hope is sensible {CELEBRATE This Week: 220}

I'm glad you are here to celebrate! 

Share a link to your blog post below and/or use #celebratelu to share celebrations on Twitter. Check out the details here. Celebrate This Week goes live on Friday night around 10(ish). Consider it as a weekend celebration. Whenever it fits in your life, add your link. 

Please leave a little comment love for the person who links before you.

*******

One of my favorite things to do during the Christmas season is plug in the Christmas tree lights before any other lights are on. I use a flashlight to find the outlet and light the tree while sleepy wisps are still clearing from my mind.

The coffee starts to brew and I sit on the dark end of the couch soaking in the tiny white lights. Sometimes my resistant for only one set of lights in the wee hours of the morning crumbles and I light the banister too. The tree and the stockings make my heart warm.

Over the years of building a forever family I've been worn at the holiday season. Love is not easy for children from hard places and over-the-top love within a season of irregular schedules and unpredictable events can make even those of us who love Christmas the most wonder if we should wrap up the white lights.

Christmas joy is a result of met expectations. We must be careful with our expectations or we can become disenchanted. Sometimes we might consider giving up hope.

I did.

We have been a forever family for kids from hard places for more than a decade. This is the first Christmas that hasn't rolled in with turmoil and I wondered if maybe Christmas isn't worth getting all giddy about.

Plugging in a strand of lights is an act of hope. Like most acts of hope, it makes me feel ridiculous.

The world tells us to worry and demand results. 

Never will these responses heal broken people.

When we're in the thick of the hard, battling for what's right in a world that offers grotesque and malicious, it is easy to forget that hope is sensible. 

We've had eleven frightful Christmas seasons. Kids from dark corners work to destroy joy and peace. That's what happens when we let the world inside our homes and hearts. Hurting people hurt people.

I sit on the dark end of the couch with white light twinkling. It's different this year. I like to think it's because my precious kids from very hard places no longer need to confirm forever.

There's less need to sling vicious words or wield wild fists. They've discovered forever. 

Healing is not restoring perfection. Healing is scars. When hearts are broken and broken again and hurt slices souls, humans must discover if love is worth letting in. We test love in all kinds of ways, twisting and pushing on the hearts of those who want to be close to us, those who proclaim to be real.

It's not just children from hard places who test others.

Because if we're honest, we're all from hard places. We're all fighting weary battles. We're an orchestra that creates a cacophony of human emotions. 

It's easy to be scratched by hard hearts. 

The only sensible choice is hope.

For me hope is plugging in one more strand of white lights. For Andy it's watching a game with his buddies. Sam places a train track around the tree, and Jordan plays video games with his best friend. Hannah organizes her closet and Stephanie choses to believe that the world does offer good.

This week she was in the car with Andy and said, "Dad, I've figured out the secret to being happy."

"What's that?" Andy asked.

"You just do the right thing and then no matter what happens, it still feels good."

Hope is sensible. This season I celebrate seeing the fruits of hope.

Gnarled Healing {CELEBRATE This Week: 206}

I'm glad you are here to celebrate! 

Share a link to your blog post below and/or use #celebratelu to share celebrations on Twitter. Check out the details here. Celebrate This Week goes live on Friday night around 10(ish). Consider it as a weekend celebration. Whenever it fits in your life, add your link. 

Please leave a little comment love for the person who links before you.

*******

It's been a week of saying hello to the school year and adjusting our schedules. It's been ten years of learning to adjust from summer to school year with our kids. It's typically a rocky transition. Change isn't easy for kids who spend their early years in hard places. 

This year has been the greatest transition ever. It follows the greatest summer we've experienced since adopting kids from foster care. I am so grateful.

We had family pictures taken by Jami Stichter. She's a former student, making these special pictures even more dear to my heart.

I love them. 

I've been scrolling through the pictures instead of writing this blog post when it occurred to me, this is the moment to celebrate. 

