*I began this post on Tuesday. It is now Friday. My brain is SO slow.

Almost every day I’m asked, “How do you do it all? Four kids, a job, and now college? Wow!” People want the nitty-gritty details of my life. They want to know how “super mom” does it. Well, I wouldn’t know.

At this moment, I am utterly exhausted. My arms are as heavy as tree trunks. My eyes are red. Tears and snot pour out of my face like fountains. My sobs deepen with each screech of my children’s voices. I can no longer move.

I’m not sure where the breaking point was, exactly. Was it the fact that I know I’m not doing as well as I need to in my college courses? Or perhaps the text I received a few minutes ago asking me to work the NOC shift tonight. Maybe it’s just the burden of guilt and high expectations I carry on my back.

I don’t do it all. In fact, I don’t do enough of it.

My kids need more of me. My work needs more of me. I know for a fact that one of my friends is feeling quite neglected by me. My schooling needs more of me. I hear that I need to do more for myself, too. So I guess I need more of me.

I submitted an essay for my class today. It was due on Monday. The final draft is due next Monday. It was a weak piece. I am not quite the writer I thought I was, or at least thought I could be. In fact, I pretty much suck in my class. It is awfully embarrassing. It is enough to make me want to end this blogging thing, to never write publicly again.

This schooling thing is going to take more of me that I think I can give.  I didn’t do well in high school. I envied those girls that played in band, ran in track, acted in plays, and still managed to get good grades. I wanted to be in the smart club, but I wasn’t one of them. It isn’t as if they purposely excluded me. I just didn’t fit in with them very well.

I spend hours staring at my computer screen in frustration. It isn’t just frustration over my classes, though. I see my blog needs updating. (You know, then one I’m never writing on again.) My banking account is in the red, or at least it was yesterday before I got paid. My to do list doesn’t have much of it marked off. My menu plan isn’t a plan. There are many photos waiting to be organized, edited, and enjoyed.

I think I need chocolate and a nap. Neither one helps me manage my time better, but they do help me forget about all the other things vying for my attention.

My desktop, my real wooden one, fills up with kindergarten papers, bills, pens, and other miscellany. The other night I was determined to clean my room. I spent an hour and a half folding laundry. After it was put away, I grabbed 2 boxes and swept everything off my desk into them. Ha! Now my desktop is clean! The point is that I needed it clean so that I could take things out of the box and put them where they belong. It all belongs on my desk somewhere other than the huge pile it was in. Today I am determined to keep my desk clean.

This week I learned to focus on three things. That means hundreds of other things didn’t get done. I focused on one day at a time for 2 whole days. Next week I’ll try to figure out how to look a little further out. What is that saying, again? “Fail to plan means you plan to fail.”

All is not so terrible, though. I have a friend helping me to not panic. He patiently asked questions to which I answered through tears, “I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO! I JUST KNOW I NEED TO DO MORE AND TO BE MORE!” What I really want is for someone to sit down and say, “Here’s exactly what you need to do every day of every week.”  It doesn’t look like that’s going to happen anytime soon. I am, unfortunately, completely in charge of my own self.

Posted in changes, college, kids, Life Tagged: college, kids, Life, whining ]]> http://simplydar.wordpress.com/2009/10/30/thoughts-on-me/feed/ 4 abandonedwill books http://simplydar.wordpress.com/2009/09/28/fall-is-here/ http://simplydar.wordpress.com/2009/09/28/fall-is-here/#comments Tue, 29 Sep 2009 03:39:55 +0000 abandonedwill http://simplydar.wordpress.com/?p=303 ]]>

Fall is here.

The crispy cool morning air and the bright warm afternoons take me back to my highschool days. One in particular comes to mind. I was wearing a long dress with gold buttons. The background of the dress was black with a floral pattern, but not a bright spring floral pattern. The were muted jewel tones. I loved that dress. On my feet were incredibly uncomfortable boots and on my head was 1/2 a can of AquaNet hair spray. In my bag, or purse the size of a bag, was a jar of black ink and my fountain pen. I was feeling good. I remember wanting to preserve that moment forever. The smell, the cold morning, the bright sun, the chirping birds, the rustling of the leaves overhead, and the incredible sense of being at peace was something I wanted to pour into a glass bottle so I could set it on my shelf and immediately recall that moment.

Fall is here.

