around the table

One of my most favorite things in the whole world is the time my family spends sitting around the table talking after we eat a meal together. We talk about everything from politics to dirty diapers; from our relationships with Christ to shooting skeet. We laugh, we cry, we yell - most of it loudly. We debate against one another and we pray together. Whether it be just 7 of us after breakfast in a hotel lobby, or at mom and dad's around the big round table that dad made to seat all 17 of us; those are the moments I cherish, those are the connections I crave, and I can hardly wait until we are together again.

food glorious food!

I embarked on this food journey after being diagnosed with fibromyalgia and having a dear friend tell me that my eating habits weren’t helping.

Chapter One of my adult life: I was one of the masses – and proud of it. Quietly looking down my nose at those of you who “thought you were too good” to eat fast food or frozen dinners. I cited my busy schedule as a mother of two small children and fitness instructor when a friend encouraged me to *eye roll* make my own baby food from scratch. I clung to the idea that we were “easy” eaters – not picky or snotty and indulgent like those frivolous people who had money to throw away on organic ingredients and time to waste in the kitchen. A piece of meat on the grill, a box of parmesan noodles and a can of green beans – or better yet – a box of hamburger helper – was plenty good enough for our family. I didn’t need all those fancy ingredients. I was doing more important things with my time and money. I wasn’t like them – and I was proud of it.

Enter Chapter Two: The Catalyst. After several years of feeling sick I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. I threw myself into research – trying desperately to find a magic answer – “do these three things and you will feel all better!” No such answer existed – but what I did discover was information challenging my ideas about “healthy eating.” As a fitness instructor I had dabbled with nutrition/dieting – but only of the counting calories/choke down protein bars to stay skinny/self-flagellation variety. I began experimenting – cutting out different foods from my diet and paying close attention to how I felt with or without them. I went two months without my favorite treat in the whole world – a large coke and two apple pies from McDonald’s. I marveled at how much better I felt the morning after I chose to forgo the extra large bowl of ice cream with caramel and chocolate on top. I ate simply, trying to cut out what I determined were my “problem” foods - all preservatives, wheat, caffeine and refined sugars. I ate lots of fruits and veggies, rice, potatoes, and chicken with no seasoning. I had more energy, but everything was so bland. Outside of a handful of recipes, I had no idea how to put together natural flavors and spices. I lasted for about 6 weeks before I was over it. I missed yummy food!

Chapter Three - Victim Mode. I lamented our financial situation, stating that if only we had more money – I could eat differently. I cried for my pre-fibro self – the girl who had lots of energy, was pain free and could eat whatever she wanted. I read blog after blog about organic, gluten-free cooking; finding myself overwhelmed by the fact that most of the ingredients I had never even heard of, much less had stocked in my kitchen. A personal chef was my ultimate dream – the answer to all my woes. I sullenly choked down my plain baked sweet potato while watching my family feast on my mom’s chicken tetrazini; feeling increasingly more sorry for myself while insisting through my martyr complex that I was fine.

Finally, Chapter Four. I decided to DO something! I am a smart girl. I can figure this out. I can learn how to cook yummy, truly healthy food for myself and my family. After struggling through cutting a single raw sweet potato – I realized my first step – I needed the right tools. Not only had my knives been in my kitchen for at least ten years, they had never even been sharpened. After all, why spend time sharpening knives when you might only have the opportunity to dice an onion once a year? (Doesn’t everyone use that bottle of dehydrated chopped onions?) Obviously the second step is buying the right ingredients. Learning how to prioritize, what are the most important foods to buy organic, and what are the things I can save money on. The third step is not shooting for the stars, get some simple recipes that I can put together in a short amount of time. My new favorite is Jennie’s Gluten Free Corn Muffins. Good ingredients, simple recipe and they take almost no time to make! Best of all, they are delicious! I think I might be able to handle this cooking thing after all!

feed it or fill it?

No sugar, low-fat, low sugar, fat-free, low cal, low carb. Does that make you hungry? Not me. What about apple pie, Coca-Cola, filet mignon, bacon and eggs, homemade spaghetti with garlic bread. Mmmmmm! Now are you hungry? I know I am. We settle for mere crumbs; artificial sweeteners and “butter” made in a science lab; rather than feasting on what is real, authentic, what makes us shout “YUM!”