I wish I had the words, but the feelings are too big for my heart, let alone for a text box. You know how you read stories about people overcoming the impossible and it feels so good for your soul? Even when you're in the middle of the book and the story is getting tough, it's still okay because you know it's going to be okay in the end. You read the last words, close the book, and breathe a sigh of relief. You smile and sit still for a few moments, because it feels good to know people are resilient. 

The thing that's impossible to capture in the books is how when the story is unfolding no one knows if resilience is going to win in the end. When you're walking alongside someone on the ugly road of healing, you don't know how close you are to the chapter where everything works out okay. You're not even sure if that chapter will ever be written.

And then someone takes your family pictures and you see the thing you've been hoping for is true.

You see that not only do you believe you're a forever family, but they know it's real too. You see they've stopped faking it and they really believe it. 

Loving kids from hard places is not for the faint-hearted. One day, I'll find the words to describe this gnarled journey, and I'm going to write them in a book. You might read it and when you get to the end it's going to feel so good for your soul.

Right now, though, the celebration is mine. These kids are healing and their stories are going to change the world.

Let Us Eat Cake! {CELEBRATE This Week: 180}

I'm glad you are here to celebrate! 

Share a link to your blog post below and/or use #celebratelu to share celebrations on Twitter. Check out the details here. Celebrate This Week goes live on Friday night around 10(ish). Consider it as a weekend celebration. Whenever it fits in your life, add your link. 

Please leave a little comment love for the person who links before you.

***

I made cake on an ordinary Thursday. It was an old recipe, handed down through generations on Andy's side of the family. I sifted flour. I baked the Old-Fashioned Red Velvet Cake in heart shaped pans, just like my mom used to do. 

I put it on a fancy cake stand, the one with a pedestal and dome lid. It was waiting on the counter when everyone came home. They smelled it before they saw it.

Martha said, "I am so excited! Please tell me that's for us!" I didn't know cake is her favorite. 

This is how I fight the lie of busy. I sift flour and bake cakes in heart shaped pans. I make a two-step frosting, the kind with boiled milk, and I spread it pretty. I let them sneak-swipe their fingers in the icing and cherry pick the chocolate savings. I act surprised when I hear the glass dome clink and tattle on the culprits.

And just like that, there is much right in the world as we eat cake.

Kids Don't Need Teachers for Learning Information

I'd like to invite you into my kitchen. It's one of my favorite places in the whole entire world. Rich conversations happen here. We figure out important stuff, and I need you to help me figure out what it means to be an effective educator. I've been pressing on, but I'm feeling tattered.

If you join me, this was our view after school.

Hannah and Martha are both in high school. Hannah is writing notes for her history reading. She is not allowed to use a device, even though her school is a 1:1 school. She must hand write notes as proof of completing the reading. Martha is writing out math problems that she fully understands step-by-meaningless-step. "I feel like a slave," she says. At least she'll have proof of her understanding for the teacher.

Across the kitchen, Sam shouts, "Woohoo! I don't have any homework tonight, so I can R-E-A-D!" He runs upstairs to get his book from his nightstand. Jordan finished his assignment and gets his book too. They both settle in the kitchen.

They are active kids, so I ask, "You want to sit and read after you've been sitting in school all day?"

"Oh yeah," Sam says, "You never get to read anything that matters in school. I love coming home and reading stuff I want."

"Me too," said Jay.

Silence settled around the kitchen. I started dinner and sorting my thoughts. I wish you were there. Sometimes it's best to talk through the tricky stuff.

The way kids learn and use information is changing. They have access to more information with a slap of a button than ever before. They can find the number of bones in a human body, the theme of To Kill a Mocking Bird, a video of metamorphosis, or the purposes of the three branches of the US government in 0.28 seconds on Google.

They jockey YouTube, email, iTunes and Google Classroom from their school devices, phones, and smart watches. They hear more about social issues, protests, and pop culture from their social media feeds at the bus hub than what their parents heard at their ages from watching the evening news. They navigate conversations in the lunch line and conversations through texts and conversations on social media. They deal with bullying and embarrassment in ways that used to be unfathomable.

