. I was reading to pass the time, and something jumped out at me which caused tears to fall down my cheeks. I realized in that moment I had shut God out because He didn’t fulfill His promise to me the way I thought He should. In that room, sitting in my chair, I was reminded of the greatness of God. I was humbled when I realized I put the Creator of heaven and earth into a small box of my understanding. The Lord had spoken to me, and told me He would redeem my babies. Who was I to decide how that would be done? I wiped my tears and asked for forgiveness in my heart. I immediately felt such a sense of peace. I have no idea what the people around me thought, but I didn’t care.<br />
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We welcomed our son Joshua into the world in February of 2014. He was such a precious baby who filled our hearts with such happiness. What I didn’t know at the time was across the United States a couple who had brought a little girl home from Russia a few years before was at a crossroads in their lives. They loved this little girl so much, but felt they could no longer meet her needs. They began the process to look for a new adoptive family. Two years later that little girl would come be a part of our family. Our sweet Joy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv_xSUIVMXHotmLrrD7misiLZiL-1tE8vPtXdbldjiZ2jDmqeqSKmWuhxXbxe6KpZFyrR4ULQ7UJRConyGsNid3ZG0gBLkNu7VuTLDGFQYchMP_hGdjWATruuZfZlVK6y3RLhiQgQlYMVC/s1600/IMG_20181202_142015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv_xSUIVMXHotmLrrD7misiLZiL-1tE8vPtXdbldjiZ2jDmqeqSKmWuhxXbxe6KpZFyrR4ULQ7UJRConyGsNid3ZG0gBLkNu7VuTLDGFQYchMP_hGdjWATruuZfZlVK6y3RLhiQgQlYMVC/s640/IMG_20181202_142015.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">J & J.</td></tr>
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J&J, a promise from God had come to fruition. It didn’t look anything like I thought it would. My two children don’t replace the babies who are already in heaven. But the Lord filled my arms and redeemed my heart. <br />
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I was reminded of this recently, and once again I went to the Lord with a humble heart. I have always been the kind of woman ready to love and welcome as many children into my home as needed. It has only been in the last few months my heart decided it was closed to that option. There may never be anymore children who call me, “Mom,” and that would be okay. The point is my heart is open to the possibilities of God’s plans for my future. I am reminded my life is not my own. If He calls me to lay it down again for another child or 100, I joyfully will. I am making room in my heart for more.<br />
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Abby</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4IQVPZi6U0cJB91pxNgAeuvD-VK6IxalcrLUEUBerEoNN3KaUJLNQskPl8Hre9R-r0_8FLfae3lsu7PuaSvLPyMuwJC-i1RAydkCZsYrOE5RS9OlTXxGOLL_dmnrjtlfSXMpufq7jxD7/s1600/IMG_20180307_095929.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1299" data-original-width="1600" height="518" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4IQVPZi6U0cJB91pxNgAeuvD-VK6IxalcrLUEUBerEoNN3KaUJLNQskPl8Hre9R-r0_8FLfae3lsu7PuaSvLPyMuwJC-i1RAydkCZsYrOE5RS9OlTXxGOLL_dmnrjtlfSXMpufq7jxD7/s640/IMG_20180307_095929.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Always room for more.</td></tr>
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Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-52796074673504537152019-04-05T17:39:00.001-07:002019-04-05T17:39:04.488-07:00When Reunification is the Best Plan<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBhrOGR6TbLeWWi3Zqw6C-H7zORF6-OkhwtJIwvGWYMpqJKNgwlDcBXb7D3dQBgOlRb_NuvIXmxGJb387B5PyVapFQ19j5Pr-VLN3cL2e4NxgQFdHnkpXMU2tYlWo4MGeioFMObPNpV_rZ/s1600/IMG_20190204_190548.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1550" data-original-width="1600" height="618" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBhrOGR6TbLeWWi3Zqw6C-H7zORF6-OkhwtJIwvGWYMpqJKNgwlDcBXb7D3dQBgOlRb_NuvIXmxGJb387B5PyVapFQ19j5Pr-VLN3cL2e4NxgQFdHnkpXMU2tYlWo4MGeioFMObPNpV_rZ/s640/IMG_20190204_190548.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our photo wall.</td></tr>
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There is a misconception that all men and women whose children are in foster care are horrible people. This is not true. Sometimes they are just lost and need some help. This was the story of the mom of a baby boy who came to our home late one night.<br /><br />The call came around ten o'clock, and within thirty minutes from the phone ringing there was new baby in our home. He was precious and immediately adored by everyone. In a few days I was able to meet his mom. She was a young woman just beginning her adult life and in need of support. I have never seen someone work so hard to change their life. She joined a great program, never missed a visit, and really put in the work. I found myself caring as much about her as I did her young son. One year after he came to our home I was able to hand this little guy back to his mama. I hugged her and told her how proud I was of her. I also let her know I was around if she ever needed me.<br /><br />There are children who have come through our home, and I don't know where they are or how their life has turned out. I have a photo gallery on one of the walls in my house. On it hangs a photo of every child I have loved who has left. I walk by their pictures and think of them and pray they are safe and happy. His photo is special because I still get to see him. We live in the same small town and our paths cross almost every day. I'm not sure what his mom has told him about who I am, but it doesn't matter. It is her story to tell, not mine. When she sees me there is always a smile, a warm hello, and often a hug. It fills my heart with such joy every time I see the two of them together. I was not meant to be his forever mama. My purpose was to be the safe place for him during a vulnerable time in his life, and an advocate for his reunification with the woman who loved him so deeply. When I see them I know I fulfilled my calling. I loved fiercely and completely...both of them.<br /><br />AbbyCrazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-58519949091582659002019-04-04T22:07:00.001-07:002019-04-04T22:07:54.355-07:00Our Love Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRZjNHqZ30-tqS_kARcNYKt13mmOebapbTUq0i7thZ6kXSHR1n7mhCjKGYvbMqVLWCQ9f5JHZMM772U-BpN-8erj8xICY_K3YzuTJEeDX8zAItAJVbqXVNod3CUCMbAuuAvezK-MmtoINc/s1600/1554439737978-6bcb4f7b-82cc-4c07-9220-d8b7826b4c7b_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1273" data-original-width="1600" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRZjNHqZ30-tqS_kARcNYKt13mmOebapbTUq0i7thZ6kXSHR1n7mhCjKGYvbMqVLWCQ9f5JHZMM772U-BpN-8erj8xICY_K3YzuTJEeDX8zAItAJVbqXVNod3CUCMbAuuAvezK-MmtoINc/s640/1554439737978-6bcb4f7b-82cc-4c07-9220-d8b7826b4c7b_.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our wedding day.</td></tr>