The anticipation of how much money my dad would give me for school clothes was exhilarating. I’d mall hop with my youth group leader/very good friend, Teresa. I must find the perfect hypercolor socks to go with my hypercolor t-shirt. Oh, and yes, I’ll take those striped tights and big hoop earrings. What would I wear for the first day of school? I hope nobody else has the same outfit. I had a favorite outfit my senior year. Red A-line shirt,floral leggings, black trouser socks, penny loafer type shoes, and a wide red headband to match. I wore that outfit on the first day of school…so did another girl. A really cute freshman. I couldn’t believe it!

Fall is here.

I love the smell of fresh crayola crayons, don’t you? Sharp new pencils and the coolest of all pens were the highlight of my school supplies. Oooh, and I love to organize binders. I can’t seem to KEEP them organized, but I love putting them together.

Fall is here.

Homework. Can’t say that homework is one of my fondest memories. I didn’t do a whole lot of my own homework. I loved Algebra. I loved my college prep English class, except for the fact that we had to actually share our work with our peers. I loved my friends. I loved the social aspect of high school.

Now I’m in college. I won’t be the socially savvy club leading student I was in the early 90’s. I’m wondering if I’ll even get to know my classmates. This experience will be like no other.

I’m supposed to be writing a few paragraphs about my writing process. I’m not sure how to start that since I really just write for my blog and my journal. My blog isn’t always something I put a lot of thought into. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. It really matters how I’m feeling that day and if I have anything important to say. I compile blog subjects in my mind. I don’t often get them onto paper, real or otherwise. I’d like to change that. I think that my writing process will have to change as I’m learning to write for a college course, but I’m pretty sure it will start out much like my blogs. I’ll think about it as I do dishes, fold laundry, and do other necessary tasks of my day. Then I’ll sit down and free write all I think I want to say. Then I’ll panic and wonder if I even know how to write complete sentences and proper paragraphs. I’ll try to fit a semicolon in here or there. (I now know how they’re used thanks to my WR121 instructor!)

Fall is here.

And soon I will be in love with with the red and golden leaves blanketing the streets like a welcome home carpet.

I am a college student now. Me. The girl who didn’t continue college 14 years ago in order to be stay-at-home mom. The one who had bad grades in school, but still managed to be loved by all my teachers. I was lazy. Me. The woman who can’t seem to keep her house clean and her checkbook balanced. I started a job last month. I haven’t had a job outside my home since before I was pregnant with Christopher. I’m a homeschool mom, right? I thought I was a Jesus-loving-homeshooling-stay-at-home-photographer-mom. Things have changed, haven’t they? I still love Jesus. I still take pictures. And I’m still a mom. (I don’t think I’m supposed to start sentences with the word “and”, but I had heard somewhere that the rule for that changed.)

I’ll be taking a writing course. I love to write. I love to journal. I love to blog. I used to fantasize about writing an autobiography, but I’m waiting for something exciting to happen. I took college prep english and creative writing in high school, but that was so long ago. Now I’ll be writing for others to critique me. I want to be a better writer, sincerely I do. I’m just not so great about being criticized.

Math 070. The equivalent to highschool Algebra 1. This should be easy. Algebra comes easily to me. I’m just so thankful I don’t have to do geometry. That didn’t ever come easily to me. It hurt my brain and my dear teacher would just hand over the answer book.

Sociology- I don’t even know what to think about this class. It will be an entirely new realm for me. I think I will like it. I hope I will like it.

Then there’s the computer class that I have to take. It’s all based on Windows Vista. I have a Mac. I ordered Vista for it. I hear Windows 7 is superior to Vista, but it won’t be released until October 22. I’m thinking this class will be relatively simple. I understand computers. It’s the geek in me.

It’s the writing class that has me nervous. I know it’s silly of me, but I don’t even know what a morpheme is. Do you? Christopher has to learn and understand what it is for 8th grade language arts. I’ve never heard the word. I’m not so great at grammar. I think I’ll have to follow along in Christopher’s school, too. The definition of morpheme that I linked to up above is a much better explanation that the one his school gave him.

Here’s something shallow about me. I’m sad that I have to give up some of my tv show viewing. We don’t have cable, but I watch them online. I thought I had a short list of the ones I like, but it turns out to be several hours worth per week. I know that tv viewing isn’t so great for the brain. I’ve read the articles that tell us our brain is at the same activity level as sleeping when we watch tv.

Now, something more serious.