They dream big dreams. They invent with video and music. They find ideas for their hobbies and interests. They learn to change a tire or make a duck tape flower or create a smokey eye with make-up. They figure out how to build a habitat for a new pet, create a vending machine from legos or stir a homemade remedy for acne.

It is only fair that teaching practices change as kids' learning needs change.

We are living this transformation. Teachers are no longer disseminators of information. They are no longer facilitators of learning. Kids do not need teachers for these things. Kids don't need teachers for learning information.

But, they still need teachers. They need us for different reasons than filling their minds with facts and knowledge.

Kids need teachers to be activators of curiosity and cultivators of deep thinking. 

Kids need teachers to spark interest, to nudge their thinking, and to tug them into exploration. They need us to give them space to fail and bounce back. They need us to build their confidence and empower them to think big and bigger.

Back in the kitchen, Jordan interrupts my thoughts. "Mom, do you mind if I use my device to look up something about bearded dragons? I want to know if Spike is more sensitive when he's shedding. I wonder if I should hold him when he's shedding."

Of course I said yes. Jordan has important learning to do as a new pet owner.

Kids don't need teachers to fill their minds with facts and knowledge. They don't need teachers for learning information. They have access to information. Kids need to go to school to learn how to chase curiosities, determine truth, grow ideas through collaboration, and share deep understandings in ways that make the world a better place.

Some kids need to go to school because it is a safe place. It is warm and has food. Adults won't hurt them in school. There are many kids filling our classrooms who come from hard places.

Kids need teachers to help them find a different way their stories can go.

This is why I press on. I want to encourage teachers to be activators of curiosity and cultivators of deep thinking. I want to help teachers know how to fill needs and heal kids who come from dark places. It's not easy work, but when I look around my kitchen, I see firsthand children who have been restored from hard starts to life. I see children who are curious and know how to follow their passions to discover new learning. I see children who deserve more from school than filling out a worksheet to regurgitate what the teacher said.

All kids deserve these things, and I can't think of a better place to get them than from a teacher.

Here in the kitchen we have conversations. I'd love to hear your voice, your thoughts, about whether you think kids need different things from teachers today. How can we navigate and fill the [new] needs of our students?

i get to be their momma {CELEBRATE This Week: 166}

I'm glad you are here to celebrate! 

Share a link to your blog post below and/or use #celebratelu to share celebrations on Twitter. Check out the details here. Celebrate This Week goes live on Friday night around 10(ish). Consider it as a weekend celebration. Whenever it fits in your life, add your link. 

Please leave a little comment love for the person who links before you.

*****

These are my kids. 

None of them grew in my belly. 

All have histories that don't include me.

Let me introduce them, starting at the bottom of the photo.

Jordan is 11. He joined our forever family in 2013, when he was nearly 8. He lived for more than 7 years in foster care. You want his eyelashes, I promise. He has a contagious smile. He loves football. His strength is his resilience.

Sam is 10. He was our first child, adopted at birth in 2006. I cut the cord. He has an obnoxious amount of knowledge about trains. His strength is his ability to love people when they are hard to love. His favorite thing to do is have fun and makes sure everyone around him is lighthearted and laughing.

Stephanie is 12. She joined our forever family in 2008 when Sam was 2. She's a beast on the basketball court. She's creative and independent. She takes care of herself. Her strength is her resolved to overcome.

Hannah is 15. We adopted her at the same time as Stephanie; they have been together their entire lives. Hannah loves to read, especially historical fiction and greek mythology. She is an old woman trapped in a teenager's body. Her strength is her commitment to grow into the best version of herself as possible. She is a beautiful mess.

My celebration is I get to be their momma.

It's not an easy gig.

Motherhood never is.

This week I wrote about a key feature of stories.

Stories have struggles.

It is a truth that stabbed my heart. It's one thing to know this as a technical part of writing. If your story doesn't have a struggle, then it's not really a story anyone wants to read. Fiction writers ensure their stories are ones people want to read by plunging their characters into struggle after struggle after struggle.

For Stephanie, her storyline is plunging into struggle after struggle after struggle. Andy and I, as her parents, aren't stopping the struggles.