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<br /><br />It was not love at first sight. In fact the first words my husband ever said to me were, “You’re singing that wrong.” I was a freshman in high school and he was senior. We were paired up to sing a duet together in the fall musical review. Not only did he criticize my singing technique, but on the first night of the show he was late getting on stage, and on the second night he completely forgot the words to the second verse of our duet.<br /><br />It was with great confidence I announced to my mom (and several other people) I would never date or marry Matt Olson. This statement was brought up several times during our wedding ceremony.<br /><br />Since Matt was a senior he graduated that year and went to college. I continued my high school experience without giving him much of a thought. He was the second oldest of seven boys and one of his younger brothers was the same age as me. We sang in choir together and performed in musicals. I would see Matt at those events when he came to support his younger brother. Matt’s mom is very talented and writes musicals. I spent my high school years and a few after performing in her productions.<br /><br />That is where our paths crossed again. This time, six years later, we were both different people. In high school Matt had made it quite clear to everyone he met he was never going to get married. I had a couple of boyfriends in high school. The second one had left my heart broken and bruised. While attending a church service after he graduated from high school, Matt had a change of heart about marriage. And after my heart healed from its wounds I was feeling content and enjoying life. <br /><br />One evening after performing in one of Matt’s mom’s musicals, I stood up on a pew and announced to the room I wanted someone to take me out on a date. It’s slightly embarrassing to tell that part of the story, but I was being silly and having fun. Unfortunately, I didn’t think before I spoke, and I was offered a date by someone I didn’t want to go out with. Thinking on my feet, I retorted that it needed to be an “Olson Boy,” because they knew how to take a girl on great dates. Matt, who was running sound for the production, just laughed at me from the back of the room. After striking out I got down from the pew and proceeded to pack up my stuff and head out to my truck. It was tradition for the cast to eat at Shari’s Restaurant after our shows, and I was planning on heading over there for some food.<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL4qbtW2CXeLdxqfa09a1h7dUhNvSBtVAdMs-CTXXaglTl1zQnbJI3Jnjs8cOgDS43cbm3PtnwVkQF3eevsqdEKZeWtgHgiAHVmYGP9Gx8KGr0nUlflBKbEBI4LDWetSOtsZcGyW7xR3-U/s1600/IMG_20170209_191415_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1086" data-original-width="1600" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL4qbtW2CXeLdxqfa09a1h7dUhNvSBtVAdMs-CTXXaglTl1zQnbJI3Jnjs8cOgDS43cbm3PtnwVkQF3eevsqdEKZeWtgHgiAHVmYGP9Gx8KGr0nUlflBKbEBI4LDWetSOtsZcGyW7xR3-U/s640/IMG_20170209_191415_01.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love and flannel.</td></tr>
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When I got to my truck, parked next to it in his sporty car was Matt. He asked what I was doing the next day. I thought maybe he was going to take me out on a date. He had other plans. He wanted to drive out to the beach that night, and he wanted to make sure I didn’t have something important in the morning because we would be out late. I called my parents to let them know where I was going. I was living at home at the time, and I didn’t want them to be worried. Then I jumped in Matt’s car and our first date began.<br /><br />We stopped first at the restaurant and ate dinner with the cast. Then we took a moonlit drive out to the beach. This was the first time we talked, really talked with each other. Sitting in the passenger seat of the car that night I knew I was talking to the man I was going to marry. And I was so mad about it! I had told people for years I would never even consider dating him, and here I was dreaming of our life together. We walked on the beach and then made the drive back home. <br /><br />He parked next to my truck which was still at the church where we had performed the musical earlier in the evening. Now this is the part of the story where our versions are different. But trust me when I tell you mine is the truth. I thanked him for a lovely evening and kissed him on the cheek. I never, ever in my wildest dreams thought of kissing him on the lips that night. I knew he hadn’t kissed anyone yet and was waiting for the girl he was going to marry (I know, so sweet). I knew I wanted to marry him, but I had no idea how he felt about me. He will tell you I kissed him first. He is lying. He then leaned down and kissed me. Then he pulled back and said, “That was my first kiss.” <br /><br /><div>
Then I said, “Oh, we can do better.” Then I kissed him back! I know, I know kind of forward of me, but so worth it!<br /><br />We started officially dating a couple of months later. He made me wait two years before he proposed. Since I knew I wanted to marry him from the first date, two years felt like forever. I remember walking down the aisle the day of our wedding. I was so excited. I wanted to run straight to him. My kids have asked me many times how I knew he was the man for me. I tell them, I wasn’t afraid. There was no hesitation, only peace in my heart.<br /><br />Just a few months after we started dating, I began the process to adopt our oldest daughter. That is a story for another day. The important part for now, is I knew I was supposed to be her mom. This meant I needed to tell Matt. At that point in time I loved him, but we weren’t anywhere near getting married. If he chose to continue a relationship with me, it would mean becoming a dad even before we were married. This was the conversation in which he could have walked away. It was the moment I gave him a way out.<br /><br />He looked at me and said, “Do you believe this is what God wants you to do?”<br /></div>