So the question becomes: Do you feed it or do you fill it? Sometimes when I am dieting, I fill my stomach with diet soda. Zero calories, zero nutritional value, but it makes me feel full, it eases the discomfort of an empty stomach. When I feel far from God, do I feed that hunger for Him or do I choose to fill it with other things, other relationships with zero calories, zero nutritional value for my eternal soul? When I am dieting, I can survive on diet soda. I can fill up, I can ignore the fact that it doesn’t taste real, but every once in awhile something will remind me of the real thing. When I drive past a McDonald’s, I can almost taste the joy of drinking a real Coca-Cola, ice cold and bubbly with none of that sharp edge that comes along with the artificial sweetener in diet cola. That edge that says…this is not real. This can’t truly nourish you. This will fill you up, but it can never feed you. You know that sharp edge that you taste when you try to fill that hunger for God with work, or with sex, or with TV, or even with serving others – but for the wrong reasons, or keeping all the rules, or being good enough? There is that sharp edge in your gut that tells you this is not authentic. You may be full – but you are not fed. You may be able to survive that way for awhile, but you’ll become malnourished. Your HUNGER for God will drive you crazy, that deep innate desire, that longing for the euphoria of feeding on what is true, real and authentic; gulping in the sweet, ice cold, bubbly love of Christ, savoring its flavor and enjoying being truly fed by Him….THAT is what it is all about.

We choose to fill ourselves rather than feed ourselves. In our zeal to be “beautiful” we settle for substitutes. In our quest for “success” we compromise. In the midst of the discomfort that comes with the hunger, we reach for whatever is closest to fill us up. The world tells us that the path to success is to mask the hunger, to fill up on diet soda, but that sharp edge is always there to remind us…we were made for so much more. God wants to feed us, not just fill us up on counterfeits and forgeries. He wants to nourish us, to give us abundant life. The longing inside you for food, God put that there. We need food to sustain our physical body. The ache inside you for something more, God put that there too. We need Him to sustain our soul.

infertility

“Infertility. I hate the word, the label for my “condition.” I hate that it oozes and creeps into every corner of my world, its fingers gripping my heart with a crushing force without a moment’s warning. I hate that this is our reality. That one word – its oily blackness – creeping, oozing down the walls, changing everything. And not just for me. Oh how I wish that were the case, but it has changed things for all of us. That one word – the reality of it all – has forever altered every member of this family.” – an entry from my journal May 2006

As I lay beside my girls while they slept on Thanksgiving Day, I was overwhelmed by how the Lord has blessed me. Of course, they are so peaceful when they are asleep, those feelings of thankfulness aren’t always quite so readily accessible when they are awake. But seriously, I lay awake as they slept, watching their precious faces and reminiscing over the journey that brought me here.

I have longed to be a mother for as long as I can remember. Like many little girls I played with dolls constantly, imitating my own mother’s tender smile, sweet baby talk, and of course, the occasional stern reprimand. (Isn’t it interesting when we see our parenting through the eyes of the one being parented?) Anyways, you get the picture. I loved being a “mom.”

When I was 11, I remember feeling that distinct tug on my soul. My sister, Susan, was a baby – and oh how I wished she was mine. I remember being at a party, all the kids were playing outside, we were at the house of a boy I had a huge crush on – I think his name was Jason. But that night all I wanted to do was to hold that baby. She fell asleep in my arms – oh I was so proud of myself. She was so peaceful as I cradled her against my body, so tiny, so trusting. She was completely dependent on me as I slowly rocked her, shhing and whispering to her when she’d stir. I didn’t want to, I couldn’t, let her go. The echoes of laughter tumbling through the air as all the other kids played tag and caught lightning bugs. But I barely noticed, I was lost in a world, in a dream, where I was a mom and this soft, warm, trusting beautiful creature belonged to me, belonged here, sleeping in my arms, our hearts beating against one another, her breath, soft on my shoulder, mine on her cheek, whispering kisses into her hair. Do you wonder as you think about that little girl of 11 with such big hopes and dreams – what is this world we live in? Who is this God she places her hopes in, who she believes in, that He would put this desire in her so deep, so deep, only to hold it always out of reach? I know I did.