Some of you may know that I have been running into challenges concerning my children. Christopher is 13 now and the choices he makes and the things he allows into his brain and heart can be life altering. Do you know how scary this is for me? I didn’t know I could be so scared or so angry or so sad. However, there is hope. There is always hope. I have faith. I have Jesus. Christopher has an older man who has committed to being his mentor, accountability partner, and friend. I see good things in this friendship. All 3 of my younger kids are struggling in school. Ireland is throwing fits. Dusty is below grade level. Sage is so far below grade level we moved him from the 3rd grade to the 2nd grade even though he’s really at more of a 1st grade level. I can’t help but wonder if I’ve done something wrong. Sage had failure to thrive as an infant. I’ve been told that the #1 reason for such a thing has nothing to do with their diet, but everything to do with the amount of physical human contact babies have had. Simply put, he wasn’t held enough as an infant. That kind of thing messes with brain function. The brain can’t develop as it should. I know I didn’t hold him much. I wasn’t around him much. His birth mom wasn’t making good choices in the company she kept at that time so I didn’t visit her. All of my kids need more physical and emotional care from me. I recently read that I need to give them each a minimum of 60 minutes of 0ne-on-one time.

My washer has completely broken. I am SO sad. Seriously. True Story. However, God will work it all out for me.

Now, on a happier note.

Christopher’s ballet has resumed and rehearsals for the Nutcracker will begin soon. Bring on the crazy (read: expensive) season. Ireland starts ballet on Tuesday. Sage and Dusty start gymnastics on Tuesday. Somewhere in there I will join a local gym here in Sheridan that gives you a card key pass so I can work out whenever I want. I know you’re wondering when I’ll find the time. I’m wondering, too, but I’m not going to go all crazy about working out. I am much happier when I do get to go to the gym. I’m less stressed and much nicer to my kids.

My kids. Oh yeah, they’ll be home from their dad’s soon. I’ve gotta be ready for that.

sleeping or cleaning or helping kids with homework or balancing the budget, but I’m not.

I’m sitting here listening to music while the kids eat hotdogs outside. I sit here remembering all the things my heart longs to write about. How incredibly blessed I am. How loved I feel by a friend who comes along me and shares in the burden of my life. How I love my job.

Ah, my job. It is a relief to go to my job. It fulfills a part of me that has been missing for many years. My heart overflows every night I work. Where do I work? I work in an assisted living facility in the memory care wing. Have I mentioned to you how much I love it? I love every part of it. I love the book lover who is thrilled when I read to him and the man who has his midnight Snicker’s ice cream snack. I love the stories and even the lack of stories. I love to love them.

I should also write about Festival of Tents. It rained. It blew. We stuck it out. While there, Ireland hit her head and needed stitches. I won’t write about those things though, until I’m ready to post pictures.

Ah, pictures. I took lots of them. That’s what I do.

School started this week. Christopher is in the 8th grade. He’ll be doing an online charter school. We met his teacher today. Dusty is in the 5th grade, Sage in the 3rd, and my sweet Ireland started Kindergarten today. I was brave. I didn’t chase her down, squeeze her, and shower her with kisses. Pictures to come next week.

And now, I must fold laundry, do dishes, direct kids, help with homework, and somehow get a nap in before I work.

Strange how I don’t remember having a favorite color when I was little. I look at this picture and wonder if this is why red is my favorite color. I am, after all, sporting my brand new E.T. shirt with the red sleeves. But really, I wonder if red is my favorite because it reminds me of my mom. [I feel so for removed from that little girl in the picture that I just accidently typed "her mom" in the previous sentence.] My mom had a red wind breaker jacket she’d wear to the beach. I loved that thing. I wonder what I did with it. I remember wearing it, but maybe seeing it caused too much pain so I got rid of it. I don’t know. I can’t remember.

25 years ago I was 9 years old. I was getting ready to enter the 5th grade with Mrs. Perkins.

25 years ago everything changed for me.

She died. My mom, that is. Did I mention that I was only 9?

It amazes me how much I remember of those days leading up to her death. The black hole I lived in. The dark thing that followed me where ever I would go. I’d be playing at the old gym or be at my best friend’s house, but really I was wondering if my mom would ever come home again. I looked at my friends and wondered if they even remembered that my mom was sick in the hospital. Then I’d think, “Why would they? She’s mine, not theirs.”

When I was 17 I wrote an essay about my mom’s death for my college prep english class. They read it out loud, but I didn’t hear it because I left the room. I couldn’t bear to watch them hear what I had written. It was too gripping and still too fresh for me.

Here’s an excerpt about the day she died. Don’t judge me. I was 17 and the teacher gave me a perfect score. I think she didn’t want to hurt me by correcting my grammar!