It's not an easy gig.

If we only look at the slice of a story that is the struggle, we wouldn't like the story very much. Strong stories have struggles not because readers like a struggle, but because we like it when characters overcome a struggle. The more dire the struggle, the better the story. 

Sometimes we're not sure a character is going to overcome the struggle, but we don't quit reading. We keep going. We press on. We trust that good is going to overcome the struggle.

The same is true in life. If we take just a slice, there is often cause for alarm. It is cause for alarm if we just look at Stephanie's current storyline. The thing about life is we don't quit when it gets hard. We keep going. We press on. We trust that good is going to overcome the struggle.

And so I celebrate that I get to be a momma to these kids. 

The ones who struggle. 

The ones who fail. 

The ones who have been scraped by the ugly of the world. 

They are the ones who fight the good fight and write an impossibly beautiful ending. 

I celebrate that I get to be along for the ride.

Here's to celebrating, even when it's hard. Share your links below.

Power in Praise {CELEBRATE This Week: 126}

 

I'm glad you are here to celebrate! Share a link to your blog post below and/or use #celebratelu to share celebrations on Twitter. Check out the details here. Celebrate This Week goes live on Friday night around 10(ish). Consider it as a weekend celebration. Whenever it fits in your life, add your link. Please leave a little comment love for the person who links before you.

******

I'm not sure how this post is going to end up, I just know I need to sit here and allow what's in my heart to come out my fingers.

I'm so grateful to you. You show up and you celebrate. You leave encouragement for me in the form of comments and tweets and emails. You make me feel like my words matter. You've made me realize celebration matters.

A lot.

Sometimes, when we're in a storm, it's easy for darkness to cloud our vision. Things are a little stormy in my corner of the world. Rather than being caught in the darkness, I've turned to praise.

There is power in praise.

So this week I wake up and begin a list of gratitudes. I say thank you for --

• A deep breath
• Electricity
• A warm cup of sweet coffee
• Unwritten words
• A text from a friend

I spend all of my energy on praise. I don't let clouds taint my thoughts. I don't get caught in the darkness. I don't focus on the storm.

Instead, I claim victory over darkness and I face light. I face light through celebration. So I say thank you for --

• A note in the mail
• Toes that wiggle
• A steaming casserole

When I fill my head with gratitude, there is no space for darkness. I say thank you more, thank you for --

• Crisp blue skies
• Warm water
• A full gas tank
• Morning hugs

My mind has no space for worry. My mind has no place for hopelessness. My mind has no capacity for darkness. All day long, moment by moment, I find the celebration.

There is power in praise. Thank you for teaching me this by joining me each week to celebrate.

An InLinkz Link-up

My offerings to encourage writers (and their teachers), because I'm smitten by the way writers work...

{Discover. Play. Build.} Website. It's designed to be my offering to writing teachers. 

You'll find video minilessons and a link to the {Discover. Play. Build.} YouTube Channel where they are all housed.

{Discover. Play. Build.} Newsletter. They come each month. Register in the sidebar.

( For more information on these resources (and others), check out this post.)

Teach & Celebrate Writers (#TandCwriters) Twitter Chat -- Sunday, Feb. 14 at 8:00 pm EST

 ***** 

Places you can find me celebrating throughout the week:
Instagram:  @ruth_ayres

Twitter: @ruth_ayres

Facebook: {Discover. Play. Build.}

It is Good {CELEBRATE This Week: 124}

 

I'm glad you are here to celebrate! Share a link to your blog post below and/or use #celebratelu to share celebrations on Twitter. Check out the details here. Celebrate This Week goes live on Friday night around 10(ish). Consider it as a weekend celebration. Whenever it fits in your life, add your link. Please leave a little comment love for the person who links before you.

******

I meant to only think it, but I said it aloud. It went a little like this, "I wish I would have figured it out sooner, that way there wouldn't have been a big blow up since it went so long unnoticed." 

Sam said, "It's not your fault, Mom. We each make our own choices and sometimes people make a poor choice. You can't stop other people's choices."

