tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77124761850509003242024-03-04T15:24:02.723-05:00Heart CriesRebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.comBlogger526125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-51330110143868509162018-03-20T21:32:00.001-04:002018-03-20T21:42:22.084-04:00Love is a Language<br />
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My love language is acts of service. I must be a minority because no one in my life speaks my language, fluently. For some reason, I am surrounded by people who need and love words.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #999999; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">[If you have never read Gary Chapman's theory on love languages, do it! Understanding the five languages - service, time, touch, words, and gifts - will provide incredible insight to your relationships]</span></div>
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Apart from God's radical love for us, the reason Ben and I have such a rich marriage is because we've learned to love each other in the way that is most meaningful to each of us. While Ben appreciates my mad house management skills, clean sheets on our bed is not the way to communicate my heart to him - even though that's how I want him to love me back. He clings to affirmation. He needs to hear that his muscles are huge and that his heart of compassion makes my heart flippity-flop. It's not natural for me to love him with words, but I try {like it's my job} because I don't ever want him to wonder.</div>
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This topic has been weaving its way through many of our conversations, lately, because the fight for attention in our house has wrestled itself to the surface in some pretty ugly ways (most of which end in a phone call from the school).<br />
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As I prayed for insight, it became pretty clear...we were not loving the older boys in ways they felt it best.</div>
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We were able to identify Ty and LJ's languages right away, because it's how they show love to us. Ty craves and often asks for one-on-one time, while LJ wants physical contact around the clock. I'm pretty sure he would be happiest if he could go through life holding my hand or riding my back like a baby chimp. Ty is an old soul who loves to sip hot cocoa in his robe, discussing the happenings of his day and asking all the questions that sparked his curiosity along the way. LJ wants to tackle any family member that will take it and give breath-sucking hugs. God help us when he notices girls.<br />
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Francisco is much more mysterious and because his heart is so good and gentle, he is the one most likely to get lost in the shadows. He's not loud or stubborn or confrontational and takes life in quiet stride. One night we just asked him...<i>When do you feel the most loved? Is it when you come home and find an unexpected gift waiting? Reading little notes left in your lunch? Family movie nights?</i><br />
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He thought for a few minutes and said, "Maybe when I stay in the kitchen with dad, while he's doing dishes, and everyone else leaves?"<br />
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It was sort of a question statement, but revealed the sincerity of his heart.<br />
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Several days later, Francisco and I were working on a puzzle together. The kind you wish you had never started. 1500 pieces and for every two pieces you connect, there are twenty obstructing your success, without apology. Just as I was ready to quit for the night, very quietly - with no fanfare - Francisco said, "Mom, this is how I feel loved...sitting here, doing puzzles with you."<br />
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I smiled back and whispered it was the best part of my day.<br />
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Just like that, he handed me the keys to his heart. Nearly every day, this week, I made it a priority to sit down with him, even if only for a few minutes, and we cursed the puzzle together. He doesn't say much while we work, but every time he finds a match he whoops and hollers and calls for an air-five.<br />
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It is super hard to follow-through with intentions and easy to let all-the-things-we-should-be-doing burden our hearts. It's okay if we miss a night of reading or swap devotionals for dancing or ditch showers for star-gazing. It's all okay.<br />
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Our life is a circus. For real. And so much of our day is prescribed, but when I take the time to love my people in the languages they understand, I know I'm winning.<br />
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And they're winning, too, because they know they matter.<br />
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Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-29622277031030829822018-03-09T07:00:00.000-05:002018-03-09T07:00:00.407-05:00FF: Chili & Cornbread<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We only have a handful of recipes that score high-fives all around the table and this is one of them. Seventeen years ago, I worked with a Hispanic woman who taught this know-nothing-newlywed how to wow my husband in the kitchen. I've never found a chili that rivaled hers - now ours.<br />
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<b>FF: Crockpot Chili & Cornbread</b></div>
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<u>Chili:</u></div>
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2 cans of Rotel (We like original, but you can go spicy!)</div>
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1 can of black beans </div>
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1 can of red beans</div>
1 diced onion<br />
1 diced green pepper<br />
1 diced red pepper<br />
1 lb cooked ground beef<br />
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Dump everything in your crock and cook it on low for 8-10 hours. I don't even drain the bean cans. Super easy.<br />
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30 minutes before serving, add:<br />
1/2 bag of frozen corn<br />
1 chili packet<br />
Sprinkle in chili powder to your spice preference<br />
Sprinkle pepper on top<br />
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Top with Chili Cheese Fritos, cheese, and sour cream!<br />
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<u>Cornbread:</u><br />
1 box of Jiffy cornbread per instructions + 1 8oz can of creamed corn (so good you'll never eat it another way, again!) We like to make ours in a bread pan, but muffin pans work, too.<br />
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This is seriously a fan favorite!<br />
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<br />Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-25778819095504292752018-03-05T23:11:00.000-05:002018-03-05T23:11:48.247-05:00You're Not Even My Real Mom"I hate living here," he shouted through the bathroom door. "All you think about is YOU. And you're not even my REAL mom."<br />
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I knew this day would come. I remember talking about it with Rebekah, months after Ty was born. I was an emotional teenager once who didn't understand why my parents were bent on standing in my way or dousing my love-struck heart with buckets of ice water.<br />
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His words still felt like a punch to the heart and arrived a few years earlier than predicted.<br />
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He knows me better than any of his siblings. He's thoughtful and perceptive. He rubs my back when he feels tension and sits in the kitchen while I'm cooking, so I don't have to be alone.<br />
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He's almost nine and this year has brought more questions than any of the years before.<br />
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One notable change is his relationship with Rebekah.<br />
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For eight years, Ty loved Rebekah through me. We would talk and visit but his interaction with her was really an overflow from my friendship, not his. This year has been different. After too many low-battery sitter situations, we added a cell phone to our plan to act as our family house phone. Rebekah's number was one of six that we programmed in. Ty started his communication journey with misspelled text messages that ended with heart eyes and poop emojis, but over several months he grew into asking for regular phone call privileges.<br />
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At the dinner table, he'll fill us in on all the doings in Colorado and takes great pride in being the first to know. Here and there, I've had hits of sadness that have nothing to do with their conversations, but everything to do with his maturity and independence.<br />
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I can't help but think about how different our life would be if we had acted on our fear and distanced Rebekah from our hearts and life. I get teary thinking about it.<br />
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When Ty gets a perfect score on a math test and picks up the phone to share his news, my heart doubles in size. When he puts the phone back and tells me he's the luckiest kid on the planet for having two moms, I thank God for guiding us past boundaries.<br />
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It's not perfect, but nothing is.<br />
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Watching an eight year old process loss and long for people he doesn't see often enough is hard, but unloading eighteen years of pain in a single conversation would be harder.<br />
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Having multiple moms is messy business and we each have to work through the pain that passes through our part. While Ty grows into a story so much bigger than he is, there are going to be days of harsh words and accusing questions. Today, it was directed toward me, tomorrow it might be her.<br />
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We have to stand together as moms and remember where our confidence lies...certainly not within the capricious hearts of our self-serving children.<br />
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I have to fight failure monsters, knowing that many of Ty's outcries are fixed to time that's hard to give in a family of seven. Rebekah's monsters feed on guilt and make her wonder whether or not she deserves his attention at all.<br />
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However hairy it may be, we'll never stop wrestling for love. Love for God; love for each other; and love for a little boy that is still discovering both.<br />
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Love will win...in time.<br />
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<br />Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-14317318542886367382017-10-15T22:41:00.001-04:002017-10-15T22:41:07.929-04:00Making A WayHave you ever been on a carnival ride with endless spinning and find yourself in somewhat less of a neutral state? You can't say you hate the ride because the darling next to you is wide-eyed and giggly, but the spinning is quite annoying, your heart is a little panicky, and your eyes are closed, begging for time to hurry and dump you back to a place that is more comfortable.<div>
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This is the scenario that best pictures how our life has felt over the last several months and prompted an unintentional departure from this space. </div>
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In the quiet moments, I know the truth. But...<i>quiet</i> would only be heard in this house if someone was jumping on the sofa shouting it with all their might. And disorder has a way of unraveling me...quickly...and causes me to wonder why on earth God picked me.</div>
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There was a moment, last spring, at the end of an IEP (special education) meeting for LJ that I let the chaos win and fear bludgeoned my heart. I barely held my sobs as I ran-walked to the car. </div>
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We were failing LJ. </div>
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For the first time in my adult life, I ran away. I, quickly, sent a text message to work, but otherwise didn't tell anyone how I was feeling or where I was going. I just ran. I gave God a list of jobs I would have been exceptional at and presented different scenarios that would, presumably, have been better for LJ. Because he's a gentleman, he didn't interrupt. I went on and on and on. I cried for five hours straight and only stopped long enough to try on and purchase a new pair of Nike sneakers. That helped a little.</div>
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As I pulled back into the parking lot of the school and shut the car (and by car, I mean bus) off. The Holy Spirit delivered his one liner.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">God did not pull LJ from disaster just to fail in your family.</span></div>
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So true. And I knew it was true. I held my breath for a few seconds and let it sink deep into my heart before the door opened and I had to let all the little people back in.</div>
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I don't want to bore you with days of details, but I have to tell this story.</div>
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LJ's clinical labels include emotionally impaired, ADHD, ODD, and some OCD. </div>
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School is an ever-living nightmare. </div>
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The meeting I attended was to recommend LJ for special education. Our school is amazing and the plan was strategic, but there was one huge problem. We live on a two county district line. Our current school is in our city, but we are assigned to attend school in the neighboring county. When we found the perfect country home to fill with more babies, we understood the special education risk, and chose to attend school as a school of choice family. It was a part of our story that we were sure about.</div>
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Fast forward four years and we had a weighty decision to make in 10 days. If we signed and accepted the IEP recommendation, LJ was going to have to switch districts and attend a different school than his brothers. If we didn't sign, he could continue on, but it would be without the services he, desperately, needed.</div>
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We prayed and cried and talked to every person that would listen. I even wrote a raw-heart letter to both superintendents begging for them to make an exception in our case. When our request was denied, Ben held my hand and reminded me that the Knower of all things, knows LJ best. We wondered if sending LJ to a district on his own might benefit him in surprising ways and tried to settle into the summer without thinking about it. I couldn't think about it; sending the boys to different schools ripped my heart in two.</div>
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Two weeks before school started, the principal of our school called, and opened with, "You must be praying hard. I've never seen anything like this in my career." </div>
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Legislation <i>specific</i> to our predicament was passed in our benefit, weeks before, and required the two districts to join a cooperative agreement. The principal was calling to tell me that LJ would receive full special education benefits as if he was an in-district student. And I didn't have to do anything.</div>
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This was an Ebenezer raising moment for us. God made a way for LJ where there was <i>NO WAY</i>. He cares so much for his son, he cleared the necessary debris and changed legislation for him. Equally as significant - his way was on its way, while we were walking through the mud. </div>