“There were times when mom would tell me she was going to die. I would yell at her saying, ‘No, don’t say that! Don’t lie to me! Don’t you love me? Please don’t die! I love you!” Then I would run out of her room crying. I’d sit in the waiting room reading books about God’s love. If He loves me so much why was He taking the person I love most? What did I do wrong?

The dreadful day finally came. It was the day I felt her dying. When I woke up that morning I felt something strange in my heart. Yet I wasn’t sure why. Later that day when I was at the teen center, dad came over to ask me if i wanted to go see mom. I turned to him and very calmly said, ‘No, because I don’t want to see her die.’ I could feel something inside of me dying, just as mom was dying.

That evening while I was at a friend’s house we were sitting down to eat when I suddenly freaked out. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but I do remember screaming and feeling sick. Two men picked me up and carried me upstairs to bed. The next thing I knew it was 2 1/2 hours later. Dad was ready for me to come home.

[note: I can still remember him standing at the door and all the people in the room were silent. I looked at him. We didn’t speak. I pushed past him and raced home.]

For some reason I half expected my mom to be home, but I was greatly disappointed. When I walked in the door I say my sister and her husband there. I quickly glanced at the clock wondering where they would leave their kids at such an hour. I asked if something was wrong. My sister couldn’t speak. He husband said, “Mom died.” I let out such a cry of anguish I’m sure the heavens and earth shuddered. I became a little girl without a mommy.”

I now know that there are worse things than losing a parent, but for me, at that moment, my heart was shredded. That moment in time defined so much of who I became. A couple of years later I started my first diary. I wrote in there that I knew it was my fault my mom died. I was a naughty girl. I was even hateful. Nobody knew what to do. Maybe nobody told them that adopted kids are damaged.

I remember screaming at her and calling her “Grandma” because I knew it would hurt her feelings. She was my grandma, but she made the sacrifice to adopt me as her own. I was reminded of the pain she must’ve felt on the day Sage yelled at me, “How long have you been my MOOOMMMM???” What he was saying and what I was saying was, “Can you love me through all this pain I feel? Will you keep me? Will you give me away? Well, how about I piss you off so much that you finally give up on me?” I did that to my  mom. I did that to my dad. And I did it to my husband. He asked me if I did that to him and I told him that I do. [I'm not here to talk about my failed marriage today.]

This picture is the last picture I have of mom and I together. There aren’t many pictures of us together. I’m sad for that.

I have very few memories of her. I remember her singing ‘Goodnight, Irene’ with her friend Lois while I was lying awake in bed. I loved listening to the two of them together. I remember how she baked and cooked and fed us well. She’d make sure she had a hamburger ready for me when I came home from a softball game or practice. I stuck my tongue on the metal part in our fridge once. I got stuck. She laughed. She had an army of prescription bottles on our shelf. Our house was always clean and often smelled of pine sol. Her long fingernails really stung when she’d flick my tongue. I learned to keep it in my mouth or stand further away when I wanted to stick it out! I remember that my dad only physically disciplined me twice in my life. Both times it was because I had said something bad about mom. My dad always got up early, started the fire [if needed], got my breakfast, made the coffee. I asked why mom was so lazy. He slapped me. He actually slapped me. He had never done anything like that. EVER. I didn’t know she was always so sick.

Was my mama perfect. From what I’ve heard of her, she was far from it, but I know she loved me. There are times I wonder what my life would be like if she had lived. How would I be different? It’s okay. I’ve known for a long time that God has had a plan in this. It took me about 6 years after her death to stop being angry at God for taking my mama away. I don’t pretend to know why, but I don’t even need to know why.

In this past year I have wanted my mom. Well, I don’t even know if it’s MY mom I want or just a mom. I don’t know what my mom would say. I know she had been hurt and broken in her life. I know that there have been times that I was crying in bed and I wanted to call my mom or dad. My dad actually comes to mind sooner since he has only been gone 9 years, but I can accurately predict what he’d say. I have no idea what she would say.

25 years later and I still wake up crying on this day.

Posted in Life, Photos Tagged: death, Life, memories, mom ]]> http://simplydar.wordpress.com/2009/08/21/red-is-my-favorite-color/feed/ 6 abandonedwill IMG_0001 http://simplydar.wordpress.com/2009/08/19/so-many-thoughts/ http://simplydar.wordpress.com/2009/08/19/so-many-thoughts/#comments Wed, 19 Aug 2009 08:00:13 +0000 abandonedwill http://simplydar.wordpress.com/?p=289 ]]>

Where to begin?