I bit my bottom lip and did a little thinking before I spoke. I want him to grow up responsible for his own choices. I don't ever want him to take responsibility for the choice another person makes.

We learn best from watching others. I wanted to argue with him, explain that I'm the parent and parents are supposed to help their kids make good choices. I wanted to explain to him that it's my responsibility to make sure everyone does the right thing.

It's a good thing I'm learning to control my tongue. I clamped my mouth shut so nothing could get out.

Hannah said, "I should have stopped it. I suspected it was going on. It's my fault."

There are moments when we see everything clearly. 

"No!" I said a little too boldly. "It is not any of your fault. The only person responsible is the person who made the choice."

"That means it's not your fault either, Mom," Sam hammered the point home.

"You're right," I relented and released myself from the guilt I was trying to claim.

I used to think one day I'd arrive at this point in life when I'd get everything right.

I wouldn't forget to put things in the mail.

I'd never hurt another person's feelings.

I'd always respond to email in a timely manner.

I wouldn't be offended.

I'd stop getting worked up about things.

The house would be clean.

The car would have gas.

The leftovers would make it to the fridge.

This wasn't the week when I reached the point of getting it all right.

More often than not it felt like I did it all wrong. I'm reminded that this is good.

It is good to be in the middle of  a mess. Faith deepens. Relationships strengthen.  Love swells. And I am molded into a better version of who I was created to be.

Today, I'm going to celebrate being in the middle of a mess, not knowing how to respond, learning to shake off guilt, and trusting, always trusting in the shield of faith.

An InLinkz Link-up

I Don't Sugarcoat {CELEBRATE This Week: 112}

I'm glad you are here to celebrate! Share a link to your blog post below and/or use #celebratelu to share celebrations on Twitter. Check out the details here. Celebrate This Week goes live on Friday night around 10(ish). Consider it as a weekend celebration. Whenever it fits in your life, add your link. Please leave a little comment love for the person who links before you.

******

My phone rang as I pulled into the school parking lot. I looked at the incoming call and reminded myself not to be annoyed. The morning was not pleasant and I didn't really want to talk to the child who said, "It's not like you really care what you get me for Christmas. I just get whatever you grab at the last minute. You don't care whether I will like it or not. You don't even care what I say, because there you go off to work."

I hugged her and said, "I love you, even when you speak unkind and untrue words." Then I went off to work.

I took a deep breath and answered the phone. Sniffles greeted me from the other end. "Mom?" Sniff. Sniff.

I didn't sigh.

Sniff. "I feel really horrible about what I said today. I don't know why I said those things. I didn't even mean them."

"It's okay." It's okay. It's okay.

December is a stressful month, so it's a good time to extend an extra dollop of grace. I've been learning the power of silence. Listening tends to be more powerful than speaking.

Later that night, at bedtime, she says, "I need to talk to you."

I wish I didn't sigh. "It's bedtime," I said.

"I know, but there's something I need to tell you and I shouldn't wait any longer."

I wish I didn't sigh again. "Please tell me it's not about boys and lying."

She said, "If you don't want me to talk to you about it, I can go to bed."

I would think the third time I could control my sigh. I still sighed.

I sit in my favorite place, next to the Christmas tree, with my freshly brewed coffee and my laptop. She sat across from me in her favorite chair. "Were you going to write?" she asked.

"I was, but now we're going to talk." I tell myself to be kind. Be kind. Be kind.

She tells me the story that is hard to tell. Tears fall and I'm reminded to be kind.

"I keep doing the same wrong thing over and over," she said. "It must just be the way I'm made. There's nothing I can do about it."

I look at her and speak profound truth. "Stop it." I'm curt and she winces at the sharp words.

The tears let loose and she whines, "There's nothing I can do to stop making one bad choice after another it."

"I'm not joking," I say. "Stop it. You are a child of God, a beautiful and worthy and important person created for good works."