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I said, “Yes.” <br /></div>
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He said, “How can I help you?” <br /><br />Yep, he was the man for me. Fifteen years later he is still the love of my life. There is no one else I can imagine living with in Crazyville.</div>
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Abby</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIvhmaQio1HvW510cjYrc4Q6mp91ooUVfkNec5Kgq11QnAZX-hCMOu0s7az9ZubGfVaaBGT94Pc4s3ag31WuWIm3gcsZRJ_LpAmjCIApelv7eW-ZsDgmlveB84Mxt-XGgNTP5udMtZ09wZ/s1600/IMG_20190316_143025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIvhmaQio1HvW510cjYrc4Q6mp91ooUVfkNec5Kgq11QnAZX-hCMOu0s7az9ZubGfVaaBGT94Pc4s3ag31WuWIm3gcsZRJ_LpAmjCIApelv7eW-ZsDgmlveB84Mxt-XGgNTP5udMtZ09wZ/s640/IMG_20190316_143025.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still in love.</td></tr>
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Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-84492497482254169002019-04-03T23:31:00.001-07:002019-04-04T22:08:11.385-07:00Our Environmental Twins<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsSiM4N3B_R6reLuAPfAkNSKHkdrF20R7L4yA_LlNxc0EYvJfn2-BZAfiBgMHimAwq3BKVeKSblLc0363QrFZHXlIeO4sbLEL6_d0WajnSTaCF7q7slzZB88T3JO3uQm6fhfD-i7VP3w1v/s1600/IMG00026-20110528-0817.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsSiM4N3B_R6reLuAPfAkNSKHkdrF20R7L4yA_LlNxc0EYvJfn2-BZAfiBgMHimAwq3BKVeKSblLc0363QrFZHXlIeO4sbLEL6_d0WajnSTaCF7q7slzZB88T3JO3uQm6fhfD-i7VP3w1v/s640/IMG00026-20110528-0817.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First photo together.</td></tr>
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We were supposed to take a break from being foster parents. That was the plan. I had just given birth three months ago to our fifth baby and my life was full. Then the call came. The certifier on the other end of the line said, "I know you guys are taking a break but..." There was a seven month old baby girl who needed to transition to a new foster home. Before I hung up the phone that day I said, "Yes."</div>
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That is how I became the mom of what I call "Environmental Twins." My two eight year olds are not biologically related, but they have been together since they were babies. They have no memory of life without the other. Their bond is unbreakable and unshakable. They are a daily reminder that biology isn't what makes a family.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii4oeY74aPsaTvNZ3MQHiYcuHfruckAPkiUB8jUA9utyZDMOWrKQhsx0vcsTsmehZmt9bSCmpRQ8YjuAxJxF7pqA2Z_pPDFrfCtSp84Rx9P82vD6f1VgsKuKrRLU0KTfdEdkITrBA6Q6t2/s1600/IMAG4688.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="905" data-original-width="1600" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii4oeY74aPsaTvNZ3MQHiYcuHfruckAPkiUB8jUA9utyZDMOWrKQhsx0vcsTsmehZmt9bSCmpRQ8YjuAxJxF7pqA2Z_pPDFrfCtSp84Rx9P82vD6f1VgsKuKrRLU0KTfdEdkITrBA6Q6t2/s640/IMAG4688.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Justus and Mercy at Preschool.</td></tr>
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<br />
They are exactly four months apart and for most of the year they are the same age. I remember being in the grocery store when one was five and the other was still four. A stranger asked if they were twins and the older one looked right at her and said, "Not yet." I laughed understanding exactly what my child meant. They weren't twins at the moment, but they would be in a few months when her younger brother turned the same age.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg1j9tnQCQ_QtTP_MK44plYVKhBSKdakPoW-4Tjig0EkmrVGgYdUhnAHPfyP7oh6t-vGTszkuSbbDjbfUfydBbq0_15Ma8-OQWmwDa_5XQGBa68n4FH9fkN1q28mo2IcMpnjhMlhlLhNbq/s1600/IMG_20180922_122723.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg1j9tnQCQ_QtTP_MK44plYVKhBSKdakPoW-4Tjig0EkmrVGgYdUhnAHPfyP7oh6t-vGTszkuSbbDjbfUfydBbq0_15Ma8-OQWmwDa_5XQGBa68n4FH9fkN1q28mo2IcMpnjhMlhlLhNbq/s640/IMG_20180922_122723.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still best buddies.</td></tr>
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<div>
Their love for each other is uncomplicated. They are brother and sister, it's that simple.</div>
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Abby</div>
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Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-46822786074182234272019-04-02T22:13:00.001-07:002019-04-02T22:13:14.959-07:00The Day I had a Meltdown at my Daughter’s School<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8eaY0W3gxHGUF1y-Yq8J7D0gjdPoPWL0EXhqftC7VfmxID2oLRNElWD4ld7ctdhCBgbzd8VkhqZ7Yn0Tt0VXWL8_ShXbqWHgxKCCOdI5m3-FOo2v9PEEqqbwNVpxoDPBWDZ2l4ekb419/s1600/IMG_20180709_143859.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1120" data-original-width="1600" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8eaY0W3gxHGUF1y-Yq8J7D0gjdPoPWL0EXhqftC7VfmxID2oLRNElWD4ld7ctdhCBgbzd8VkhqZ7Yn0Tt0VXWL8_ShXbqWHgxKCCOdI5m3-FOo2v9PEEqqbwNVpxoDPBWDZ2l4ekb419/s640/IMG_20180709_143859.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /><br />The school drop-off and pick-up line at my children’s school has a way of bringing out the worst in me. I am a rule follower by nature. I’m the kind of person who gets in the right line and follows the cones and signs, and it drives me crazy when other people don’t. I confess, I sometimes assume the worst about those people. <br /><br />I’m also the kind of person who does not like to sob uncontrollably in public. Now don’t get me wrong, I get teared up and choked up all the time. I can’t watch a Pixar movie preview, or YouTube video about a military parent surprising their family without getting tears in my eyes. I have had tears run down my cheeks listening to a beautiful song or chatting with my best friend about life on her couch. I’m talking about weeping in public. The kind of crying where I can’t make intelligible sentences, and my face gets all red and puffy. That kind of crying in public I strive to avoid at all costs.