About a month ago I asked Christopher if I could document his teen years on my blog. I said, “The good, the bad, and the ugly will be on my blog. Is that okay?” He looks at me and asks if it will embarrass him. Yes, of course. He says, “Oh, I don’t care, go ahead.”  I can’t do it. I didn’t know that I would actually have something happening that I didn’t want to share with the world. He is great. I love him with everything that is in me, but there are times when my heart aches for his. I miss the part of him that showed that he needs me and loves me. It disappeared for awhile. It’s starting to emerge again. We stopped laughing together. He started sleeping a lot. I thought it was because he is 13 and growing. Then he tells me he hasn’t been eating very much and I realized that yeah, he wasn’t eating much at all. So, he sleeps a lot, spends a lot of time in his room, hides his heart from me, and doesn’t eat much. I almost vomited with the realization that his heart is hurting. I know he is  a young man and every young man pulls away from his mother, but this is different. So, we had a talk and I changed a few things. I tried being silly with him again. The day he laid on my bed and laughed uncontrollably with me was such a healing moment. I wanted to cry, but laughing was more fun. We are beginning to have more fun together. He has been a great help to me in the recent days. His attitude has greatly improved. I still pray for his heart to be healed. I pray he seeks the Father. My heart hurts for his. For the young boy who suddenly had to share his parents with 3 emotionally damaged children. For the boy who was pushed aside just so his mother could survive with the other 3. The boy who had to grow up a bit faster. For the boy whose daddy no longer lives here. For the rejection, abandonment, and hurt he feels. My boy doesn’t talk much about his heart with me anymore.

My boy likes girls and they like him. I prefer this arrangement. I’m just at a loss on how to teach him to deal with all these new feelings and hormones.

I won’t share all of the good, bad, and ugly. I will protect him.

Lately I’ve been wondering if I’m enough. I’ve had to go back to work. Work as in a real job with a boss, a time card, and co-workers. I have a schedule. I have to find someone to come be with my kids while I work. My hours are 10pm-6am, 4 days a week. I LOVE my job. [More about it a bit later.] But I have to ask myself, how will I be a good employee for 32-40 hours a week, succeed in my college courses, and meet all the needs of my children. Do I love them enough? Do I spend enough time with them? Do they know I’m working because I love them and want to be able to provide for them?

I work then I come home to sleep. I find Ireland in my bed every morning when I come home. Christopher gets up with the kids and keeps things in order until I get up. I had a rough night last night at work. My body was aching. I twisted my right ankle, the one I always twist. It just gets stupid sometimes. Christopher tries to keep Ireland away from me so I can sleep. She is quick and sneaky. She always asks me 1. Can I watch a movie? 2. Can I play on the computer? 3. Can I have chips? That girl could live on chips alone! He also tries to keep them quiet, but the younger 3 have never learned how to be quiet. They’re pretty much the loudest kids I’ve ever met.  What’s up with that, anyway? I can hear them through a shut door, a fan, and my ear plugs. All in all, Christopher has done a great job of making it easier for me to sleep.

My job. I love my job. I’m a caregiver in a memory care unit at an assisted living facility. My heart swells for the residents there.

I cried as I held the hand of a woman with Parkinson’s. She was uncomfortable, lonely, and crying. A man told me he loves to read the Bible and asked if we should form an evangelistic team and evangelize the world. I’ve only known these people about a week and they’ve found themselves a home in my heart. I don’t get frustrated with them. I have been exasperated, but not upset. I  mostly wonder about who these people were before their bodies and minds began breaking down. You can catch the humor in some of them sometimes. One man was eating his chocolate ice cream bar and I said, “You sure like chocolate, don’t you?” He smiled and replied with a chuckle, “Oooh, I looooove chocolate!” I told him he’s a man after my own heart. He laughed at that.

I enjoy my night shift co-workers. I hope they enjoy me, too. I worry most about what people say about me after I’ve left work in the morning. I know, it’s quite silly of me, but I’ve always been like that. In drama I would be the last one to leave practice for that very reason.

I should be sleeping, but my mind is full of thoughts. I bet that if I would just lie down that I’d fall asleep so quickly. I think I’ll make my to-do list before I sleep.

My iPhone is busted. It won’t sync and it won’t restore. Christopher’s phone, which was my very old phone, is also not working well. I really don’t want to spend my first check on phones. It’s ridiculous.