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This was not a coincidence or act of man. </div>
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It was a miracle that I hadn't even thought to ask for. It's the sort of thing that begs consideration...what else haven't I asked God for?</div>
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I don't know if school will ever be less of a challenge for LJ. I don't know if he will learn to control his emotions or recognize his triggers. What I do know is that he is worth the investment and God will never fail him. Or me.</div>
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Even in the disorder.</div>
Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-57931037709061133932017-03-12T23:26:00.001-04:002017-03-12T23:26:14.879-04:00God Sees"I don't know what to do! Tell me what to do!? I think I'm going to cut my tether and run."<div>
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Wait, wait, wait....slow the information train down. </div>
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I hadn't heard from Sweet Mama in over a month; the last few conversations we had were difficult ones. She discovered she was pregnant, again, and waffled between abortion, parenting, or asking us to parent. She admitted it was an uncomfortable conversation to have with me (I agreed), but she had no one else to turn to. </div>
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I mostly listened while my insides screamed.</div>
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"They put me on a tether and if I don't have a permanent place to live TOMORROW, my PO is hauling my a** to jail. I can't do it. Not again. Not pregnant. I am going to run. Doesn't that seem like the best choice?!?!"</div>
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After I was schooled on why she was tethered, what a PO is, and why shelters aren't an option, I asked if jail was the worst multiple choice answer. I couldn't think of a kinder way to say it, so I just went for the punch-in-the-face approach.</div>
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She lectured me up one side and down the other for such a suggestion, but all I could think about was dependable shelter, meals, and medical care. </div>
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I can't relate to most of her experiences and pretending isn't genuine, but I care for her deeply and do my best to listen to the Holy Spirit so that I can give her godly counsel.</div>
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She asked if I would wire money to help secure housing. She was desperate and I could hear it in her voice. But I said no.</div>
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I pleaded with her not to run and tried to paint a picture of what that would mean for her and her baby. It was well over two weeks before I learned her whereabouts.</div>
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She didn't run. She did go to jail. And she lost the baby.</div>
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I felt immediate relief on all three accounts and then I heard (really heard) the shake in her voice and I saw a picture of her heart.</div>
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It is so important that we, intentionally, remove our natural lenses in such situations because despite our best efforts to love generously, we are tarnished by experience and influence. I didn't share this story for a long time because I didn't want anyone to voice the same unfiltered thoughts that I had.</div>
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Yes. This baby was rescued from a life of risk and separation...but at her mother's expense. Does one life hold more value than the other? </div>
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Imagine the loss.</div>
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Three babies born to Sweet Mama were removed, brutally, by the legal proceedings in a courtroom - and while I did my best to keep their memories vivid and alive - there was never a goodbye. </div>
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<br />Now there is a fourth. The details are different, but the loss is the same. Life on the inside; barren on the outside. </div>
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I've spent weeks thinking about the severity of Sweet Mama's circumstances and the mix-match of our stories. Her heart is shredded...yet she doesn't give up. She, stubbornly, holds on challenging others to defy her will. I see so much of her daughter in her. They are fighters; survivors. </div>
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I feel the feels when I think about Edith and her story. Named by her mama - <i>reward of war</i>. The truth in it is chilling.</div>
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Somewhere in all the darkness, Sweet Mama has a flicker of hope.</div>
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She hopes for a kinder life. The chance to love and mother and know peace.</div>
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Do you know what <u>her</u> name means? </div>
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I only looked it up, today.</div>
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<i>God sees.</i></div>
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<b>God sees her</b>. He knows her comings and goings. When she sits; when she stands. Even when her thoughts are afar, he knows them. <span style="font-size: large;">He loves her so much that he called me - the mother of her children - to see her, too.</span></div>
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...and I'm doing my best to see her as he does. Whole and worthy and of priceless value.</div>
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Who has God asked you to see?</div>
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Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-85554488613308782262016-12-22T10:11:00.000-05:002016-12-22T10:11:04.922-05:00Fight for LoveIn looking back over my year, there is one question circulating my mind and it doesn't have anything to do with my house or money or body weight.<br />
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With what measure did I love?</div>
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Fourteen months ago, God violently shook our hearts and asked us to step outside of our plan and bring home baby number five. Only weeks into sleep deprivation and complete chaos, God pulled me in further and asked me to show up for Sweet Mama. This wasn't a gentle calling that lead to a casual check-in. It was more of a walk-into-her-room-and-scatter-the-darkness type of event.<br />
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After 30ish years of walking with the Lord, I can boast in my direction following. I wouldn't say that I always see the world through a kingdom lens or that my natural frustrations don't blur the clarity, but when it comes to Sweet Mama, somewhere along the way, God swapped my heart for his, and loving her became instinct. But not easy.<br />
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It wouldn't be fair to measure my love for my kids, or my husband, or my closest people. That's too obvious; predictable. Loving them takes very little effort.<br />
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The true measurement of love is found in messy relationships with obscure boundaries and complicated outcomes. Sometimes those relationships exist within our families and friendships, but more often they surface, suddenly, in the catastrophes of life. Because these experiences are marked with pain, bias, and inequality, it's easy for justice to strangle our love. We must fight for love.<br />
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I have been wrestling God over my relationship with Sweet Mama. He asks for more than I want to give and he never lets me settle within boundaries that make me feel safe. Sweet Mama is a fighter by nature and rules her life with aggression and manipulation.She takes more than she gives and rarely acknowledges our part in her story. It would be easy to cut off our connection and most would find it reasonable - maybe even necessary.<br />
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A few weeks ago, Sweet Mama started a social campaign to take her kids back and used pictures I had sent her. In my humanness, I was enraged. For several hours, I let myself think on my own and to those closest to me I ranted. It wasn't her intended threat that angered me (our adoptions are final and legal), it was her disregard for my heart and theirs. To no one in particular, I raised my fist and listed all the ways I had gone beyond. I relived the atrocities she committed and made sure to emphasize words like MY KIDS and MY FAMILY.<br />
<br />
Earthly wisdom encouraged me to close accounts, inform police, and take precautions, but thankfully the whisper of the Holy Spirit held more authority. Even in my fury, I knew the answer. She needed love more than ever. Her brokenness leaves her desperate, grasping for pieces she will never be able to put together on her own. I let my frustrations rest and after a few days, let God use me to administer healing to her heart. In the beginning of our conversation, her walls were very dark. Her words were ugly and harsh, but mine were soft and kind. When she spewed, I listened. Twice, I wanted to walk the other way; twice, God, gently, nudged me back. I listened; she cried. And then we broke through.<br />
<br />
It took both patience and time for the window of her heart to open long enough for me to slip through. It wasn't as grisly as she let on, but it was full of dents and craters. Family, life, people, men - they've all let her down. The knee-jerk Christian response to this dilemma is to vocalize God's all encompassing, redeeming love...but then walk away.<br />
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That isn't gospel. That isn't love.<br />
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God uses us to reveal himself to others, but if we refuse to view people the way he does, we will never make impact. On the contrary, when we ignore our impulses and let the love of God turn our hearts toward others, that is where the supernatural magic happens.<br />
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Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-21258504308936393392016-11-13T21:55:00.001-05:002016-11-13T22:01:05.010-05:00Adoption is Ugly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
We had the rare privilege of sharing our weekend with Ty's first mama, Rebekah. Our last few visits have been in Colorado, which means this was the first time Rebekah had met all of our kids! Having her in our home at our dinner table made the world right, again. The first few hours, Ty couldn't stop talking. He wanted to share his whole world. Between writing samples and yo-yo tricks, he would ask, "What's your favorite color?" and "How long did we live together?"<br />
<br />
My heart soared the heavens watching Ty's love explode at having both of his mamas in one place. I had to push tears to deep places as our conversations traveled varied depths. Apart from the distance, we would say our relationship is ideal. Our love is genuine, our connection runs deep.<br />
<br />
But.<br />
<br />
The treasure we find in each other came at such a high cost. So high, that it will never be paid in full. Listening to my friend - my sister - share her heart and the loss that tugs at its corners was almost too much to hear, but it's critical for our relationship. I'm not about meaningless friendships. The real nuggets of gold are unearthed in hard, rocky places and we can't be afraid to visit them.<br />
<br />
While my path to adoption was marked with loss, the pain was dulled the first time I held Tyrus in my arms and obliterated by the time I rocked Hunter. I haven't forgotten the start of our story and, easily, slip into the darkness with other friends walking it, but it's not a reality I live with every day. Eight years ago, I begged God to let me mother one...and, today, there are five little people around my table asking for breakfast - simultaneously; at high volumes. That's my reality.<br />
<br />
Rebekah's path is different. She gave what most women couldn't and while adoption is packaged pretty and our photos look nice, the violent tearing of Rebekah's heart is kept hidden. Only those that dare to ask, hear the truth. There is not a bandage big enough to cover the hole. She watches another woman mother her son.<br />
<br />
As the other woman, I listen to her heart and acknowledge the pain to which there is no cure. The best we can be is honest and share our son without fear, arrogance, or distrust.<br />
<br />
As the three of us drove to the airport, Ty and Rebekah sat side-by-side, fitting a year's worth of questions in one sitting. I fought tears when I looked in the mirror and saw Ty fighting them, too. Rebekah shared a lesson with him about anchors and how powerful they are when buried in our heavenly Father. Then she gave him a little anchor keepsake to remember all that she had said. When I told him it was okay to be sad, he sobbed and Rebekah held him. I barely got through a prayer of safe travels before we got out of the car and by the time we stood together on the sidewalk we were a hot mess.<br />
<br />
Anyone witnessing the scene would have been teary over the untamed weeping of a seven year old boy, but had they known the truth, we would have been an internet sensation for sure. This was the first goodbye that Rebekah's pain echoed through her son's. I thought he was going to be sick. I'm not sure how long we stood there or how many goodbyes were said, but Ty was in the car ready to buckle and jumped out before I could shut the door, screaming for Rebekah to come back.<br />
<br />
We both knelt down and circled him tight. Our words and tears covering our huddle; I'm not even sure who said what, but we told him how supremely special he is. That he has two mothers whose love for him is only second to God's. Rebekah and I, hurriedly, exchanged love, both afraid to look at each other, and Ty cried most of the way home.<br />
<br />
As soon as we walked in the house, he ran to Ben and the tears came again. We held him together and let him cry it out. We didn't bother with words.<br />
<br />
Adoption is beautiful and redeeming and an ever-reflection of God's love for us, but not tonight. Tonight it's ugly, unfair, and unnatural.<br />
<br />
<br />Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-63386206202681600192016-10-12T22:23:00.002-04:002016-10-12T22:23:56.462-04:00Small MomentsWhen I was younger, who was going to be where was a big deal. In fact, when I was 16, I threw a party and the first two calls I made were to the coolest boys at church. I wasn't crushing on either of them, but if they showed up, they would draw numbers and the party would be a success.<br />
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As the story goes, both boys came. And I ended up marrying one of them. I would definitely consider that night a win.</div>
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I, recently, turned 35. Hands-down my favorite thing about my thirties is the rich contentedness. I still like that same boy to show up to my parties, but beyond that there is a settled peace about our life. And that's saying something with the circus we're trying to run around here. It makes sense why so many kids are embarrassed by their parents actions.</div>
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Kids are still working it out; they're excitable. And when excitable bumps up against steady, there is bound to be a reaction.</div>
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The other day one of the boys said, "Mom, can I sleep with you tonight?"</div>
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No.</div>
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"But why? I really want to snuggle...ALL night."</div>
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Because I want to snuggle your daddy all night.</div>
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"Why?"</div>
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There are lots of reasons, but mostly because he keeps my feet warm and gives me really, really, REALLY good kisses. I love kissing your dad.</div>
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Immediately I received a "MoMMMM!!!" with an exaggerated eye roll and head shaking.</div>