<br /><br />It was the perfect storm when I fell apart during pick-up one day at my daughter’s school. If you follow my blog you know one of our kids, Joy, has special needs. This means she needs specific education that is provided by a self-contained classroom. We live in a town with three elementary schools, but only one of them has the kind of class for Joy’s needs. Normally where you live in town determines which elementary school your kids attend, with the exception of kids who need the self-contained special education class. All of those kids go to the one school that provides that classroom.<br /><br />As luck would have it, we live in a different boundary area than the one school that has the special class for Joy. The first year she was our daughter, I would take the other kids to one school and she would ride the bus to another. Then the second year, the school district gave us the option to have all of our kids attend the same school as Joy. This was such a huge blessing, and one I am still thankful for. The only catch was there was no school transportation provided for my other kids, (no bus) and I would need to drive them myself. Transportation would be provided for Joy, but not the other kids.<br /><br />I accepted the offer because I loved the idea of all of my kids going to the same school. Joy loves her siblings and they love her. The opportunity for them to see each other throughout the day and for her life to feel less separate was such a wonderful idea. That part of it has been everything I hoped it would be. I hear every day from the kids where they saw Joy and how they enjoy that. She often gets to play basketball at recess with one of her brothers which is something they both love. And honestly I thought if I could just explain to the right person in authority how it would be beneficial to everyone that Joy’s siblings get to ride the bus with her, they would agree and let them on the special bus. I was wrong.<br /><br />So, I had to figure out what to do. Since the elementary school is across town, one of my biggest concerns was I wouldn’t be home in time to meet the bus for Joy after picking up my other kids. My first attempt at arranging transportation was to drive everyone to school and pick everyone up. The dropping off at school worked great. Someone from Joy’s class would meet me outside in the pick up line and take Joy in. Everyone arrived at school together and went in together. It worked beautifully. Pick up from school turned out to be a different story. The original plan was for someone from Joy’s class to meet me out front to pick her up with her siblings. The front of the school is a very busy place during pick-up. This proved to be way too stimulating for Joy. She ended up causing quite the scene every day when it was time for pick-up. Having a meltdown in the front of the school with lots of people and cars became a safety concern. So we brainstormed another idea. <br /><br />Since pick-up is supposed to take place out front and only buses picking up from the back, we thought it might be a less stimulating environment to pick up Joy. This is where my rule following heart had trouble because the back of the school ended up not being what I pictured. There were many parents who parked in the back to pick up their kids. I would watch as their able bodied children would walk with them to their cars. Their cars that would line the street making it so I would need to either arrive twenty minutes before school got out or park up around the corner and walk to the school. When Joy didn’t want to leave school or was yelling she wanted to ride the bus while laying on the ground, I would need to pick her up and carry her all the way down the street. What made it even more fun were rainy days. There were so many times I carried her while she was kicking and screaming in the pouring down rain with my other kids trailing behind me past car after car (with kids without special needs) to reach the van. And on those days I would try to wipe away my tears as quickly as possible so other people wouldn’t notice and in hopes I wouldn’t upset my children.<br /><br />On one such day, I pulled into the back of the school later than I tried to usually arrive, to find the street full all the way around the corner. The thought of carrying Joy was just too overwhelming that day. I had spent the morning advocating for services for her, and I was tired. I saw a car in a spot right next to the back gate, and it looked empty. I thought perhaps it was a teacher and maybe if I parked behind them I could get Joy in the van and be gone before they even came out of the school. I pulled up and jumped out of the van. As soon as I started to walk I heard a lady ask me how long I was going to be parked there. I realized in that moment the car wasn’t empty, I just didn’t see the person. I sighed and started to walk around to my van to go find another parking spot. I could hear her say, “You don’t have to be rude.” Something inside of me snapped, and I started sobbing. I looked at the woman and tried to explain I wasn’t meaning to be rude. I just needed to pick up my daughter. I was mostly incoherent so I’m not sure she even understood what I was saying. I do know she was upset by my tears and she started apologizing. Then I started apologizing for making her feel bad. It was a mess. <br /><br />I went home from the school that day and called the district office. I told them Joy would need to start riding the bus home. I can’t even begin to describe how defeated I felt in that moment. The reason for all of the kids going to the same school was so Joy’s life wasn’t so separate. Yet, here I was making separate arrangements for her. It hurt my heart. There is a sadness that comes to a mama’s heart when one of her children can’t participate in life the same way others can. <br /><br />I’m so thankful McBride is a school all my kids can attend together. I’m so thankful for services like our support worker from Developmental Disabilities who helps us take Joy on outings. I’m thankful for my other children who accommodate and accept that going places with Joy can be challenging. I’m thankful for many things. I’m just still sad sometimes when my whole family can’t fit into the world’s mold. And to be frank, I still get frustrated when I watch people break rules because it’s inconvenient for them. Rules I wish my family could follow. I would love to be able to drive up in the line at school and pick up all of my kids at once. <br /><br />I write all this for a couple of reasons. The first one is to remember to be kind. The woman in the car I parked behind assumed I was being rude. In reality I was an exhausted and broken mom. And I could have easily been that woman on another day, making assumptions about people I see. We don’t know what kind of day another person is having. We don’t know what battles they are fighting. <br /><br />The second reason is a gentle reminder to show a little kindness to families with kids with special needs. Perhaps you can park farther away because your children won’t have difficulty walking to the car. Not because you have to, but just because you can. You never know the mama whose heart you may be saving by that small act of kindness.<div>