When my youngest sister Amanda was born I was 16. I loved it when people assumed she was mine. I remember strangers asking how old my baby was. I remember the pride that welled up inside of me as I would tell them her age, purposefully leaving out the part about her not belonging to me.

I never doubted that I would be a mom. Not until it didn’t happen as I had planned. For many years we waited and prayed. I begged and pleaded, I bargained with God. I made promises impossible to keep if He would just give us a baby. I eventually came to the understanding that He had different plans than I did. His picture of our family would be very different than what I had pictured. I came to realize that God has already handpicked each and every one of our children. Some of them would come from other wombs, and I hoped that some of them would come from mine. But even in the middle of speaking that truth with conviction, my heart was breaking. My hope would wax and wane. I hated the label that I had become.

Damien and Angel came to live with us in June of 2003. They were 2 and 3 respectively. Ten months later we got a phone call that a baby girl had been born just south of here and the Department of Social Services wondered if we would be willing to take a third child. We had one hour to decide. A decision that we could not have guessed the impact of, and we made it in one hour. That little girl was our precious Robyn. And three years after her birth – to the day – we were able to finally call her our very own. When Robyn was two and a half, we received another call from DSS. This time a little boy needed a family. As soon as I looked into his eyes my heart belonged to him. His name was Zachary. I had the joy of being his mother for eight precious months. I wouldn’t trade those eight months for anything. Not even for eight years of fertility.

In the summer of 2007 God made it clear that In Vitro Fertilization (IVF) was our next step. Through thousands of prayers, many of them yours, and tens of thousands of dollars, again, many of them yours, we were able to conceive. We will never be able to even begin to explain our gratitude for your sacrifice. What a true picture of the verse that says, (I am paraphrasing) there is no greater love than this that a man lay down his life for another. Without your sacrifice, we wouldn’t have Finley. We can never thank you enough. Finley was born on August 12, 2008. What a joyous occasion. Her bright eyes sparkled as we looked at one another for the first time. She is so much like Charles. Happy and easygoing, and she rarely complains. These are traits she did not inherit from me. And lucky for her she got his nose as well. (Shepherds have big noses if you hadn’t noticed.) Hopefully she will have my sense of style and SAT scores! She is amazing. We are madly in love.

It is mind boggling to comprehend – but I know that Finley was born of one specific embryo – one specific egg and one specific sperm. If we had gotten pregnant eight years ago, would we have ever known this child? Would there have ever been a Finley? I wonder about Damien and Angel. God only knows what lies in their future. Did we make a difference? I believe so. I believe that their lives would not be the same without the year and a half with us. I think of what Robyn’s life might have been. What it would have been if I hadn’t been labeled “infertile.” Where would she be? Would she be as precocious as she is like me? Would she have a loud raucous laugh like Charles? Would she be super girly and love shoes more than toys if she weren’t MY daughter? And my little Zachary. I know that he won’t ever remember those months with us. But is he changed, is he different? Is his life altered? I don’t know. All I do know is that infertility, that one ugly word that I have so despised, that word that has haunted me for so long, and will forever haunt me in many ways, that word is the reason that I am a mother to five beautiful children. That word is the reason that I am luckier than most, I get the chance to love larger than I ever dreamt.

And for that I will forever be grateful.

home

I am missing my family so much today. They are in Florida and I am so far from home. If I were there right now, I would curl up on the couch with my head in my mom's lap while she worked on a sudoku, or we would be drinking coffee and playing duker, or eating dad's popcorn and listening to his laugh as we watch a movie together. The way that I feel when I am there is as if the whole house has its arms wrapped around me. It is comfort, it is laughter, it is tears, it is hope, it is connections, it is peaceful, it is chaos, it is home. And no matter where we go, a huge piece of my heart will always be there.