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We don't hide our affection from our kids. In a world of shadowed love and manipulation, it's really important that our kids see our outward displays of love for them and each other. And even though they feign disgust, I think they like to see us playing kissy-face. It makes them feel safe; secure.<br />
<br />
And security is on the short list of things we must instill in our kids.<br />
<br />
At seven, the boys have already experienced some pressure from their peers. In fact, one of them refused to swim all summer at day camp because someone told him he was fat, during the first week. I wish I could whip up a smoothie that would, instantly, fill our kids with super-knowledge. I want to infuse my experiences all at once to save them from difficulties I've seasoned. Knowing I can't is frustrating. Instead, I have to standby this slow evolution and remind myself that these things take time.<br />
<br />
Our sweet Cisco boy came to live with us two and a half years ago, and would you believe that we're, just now, starting to see our son for the first time? Security doesn't happen over night - or even many nights. The same could be said about character, humility, patience, and the like.<br />
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We have to be steadfast and we can't let the gut-punches win. There are little people watching. Yes, they see our mess-ups and slipped frustration, but they also see our resolve to do what's right. They value what we value and love what we love.<br />
<br />
Ben was outside throwing the football with the boys, this week, after an hour or so, Cisco looked up and said, "I love you, dad."<br />
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Small moments matter.<br />
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While it will take decades for them to settle into their own identities, there are hundreds of points along the way that our actions drive their roots deep.</div>
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Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-50833294846724110102016-10-04T00:09:00.001-04:002016-10-04T00:20:55.046-04:00Light-Wrapping in the DarkI am a hard-working, educated mama. For dinner, I had a large salad and chicken pizza, drizzled in barbecue sauce. For dessert, I had a sugared donut from our favorite cider mill. I could call more than a dozen people, right now - this instant - that would show up for me if needed. My bed is warm, my bills are paid, and my morning is full of promise.<br />
<br />
I didn't spend much time, today, thinking about the mamas that went without. Actually, I didn't spend any time thinking about anyone. I rushed around trying to do my best to get all my little people to their places. It was one of those days that just didn't work and brought tears more times than not. I exhaled louder than necessary, when I finally sat down in the quiet dark. You know the moment -they're all asleep (you want to sleep) and you drink it in. I love the stillness. It makes total sense that God likes to meet there. I want to LIVE there.<br />
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My phone buzzed.<br />
<br />
"I'm stuck in a bad situation..."<br />
<br />
Sweet Mama.<br />
<br />
I put the phone down without reading more, set my head to my hands, and threw out a what-are-you-doing-to-me, "Lord?"<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Help her.</i><br />
<br />
"I hear what you're saying, but...." haven't I helped enough? I didn't voice that last part. It sounded better in my head.<br />
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<i>Help her.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Our relationship was never easy, but her release from prison has brought an onslaught of uncomfortable conversations and necessary boundaries. I sighed and read the rest of her message.<br />
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She needed a safe place to stay. Her roommate was using, her first paycheck undelivered, she had no one to call and no where to go. She apologized for asking, promised to pay me back, and gave me a number to book a weekly-rated motel. I could feel her desperation.<br />
<br />
<i>Help her.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Without hesitation, I picked up the phone and called the motel. No room. I, quickly, texted our case worker and asked for resources. Within minutes, she sent me women's shelters and named places to stay clear of.<br />
<br />
Everything was full or required in-person payment. The shelters all had wait lists. I was told to call back every day between 8-9am to hold her spot, in hopes that something will open in the coming weeks. For every day I don't call, her name will move further down the list.<br />
<br />
I spent 90 minutes scouring the city for a safe haven. Nothing.<br />
<br />
My frustration grew with every phone call. Our system fails our kids and, now it's failing her. Sure, Sweet Mama gets help here and services there, but she needs radical intervention - someone to hold her hand and walk her through the mud. With two years of sobriety behind and a heart full of dreams ahead, she is at the point of balance. Anything can happen, but odds point south.<br />
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She was forced to stay put, tonight, but we made a plan for the morning. I know God will protect her, but I don't know what that means for me.<br />
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<i>Help her.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I wanted to end our relationship three times, this week, but God kept pushing me forward.<br />
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In all of his years of ministry, Jesus, certainly, could have used the excuses I've been trying out - this isn't easy; this isn't comfortable; the cost is too great; I've done enough.<br />
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But he didn't. And because he didn't, I have salvation, today.<br />
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Aren't you glad that Jesus didn't see the soldiers coming and say, "I'm out. THIS is where I draw the line. I've done enough." Wouldn't he have been justified?<br />
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As much as I want to resist it, I can't deny the begging of my heart. I don't know what comes next or how this looks. And it's a little terrifying. Okay, it's A LOT terrifying. But, I rest in this - God doesn't abandon us when the monsters of the night creep before us.<br />
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Instead, he scatters the darkness and wraps us in light.<br />
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We CAN do hard things.<br />
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<br />Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-27534534410521969082016-07-19T23:18:00.000-04:002016-07-19T23:18:02.705-04:00Pieces of Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
My leave-taking from this space was unintended. As it turns out, raising five kids, is tough.<br />
<br />
Really tough.<br />
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And it's not just because none of them pee without spraying the toilet first.<br />
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Somewhere in the meal-making, clothes folding, hair cutting, appointment driving, T-ball cheering, and job going cycle, my identity became singular in focus and so many of my favorite attributes shelved themselves.<br />
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It wasn't like this happened overnight. The changes came slowly and, mostly, I was able to re-adjust to each new state of crazy, while living content.<br />
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I am a career mama by choice and the sacrifices I've made in that area have probably been the hardest. As challenges and opportunities in the workplace have surfaced, the terms always remain constant. I only have a small portion to give and it has to be enough...even when it's not.<br />
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I understand the big picture. And, more importantly, I know who drew it.<br />
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I know this time is temporary and fleeting. The sweetest moments will stand out best and we might ask for the clock to reverse. I'm not chasing after tomorrow or glossing over the giggles and kisses today.<br />
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But, I do stand in front of the mirror, wondering about the girl who stares back.<br />
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Her clothes are wrinkly and hair unkept. Showers, meaningful conversations, and self-investment are luxuries often missed. Apart from Jesus and family - so many things she loves are far from close.<br />
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Her dreams are dusty.<br />
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A few weeks ago I sat on our back hill and let the tears stream. Ben came and laid his head on my lap and we talked, quietly. I appreciate the steadiness of our marriage. We never rest in the challenges of the day or swap faith for fear. We release our shortcomings to the night and rise in victory with the freshness of morning. Rarely does our frustration attack the other.<br />
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So, when it comes to identity, how do I reconcile uneven footing, when my faith and marriage test strong? It's a good life when your God and husband are wild about you...and you know it.<br />
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Yet, I look around...and there are pieces of me everywhere and no real plan for resolve. And I plan for everything.<br />
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I'm not going to lie, it's unsettling.<br />
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Ben and I spent last week in a remote chalet in the Smoky Mountains.<br />
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Ahhhhmazing.<br />
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My family took our kids and gifted us several days of solitude. I didn't know how desperate we were for the fill-up, until we got away. Renewal drenched every part - body, soul, and spirit.<br />
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I spent a lot of time reading my Bible and shaving my legs.<br />
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Although my pieces are still here and there and my day-to-day hasn't changed, I am anchored in Colossians 1:17. He [Jesus] is before all things, and<b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">in him all things hold together.</span></b><br />
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What a relief.<br />
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My pieces aren't missing! Some are just...well, sort of stretched out of sight, with supernatural elasti-glue.<br />
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The adventure of it teases me with promise. While the picture grows with each fixed section, how many fragments dangle in shadows waiting for discovery?<br />
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Some pieces won't fit for a long time; others will surface easily.<br />
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But, they're all here...<br />
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.....even if the baby dunks them in the bathtub or they double as artwork for a season.<br />
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Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-5299126925020071962016-05-26T13:24:00.001-04:002016-05-26T13:24:33.333-04:00Muting the Sigh<div class="MsoNormal">
God has been kneading my heart over the last few weeks,
stretching and pulling, bringing the knotted, ugly pieces of me to the surface.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been wrestling with my apathetic feelings toward
Sweet Mama, lately, and arrogance has crept in. The reel of mind conversation
loops unkind, but genuine words. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve done enough.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No one else would go this far.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She’ll be pregnant again in four months.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am done with her; I am done with this.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t care.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We have continued to email back-and-forth from prison. I
stick to talking about the kids, because it’s the only conversation that doesn’t
frustrate my love for her. Mama will be released in a few short months and her
plans are not life-giving. She’s going back. To him. To the familiar. To the
only life she knows.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Her resolve is to do better, but she doesn’t see the holes of
her plan.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She called me, this week, and in a very abrupt, I-think-I-can-intimidate-you
way, asked, “So how is this going to work with my kids when I get out?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wanted to slam the phone down and erase her from my
memory. I’m pretty sure she has mistaken my kindness for weakness and thinks
that somehow, in the end, we’ll co-raise her children together.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I tried a rational approach and expressed my hope that one
day she would have a strong, healthy relationship with her kids, but walked her
through some of Cisco’s traumatic experiences over the last two years in hopes that
she would understand why he’s not ready for a relationship, now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
She didn’t see it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I did more listening than talking and she released the
selfish folds of her heart. Her love for her kids is true and real, but it’s
tangled in her childlike focus on what she wants. Her experiences limit her
abilities. She has probably never felt the depths of a mother’s love. Never
felt sacrifice or cheering or mama bear protection. If she’s never seen it
modeled, how is she to know?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We got off the phone and I was angry. I was angry that Sweet
Mama couldn’t understand the fragility of Cisco’s heart or the inappropriateness
of bringing one of the babies with me on a prison visit. She doesn’t see her
relationship with me as a gift and seems to lack social awareness of not only
how her words might affect my feelings, but also the usual practice, here.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spewed my frustration to Ben and in effort to avoid
apologies later, I set our conversation and friendship aside for a few days. I
didn’t answer her follow-up phone calls or emails.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Instead I prayed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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I prayed for wisdom and asked God for fresh perspective.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His answer came in Galatians 6:9.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper
time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve given up on Sweet Mama –
because it’s genuine. This path I’m navigating is not worn with travelers. It’s
not usual, natural, or easy. I have to check my emotions at every turn and,
continually, ask for a new supply of patience. I am not a born quitter, but the
complexities of this challenge have worn me. When it comes down to it, my love
for my kids is so much greater than my love for their mother.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, my love for God is so much greater than my love for all
else.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s no wonder my spirit is split.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been chewing on these words for days – <i>do not become
weary in doing good – do not become weary in doing good. Do not give up. Do not
give up. Do not give up.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning, my reading was in Ephesians and I found the
comfort I needed to right this flip-flop.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do
good…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was CREATED to do good. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I agreed to love like Jesus when I said yes to him and