I have a lot of laundry to do. I spend my work nights sweeping, mopping, cleaning bathrooms, and folding laundry. That’s exactly what I need to accomplish tomorrow…among a few other things.

I am tired, but this has to be done. The realization that I am a single mother hits me afresh every day. I must toughen up. I must work. I must go to school. I must do what I can do to be part of the healing of my children’s hearts. I may end up not actually having any friends since I’ll be so busy. There is so much to accomplish. I will have to learn to work harder than I ever have before. Can I do it? Am I strong enough, smart enough, tough enough? Some say that  yes I am, as long as I have God or He has me. Some just say that yes, I am a strong woman and that of course I can do it? Where do they get their information? I am not strong? I’ve never been strong? Well, I did do that biggest loser contest and boot camp at the gym. I was stronger, but not strong. I have so far to go.

First off, I want to say that this post may ramble and take a few rabbit trails, but I really do have a point in all this. I promise.

Though the fig tree may not blossom,

Nor fruit be on the vines;

Though the labor of the olive may fail,

And the fields yield no food;

Though the flock be cut off from the fold,

And there be no herd in the stalls-

Yet I will rejoice in the LORD,

I will joy in the God of my salvation.

The LORD God is my strength;

He will make my feet like deer’s feet,

And He will make me walk on my high hills.

Habakkuk 3:19

This may look familiar to you if you read my blog. This verse has been on my mind for a few weeks now. I touched on my financial troubles. I’ve tried not to complain about them. I have trusted God in all of this, but I have also been frustrated and discouraged. Here is the thing: I have between $10,000-11,000 in credit card debt. I have a house that is on a 7 year balloon loan that will be up in 3 years. I am not getting child support yet. I am getting adoption assistance. The latter is what pays most of the bills, but not all of them. I have spent the last year unnecessarily paying insurance for 2 of Kelly’s cars. I didn’t know he was insuring them separately. I have also continued to pay for his cell phone account since the contract is not up until September. After being separated for nearly a year I finally went in to apply for food stamps. I had run out of lentils and practically every kind of flour. My jars of beans were empty. It was humbling. I’d rather work than be on food stamps. I think that was a blessing, though, because it got the child support ball rolling. Now our vegetable drawers are full and our fruit bowls spill over. I love that! My kids need school supplies, clothing, and shoes. Now, I’m not one to go out to buy all new clothes just because it’s school time, but there are several pieces of clothing that each child needs. Today I have less than $20.

I trust my God.

I trust the One who has prompted people to put bags of food on my table all those years ago. I trust the One who has never left us or forsaken us. I truly trust Him.

Every summer Sage & Dusty go to Royal Family Kids Camp. Christopher went when he was young enough. It’s amazing. I cry at the end of it every year. Anyway, this year I failed to turn in their applications. I felt dumb and mean. This is something that means SO much to them and I procrastinated so long that they couldn’t go. I told them. They were sad. I emailed one of the leaders and asked if we could stay on the mailing list for next year even though we missed this year. They already had one camp and are scheduled to have the next one beginning Monday. I receive an email saying if anyone drops out they’ll contact me.  I know the chances are slim. Camp starts on Monday, after all. Last Tuesday as I was folding laundry I asked God if He would please bless the kids by making a way for them to go. Tuesday afternoon I receive an email saying that there is room for Sage, but not for Dusty. I tell the kids and Dusty is so cool about it. Thursday I receive an email and phone call telling me that there is room for Dusty, too, and that they are really looking forward to having her again. This will be her 4th time and Sage’s 2nd. God loves my children. He blessed them…and me. My kids will come home with 1-2 pairs of shoes each. I will pack a bag for them for the week, they will come home with BAGS of stuff. Bibles, gifts, clothes, a handmade blanket. Get this! Every year they each come home with handmade quilts. Well, made with love using a sewing machine by women who pray over each one. They also come home with a scrapbook of their week with notes from their counselor, “aunt & uncle”, and “grandma & grandpa”. They get to swim, build, do archery, ride horses. Oh, and it’s free. It’s for foster kids or foster families. Endorsed and encouraged by DHS and totally Christ centered. I am teary eyed just writing about this incredible thing and so very grateful that my kids get to be part of that.

God heard my prayer for my children.

I couldn’t pay a couple utility bills because I wanted to search Goodwill and New-to-You for some of the things my kids need for school.