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Abby</div>
Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-38115517677510568662019-04-01T21:25:00.000-07:002019-04-01T21:25:06.272-07:00Our Joy<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBcTKPMN5kVAeedzum_UB87UjP6leRgeOo3SBzCGz_jBiRGJTIP8Q3eqlmJ2_gb9bAmeJhLqTca_mkt2V5skLE4nqaBpZeOYPifhQtFhlLY8wFd0PcUkCei1bZDrZFugRnmW9TCKBTl_-Q/s1600/IMG_20190323_103247.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBcTKPMN5kVAeedzum_UB87UjP6leRgeOo3SBzCGz_jBiRGJTIP8Q3eqlmJ2_gb9bAmeJhLqTca_mkt2V5skLE4nqaBpZeOYPifhQtFhlLY8wFd0PcUkCei1bZDrZFugRnmW9TCKBTl_-Q/s640/IMG_20190323_103247.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A girl and her scarf.</td></tr>
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I used to be so afraid of having a child with special needs. Every pregnancy I would feel like I was holding my breath while they ran the initial tests and couldn't release it until I was told everything was fine. I admired other mamas who were traveling that road, but truly believed it was beyond what I was capable of.<br /><br />Then a beautiful face on my computer screen changed my whole world. I learned about an agency called, "Second Chance Adoptions." They specialize in disrupted adoptions. A disrupted adoption is when a family who has legally adopted a child decides they are no longer able to be the child's forever family. Second Chance helps these children find new families and become legally adopted again.<br /><br />At first as an adopted child myself I had a hard time wrapping my head around this concept. Adoption is forever. How does a family change their mind? What I have concluded is I think people are genuinely unprepared for some of the children they bring into their homes. They don't know what to do and find themselves looking for a way out. I have had some long days with my children which left me feeling very overwhelmed. Those days have given me compassion for people who felt they had no other option.<br /><br />To be honest, I didn't think we would be chosen. Our family already had nine kids and the adoption process can be long and complicated. Many times I thought a door would be slammed in our face, but one by one they kept opening. On a summer day in 2016 we met our little girl for the first time, and the next day she came home to be part of our family.<br /><br />Life definitely has not been the same. She is our sweetness and our joy. She is loved greatly by her siblings. She loves to sing, color, dance, give hugs, swing, and snuggle with blankets. It is such an incredible experience to watch her learn and grow. Being her mama is also incredibly challenging.<br /><br />Parenting her has thrown me into a new world. I navigate IEP meetings, DD services, psychotropic medications, and therapies. I have felt the stares of people during public meltdowns, cried when all of my kids were able to participate in fun family activities except for her, and accepted the fact she will never be able to live on her own. At times this has left me feeling overwhelmed, exhausted, and trapped.<br /><br />In spite of those feelings, I would make the same choice again. I would still choose to stop scrolling when I saw her picture. I would still spend the countless hours filling out massive amounts of paperwork to complete the adoption process. I would still take the leap of faith on a child I had never met. She is a beautiful creation made by God, and her life is valuable. It is my privilege to be her mama.<div>
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Abby</div>
Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-59064134285054963572019-03-29T08:41:00.001-07:002019-03-29T21:05:26.150-07:00The Hike of Doom~The following story is from Abby's perspective. But I love her anyway. ~Matt~<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWS1Vb3_AdSQ0_phPlBVy5PMWC_Vv0t2mQbu20UwndDbf5ceR4Vfh-uPZDxTvFaey6-Rd8jJ8IoO7RU6-L_OYJM1jqPv4xdCZW4f2O0cAkptWWOLZGVe7PIcvFzNwGOIZhbN2pi2p0H2OW/s1600/DSC09674.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="904" data-original-width="1600" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWS1Vb3_AdSQ0_phPlBVy5PMWC_Vv0t2mQbu20UwndDbf5ceR4Vfh-uPZDxTvFaey6-Rd8jJ8IoO7RU6-L_OYJM1jqPv4xdCZW4f2O0cAkptWWOLZGVe7PIcvFzNwGOIZhbN2pi2p0H2OW/s640/DSC09674.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before the epic, amazing, and life-changing hike. All smiles.</td></tr>
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I came across this gem of a photo today, and oh boy, did it bring back memories. That was quite a day! It was spring break five years ago, and I had just given birth (via c-section) to our son Josh just barely six weeks earlier. Since the kids were home from school for the week we decided it would be fun to rent a little cabin in the woods for a few days.<br />
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My sweet husband (there is a bit of sarcasm dripping from my voice right now) thought it would be fun to go on a short hike together. Since I was still sore from surgery, he offered to carry both the little ones. Josh snug in his carrier on Matt’s chest and Faith on his back. He claims he asked the lady who ran the loop of cabins for a nice easy trail. I’m still not certain I believe him. We set off on the trail so bright eyed and bushy tailed. Ready for adventure. It started out great. The weather was nice and we just walked along the trail enjoying each other’s company. The farther we kept going the trail became less and less friendly. It was supposed to make a complete circle so we just kept going thinking at any moment we would find ourselves back at the cabins. We just kept walking and walking with time going by and no cabins in sight.<br />