yes to Sweet Mama.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have to push forward. I have to continue to step well
outside natural boundaries. I have to love this woman that is so difficult to
love...because it’s in me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Jesus in me will erase my disgust, mute the sighs, and
try again, today.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-74381146885427312702016-04-12T12:20:00.003-04:002016-04-12T12:37:37.124-04:00Family of Seven: Staying OrganizedI've been wanting to do this series for awhile.<br />
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Probably the second most asked question, right after, "Are they all yours!?!" is in regards to how we make this thing run with so many little people.<br />
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I like to think that organization is one of my spiritual gifts, which is good, because it's critical to making sure we get to where we need to be on time with smiles on our faces!<br />
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I'm going to take you on a tour through some of the key areas of our house, so that you can see what we've done to make our home run efficiently.<br />
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I love a pretty house - I really do. One day when all of the kids are grown and gone, magazine pages will be a reality. Today, function has the highest importance.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Tip #1: Choose Function</span><br />
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Every weekend, I sit down and look at our 7-day calendar to map out meals and clothes. Weather and events always effect the outcome.<br />
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We'll talk about meals later.<br />
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I lay out (and coordinate) clothes for each kid for the week ahead (Monday through Friday). This brings GREAT freedom in the mornings. We also put other specifics to the day in these bins. For example, the boys keep their library books in the weekly drawer that they need to remember to take them back to school. It's liberating. I don't have to remember who needs money on this day or which boy has gym on that day. I do this, without fail, every week.<br />
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<i>While I don't layout my own clothes for the week, I do choose my next-day outfit, every night, before I go to bed.</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfa-Aj9zYKsSKmUIgOHPSdNEKtq8H2lpJhUZ95rKTOr367RrMOrk3fIvVNKV4ppqTwejmQhZt4tepviWOYFRj62aKh764aVIJ8rkrt3RJfkatSnA5AZ1Orrk35WIyyJNYkrWaNXBLdEWJ7/s1600/DSC_0516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfa-Aj9zYKsSKmUIgOHPSdNEKtq8H2lpJhUZ95rKTOr367RrMOrk3fIvVNKV4ppqTwejmQhZt4tepviWOYFRj62aKh764aVIJ8rkrt3RJfkatSnA5AZ1Orrk35WIyyJNYkrWaNXBLdEWJ7/s400/DSC_0516.JPG" width="267" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Tip #2: Clear Expectations</span><br />
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We have posted charts for each boy that gives them clear directions on what they need to do each morning, afternoon, and night. Our charts are eye level and plastic-coated. When we first started this, last fall, they used a dry-erase marker to check each box, every day. Now, the charts serve more as a reminder. Only one of them needs to still use his, diligently, because remembering is not his strong suit.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwsh27sbOogOCk-TDCdA_FoETGsvtojzqied9pr80ou8UYIO-nmb4WFqEhyphenhyphen21gohiLDo68D32fARSdvwL5U8thqtUMJG5hKjW6eYWEcPyQnMWJUg50p3t9nMjaeNyQ2iWyavjjGee-hkKC/s1600/DSC_0546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwsh27sbOogOCk-TDCdA_FoETGsvtojzqied9pr80ou8UYIO-nmb4WFqEhyphenhyphen21gohiLDo68D32fARSdvwL5U8thqtUMJG5hKjW6eYWEcPyQnMWJUg50p3t9nMjaeNyQ2iWyavjjGee-hkKC/s400/DSC_0546.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Several months ago I lost it over a crumpled towel on the floor. I was so angry at....well, me. The boys couldn't reach the hooks on the back of the bathroom door, so what else were they supposed to do, but throw it on the floor for me to rescue? I made it my job to find hefty bathroom hooks to suit our family. Now, the boys can be responsible for hanging their own towels after every use. Sigh.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcgcLyNSbGhh4VafhPKfwKIyHuRrAdRum8Z9wmT9PQgQ5-L8QncU8MwGGucMYun_q46bEuXO7-qk76E9wfPjkpd8g7Rz9-uzUZvtDWQuhDZNRZ4uAFu2eA9gDTCJtLTjHqNvCQbzR0OPqq/s1600/DSC_0535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcgcLyNSbGhh4VafhPKfwKIyHuRrAdRum8Z9wmT9PQgQ5-L8QncU8MwGGucMYun_q46bEuXO7-qk76E9wfPjkpd8g7Rz9-uzUZvtDWQuhDZNRZ4uAFu2eA9gDTCJtLTjHqNvCQbzR0OPqq/s400/DSC_0535.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Tip #3: Everything Must Have a Place</span><br />
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With seven people in this house, everything must have a place or we would be overtaken with clutter. I am a fanatic about this rule and keep a large stash of hooks and velcro on hand for those pesky things that try to sneak-attack. Fly swatters to soap bars, everything has a peg, bin, or cupboard. No exception. It's the only way to stay tidy.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU1eLp8OgkRsJi-gBQlQbjgm3AQhUbSPpuXqRJqCqEB0chD0ZOtKytfHNeV-P9GXv8iuIPU3bcklbmWoEMflIuDcMYQemRur8Ou0-MLQ12VCH-c03jt5_dCKDjn4Y_vEsQtvdoOXfStl1G/s1600/DSC_0548.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU1eLp8OgkRsJi-gBQlQbjgm3AQhUbSPpuXqRJqCqEB0chD0ZOtKytfHNeV-P9GXv8iuIPU3bcklbmWoEMflIuDcMYQemRur8Ou0-MLQ12VCH-c03jt5_dCKDjn4Y_vEsQtvdoOXfStl1G/s400/DSC_0548.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Because our mudroom only accounts for half our family, the littlest Pinchbacks have hooks for their coats and backpacks outside their bedroom door, at their level. Every morning, Edie gets her own coat and backpack on. She's only 2, but she knows the routine and we've made it easy for her!</div>
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Toys and school work seem to be the biggest culprits around, here. Some of my solutions include homemade clipboards for artwork (these only cost me a few dollars each to make - we have several around the house).</div>
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My favorites gets printed (Artsonia) and framed in one of our picture galleries. You'll see Cisco's sweet owl below in the far right.</div>
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We have a command center in the kitchen for notes, cards and reminders. The bins below the corkboard organize our mail and papers into neat to-do piles.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEbLMWEe7tKSC6ihLgJEzcXeGGJHQIADzwC4lrn4MjMIqsu1uxtGwC8RMXvaG_8wzoO_RBSj_Gub5KamNTLPKAej1lSTipYF-DVJvv573Ap8fYye6Is5yFA4-InO_v1ut-xk8Mw0mGjHTz/s1600/DSC_0553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEbLMWEe7tKSC6ihLgJEzcXeGGJHQIADzwC4lrn4MjMIqsu1uxtGwC8RMXvaG_8wzoO_RBSj_Gub5KamNTLPKAej1lSTipYF-DVJvv573Ap8fYye6Is5yFA4-InO_v1ut-xk8Mw0mGjHTz/s400/DSC_0553.JPG" width="267" /></a><br />
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My kitchen is not large and we don't have a pantry. Space is a premium. When the kids daily folders and art supplies started exploding, I had to find a solution. The re-org required me to part with items that we don't use, daily, like my waffle maker. Sure it's a bummer every three months when we think about it, but the freedom from clutter is WELL worth it. I'll see that large salad spinner again...in a decade or so.</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">I heart refrigerator and food organization, too, and keep our snacks at little-people grabbing levels.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXoQ0-Rn8LJ7jhDLcAfnTjgsszp8DTjAbJ79cZde7GMLgk3fmonp9TM2YzBtzlhjNwuFbDZisN2rREImERL8dahbuMPBN8BOejm9_-g-BwZhMwETX17WfQqvbPsXYB4sTN-_DKZL7VdNq1/s1600/DSC_0561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXoQ0-Rn8LJ7jhDLcAfnTjgsszp8DTjAbJ79cZde7GMLgk3fmonp9TM2YzBtzlhjNwuFbDZisN2rREImERL8dahbuMPBN8BOejm9_-g-BwZhMwETX17WfQqvbPsXYB4sTN-_DKZL7VdNq1/s320/DSC_0561.JPG" width="214" /></a><br />
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While we're in the kitchen, let me show you my favorite nook. Yes, the bread is placed in its properly marked container, but my favorite item, here, is the velcroed-to-the-wall chalkboard that serves as our 10-day menu planner. Above it, I keep a very official sticky note for items we need at the store. Milk </div>
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is always on the list.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnFRV9905NDJKSGNDzZYefWcYl4LGjiPqfp2y8ITrHPrnP8F-RRmNN2QX_SRMVK34pve07MgfKd8bw22BkE84oJ5euvkEbf1B_6LKTrYeOlELnO1k2W6QIhbRAa38NqJfEk8gWZOqat7H6/s1600/DSC_0555.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnFRV9905NDJKSGNDzZYefWcYl4LGjiPqfp2y8ITrHPrnP8F-RRmNN2QX_SRMVK34pve07MgfKd8bw22BkE84oJ5euvkEbf1B_6LKTrYeOlELnO1k2W6QIhbRAa38NqJfEk8gWZOqat7H6/s400/DSC_0555.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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For toys, we keep it very simple. I think it took me about 3 1/2 kids to realize that we had way too many. We are intentional, today, with the gifts and toys we buy, so that we don't create waste.</div>
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Edie and Hunter have a kitchen set in their bedroom with preschool-like picture labels to tell them where items go. With a little help from an older brother, Edie is getting really good at picking up her room.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisrruL0CsHeSKXmgXKqFvCDps5bzWkM_ejBK8Xw-SJicDAKDz9D95LYWjEBpYWhXYnLilPmQ2E74oEZ1zz-LxHkWpjKJgIdSsHa7rQOVlpd1XQ5YtDUkBfqgDPBZN3FA6Va1YpS3kxlrdl/s1600/DSC_0540.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisrruL0CsHeSKXmgXKqFvCDps5bzWkM_ejBK8Xw-SJicDAKDz9D95LYWjEBpYWhXYnLilPmQ2E74oEZ1zz-LxHkWpjKJgIdSsHa7rQOVlpd1XQ5YtDUkBfqgDPBZN3FA6Va1YpS3kxlrdl/s400/DSC_0540.JPG" width="267" /></a></div>
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I use our TV cabinet in the living room to hide our most played with (Hunter proof) toys - Kid K'nex, Magna Tiles, Duplo Legos, and miscellaneous baby toys.</div>
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And these awesome IKEA shelves hide all the big-kid toys in the basement playroom. They started out with pretty, clean white labels on each bin, but Edie has taken to slowly peeling them off when she gets a chance. Stinker.<br />
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The playroom also has our well loved and worn play clothes. This is probably the most visited center by the four oldest. The boys are most often in capes, but Edie gives preference to her inner ninja turtle.<br />
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I'll end with this. My kids are collectors - all of them. Inevitably, where I see trash, they see treasure. They each have their own special bin. They can keep anything - and I mean anything - they want in their bin. I am not allowed to meddle, organize, or color-code their special place. It's just for them. There's only one (sneaky) mom rule. When the bin is too full to close, he/she must go through it and prioritize which items to keep versus toss. I can't even tell you how many arguments and tears this saves.</div>
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I understand that not everyone loves to straighten as much as I do, but I hope these tips will give you as much freedom as they have me. And maybe a boost of confidence that you, too, could add one more foster care lovie to your home....<br />
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<br />Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-78359020003838728292016-03-17T23:24:00.001-04:002016-03-17T23:24:34.749-04:00Adoption Day - 05<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Driving to the courthouse was, understandably, familiar and stirred quiet reflection in our hearts. Ben held my hand and asked if I remembered our first <a href="http://rebekahpinchback.blogspot.com/2008/05/day-11.html" target="_blank">adoption agency visit</a>. We walked out deflated. It felt like we were never going to be parents. That was eight years ago.<br />
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It's almost too much to take in. The pain and adventure of the last several years have rooted two truths into our deepest places - 1) God redeems all things; 2) Marrying each other was the most significant life decision we made (second only to salvation). Nearly every day, Ben lays his head in my lap and says, "I couldn't do this with anyone else."<br />
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Our dating relationship wasn't remarkable. It looked pretty similar to everyone else around us. I would like to say, I had some divine revelation that Ben was the one for me or that I had wisdom beyond my time when I walked the aisle at 20. Sure, I was crazy about him and I knew he loved Jesus, but I had no idea the magnitude of treasure buried under his heart's surface. It wasn't until we hit hardship, years into marriage, that I discovered what a gift God gave me.<br />
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Nothing about our life, today, is ordinary, and I am grateful every day to be married to a man who says yes to our Father - even when he wants to say no.<br />
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I don't know what the next chapters hold, but we are settled in the closing of this one. There was something affirming, knowing this was our last adoption. Something fresh in the possibilities ahead and rich in the experiences behind.<br />
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The judge allowed everyone present an opportunity to share the meaning of the day. When I looked across the sea of faces, I was moved by the love and tears woven into all the words spoken. Days like today aren't specific to our team of seven. They inspire a greater community and encompass the many, many people who walk beside us, every day.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhd6n3FwgrWBoDymLqHNysYj8f8bONnSyoYtqyTsa497F45nVkWm2lUrbTgUoSV8EfEiCs1elAGoYtNxdC2mspIEe3xSDCpEH-3Jhlz4xJRIcMUiSGn2EHlky7ahsYevURli5yW1Jn-Twi/s1600/DSC_0073+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhd6n3FwgrWBoDymLqHNysYj8f8bONnSyoYtqyTsa497F45nVkWm2lUrbTgUoSV8EfEiCs1elAGoYtNxdC2mspIEe3xSDCpEH-3Jhlz4xJRIcMUiSGn2EHlky7ahsYevURli5yW1Jn-Twi/s320/DSC_0073+%25282%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The presiding judge noted how difficult the morning had been and the joy she found in the goodness of such an event.<br />
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We had the opportunity to also meet the judge that was on our last three foster/adoption cases over the past two years. He hugged me tight and said in fourteen years of service he had never been able to keep three siblings together. He was, genuinely, grateful and found peace in meeting all three kids that until, today, were only a number in a file.<br />
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A friend noted how normal adoption has become over the last several years and that it's not until she talks to people outside our influence that she recognizes the gripping qualities of fear. Sadly, it's instinctive and limits the lives of most.</div>
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I am so thankful for God's gentle pressing and every yes along the way. From Rebekah's doorstep to each previous foster family to my growing interactions with Sweet Mama. Each relationship gives me glimpses into the true heart of God.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_RO0UOh7JV64csFXePEgpHFrtXAxUxJF8evuDUU-mfXLuCJvr-ZLhiHwMzdSHKNFoN7MwCCJcRgsCj2MgAbN2vs35sffOX3sGBe26_w_19uE-AkY9NWS79pdXaVVsqJUsRmB_zWRZRHD7/s1600/DSC_0141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_RO0UOh7JV64csFXePEgpHFrtXAxUxJF8evuDUU-mfXLuCJvr-ZLhiHwMzdSHKNFoN7MwCCJcRgsCj2MgAbN2vs35sffOX3sGBe26_w_19uE-AkY9NWS79pdXaVVsqJUsRmB_zWRZRHD7/s320/DSC_0141.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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It is a great privilege to introduce you to the newest member of our team.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Hunter Samuel</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweC5HjfE4JrFONjwLPNCISpY3giikfC-iaZYTb2gJRRg2Y_pLTwNdVrh4bajo9QQ-Xq-5IgqJQ-r10ch3aoTJAi-Y8pUSOankWmGnHNNHMPHe5UtJIQxHKP1YRQL_lmuqRo30Q_pnEATE/s1600/DSC_0160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweC5HjfE4JrFONjwLPNCISpY3giikfC-iaZYTb2gJRRg2Y_pLTwNdVrh4bajo9QQ-Xq-5IgqJQ-r10ch3aoTJAi-Y8pUSOankWmGnHNNHMPHe5UtJIQxHKP1YRQL_lmuqRo30Q_pnEATE/s400/DSC_0160.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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True to our conviction, we kept Hunter's first name, but chose Samuel for his middle name because Samuel is my absolute favorite person in the Bible. Not only did the desperate prayers of his mother mirror my heart at one time, but I am hopeful that all of my children will grow in the presence of God and be quick to respond to his voice.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of him. So now I give him to the Lord for his whole life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Samuel 1:27-28</span></div>