Almost 2 weeks ago I went to the beach. On the way home I was praying about my job situation. I can’t have a regular day job. Who would watch my kids? Who would take them to ballet or soccer? How would I pay for it? [I recently heard that ABC daycare here in town is cheap so that may be an option.] Then what about school? My schedule will change every term. I have bills. I have kids. I have debt. I have a crazy idea about my debt. I want to be out of it in one year, but how on earth could I do that without a job. I realized that with the only way I could work is if I get a graveyard shift. Ugh. Graveyard. I haven’t done that since I was young, but it is the only way.

Next day. Coming home from the beach again. I saw a job come open. My friend from church, Windy, is the one who hires. I talk to her. It’s graveyard 10pm-6am, 4 nights a week: Fri-Mon. 32 hours, possibly 40 if I need it. I take the plunge and apply. I talk to my friend, Levi, he will stay nights at my house so my kids aren’t alone. He is excited. He says, “God is blessing  you.” I wait. I call Windy. It’s a no go. Didn’t work out, but there is another job opening up for the same shift at the end of September. Ok. That’s fine. I didn’t want to start school and a new job at the same time, but I’ll do what I have to do.

This whole time I’ve been praying that if this is the job God has for me that He will work it out. If there is something else He has for me then I trust Him to not open this one for me. When I found out that I didn’t get I was sad, but kept telling myself “Trust Him. His plans for me are good.”

Today I am heading out to a funeral. I’m on the phone with my sister-in-law, Rachel, talking about our lives and planning a visit. My phone beeps indicating that I have another call. It is Windy. I answer. Something changed. I get the job. I start next week. Orientation is Monday. I get Festival of Tents off, which is good since it’s very important to my kids and I AND everyone who would normally watch my kids will be there.

I have a job. 32 hours a week. 2 of my kids will be gone my first week of working so the transition will be easier. I get Festival off. I will be able to get caught up on my bills.

I trust Him.

Oh, I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before. I am completely registered for my first term of school. Yay! My financial aid came through. My award, which is in the form of grants, will be around $6000. Tuition and books total approximately $4500.

Isn’t God good? Even when I’m hurt and disappointed.

When I think about writing this letter to her so many things go through my mind. So many things that I won’t actually say to her. All my insecurities about being the mother come flying to the surface. The other day I was asked if I feel like she’s my daughter because she’s adopted. I don’t know how to answer that. I never had a daughter before and I didn’t have a mom when I was her age. I have many worries about her. I wonder if she feels loved enough. Do I give enough of myself to her? Or because of my own hurt over the years and all the similarities I see between the two of us I wonder if I push her away somehow. Do I laugh enough with her? Do I make her laugh? Will she always feel as I did growing up? Left out, different, terribly alone? How do I, as her mother, help in the healing process that God wants for her? My mom died when I was 9. I don’t know what kind of mom she was. I have very few memories of her. Because of all this it is difficult to write a letter to her without it carrying my sense of guilt. I want so much for her. I want her to love Jesus, be educated, not have get pregnant or have any children out of wedlock. I want her to dream and pursue those dream, to never ever give up. I want her to never find herself trapped in the welfare system. Well, maybe I should just get on with that birthday letter!

Dear Dusty,

I can’t believe that it has been 10 years already. It doesn’t seem possible, does it? Well, to me it doesn’t, but to you it probably feels like a long time…like it’s a whole lifetime. I was only 24 when you were born. Wow. I am so glad I was able to be at your birth. It was a pleasant surprise. You decided to come into this world on the day I had a break from taking care of my dad. Your head was covered in dark hair. I remember crying when you were born. So much emotion was flooding through my heart. I was incredibly thankful that you had arrived safely and completely in awe of God for this incredible process of being pregnant and having a baby. I cried for all the great things the world has to offer you and I cried for all the hurt it offers you, too. I remember looking at you as you were being born and praying for your life to be different. For you to rise above the women who have gone before you. I think we all want that. Us adults, that is. We look at the children around us that we love so much and hope that they are better than we are. Not in a bad way. But in that way that we have blazed the trail before you and learned so many things that we want to pass on to you so that you may get further on the trail than we have.

You are a beautiful girl. I love the way you look when you laugh uncontrollably about something so very silly. Isn’t it the silliest things that get us laughing so hard we have to hold our bellies in to keep them from bursting? I love how you have a love for babies. That is a gift. Not everybody is like that. You are very nurturing and playful. One day you’ll make a spectacular babysitter! Ah, you’re also a young business woman. “Mom, can I have a sale today? Can I sell kool-aid? Can we have a garage sale?” You’re always thinking of ways to make money, aren’t you? It is that kind of spirit that will keep you going and growing when things around you get tough.