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I was starting to feel tired and a bit frustrated. We had walked for a couple of hours, and I didn’t want to turn around and walk two hours back to where we started. I kept thinking surely this circle was almost to an end. About this point the kids were starting to fall apart (and so was I). That’s when Matt pulled out his phone to use his GPS to see where we were. With the confidence of a mighty general leading his troops into battle, he announced we should leave the trail and head the direction he was pointing. Now I have been taught from early childhood that you never leave the trail. Never! But my husband convinced me this was a faster way back to the cabins. And in my tired state, I believed him. <br />
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So we headed out into the unknown following behind Matt who had his phone pointing us in the right direction. I wish I had a picture to show you what we walked into. It was a dense forest with tall trees all around us. You couldn’t get your bearings at all. It looked the same in every direction, and the underbrush was so high. I was holding Justus in one hand and Mercy in the other and the brush was as tall as they were. Charity was walking next to me and she started saying, “Let’s just turn around now and go back.” I was trying to figure out how to explain to her there was no turning around. I didn’t even know which direction that would be. We had to just keep following Matt who I believed was leading us back to civilization.<br />
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That was when I started to think we were never leaving that forest. I could see the newspaper headline in my mind, “Large Family Found Dead in the Woods.” I was trying to stay positive for the kids but inside I was starting to lose it. It got even better when Mercy started trying to sit down. She was tired and wanted to just stop walking and sit down. Now if we were going to make it out alive, I knew we couldn’t just sit down. The only way out of that forest was to walk through it. No one was coming to find us. So I kept pulling her along and telling her we couldn’t sit down, we had to keep moving. She looked up at me and screamed at the top of her three year old lungs, “Mama you are crAAAAZZZZyyyy!” And in my head I was thinking, “It’s not me, it’s your FATHER!!” But instead I calmly said, “Okay, but we still need to keep going.”<br />
<br />
The forest was so dense and the underbrush was so thick and tall, that the only direction I had was to follow Matt. I couldn’t see outside the forest and it looked the same in every direction. That’s when Justus needed to go to the bathroom. I yelled up ahead to Matt and then proceeded to help Justus. Fortunately he’s a little boy so peeing outside was not a problem, and there were plenty of trees around. He did need help buttoning his pants though. I bent over to help him, and when I stood back up there was no Matt. I turned around in a complete circle hoping to see him. He was gone. <br />
<br />
I was worried before but as long as I was following him I felt safe. Now the panic was rising up into my throat, and for the first time that day I was truly terrified. I was standing there holding the hands of my toddlers and yelling as loud as I could for him to come back. The newspaper article in my mind was becoming more and more real. It only took a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity before I saw him again. He came sauntering back, and he wasn’t even worried. I just saw my demise play out in my mind like a Dateline episode and he was smiling at me. At that moment I was both relieved and furious.<br />
<br />
Eventually we made it to a road, and every one of us was beat. We sat by the side of the road while Matt walked back to the cabin and got the van to pick us up. I have no idea how long we sat on the log by the side of the road. We were all too tired to care. But I can tell you I’ve never been so relieved to see the white beast driving my way. Thankfully, Matt brought peanut butter and jelly sandwich fixings. After four hours of walking through the woods, PB & J tasted so good. We drove back to our little cabin and everyone crashed in the living room in front of the TV. I was still residing somewhere in-between relief and furry.</div>
<div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLBE0xs4cKWrlQh81tWgCsyhEdTij-IQLpZEDk8UIMCamXw0nkaYd83Wp-g3T0KbQkdkIkSxg2bJKVMgXB4gQOFC4sKxxLnXCxF2vXtjym-npTvWaOnbYDSQCUKKJBeom4xAbuUQFIJpYy/s1600/DSC09678.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="811" data-original-width="1600" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLBE0xs4cKWrlQh81tWgCsyhEdTij-IQLpZEDk8UIMCamXw0nkaYd83Wp-g3T0KbQkdkIkSxg2bJKVMgXB4gQOFC4sKxxLnXCxF2vXtjym-npTvWaOnbYDSQCUKKJBeom4xAbuUQFIJpYy/s400/DSC09678.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Us after the hike.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It was while we were sitting on the couch that Matt showed me what he saw on the GPS on his phone. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGsySu5ggTKfjy37KZLb1qEWxTpv7Uo8N1pMkSVzYK-rwry0XBlk4G081EPqvWJN10i36IUBMuFK86LKxqrCQTGoMv-H1A4kGMf27dqdOzI_7Sne4N4jkmWOPK2Lv0_VmCcE2ABvch2kDQ/s1600/Phone+screen.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGsySu5ggTKfjy37KZLb1qEWxTpv7Uo8N1pMkSVzYK-rwry0XBlk4G081EPqvWJN10i36IUBMuFK86LKxqrCQTGoMv-H1A4kGMf27dqdOzI_7Sne4N4jkmWOPK2Lv0_VmCcE2ABvch2kDQ/s400/Phone+screen.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What Matt's phone looked like in the hike. He really is amazing for navigating so well with only this to work with.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
Let me just tell you I am so glad he didn’t show me this until we were safely back in our cabin. It was a blank screen with a blue dot. I was blindly following a blue dot. Did I mention it was a good idea he told me this after we were safely back in our cabin?<br />
<br />
That trip was five years ago, and it is still one we talk about. I gotta say, I learned some very valuable things from that hike.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>I can be incredibly mad at my husband and still stay married to him.</li>
<li>When you leave the trail the real adventure begins.</li>
<li>Sometimes we’re braver when we don’t see the whole picture.</li>
<li>Even when the road is rough you can’t turn back or sit down and quit.</li>
<li>Every journey is less scary when you travel with someone you love.</li>