She stares at me and for a moment I feel sorry that she has me for a mom. I'm not very good at sugarcoating anything, and I'm intolerant of self-pity. I remind myself that it's hard to be fourteen and it's even harder to overcome a hard history. I pray for a soft heart.

"It's true," she says, "I keep doing the same dumb thing."

I lift her chin to face me and I lean in. "The truth is you will always fight to do the right thing. It's also true that you are never going to be perfect. It's why Jesus died for you. We're not going for perfection, sweetie, we're going for a speedy recovery. You recognized what was happening way faster than last time. You came to me. You're talking it through. You've come up with a plan."

"I did realize it sooner, this time." She smiled, then rolled her eyes. "I still feel stupid."

"Don't." I said. "Instead, smile and live in the freedom that you are forgiven. You'll mess up again, but hopefully you'll notice it sooner and overcome this temptation. Then you'll have a new lesson to learn. It's a lifelong cycle. Still, in the grand scheme of life, this really isn't a big deal. Nothing is damaged and you're learning."

It's best when we can learn big lessons from little mistakes.

"It's so hard," she said.

I look at her and think about everything she has overcome. "Is it the hardest thing you've ever done?" I ask.

She snorted a laugh. Her hand flew to her mouth and she giggled about the snort. She rolled her eyes, "This isn't anywhere close to the hardest thing I've ever done," she said.

"Then don't make it into a bigger deal than it needs to be. Learn from it and move on."

I celebrate not making things into a bigger deal than they need to be. I celebrate learning that a mistake is not the end of the world. And I celebrate victory in overcoming hard things to become who God made us to be.

Connect your celebrations here!

An InLinkz Link-up

My offerings to encourage writers (and their teachers), because I'm smitten by the way writers work...

{Discover. Play. Build.} Website. It's designed to be my offering to writing teachers. 

You'll find video minilessons and a link to the {Discover. Play. Build.} YouTube Channel where they are all housed.

{Discover. Play. Build.} Newsletter. They come each month. Register in the sidebar.

( For more information on these resources (and others), check out this post.)

Teach & Celebrate Writers (#TandCwriters) Twitter Chat -- Sunday, January 3 at 8:00 pm EST

 ***** 

Places you can find me celebrating throughout the week:
Instagram:  @ruth_ayres

Twitter: @ruth_ayres

Facebook: {Discover. Play. Build.}

CELEBRATE This Week XCVII (97)

I'm glad you are here to celebrate! Share a link to your blog post below and/or use #celebratelu to share celebrations on Twitter. Check out the details here. Celebrate This Week goes live on Friday night around 10(ish). Consider it as a weekend celebration. Whenever it fits in your life, add your link. Please leave a little comment love for the person who link

*******

Once upon a time," he said out loud to the darkness. He said these words because they were the best, the most powerful words that he knew and just the saying of them comforted him."

 ---Kate DiCamillo (The Tale of Despereaux)

I've been focusing on the in and out of each breath.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Ordinary and mundane acts that work a miracle.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Live.

One chance at one life. One chance to do it the best

I used to get all worked up about getting it right. Now, I'm just glad to have a chance to do my best. So here I am, celebrating the chance to be the best
momma
teacher
writer

that I can be.

I am a Story Collector

I collect stories.

The Bible is filled with really awful, horrible chapters of stories. Hard journeys of deceit and jealousy, murder and rape, exclusions and cover-ups.  If you take one of these chapters and hold it, study it, and try to make sense of it, you could easily miss the truth of Christianity.

The Bible isn't meant to be read as a chapter. It is meant to be read as a whole.

If you only read the chapter of Eve eating the forbidden apple, then you would miss the whole of her story, a beautiful story that tethers the God of creation to Jesus to the Holy Spirit. Eve's story is even part of my story today.

Our lives are the same way. We have horrible chapters in the midst our stories. Chapters of too hard and deceit and mistakes. There is danger in holding on to just a bit of the story.

This is why I am a story-collector and I think you should be one too.

My children have seen the worst of humanity while in biological and foster homes. Our stories are started before we are even born and then they are written moment by moment and breath by breath. Our brains are designed to make sense of the world by telling stories.