<br />Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-72677312399992312042016-03-04T00:00:00.000-05:002016-03-04T00:03:21.505-05:00FF: Super Soups & Garlic Parmesan Skillet Bread<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHPFvZbDne16N1k1lR9RCUyM6LtEAfFlJhqNx4ZhuMjrPRBfLNcd0tlw2fhuBKCZD9vHdNS5lUM8fYPLqlKj0WVWTouI89X1EEwRbpmxeW2EuitwnP7hrdrGXeIQTZskRYcgjnyBYnyGiQ/s1600/FoodFridayLogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHPFvZbDne16N1k1lR9RCUyM6LtEAfFlJhqNx4ZhuMjrPRBfLNcd0tlw2fhuBKCZD9vHdNS5lUM8fYPLqlKj0WVWTouI89X1EEwRbpmxeW2EuitwnP7hrdrGXeIQTZskRYcgjnyBYnyGiQ/s1600/FoodFridayLogo.png" /></a></div>
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Before the cold leaves us for good, I have to get-in all of our new favorite soup recipes of the season! Each one is Pinchback-Family approved (Ben included). And you must try - I mean MUST TRY- the Garlic Parmesan Skillet Bread!<div>
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<a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/31/ce/a2/31cea23a8ea2856948070d99e79a8bb5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Ham and Bean Soup: " border="0" height="189" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/31/ce/a2/31cea23a8ea2856948070d99e79a8bb5.jpg" width="200" /></a><div>
Soup #1 (Great for freezing!)</div>
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<b>Ham and Bean Soup</b> from <a href="http://jamiecooksitup.net/2011/12/ham-and-bean-soup/" target="_blank">Jamie Cooks it Up!</a></div>
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And you don't have to wait for a holiday to buy ham for your ham bone - I like to rotate ham in every few months! In fact, buying a spiral ham during the off-season is quite inexpensive.</div>
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This recipe fed our family twice and was just as yummy from the freezer, months later!</div>
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<a href="http://www.mrshinesclass.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/pasta-e-fagioli-soup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://www.mrshinesclass.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/pasta-e-fagioli-soup.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Soup #2 (Ty's favorite)</div>
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<b>Pasta Fagoli</b> from <a href="http://www.mrshinesclass.com/2013/11/18/pasta-e-fagioli-recipe/" target="_blank">Mrs. Hines' Class</a></div>
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This is a HUGE recipe. It is supposed to be an Olive Garden copycat....but I think it's way better! We cut it by half and still get three meals out of it. If you want to freeze it, you can, but need to cook your pasta separately each time you prepare it.</div>
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<a href="http://crockpotladies.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/620x300xCrock-Pot-Chicken-And-Dumplings-600X300.jpg.pagespeed.ic.4zhZQ1UdRf.webp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Crock-Pot Chicken & Dumplings" border="0" height="96" src="http://crockpotladies.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/620x300xCrock-Pot-Chicken-And-Dumplings-600X300.jpg.pagespeed.ic.4zhZQ1UdRf.webp" width="200" /></a></div>
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Soup #3 (Ben's favorite)</div>
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<b>Crock-Pot Chicken & Dumplings </b>from <a href="http://crockpotladies.com/recipe/crock-pot-chicken-dumplings/" target="_blank">Crock Pot Ladies</a></div>
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This is SO easy. 10 minute prep. 6 hours to cook. Perfect for a chilly weekend!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFhaAWT1_ebopTqPQ6XiQ_XJ8LO_IY9sgGe3bONx14r7TgDzzULIvF_4T2hrTMMzfqAI-TiuEmn1KeZ7lBmWYLRyNdo79ObWMtfwebsBBT8hXta1TkKdV1FdVDvVrpjWWVXAEeI3Nlgx0T/s1600/garlic+parmesan+skillet+bread+%25282%2529+font.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Garlic Parmesan Skillet Bread - refrigerated biscuits chopped and tossed in butter, garlic, italian seasoning and parmesan cheese. Baked in a small iron skillet. Great with pasta. Can also use as an appetizer with some warm pizza sauce. YUM!! I can make a meal out of this yummy bread!" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFhaAWT1_ebopTqPQ6XiQ_XJ8LO_IY9sgGe3bONx14r7TgDzzULIvF_4T2hrTMMzfqAI-TiuEmn1KeZ7lBmWYLRyNdo79ObWMtfwebsBBT8hXta1TkKdV1FdVDvVrpjWWVXAEeI3Nlgx0T/s320/garlic+parmesan+skillet+bread+%25282%2529+font.jpg" width="227" /></a></div>
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Now, for the Ahhhmazing skillet bread. My boys weren't just lick'n fingers. I had a chorus of compliments: mom-you're-the-best-mom-ever; mom-open-your-own-restaurant; mom-I-want-this-every-night-of-my-life... It's that good. And so, so easy.</div>
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Don't freak if you don't have a pretty skillet. I didn't either. I just used one of my stones. Any sort of casserole dish would do.</div>
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<b>Garlic Parmesan Skillet Bread</b> from <a href="http://www.plainchicken.com/2010/09/garlic-parmesan-skillet-bread.html" target="_blank">Plain Chicken</a></div>
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Enjoy!!</div>
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Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-50688526597820904002016-02-07T23:31:00.000-05:002016-02-07T23:31:04.657-05:00I was in Prison and You Came to Visit Me<div>
Over the last several weeks, I have had many well-intended people question my decision to visit Sweet Mama in prison. I know the concern is for the protection of our family. I understand their unease. I, too, have sought the Lord multiple times, this week.</div>
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How did we get, here?!?!</div>
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With each question, the Holy Spirit would answer with Matthew 25:35-36.</div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me,<b> <span style="font-size: large;">I was in prison and you came to visit me.</span></b></span></blockquote>
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My friend and I made the long drive together. She gripped my hand, tightly, and prayed for God's presence, before I walked in. I didn't have the slightest bubble of nerves.</div>
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I had to wait in a holding room for two hours before I could see her. I didn't have my phone or a book. I just sat there and prayed. I listened to the sad stories around me. There were many family members visiting prisoners that day and the mood was heavy.</div>
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The air was so thick, I pushed through tears, all afternoon. </div>
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I had called the facility earlier to make sure I would be able to see her after making the long drive. The officer on duty said, "You must be Rebekah? You're the only person on her list."</div>
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Those few words broke my heart and set the tone for the hours before our visit.</div>
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I made eye contact with her from across the room while I was stopped at the third security station. When I passed the final inspection, I nearly ran to her and grabbed her as tight as I could. She sobbed and hugged me back with all her strength.</div>
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She kept apologizing for her tears, but I told her I wasn't in a hurry. She could cry for as long as she needed. She asked me a hundred questions in rapid succession. We started with Cisco and exhausted every topic on all three kids. I was happy to share our life with her, as I can only imagine the loneliness that eats through her days.</div>
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She asked me if it was hard to say yes to bringing home another baby when the agency called about Baby Brother. I only know how to be genuine, so I shared my heart and the emotions that came before our "yes".</div>
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She interrupted me halfway through and said, "I'm glad you brought this up." </div>
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I didn't.</div>
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"This is what I have been wanting to talk to you about."</div>
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I braced myself for one of the many questions Ben and I imagined she would ask.</div>
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"I would like to have him back...what I mean to say is, I am going to fight to take him back."</div>
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[Silence]</div>
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I was shocked speechless. We, literally, sat staring at each other for a minute without a word. </div>
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When my life - turned TV movie - started playing, again, a thousand thoughts rushed through my head. I am a confident girl who is not afraid of silence - uncomfortable or otherwise. So, I just sat there. I really didn't know what to say. Mama started in about the attorney she is meeting with, her hopes for a strong case, the brokenness in her heart, and the guilt she fights.</div>
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I never took my eyes from her.</div>
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After her ten minute monologue she looked at my face and said, "How does this make you feel?"</div>
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It took everything in me not to laugh. The humor was not in the seriousness of the conversation. I had to push down the giggles because of all the many questions Ben and I prayed and prepared answers for, THIS WAS NOT ONE OF THEM.</div>
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I took a breath and very lovingly and kindly said this. "My mama heart understands exactly why you want to do this and even respects your desire to fight. But, I am his mother, too. And as hard as you are going to fight, I am going to fight harder. Your kids have experienced trauma, but they find security in each other. If you saw the love that exists between them - the rolling, belly laughs that only Edie can get from Baby Brother - you would never try to pursue this."</div>
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Tears started streaming her face.</div>
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"You asked me to always be honest with you, even if the truth would hurt your heart. Baby Brother's adoption will be final in a few weeks. There is nothing you are going to be able to say or do to have the judge reverse his decision. If you follow your heart on this, you are only giving yourself false hope and I don't want to see you even more devastated on the other side."</div>
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I took her through the judge's instructions at the end of the termination trial to help her remember that her decision was irrevocable. That she agreed she was not impaired or coerced in any way to sign over her rights. I asked her if she remembered when the judge told her that "changing your mind" is not grounds for an appeal and that the time for filing an appeal has long since lapsed.</div>
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She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. I just sat, quietly, and waited.</div>
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After several minutes, she calmed. With puffy eyes, she said, "Okay. I won't fight. Hearing you say that you would fight harder, reminds me that you love him as much as I do. I won't fight. You can be his mom."</div>
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Looking back, I understand that this is EXACTLY the scenario that keeps adoptive parents bound to fear. But, if I gave in to all of the [completely] rational fears I have had over the last several years, I would have limited God's ability to move in my life. I, certainly, wouldn't be mother to five, and I would have been settling for a pretty mediocre supply of blessing.</div>
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I want to live in overflow - every day.</div>
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There was absolutely a part of me that wanted to get up from our meeting, walk out on Sweet Mama, and never look back. It would be easy (and justifiable) to convince myself that she is not worth the energy.<br />
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But....if I had done that....how would I reconcile Matthew 25? How would I make an account that the Lord asked me to go to him in prison, but I was too uncomfortable?<br />
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Our [admittedly] crazy conversation strengthened our friendship. If I had turned my back on Mama, I would have missed my reward. I wouldn't have been able to offer her hope or stomp on the lies of the enemy or hear her parting words, when we hugged:<br />
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"Thank you....Thank you for being the only person that treats me like a human being."<br />
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I hope this challenges you to increase the depth of your love.<br />
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Shove your fears into a closest.<br />
Pray for wisdom.<br />
And invite someone in.</div>
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<b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers or sisters of mine, you did for me.</span></b></blockquote>
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<span style="color: #cc0000;"> -<span style="font-size: large; text-align: right;"> Jesus</span></span></div>
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Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-72379063075876477732016-02-05T10:00:00.000-05:002016-02-05T10:00:08.665-05:00FF: AHHHMazing Chicken Pot Pie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgakaZla6j3oWHfes_SbKJbuZb-PivGHAKkt_SmyOoj8dwbRwaLGXoioxHWoFQfeNKiIKDats0k1OY62YbMJMqSzzPKmLIjkAICPmJa9aZUmi_XwA_QK6_t0tmyluo8fyo2H789zH6IkEgs/s1600/FoodFridayLogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgakaZla6j3oWHfes_SbKJbuZb-PivGHAKkt_SmyOoj8dwbRwaLGXoioxHWoFQfeNKiIKDats0k1OY62YbMJMqSzzPKmLIjkAICPmJa9aZUmi_XwA_QK6_t0tmyluo8fyo2H789zH6IkEgs/s1600/FoodFridayLogo.png" /></a></div>
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Thank you for all of the kind words and prayers for today. I will be heading out at lunch time to visit Sweet Mama. My girlfriend is making the trip with me and sent me a text, yesterday, that started with "while you're in prison..." I told her I didn't like the sound of that!<br />
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The good news is that no matter what difficulties the day holds, I get to come home to my family AND this feel-good dinner!<br />
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Although, this recipe comes from <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/" target="_blank">The Pioneer Woman</a>, I give the most credit to my sweet friend, Casey. I was near tears with a new baby when she pulled in the driveway with this beauty. Most of our go-to meals don't show themselves for 7-8 weeks, but this one is on a 2-3 week rotation. It's that good!<br />