When it is Bible time you are always asking to read. I love that in you.

There is so much you want to learn. So much you ask me to teach you. I will teach you what I know. Let me rephrase that, I will do my best to teach you what I know.

Dusty, you and I are much alike. We both know loss and hurt, but we also know joy and love. God brought us together for a reason. He has a plan. His plans are us are what? Yeah, I know you memorized Jer. 29:11. Thank you for letting Him use you in my life. You have shown me much about my own heart. Things I would have never learned without you. I love you. I truly and deeply love you. I love you to the moon and back a quadzillion times. {and yes ‘quadzillion’ is a word so don’t argue about it}

Love,

Your mama

Posted in kids, Life Tagged: birthday, dusty, fears, letter ]]> http://simplydar.wordpress.com/2009/07/27/birthday-letter-to-my-girl-a-week-late/feed/ 1 abandonedwill dusty2 dusty http://simplydar.wordpress.com/2009/07/16/a-hymn-of-faith/ http://simplydar.wordpress.com/2009/07/16/a-hymn-of-faith/#comments Thu, 16 Jul 2009 18:23:03 +0000 abandonedwill http://simplydar.wordpress.com/?p=260 ]]>

Though the fig tree may not blossom,

Nor fruit be on the vines;

Though the labor of the olive may fail,

And the fields yield no food;

Though the flock be cut off from the fold,

And there be no herd in the stalls-

Yet I will rejoice in the LORD,

I will joy in the God of my salvation.

The LORD God is my strength;

He will make my feet like deer’s feet,

And He will make me walk on my high hills.

Habakkuk 3:17-19

Upon reading this my mind simultaneously went to 2 things. The first thing was a conversation I had with a friend earlier this week or last about trusting God NO MATTER WHAT. No matter if my children are killed, my crops are destroyed, my body covered in boils, my friends chattering on about something they know nothing about, and my spouse telling me to curse God and die. No matter if my bills are due, I’m low on gas, low on cash, and my change oil light is on. I will praise Him in every circumstance. Even when I feel so very alone in raising my kids…especially my teenage son. Even when I am so tired I can barely think and all I want is time to myself. No matter that I have a birthday girl on the 20th who wants an ice skating party or a horse themed party.

Funny that this should even come up. This month I thought I had all my finances under control. I have every penny spent on paper. I was feeling good about it. Then, guess what? I am not babysitting like I have been doing [consistently] for months and my other job frequently tells me she doesn’t need me. I made my budget out in accordance with the expectation of this income. AND I had just told a friend that trusting God for finances was something I had under my belt. I have, after all, seen Him provide for me in amazing ways.

Me and my big mouth.

I will trust the Lord. It is the only logical thing to do, after all.

The second thing I thought of is the poor crippled girl, Much Afraid. Do you know her story? It is an amazing one. It isn’t just her story, it’s our story, too. You can read about it in Hind’s Feet on High Places by Hannah Hurnard. She embarks on a journey with two companions Sorrow & Suffering. Her journey is a difficult one. She and her companions are transformed. I won’t tell you what they were transformed into, I don’t want to ruin it for you if you haven’t read it. However, I highly encourage you to read it. I think I will read it again. I’ve read it a few times, but more from the perspective that I was Much Afraid. I am not so much like that anymore. I, too, am being transformed. As are you. The Shepherd could see what was going to bloom in Much Afraid. He called her out of her fear into something great.

I wrote this on the morning of the July 4th, but apparently didn’t publish it. I guess it’s due to the insane migraine I had.

I woke up to this gift. I cannot begin to express my gratitude for this. I have looked at this gift over and over and over to remind me why it’s worth getting out of bed.  I find this sentence amusing, it’s the first line in the post I linked to, “It has been 3-1/2 months since my husband left. I feel like it should all be a distant memory, but it isn’t.”  Really? Wow. Well now I can say something like, “It’s been 1 year & 3 weeks since my husband left and it still isn’t a distant memory.” I still think about it every day…several times a day, in fact. I don’t feel bad about that at all.  I think I’m beginning to understand and maybe even embrace this journey I’m on. There are still days I’d rather sleep than deal with life, but I don’t stay in bed so much. Anyway, I’m up with a migraine and I had this memory. So, go see the love of a friend poured out on me: Reasons to get out of bed each morning.