We own the stories that help us understand the world.

For a neglected child, the story might go -- No matter how loudly I cry, no one is going to take care of me. The only way to get what I need is to take it myself.

Another story goes like this -- The kids who have always lived in this house are loved the most. They get toys for birthdays and they get to hunt Easter eggs and they get to dress up for Halloween. Since I've just joined the family, I have to sit in my room during the festivities. Families love the kids more who are there the longest.

A story might go like this -- As long as I don't make any noise or eye contact, then I'm safe. They'll leave me alone.

The story can go like this -- If I make a mess, even if it's an accident, I better run away. If I'm not around, then I won't get hit.

Too many kids tell themselves -- I'm too dumb to be loved. I'm too annoying to be loved. I'm too messy to be loved.


Our brains cycle stories over and over in order to make sense of our experiences. Too often, the stories we tell ourselves are untrue. Unfortunately, our brains are unreliable and don't recognize an untrue story. All of the facts have congealed to give a version of the truth and our brains accept it, and make a story to confirm the untruth version of the facts.

I collect stories to document a different version. 

Too often when older children join a family, they are living out the untrue version of their stories. They bring a whole slew of unpleasant behaviors and harsh words. It's important to remember that this is only one chapter of their stories.

And it is an ugly chapter.

A forever family lives the ugly, so the story can be rewritten.

This is a beautiful truth: A story can always be rewritten.

That's what we learn from the ugly chapters in the Bible. The stories don't have to end ugly. David -- a man after God's own heart, a king, and part of the lineage of Jesus -- got another man's wife pregnant, tried to manipulate her husband, and when the husband refused to rest because he felt it was disloyal to his troops who were still in battle, David sent him to the front lines. It was an elaborate murder scheme. Once the man died, he then married his wife and she bore David a son. 2 Samuel 11 is one of those ugly chapters.

I'm glad David's story doesn't end there.


The beauty of the Bible lies in its entirety, just as the beauty of our lives lies in the whole journey. The story isn't finished and it doesn't have to be stuck in the ugly.

I pile stories as proof that a life doesn't have to be stuck in the ugly. I gather celebrations so they don't slip into the shadows. I muster the moments because together they help me to learn to love more.

I am a story collector so others can live a more beautiful version of their own story.

A Birthday Miracle with Donuts

"You're not going to believe this," Stephanie said at dinner tonight, then continued her story.

"After I finished passing out donuts to all of the kids in my homeroom and to Mrs. Collett, I was so excited about passing them out to other teachers, that I was in a hurry. So I went around and gave them all away. Everyone loved them. They really are the best donuts.

"Then I got back to my desk, all that was there was a napkin and no donut. I forgot to give myself a donut!"

I laughed, an all-out belly laugh. "Are you for real? You didn't get one of your own birthday donuts?"

She blushed and shook her head. "But Mrs. Collett shared some of her donut with me. I got half of one."

"Really? You forgot to give yourself a donut?" I was in complete disbelief.

Steph laughed. "I know, Mom. I forgot."

It's been seven years that we have battled with Stephanie about not having to always be first. Stephanie survived in life before she came home to our forever family by getting things first. She fought for first and biggest. Always.

Sometimes it's important to let others be first. There have been battles and fights and tears as we've helped her to learn being first isn't the most important.

At the same time, we've prayed that we wouldn't crush her independent spirit. Her strong-will has the potential to be beautiful and we didn't want simple compliance. We wanted to empower her to care about others and to realize life, when lived best, isn't about what you can get for yourself.

When we were buying the donuts for her to take to school, she insisted on her favorite kind. She insisted on the big donuts. She insisted on having extras to give away.

Forgetting herself because she was so excited to give donuts away is a miracle. I don't use this word lightly. Really, a miracle occurred in her homeroom class today.

Stephanie forgot about herself because of her acts of kindness to others.

I wasn't sure this would ever happen, that Steph would think about others before herself.