me, the pisspot, and my friend kiki

Everytime I talk to my friend Kristen I am amazed by her level of understanding and the way she alway allows me to be myself. Today was one of those times. Until theis point I had known our common ground - shopping, fashion, baby stuff, God....but today she showed her true colors. I called her as i was 5 minutes from her house, she answered the door in her pj's - I love it! - and threw on something that she looked absolutely adorable in; and didn't even realize how adorable she looked! She listened to me piss and moan for hours on end, walked around target with me while i was on a caffeine high - talking 90 miles an hour, and pulled me through a killer red ant attack! She always makes me laugh even on days like this - when for the millioneth time i started my period - and although it hurt like hell - she actually made me forget that it had started! She makes me laugh at my own idiocincricies, and at hers :) ! She is truly a gift from God - and not just because she manages my favorite store on earth. Thank you God for blessing my life with this true friend....I am one lucky girl! :)

zachary

It has been 3 months since my son Zachary was taken from me. Most people would not even consider him my son, but I do. As many of you may already know, Charles and I are foster parents, we care for children whose parents can’t take care of them.

Zachary was born August 15, 2006. His mother could not care for him, so when Zach was three days old, the Department of Social Services brought him from the hospital to us. He was dressed in a tiny little paper hospital gown, and when I took him into my arms, he opened his eyes and smiled. We cared for him as if he had been born to us. We named him Zachary Wayde. Wayde in memory of Charles’ grandfather Wayne and his cousin Wade, and Zachary because it means “the Lord remembers.”

He was a beautiful little boy. There was something so special in his smile. He was so happy. I loved the sound of his laughter. The floor in our house is wood, and I remember when he began to crawl, I could hear his little hands slapping against the floor as he crawled behind me, following me wherever I went. I loved that sound too. He lived in our home for eight months.

A relative of his decided that they wanted custody of him. The court date was set for Thursday, April 5^th. In the weeks leading up to that day, I begged God not to take Zach. I spent hours reading my Bible, looking for some kind of promise that would indicate that I wouldn’t lose Zach. I didn’t find that promise. Instead, I found promise after promise that God would remember me. As I begged God to spare me this pain, I heard him saying “I will provide.”

In Genesis 22:2, God said to Abraham, “take your only son Isaac, whom you love…and sacrifice him as a burnt offering.” I had heard this story many times, but had never really understood. I still can’t imagine leading my son up a mountain knowing that at the top I would lay him on an altar and sacrifice him. And yet, as I prayed, I could feel God asking me to that very thing. He told me to take my precious baby Zachary, whom I love, and to lay him in God’s arms, to give Zach to Him. So, I did. Well, at least for a few minutes. Then I would realize that I was holding onto him again, desperate not to lose him, and I would pray and try to lay him back in God’s arms. It was one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do.

But Abraham’s story doesn’t end there. Abraham did what God asked. He lay Isaac, his only son, on the altar, and prepared to sacrifice him. Just as he was about to, God called out to him and told him to stop. Then He showed Abraham a ram nearby for him to sacrifice instead. Genesis 22:14 says, “So Abraham called the place ‘the Lord will provide.’”

God did not forget about Abraham, He provided for him. God did not forget about me or my little Zachary either. On Thursday April 5, 2007 a judge decided that Zach would go live with his relatives. They came to our home to pick him up. I packed up his clothes and toys. Time felt like it was moving in slow motion, and yet at the same time it was slipping away faster than I could keep up with. I held him on one hip as they watched me hurriedly write out his schedule and special instructions. How do you write down what a mother knows about her son, his likes, his dislikes, what makes him cry, what helps him sleep, everything I had learned about him over the past eight months, everything a mother just intuitively knows without even thinking about it, how do you write that down on one sheet of paper?  I carried him outside to their car. As I carried him, I knew the Lord was carrying me. I buckled Zachary into his little carseat. As I wrapped the seatbelt safe around him, God was wrapping His arms safe around me. I kissed him, and as I kissed him, God was kissing me. I whispered to him “I will love you for always” and my tears fell onto his face. At the same time, my Lord was whispering in my ear, “I will love you always,” and His tears were falling as He cried with me. He never forgot me, not for one moment. He did not provide in the way that I had asked, but He hasn’t promised to do that. He did promise that He will never forget me. And He will never forget you. No matter what you are going through, He will carry you, He will wrap His arms around you, He will kiss you, He will whisper to you how much He loves you, He will weep with you and He will never, never forget you.