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My second favorite thing about this pie is its versatility. This morning, I made three. One for a new mama (been there!), one to half bake and freeze, and one to half bake for dinner. I will give you the half-bake instructions if you want to add this to your freezer list.<br />
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<b>FF: The Pioneer Woman's Chicken Pot Pie</b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Ingredients:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">3 celery stalks, chopped<br />3 medium carrots, peeled and chopped<br />1 large yellow onion<br />4 TBSP of butter<br />2 cups cooked chicken breast, diced<br />1/4 cup all-purpose flour<br />1 cup chicken broth<br />1 chicken bouillon cube<br />1/2 cup frozen peas<br />1 cup heavy cream<br />2 sprigs fresh thyme or a sprinkle of dried<br />1 tsp salt<br />Black pepper<br />1 store-bought box of pie dough (2 rolls)</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 20.592px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Directions:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Preheat oven to 400 and set your pie crust on the counter to warm while you prepare the filling.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Melt the butter in a fry pan/dutch oven over medium heat. Add the celery, carrots, and onion. Saute the vegetables for a few minutes and then add the chicken.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Sprinkle the flour in, stir, and continue cooking for a few minutes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Add the chicken broth, chicken bouillon cube and frozen peas, stirring for a few minutes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15.84px; line-height: 20.592px;">Pour in the cream and allow the mixture to cook over low heat, for about 5 minutes, so it can thicken. Season with thyme, salt and pepper. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Line your pie dish with the first roll of crust and p</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15.84px; line-height: 20.592px;">our your filling into the pan. You want to make sure you have about a half inch of crust showing, so that you can add the top dough roll and get a good folded seal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15.84px; line-height: 20.592px;">Place the second roll of crust on top and fold the edge under, pressing it together with the bottom layer. Doing this will, naturally, form pretty edges. Place a few slits in the top for steam to escape.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15.84px; line-height: 20.592px;">If you are baking the pie to eat, you'll bake it for about 35 minutes until the insides are bubbly and the crust is golden brown. Make sure to let your pie sit and thicken for a few minutes before breaking into it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15.84px; line-height: 20.592px;">If you plan to freeze the pie or deliver it as a meal to your neighbor, you'll want to half bake it at 400 for about 15 minutes. Half-baked refrigerated pies take about 20 minutes to warm. Half-baked frozen pies take about an hour to bake.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15.84px; line-height: 20.592px;">All of our kids, including the two littles, go crazy for pot pie night!</span></div>
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<br />Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-40455659032741937572016-02-02T22:40:00.000-05:002016-02-02T22:40:09.461-05:00Preparing for Prison<span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: large;"><b>Stand Firm.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: large;"><b>Let nothing move you. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord</span> </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c;"><b>because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c;">[I Corinthians 15:58]</span></div>
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This week, I committed to spending concentrated time in prayer and reading my Bible. On Friday, I will be visiting Sweet Mama in prison for the first time. The closest I've ever been to prison is a juvenile detention center that I used to visit to lead a young women's bible study. I don't expect this visit to be anything like that.</div>
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Given her security level, we will be able to speak face to face, but the list of visiting rules is long. I got the shakes reading them because...well... I am a rule follower and will certainly forget that hand touching isn't allowed when tears are trailing her cheeks.</div>
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Recently, I gave Sweet Mama my phone number and accepted her call for the first time a few days ago. I happened to be putting Edie to bed, so I switched the phone to speaker when we picked up. As soon as I said, "hello", I could hear the longing in her voice. She is desperate for friendship and desires so much more than I can give. Edie assumed it was Ben on the other side and, immediately, started chatting about her favorite jammies and snuggling her bunny.</div>
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I heard the awe before she broke to tears, "Is that...?"</div>
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"Yes! We're both, here. I was just putting Edie to bed." I tried to keep it light, "Isn't she a little chatter box?"</div>
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Sweet Mama only muffled sniffs. I let Edie talk and listened to Mama cry.</div>
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Before our time ran out, I told her that I would be visiting on Friday. The phone went dead before we could say goodbye.</div>
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The weight in my heart is not loaded by guilt or charity, but rather genuine compassion. The only difference between the two of us are the families we were born to. Without radical intervention, she doesn't have a fighting chance for a better life. Her world is too narrow and bound by love for a man that has brought her to ruin. </div>
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I fill pages with Truth and encourage her to think big, yet her only dream is to "get out" and find him.</div>
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My commitment to prayer, this week, is in effort to squash the natural negatives that flow through my heart and to remember that love always hopes. Every time. In every situation.</div>
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Most of my nerves stem from the questions I know are coming. For weeks, Mama has been telling me that she has a few important "things" to discuss with me, but that she must do it in person.</div>
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I trust that God will give me the answers when needed, but Ben and I have been discussing one question at length. I am certain she will ask if she can see her kids, again. In prison or otherwise.</div>
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I am concerned for her heart after I share mine. Although my kindness may point to wide-open rainbows and ever-after castles of friendship, I am also a protective mama. And happen to be raising traumatized babies. Genuinely, my hope is that one day she and Cisco will both be in healthy, secure places, where a meaningful relationship can really blossom. But we're not there, today. </div>
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After two years, we have finally tipped the scale in the slightest margin and are starting to see real victories with Cisco. Every week, I see new slivers of trust that allow him to inch his toes across the attachment line. I DREAM of the day, he jumps that divider and runs full force into our love. </div>
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Mingling his fragile heart and Sweet Mama's irregular stability is a disaster that we're not willing to risk. And I know that will break her heart. </div>
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I have also discerned an important perception through her last several letters. Sweet Mama questions God for the atrocities she's faced and hates that drugs ravaged her life. But sadly, her reflections are self-focused. She doesn't make the connection that drugs didn't just alter HER life, but nearly broke three little spirits, too. </div>
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My prayer is that I will be able to share difficult truth with her, even though it will be painful to deliver and hear. If she doesn't make the connection between her choices and her kids' sacrifices, she might not ever break the cycle.</div>
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Friends, pray for me. </div>
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I am desperate for wisdom as the light and darkness of our worlds are about to collide.</div>
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Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-10852239517141795992016-01-29T15:24:00.001-05:002016-01-29T15:24:37.749-05:00FF: Crunchy Pork Chops<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Even though we have a pretty diverse list of family favorites, I was feeling bored when I sat down, last Sunday to form my two week grocery list. I dusted off The America's Test Kitchen Family Cookbook (the only cookbook I kept when we moved) and decided to make 14 new meals, that we hadn't tried. We're about five in and would you believe that EVERY new recipe was a huge score for the family!?! That makes me excited for the rest of next weeks' dinners!<br />
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Again, there was no thought to a picture...but you'll have to trust me on this. The boys told me this was the best "chicken" they had ever had!<br />
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<b>FF: Crunchy Pork Chops</b><br />
Serves 4<br />
Prep Time: 5 minutes; Cook Time: 40 minutes<br />
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1 5oz box of Melba toast broken into rough pieces<br />
1/2 tsp salt<br />
1/2 tsp garlic powder<br />
1/2 tsp onion powder<br />
1/2 tsp paprika<br />
1/2 tsp dried thyme<br />
1/8 tsp sugar<br />
6 TBSP mayonnaise<br />
4 6oz boneless rib pork chops, 3/4 - 1 inch thick<br />
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Put your oven rack in the middle position and heat to 425 degrees. Place the Melba toast, salt, garlic powder, onion powder, paprika, dried thyme, and sugar in a large zipper-lock bag. Get your days worth of frustration out and pound the Melba toast until you have coarse crumbs the size of small pebbles.<br />
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Add 2 TBSP of mayo to the bag and work it into the crumb mixture. Transfer your mixture to a shallow dish.<br />
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Working with 1 chop at a time, coat with about 1 TBSP of mayo, using your fingers (it's totally gross), and then roll it into your crumb mix. Press the breadcrumbs into the pork chop to make sure they adhere. If you want gooey-bottomed pork chops, you can lay them right on a baking stone/sheet. If you want them to be crispier, put a wire-rack in your baking sheet, and put the chops on top. I didn't want to mess with the rack, so I just laid them on a baking stone.<br />
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Cook them until the outside is golden brown. 22-25 minutes. For best results let them sit for 5-10 minutes before cutting into them.<br />
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I made warm apples to go with the pork chops. I just threw 8 apples into my dutch oven with 1/2 cup of water and a sprinkle of cinnamon for about 20 minutes.<br />
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I received rave reviews from the critics and made a note to double the recipe next time!<br />
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<br />Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-16852829654719883192016-01-26T13:50:00.000-05:002016-01-26T13:50:30.949-05:00Feeling LostI have half-written a dozen posts in my head before falling asleep on the couch or dragging myself to bed after the kids go down.<br />
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How is it going; how are you doing; how do you do it are the questions on loop, right now. I usually state some form of, "we're exhausted...but finding our rhythm." And that's true.<br />
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Transitioning Baby Brother has been much easier than the transition with Cisco and Edie was, but I wouldn't call it easy. Having a baby in the house seems to double the amount of responsibilities we have day-to-day...and there are still four other littles that need us.<br />
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Three of our five are receiving special services, right now, which adds extra chaos to an already bursting household. But this is part of the call. Caring for lovies that need a whole lot of love+.<br />
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Bonding with Baby Brother was quick and easy. I never had that experience before. He is such a little lover and has, truly, brought so much joy to our home. All six of us are enamored. We met with a pediatric psychologist on Friday and she was stunned by the attachment that exists in just three short months. It doesn't matter how tired he is or how bad his gums are hurting (all 6 front teeth found it timely to fall at the same time), Baby Brother is, constantly, showering us with kisses and head snuggles.<br />
<br />He is so, wholly, entertained by Edie. When I watch them wrestle and giggle and take baths together, I get teary and thank God for pushing our hearts to "yes".<br />
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Our family has, definitely, found our flow. From managing the house to getting everyone where they need to be (on time), we all do our part. And there really are few complaints.<br />
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Ben and I have been very purposeful in filling love-tanks, individually, and just this weekend we took the four "bigger" kids to an overnight water park for some baby-free fun. Ben is also helping coach the older boys' Lego/Robotics club and really enjoys their time together. Last night, they "snuck" out for pie afterward and talked the whole way about the latest news in kindergarten and first grade.<br />
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My heart is full from the fullness of this life...but major pieces of my identity have crumpled in the last few months and trying to mash the new me with the me I want to be has been an insightful process. Early in the summer, before the news of baby, I made a very difficult decision to stop working full time and reduced my hours, significantly. Our schedule was too much to sustain.<br />
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I cried for days over the change. I love my work and knew that being home was going to take serious adjusting. Once I warmed up to the idea, I found myself looking forward to fall in a way I never had before. All the kids would be in school or preschool during the day, which was going to leave me some quiet time to write and run and pray. I couldn't wait to have a grocery day that didn't include anyone else but me. A luxury I had never experienced.<br />
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I enjoyed exactly one Tuesday all to myself. And then Baby Brother came home.<br />
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The glowing attributes attached to being home more were swept under the rug so quickly, I really didn't even have time to process the new change. A baby showed up and suddenly, I was barely surviving. I love to cook and that became a nightmare with two under two. I love to read my Bible, but had to settle for a verse on my phone. I love to work, but even part time requires excessive planning, packing and driving. I love to write, but I am too tired. I love to read, but I am too tired. I love sharing my life with women, but I am too tired. I love playing games with Ben, but I am TOO TIRED.<br />
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You get the idea. Maybe you're in the same boat.<br />
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I really didn't take the time to reflect on all the changes that happened over the last several months, until one day (a few weeks ago) Ben and I were talking about our exhaustion and constant need for infused patience. While holding my hand, in a very genuine, I-love-you-through-and-through sort of way, Ben said, "You used to smile more."<br />