</ol>
<br />
<br />
Abby</div>
Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-49098202119654315262019-03-28T09:27:00.000-07:002019-03-28T09:27:35.491-07:00Just Two Sisters<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgWjVAy7BK_AUHiMHuDDyerOCD_NPaiK2vEevCSEwTBZanDY5QOZq0fsrD-h_GD6Xqi0ahdh3CUxUxe9ij9NnmAfjZSpe6h9rvPXjcDefT0zkzfxLibEfe2dmicX-nTAwmDBvfAPHOJGQ/s1600/IMG_20170406_163149+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1417" data-original-width="1600" height="566" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgWjVAy7BK_AUHiMHuDDyerOCD_NPaiK2vEevCSEwTBZanDY5QOZq0fsrD-h_GD6Xqi0ahdh3CUxUxe9ij9NnmAfjZSpe6h9rvPXjcDefT0zkzfxLibEfe2dmicX-nTAwmDBvfAPHOJGQ/s640/IMG_20170406_163149+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charity and Joy watching Mother Goose Club.</td></tr>
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I snapped this photo because I knew I wanted to capture the moment. It's of my daughters watching an episode of, "Mother Goose." It's a cute nursery rhyme show that sings different songs. The two girls sitting on the bed are only 9 months apart in age, but developmentally are several years apart. This show is geared toward younger kids, and the older one would never choose to watch it on her own. But she's sitting with her arm around her sister singing along because her sister loves the show, and she loves her sister.<br />
<br />
I'm often asked how adoption affects my biological children. To be honest this question used to catch me off guard. In my home there isn't a distinction between which children are adopted and which are biological. We celebrate adoption days because it's a reason for joy in our house, and who doesn't love an excuse for cake. But I don't consciously categorize my children by whether or not I gave birth to them. I just have a house full of kids, and they are all siblings to each other.<br />
<br />
After being asked the question so many times, I think I understand better where people are coming from. They wonder about behaviors, disrupting birth order, and how their family will change. I think people are afraid. I get that.<br />
<br />
The truth is my family has faced challenging times and situations that would not have existed for us if we never followed the fostering and adoption path. My life would be simpler if I hadn't chosen to walk this path. As a result, their lives would be simpler.<br />
<br />
But their hearts wouldn't be as beautiful. In a world of HGTV where families believe each child needs their own room to be happy, my six year old daughter offered to share her bed so we could adopt another child. In a society where so much emphasis is placed on possessions, instead of fighting over toys, my boys argue with my girls about how we need to adopt more boys to make things even.<br />
<br />
Their eyes have been opened to the hurting world in which they live. They understand the reality of children who need a family.<br />
<br />
Yes, fostering and adopting has affected them. It's caused them to be kind, compassionate, brave, and selfless people.<br />
<br />
AbbyCrazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-5600398734463859992019-03-27T17:33:00.000-07:002019-03-27T17:33:24.330-07:00Our Ideal Home<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSXJ_rzvtPthhc2BnlSEW6Ir9s8pldJkziSFtVCfwRA9UBcMYd0Y2MNfhyphenhyphenPmalVDsns770q33hwFFUovNX704Ke6GVPmIpo9rmlOu0QaO0f01GGL-KY30Yq-IlssTuF0G6IAkxiCLtOIFC/s1600/IMG_20190114_075809.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSXJ_rzvtPthhc2BnlSEW6Ir9s8pldJkziSFtVCfwRA9UBcMYd0Y2MNfhyphenhyphenPmalVDsns770q33hwFFUovNX704Ke6GVPmIpo9rmlOu0QaO0f01GGL-KY30Yq-IlssTuF0G6IAkxiCLtOIFC/s640/IMG_20190114_075809.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise in Crazyville.</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />I used to have a vision of what my home would be like. It had a large wrap around porch on a piece of property outside the city with an interior design that would impress Joanna Gaines herself. It would feel warm and cozy and always smell like sugar cookies. And inside would be a peaceful place where everyone was content and happy. <br /><br />In reality the outside of my home looks like a giant cube. It was build in the 1970’s and apparently someone thought it was a good design. In fact when it was for sale I refused for weeks to go look at it. I thought it was so ugly from the outside there was no way I was going to like the inside. The only reason I agreed to check it out was to get Matt to stop bugging me. He thought it was so cool and really wanted to go see it.<br /><br />When I walked in the front door, I knew I was going to be swallowing some major pride. I loved it. I knew it was home. As much fun as it was to admit to my husband that he was right and I was wrong, it was totally worth it. Now don’t get me wrong, I still don’t like the boring cube shape and I will never get to enjoy a wrap around porch, but I love this home. In fact, my plan is to live here until I die. One of the greatest things about my home besides the space, incredible view, and lovely neighbors, is I can have dinner delivered right to my bedroom door. Due to the odd structure of the house, our bedroom has sliding doors that lead right to the front deck. So, if I’m feeling like pizza, I can order it, slide open my bedroom door and take it directly from the hands of the Domino’s delivery driver. Now that’s living!<br /><br />The inside of my home doesn’t always smell like sugar cookies, and well, it’s not always calm and peaceful. There is a lot of laughter, joy, and wonderful memories being made here inside these walls every day. There are also a lot of hurts being healed along the way, at least I hope so. We are parents to some kids from hard places. Some of our kids have experienced and survived heartbreaking trauma in their lives. This causes big feelings to surface in our home from time to time. And those big feelings tend to be quite loud and give no consideration for the feelings of others. And most often those big feelings are thrown at me.<br /><br />Recently, after dealing with several days of loud feelings, I was quite worn out. I found myself quietly crying on the deck of our house. I just needed some quiet. I was so disappointed in the lack of peace currently in my home. I had envisioned a place of sanctuary and it was feeling a little more like a war zone. The worst part is it felt like my fault. I have read so many books and attended so many trainings on how to care for children who have been through trauma. But my tired soul was certain if I was just a better mom then the big feelings would subside and my house would be the sanctuary I had always envisioned.