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At first I laughed it off and said (or maybe thought), "Yah...back when I was sleeping."<br />
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But slowly, over the last several days, I've allowed the Holy Spirit to use that statement as a mirror. And not in a beat myself up, pity-partying nature.<br />
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I, recently, was talking to another mom pregnant with her fifth, who laughed at the notion that we would have our two year olds potty-trained, right now. There was such freedom in connecting with someone who understands.<br />
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We do have five kids under seven and I give myself a lot of grace.<br />
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But, I am still not okay. And I am telling you, in case you're not okay either.<br />
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It's okay to not be okay.<br />
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No alarms need to sound nor reinforcements show up at the door. God knows me and loves me and will help me focus my blurry bits.<br />
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He might even use this time to show me new pieces I couldn't see before.<br />
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I am not a "free spirit", which, admittedly, makes the wandering uncomfortable. But, in the last seven years, the greatest moments of unease, brought about the highest level of reward.<br />
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><b>Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need {Hebrews 4:6}.</b></span><br />
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<br />Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-41282127713354707662016-01-08T06:00:00.000-05:002016-01-08T06:00:13.600-05:00FF: Meatcakes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Meal time is so SUPER crazy around, here, but we've managed to find our rhythm, again.<br />
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I hated meatloaf growing up, but this is one of the first meals I learned to make (the right way) when Ben and I were first married. It's packed full of flavor, freezes well, and compliments all your favorite feel-good side dishes. Now, we make meat "cakes" because - well - it just makes life easier for mom and dad! The boys pick up the entire (or three) meatcake and dip away.<br />
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They only takes about 15 minutes to throw together, but a solid 40-50 minutes to bake. Often times I will pre-make the night before, so I can pop them in when we get home from school.<br />
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Here is what you'll need:</div>
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<b>FF: Meatcakes</b></div>
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20 min prep/50 min bake at 350</div>
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Yields 1 bread pan loaf or 10 cupcakes (we double our recipe!)</div>
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Ingredients:</div>
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1 beaten egg<br />
1/4 cup fine bread crumbs (I keep <i>Italian style</i> on hand)<br />
1/4 cup milk, water, or apple juice (whatever you have)<br />
1/4 cup onion finely chopped<br />
1/4 cup celery finely chopped<br />
1/4 cup green pepper finely chopped<br />
1/4 cup carrot finely chopped<br />
2 Tbsp of fresh parsley or a good shake of dry<br />
1/2 tsp dried sage<br />
1/2 tsp dried thyme<br />
1/2 tsp dried bail<br />
1/2 tsp dried oregano<br />
1/2 tsp salt<br />
1/2 tsp pepper<br />
1 lb of ground beef</blockquote>
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For the sauce:</div>
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2/3 ketchup + 1/3 mustard + 1/3 bbq sauce + a sprinkle of brown sugar (sometimes I use chili sauce or spicy brown mustard if I have it. Just mix it all in a bowl until it tastes tangy).</div>
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In a mixing bowl combine all the ingredients well (I use my food processor to shred the veggies). </div>
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These two are always willing to lend a hand!</div>
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You can press your mixture into a bread pan or portion it off into cupcake pans/stones like we do!</div>
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Bake for 40-50 minutes at 350 degrees. Top them with sauce as soon as you pull them out of the oven and it will melt in and get nice and gooey while you start plating dinner (this takes time in our house).<br />
I leave the boys' sauce free because they all have personal dipping preferences!<br />
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And...I don't have a finished product picture because I had two crabby babies and many finger-lick'n six year olds in my meatcakes by this time. You'll have to visit other sites for pretty food pictures!<br />
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Edie curled her nose and pushed her plate away, Baby Brother downed a full meatcake, himself, and the boys made sure there were no leftovers.<br />
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I hope your pans are as empty as mine with this one!<br />
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<br />Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-58495700146079715072016-01-03T23:40:00.001-05:002016-01-03T23:40:27.940-05:00More Than Enough<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Mom. I've been looking at this trophy and thinking...do you think we could get a marker and write Pinchback over my old name?"</div>
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Before I could answer, Ty piped in, "Francisco. I don't think it's necessary to do that. This trophy is a reminder of who you used to be. You won it playing basketball as a [previous last name]. Just leave it."</div>
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I had to smile and sigh at the same time. Tyrus is more like me than I care to admit. Practicality has a tendency to block sympathy in both of us.</div>
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I dismissed Tyrus and told Francisco to bring his trophy closer. My heart filled as I wrote PINCHBACK in big block letters on his cheap-o plaque.</div>
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In a few weeks, he will have been with us for two years and the progress to family has been painstakingly slow. </div>
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Three of our kids have really big personalities and another is a constant need-machine due to...well...being a baby. Francisco prefers to fade into the background and that's pretty easy to do around, here, with so much commotion. </div>
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In the beginning of the school year, I was concerned that holding him in Kindergarten was giving him permission to regress. The first several weeks mirrored the last several. He couldn't name anyone in his class and was, purposely, choosing not to invest in relationships.</div>
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Everyone, including his teacher, kept encouraging us to just give him time.</div>
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Today, I was really struck by a theme.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">God's love is always enough.</span></div>
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Every time it is whispered to my heart, fresh tears roll down my face.</div>
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Ben and I are purposeful in our love for Francisco and intentionally work at pulling him closer, but we've never been enough. We are exhausted most days and get more frustrated than we prefer. We miss opportunities all the time. We are every day people, striving for God's best, but in the failing moments find a measure of peace that our kids will have few memories of these days. We still have time to get it closer to right.</div>
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Despite the holes in our love, a miraculous transformation is in progress. Over the last three months, God has been wooing our tender-hearted, skittish boy and because his love IS enough, small pieces of Francisco's heart are not just peeking out, but remaining exposed.</div>
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Things that might make other parents smile, spark waterworks and praise in my heart. </div>
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The first change was at school. Francisco announced that he had a friend. A friend who also happens to be one of five. His confidence continued to build when the rest of the class realized he knew most of his sight words and letters. On Ben's birthday, he was proud to talk about our family's birthday traditions with his teacher, and told me that he thought about chocolate cake all day. </div>
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<br />Right before break, he was sent 5 candy grams from classmates. My heart exploded.</div>
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He comes home from church and can re-tell the truths he learned.</div>
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He sticks up for himself when his brothers blame him for trouble.</div>
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When our knees touch on the couch, he doesn't move away.</div>
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His favorite memory of 2015 was his adoption day.</div>
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Watching my sweet boy blossom has been such a lesson in faith for me. I get frustrated by the progress and some days wish that I could manipulate the time line and slap "redeemed" over his wounds, so that we can move on...which is, exactly, why my love isn't enough. It's not perfect or all-knowing. It doesn't operate with all the facts or with selfless ambition. </div>
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What a relief to know that we don't have to have it together. God's love is everything. It's enough for me and it's enough for Francisco. His love is at work, when mine sleeps. His love whispers and pulls and moves Francisco at the right time, in the right moments, and earns genuine results.</div>
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And the best part is that God's love isn't exclusive. There is a young woman a couple hundred miles away, crying out for God's rescue. Her days are marked for her and the landscape only changes in her dreams where she can darken the light on the bars that hold her prisoner.</div>
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The more letters we exchange, the more conflicted I feel. The Jesus and mama in me tussle often over the direction that this is going. My defenses prickle; he nudges me past. I want to hold back; he asks for more.</div>
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I feel like I should be better at pride-swallowing, given the sequence of events that we've walked the last several years, but it still tastes bitter. I don't always want to give all of me. I don't always want to blaze an unknown trail.</div>
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But...then I get a nose-smashing, lip-touching kiss from my youngest six year old or see the magic dance behind his eyes when he tells a funny joke and I am, instantly, reminded that knowing him is worth sacrifice.</div>
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Whether I ever feel that for his mother or not doesn't matter. God's love is enough for her, too. And, right now, he is using me to show her what that means. Francisco's unfolding has been a timely backdrop. </div>
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Sometimes love requires time and God asks us to remain steadfast while we wait.</div>
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Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-70480205948698945762015-11-24T22:56:00.001-05:002015-11-24T22:56:50.913-05:00Adoption Day for Little Miss!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It is with many tears and much joy that I introduce you to our Little Miss. She has been a firecracker from the beginning, a ball of personality, and her fierce independence helped her push through a pretty rough start. Her mama named her Edith - reward of war. We gave her the middle name of Elizabeth - fullness of God.<br />
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She fills every corner of our home with loud color and incredible sass. Her brothers adore her and I love her so much I can barely contain it.<br />
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Two months shy of two years. That's how long this little light has been in our life.<br />
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Her adoption was only supposed to take a few months.<br />
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I'm not really a "praise God through the storm" girl. Maybe if I was superhuman I could manage it...but that hasn't been my experience. It's more like a desperate cling to my Sailor as the wind and rain beat the tar out of me. I don't give up or stop believing, but praise for the circumstance isn't usually forthcoming when I'm soaking wet.<br />
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I would say that I am the kind of girl that memorizes the waves and praises God for the destruction once I'm through the other side.<br />
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It's been a difficult two years. Our hearts were squeezed and twisted well beyond comfort and we were asked to step into terrifying shores, but the reward is great because it surpassed earthly relevance a long time ago.<br />
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Sweet Mama and I continue to write back and forth and I am stunned by the beautiful opportunity that God laid in my lap. I feel unworthy of it. Every letter from prison gives me deeper insight into the darkness Edie's mother has faced alone, yet there is the faintest shimmer of hope. Her life is not over; all is not lost. Through our growing friendship, she is experiencing God's love.<br />
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Just this week, I sent my application in for approval to visit her.<br />
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As we sat in the courtroom, today, celebrating Michigan's adoption day, I was a remembering mess. God didn't close my womb out of cruelty or pack our suitcases and haphazardly push us onto this path. He, methodically, touched a myriad of pain points with his gentle thumb and whispered for our hearts to follow. This is how he makes all things new. This is how he redeems and connects nonredeemable circumstances to life giving results.<br />
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Our life has been a series of God-driven question marks and looking back it's easy to see how one yes led to the next. People love to ask us if we're "done" adopting, now. A reporter asked me, today. My answer is always the same. We will stop saying, yes, when God stops asking.<br />
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It's easy for our efforts to be mistaken as sacrifice, but the truth? The return on our time and love far surpasses the moments we give.<br />
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This was such a wonderful day of celebration for our family. All day, Edie kept saying, "I adopted! I adopted!" There is powerful identity in family. It feels so good to have finality in this part of our story. There is so much more to come from this little girl, her baby brother, and both of their mothers. But, today, we celebrate with tear-streaked faces.<br />
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There is one less lovie stuck in a life-sucking system.<br />
<br />Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-21928462556434223242015-10-18T21:17:00.001-04:002015-10-18T21:17:50.220-04:00Another HomecomingBaby Brother's foster family spent the evening with us on Friday. There was a heavy knowing in the air, but it was really nice to spend time with them and to hear more of their story. Our kids were crazy. The kind of crazy you try your best to hide from people - especially people that are about to leave a costly gift with you (forever).<br />
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Sigh. But this is who we are. I like to think we control the chaos....but I always realize otherwise when people step in the front door for the first time.<br />
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Friday night went better than expected. He was only up for about an hour halfway through the night. It wasn't a painful or angry cry, it was more of a I-just-woke-up-in-a-strange-place-and-you-are-not-my-mother whimpering.<br />
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Ben joked (truthfully) that he makes the same sounds as Little Miss, only his decibel is about one-third of hers.<br />
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Last night was a bit rougher. He was up, on and off, for hours and that familiar beg to God set in, "Lord if you love me, please, PLEASE, let him sleep."<br />
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I know it's only been two and a half days, but I am tired. So tired.<br />
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People that told me I wouldn't notice a fifth - that anything after three is the same - lied.<br />
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It's a lot different.<br />
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Ben and I were like underpaid circus crew, this weekend, moving to the demands of the set. It took us three hours to get ready for church, this morning, but when we pulled into the parking lot on time, tears misted my eyes. We did it. And I know it will only get easier from here.<br />
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I am overwhelmed by the support that has flooded our doorstep.<br />
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Every day someone is handing me a gift card or asking if they can bring a meal. Today, we shared our hearts in front of our church, bringing people close to what God is doing in our growing family. Afterward our pastor asked the congregation to invest in God's work through us. He had us stand at the front of the altar and the stream of people that came was continuous. I cried, as family after family gave and shared their support, thanking us for saying yes.<br />
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One precious woman told me she had very little to give, but that she was a fierce prayer warrior and committed to bathe our family and Sweet Mama in prayer. Others offered free babysitting, and meals, and haircuts.<br />
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I am stunned with gratitude; I don't even know what to say.<br />
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A hot out-of-the-oven meal arrived, tonight, with a box of Tim Horton donuts that the kids went bananas for and I thanked God for his provision. This mama is exhausted, but the surge of energy I felt from all the helping hands around me, today, reminded me that we CAN do this...because we're not alone.<br />
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The bills will get paid, our sleep will be multiplied, and the kids will experience love.<br />
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Speaking of - I am awestruck at the tenderness my babies give so freely. I was worried about Little Miss. She is bossy and commands attention in every way. I knew she would have the hardest adjustment. Yet, she seemed to grow by years overnight. Sure, she still throws around, "My mommy" every other time she looks at her baby brother, making sure he understands the terms. But, she has been so interested in playing, reading, and helping me, I haven't seen any signs of spite or envy.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYAKozCziumgndGYBCvEudSzQaQlRolySkXFGKnNU8eh16qTKIGOWJcqWkss33O6IBEBO-ytpMC2td2v6m5gsvZeKdnoHKArEDIna-UMbUjy2uMwickcxtsOzS3deaQ9A2nw6gV0ZfmI9q/s1600/20151018_190238.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYAKozCziumgndGYBCvEudSzQaQlRolySkXFGKnNU8eh16qTKIGOWJcqWkss33O6IBEBO-ytpMC2td2v6m5gsvZeKdnoHKArEDIna-UMbUjy2uMwickcxtsOzS3deaQ9A2nw6gV0ZfmI9q/s320/20151018_190238.jpg" width="320" /></a>Baby Brother is such a bundle of sweetness. I've been wearing him, each day, and playing with him as much as I can (the boys rotate feedings). He is so relaxed and happy it's a breath of fresh air.<br />
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Rocking with him at night has been very emotional. The deep, fierce, mama bear love isn't there, yet, but I have this tremendous awareness of what a treasure this little boy is. In a way I've never felt before. I think of Sweet Mama everyday. The kids have been writing her letters and drawing her pictures, too. We popped at least 2 or 3 packages in the mail, this week.<br />
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I've been texting Foster Mama every time I think of her to ease her unsettled heart and let her know that we're taking the greatest care with her son.<br />
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All the while, knowing that the earthly love surrounding Baby Brother pales in comparison to the love of his Father. Wow.<br />
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It was a good, good weekend.<br />
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<br />Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-8304411027435449442015-10-09T21:19:00.000-04:002015-10-09T21:37:56.715-04:00"She Wants You"Why I bother showing up to court on time, I'll never know. An hour went by - still no movement. I made small talk with Baby Brother's family, read some in my book, and listened to background chatter. To most people it was just another day.<br />
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I could hear the clanking of chains behind me before I saw her face. I turned, quickly, in hopes to catch her eyes and as soon as they met, tears streamed both our faces. She mouthed "thank you" a dozen times on her way to holding in the jury box. Everything in me wanted to run to her; squeeze her hand. I watched, helplessly, as formalities began. All I could do was meet her gaze and hope she saw love.<br />
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Sweet Mama held true to her letter. She stood firm with her rights and forced the case to begin trial. I don't ever want to experience it again. Words will never be able to convey the brutal reality of what happened. Baby Brother's guardian ad litem and attorney hammered her points until the case was nothing but a bloody carcass, wide open for disease and prey. Sweet Mama sobbed on the witness stand and I, barely, held it together. I, literally, stuffed emotion to my toes, willing for it not to come out in distracting heaves.<br />
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<i>Given your history with Cisco and [Little Miss], do you really think, it's fair to make Baby Brother wait over a year for permanency?</i><br />
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She held tissues to her face and, quietly sobbed, "no."<br />
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<i>If Judge grants you the time that you're asking for AGAIN, what is going to be different when you're released from prison?</i><br />
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She shook her head and shrugged.<br />
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<i>I said, "What is going to be different???? Would you say you're OPTIMISTIC that your addiction will be cured? What support do you have? You come from a family of drug addicts - do you expect them to help you? Did they help support you in the past?"</i><br />
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Mama was lost in a sea of pain and panic. The questions came too fast.<br />
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The attorney was relentless. I kept waiting for defense to shout "Objection!" but he sat with his head down. He had given up long before we started.<br />
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As the questions pressed on, I let go of my heart and let it shatter to the polished floor. Someone pressed tissue in my hand and asked if I was okay. I shook my head.<br />
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<i>"Are you, [Baby Brother's] best option, right now?"</i><br />
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I barely heard her whisper..."no."<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"I would like to approach the bench."</i><br />
<br />
White noise came on and the attorneys rushed forward. The judge called for recess and asked everyone, but Sweet Mama and security to exit the courtroom, so that she could have some moments of privacy with her attorney.<br />
<br />
When we got to the hall, Baby Brother's attorney explained that they didn't want Sweet Mama to have to endure anymore. They recessed to try and convince her to sign over her rights, voluntarily. Apart from the obvious relief from ruthless questioning, a direct release helps Sweet Mama have some footing should she get pregnant, again.<br />
<br />
I walked out in silence, I could barely breathe.<br />
<br />
Her attorney burst through the doors and pointed at me, "She wants you."<br />
<br />
I heard the clerk lock the door behind me and the security guard verified my identity. I walked over to my broken friend and put a hand on her knee. I didn't bother asking if it was allowed.<br />
<br />
"Thank you for being such a wonderful mother," she hiccuped between cries, "You are the mother I always intended to be. I don't know what to do. What should I do? I mean... I know what I should do...but I need to fight."<br />
<br />
Tears streamed down my face and I took her hands in mine. "Baby...you need to fight for YOU. Until you fight for you, you're never going to be able to fight for your kids. I love your kids like my own and I will take care of them as my own. It's time to let go. And trust God that good will follow. Look at this time as an opportunity you've never had. You have two years in a place that is going to feed you every day and keep you warm and safe. Get your high school diploma; get clean. God is handing you a fresh beginning. You just have to take it."<br />
<br />
I don't know how long we sat there crying; time was still.<br />
<br />
After several moments of sniffling silence, she said, "How are you going to do it? It's so many kids!"<br />
<br />
I laughed and cried some more. "I know...but we WILL do it because we love you and we love your kids."<br />
<br />
She looked down and whispered..."They're your kids, too. Thank you for writing me. I loved the pictures of Cisco and his brothers. It's helping me get through. If I do this, you have to promise me that you won't let anyone take Baby Brother from you. If I can't be his mom, it has to be you. Do you promise?"<br />
<br />
I can hardly see to type this...<br />
<br />
I told her about the drawing Cisco made, last night, and let her know she could write to him any time. Her attorney interrupted and told her it was time to decide. I hugged her tight and prayed that she'd feel a surge of strength. She couldn't return the squeeze, but she wet my face with her tears and I thanked God for crossing our paths.<br />
<br />
An hour later, court returned to session and the adoption representative was present with signed papers in hand. Sweet Mama cried through all of the Judge's questions as he made sure she was not coerced, paid, or under the influence. Every time she looked at me, I saw Little Miss. Their similarities are so striking, I know this day will haunt me every time I see my girl cry.<br />
<br />
Sweet Mama was escorted from the courtroom. I managed a quick hand-squeeze as she walked by and told her not to give up. The door closed, firmly, and I wondered if I would ever see her, again.<br />
<br />
Baby Brother's attorney walked the court through placement and adoption recommendations. She looked at me and told the judge in all her years of service she had never seen a foster parent express so much compassion. She told him about my letter to prison, my willingness to encourage her during the recess, and somehow had even picked up the story about Cisco's "I love you" picture.<br />
<br />
The judge choked up and told me he has a daughter the same age as Mama. He expressed the heartbreak of her story, thanked me for keeping the siblings together, and noted how Mama's love never stood a chance to her addiction and the addiction that tears through the rest of her family. He explained how easy it is for the players in court to be desensitized to such mess and thanked me for showing kindness.<br />
<br />
And then it was over.<br />
<br />
On the way out, I asked what will happen if no one picks her up on the day she is released. A likely possibility as she is hours from everything familiar.<br />
<br />
"Probably a halfway house."<br />
<br />
I sat in my car and sobbed until my meter ran out.<br />
<br />
Baby Brother comes home on Friday, but the excitement of our next chapter is dulled by the cost.<br />
<br />
There was one moment of connection, where Sweet Mama, Foster Mama, and me were all wiping tears and I thought about the preciousness of Baby Brother. Three mothers representing his past, present, and future, sharing in the agony of his story.<br />
<br />
That moment in time can never be replicated. The three of us will never meet, again.<br />
<br />
And somehow the weight of that is almost too much to bear.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7712476185050900324.post-69912596015396995282015-10-08T20:48:00.000-04:002015-10-08T20:48:00.963-04:00A Letter from PrisonShe wrote back!<br />
<br />
Going into trial tomorrow, I am so thankful for confirmation that Sweet Mama read my encouraging words. I will, likely, not be able to talk to her as she'll be escorted in chains.<br />
<br />
I expect it to be a very difficult day, but I know she knows that I believe in her...and love her.<br />
<br />
She opened her letter like this:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #76a5af;">Dear Rebekah,</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #76a5af;">Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much. You are the best. I can tell Cisco and [Little Miss] are really happy. Thank you for taking such good care of them. I am so happy my kids got you as a mom. I hope you still tell them I love them and miss them...</span></blockquote>
<br />
I have re-read those words a hundred times already. The middle section of her note talked about her court cases, what she's hoping for, and her plans to fight to the end for Baby Brother tomorrow.<br />
<br />
As much as I don't want to be witness to a horrific emotional battle, when she realizes it's too late...I understand her fight. I respect it.<br />
<br />
Her letter was written from a clear perspective. She talked about working toward her GED, the parenting classes she's in, and the boot camp program she applied for. I prayed through every word, asking God to guide this new, fragile friendship.<br />
<br />
Sweet Mama's closing words are haunting.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #76a5af;">Thank you for the pictures, I really needed them. Can you plz send more and tell me more about them? I am not a bad person. I really do love them.</span></blockquote>
Such a jolt to my heart.<br />
<br />
At dinner, I told Cisco that his mom wrote back to me, today. I told him many of the things she wrote about and when I was done, he said, "Could I draw her a picture for you to send?"<br />
<br />
He started with a huge full-sized paper heart and wrote along the edges, "I love you". Ty asked when I was going to write again and after a few minutes, said, "Mom, maybe when she gets out of jail and is making good choices, again, she could come over for a sleepover. You know, to get to know us?"<br />
<br />
I squeezed them so hard for their thoughtfulness.<br />
<br />
Cisco's story is a dark monster that could have swallowed him whole if we fed it. Instead, we allowed the light of God to scatter the night and through love, show him how to live open and kind and full of mercy.<br />
<br />
I am moved by his unfiltered compassion for a woman who hurt him in so many ways. That is Jesus with skin on - right here at my kitchen table - leaning over a scribbled drawing of hearts and paw prints.<br />
<br />
I know this is only the beginning.<br />
<br />
Our story just keeps getting better and richer and more lovely.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11920816691217676013noreply@blogger.com6