<br /><br />In that moment I felt Jesus whisper to my fragile heart. In order to welcome the broken I needed to let go of the perfection in my mind. If I made my home the sanctuary I was envisioning it would not leave room to invite the hurting into it. I was giving sanctuary to them. The sacrifice was sometimes losing it for myself. So at times there are loud feelings around here. I’m learning it’s not because I am a bad mom. It’s because I have welcomed the wounded and messy into my life. I am their safe place. And when I feel tired and worn, I turn to Jesus because He is my sanctuary and safe place.Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-22652675409724169832019-03-26T12:10:00.001-07:002019-03-26T12:10:04.184-07:00The Beginning of Our Journey<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTENk7NF57-KxM_bNlIBBF0-aNwMEzSowu8VlTAO9ye4QXAfA-j4htlQ449GmJTSRIbriYGi14nR60Ump0-f0k5B8GmNeB7cHNj5XVR1EvdzMhaABjSvPoKAmTB6L6gE9PfaekCuuJTFBU/s1600/1549073933394-1b484269-b1f0-4c3a-abed-73524af1fd19+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1509" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTENk7NF57-KxM_bNlIBBF0-aNwMEzSowu8VlTAO9ye4QXAfA-j4htlQ449GmJTSRIbriYGi14nR60Ump0-f0k5B8GmNeB7cHNj5XVR1EvdzMhaABjSvPoKAmTB6L6gE9PfaekCuuJTFBU/s640/1549073933394-1b484269-b1f0-4c3a-abed-73524af1fd19+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abby and Hope moving into their first house on Mill Street in St Helens.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /><div>
This picture was taken 15 and a half years ago when the adventure of Crazyville first began. A young, unmarried adult, I moved to St Helens so I could be in Columbia County. This was important because I had met the beautiful girl I'm holding in my arms, and in order to be her foster mom, I needed to live in the same county she did. It's incredible to look back and realize so many things about my life now exist because I moved here to be her mom. There was an instant connection when we met. I can tell you, it's not always like that, but it was for us. She was the first person to make me a mom. I plunged head first into the deep end of foster care and adoption. And the journey has been one crazy ride.<br /><br />Abby<br /><br />~Hi, Matt here.<br />I have had the pleasure of knowing Abby for some time now. She is the most selfless person ever and I love being married to her. That being said, taking on Hope as a young single person was one of the most crazy things she has ever done. At the same time, it made me love her more. We were dating at this point in our story and she was more committed to Hope than to me ;-) While she was going through this process with Hope, I did my best to support her. We did have a conversation at one point where she asked me if I was up for this adventure. She told me later that if I had said no, she would have dumped me and kept Hope. Good thing I said yes.... <br /></div>
<div>
~Matt~</div>
Crazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468312194755641524.post-9106900098801140052019-03-25T18:40:00.000-07:002019-03-25T18:40:28.273-07:00My Word 2019<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYKDBwfcShpdgvWNwi1aN_yw-kW9S2ueD_vq93c7REr9hyMPBqdYXKvbqrgaesqAh-lx1s11ImbBr63dZ8DttAMA6gigQYO0fpxTno66I2Ax2m4YQ-QmGBorHo7UBkJHsVQQYhg-xfim0E/s1600/Word.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="256" data-original-width="472" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYKDBwfcShpdgvWNwi1aN_yw-kW9S2ueD_vq93c7REr9hyMPBqdYXKvbqrgaesqAh-lx1s11ImbBr63dZ8DttAMA6gigQYO0fpxTno66I2Ax2m4YQ-QmGBorHo7UBkJHsVQQYhg-xfim0E/s640/Word.png" width="640" /></a></div>
There is a current trend to pick a word for the year. The word should symbolize your vision for the next season of your life. Every time you look at it you will be inspired to live your best life. I love this concept. I’m a very visual person and the idea was incredibly appealing to me. I had big plans to put my word for the year on a bracelet and wear it everyday to remind myself of the person I want to be.<br /><br />As the months went by I still hadn’t chosen a word. By February I was feeling concerned and reached out to my best friend with my frustration over not being able to pick a word. She gently asked me if I had prayed about it. As a woman of faith, prayer is usually the first thing I do. I was completely embarrassed to admit I hadn’t even thought to pray about it. Fortunately that was a problem I could solve right away. After I prayed I looked at a list of inspirational words, the same list I had looked at many times before. But this time, a word jumped right off the screen at me. I knew it was my word for the year.<br /><br />And I was so... dissapointed. I was hoping for something amazing like brave, bold, or beautiful. My word for this year was Consistent. Could there be a more unglamorous word?<br /><br />But I knew it was the word for me. I knew there were big changes coming for me in 2019. I knew I had big dreams I was going to be pursuing, and big risks I would be taking. If I was going to have the endurance to tackle those things I was going to need to be consistent with habits in my life. I am the kind of person who runs and then crashes. This style of living wasn’t going to carry me through this new season of life. I knew I was embarking on a marathon not a sprint, and that meant some changes. <br /><br />I’ll admit it’s almost the end of March and I’m still not great at being consistent. Establishing a morning routine and putting in place healthy habits for myself is a challenge. There is a piece of me that’s worried if I don’t master this skill this year, consistent might be my word for 2020. Ugh! So, with the motivation to have a new word for next year. I will strive for consistency in 2019.<br /><br />What about you? Is there a word that captures your next season of life? Perhaps it’s a word of encouragement like loved, strong, enough. Or perhaps it’s a challenge for the year like discipline, healthy, or less. Comment below and share what your word for 2019.<br /><br />AbbyCrazyville12http://www.blogger.com/profile/08822496770233288633noreply@blogger.com0