Jay was the catalyst for Stephanie's healing. He has helped her to see the power of putting others before yourself. He has helped her to accept the truth that when you think of others first, your life gets better

Stephanie is remarkable, not to mention spunky and carefree and hilarious.

When I think about her journey of learning to care for others, I think we get a glimpse of what Jesus intended when he said:

If any of you want to be my follower, you must stop thinking about yourself and what you want. You must be willing to carry the cross that is given to you for following me. Any of you who try to save the life you have will lose it. But you who give up your life for me will find true life. It is worth nothing for you to have the whole world if you yourself are lost. (Matthew 16:24-26)

 This is not an easy command. It goes against our human nature. We want easy, comfortable, first, and best. 

But this isn't what is most important to Jesus. To follow Jesus, we must deny ourselves and serve others. Next time I see a big glazed donut, I'm going to remember Steph and how sweet it is to persevere on a journey to learn to serve rather than to take.

{Birthday Dinner}

Moment by Minute by Day by Year

{Stephanie: 2008 & 2014}

The girls came home for the first time on the Friday before Easter 2008. On Saturday, my mom and I thought it would be fun to take them shopping to buy Easter shoes.

We were wrong.

Hannah, age six, only wanted high heels and pouted when we finally decided what pair to buy. Stephanie, age four, wanted more than one pair. She wanted every single pair. She refused to leave unless she got all of the shoes on the shelf.

She screamed.
Kicked.
Went limp.

Right.
In.
The.
Middle.
Of.
The.
Store.

Wailing. Flailing. Howling.

It wasn't fun.

I stood there, looking down on her wriggling body, hair sticking to her wet, red face, and wondering what to do next. I looked over at my mom. She was horrified.

I'm sure it didn't take years to get Stephanie out of the store, but it felt like it. I knew it was irrational to think we would never go shopping together again. It would, however, be a long time until I took her without Andy as backup.

On Black Friday, we went shopping for new dress clothes for Steph. Stephanie is a five foot, eight inch, one hundred and sixty pound ten year old. Finding a perfect outfit is a challenge. Even finding jeans and a sweatshirt can be an all out hunt, let alone finding dress clothes.

I'm happy to report that I no longer need to take Andy for backup when we go shopping. There were no fits in the middle of stores. There wasn't even backtalk or eye rolls. In fact, it was...

Fun.

Someone even commented how sweet and polite my daughter was (!).

I smiled and said, "Thank you."

Two words don't even come close to the whole story. I told Andy about the woman's comment in the store. "At least there are some days," Andy said.

This is what matters most. There are some days when she is respectful. There was a time when we just hoped for minutes.

Moments of respect.

Minutes without defiance.

Yes, we counted minutes. I set the timer and Stephanie would see if she could go 3 minutes and be respectful the entire time. Over the next six weeks we worked our way up to 10 minute stints. It was a challenge and more often than not she failed to be respectful for an entire 10 minutes.

Six years and the fact that there are whole entire, even multiple, days of respect is nothing short of a miracle.

This is what healing looks like. It's not always instant, but it is always powerful. She is healing, moment by minute by day by year. Her tongue is still sharp, but her heart is learning respect.

It's one of many things that makes her beautiful.

Love Not Control

When I was an undergrad, I had a professor who encouraged us to use positive reinforcement for classroom management. He suggested to look for a student who was doing the right thing and say, "I like how Johnny is standing in line," or "I like the way Johnny is sitting quietly," or "Thank you, Johnny, for keeping your hands to yourself."


I piped up (it was before my filter was securely in place like it is most of the time now) and said, "Yeah and then everyone wants to beat up Johnny."

I remember the professor paused and then asked me if I'd "say more about that."

I glanced up from the doodles in the margin of my notebook. I didn't realize I said anything interesting. The professor wasn't mad or offended, rather, he appeared curious.

I went on to explain how there are more important things to do in a day than to control behavior. By using sound instructional practices, building respectful relationships with students, and focusing on purposeful and worthwhile experiences students will be engaged. As engagement and respect increase discipline issues decrease. Then we don't have to manipulate or shame students into behaving.

"You're right," he said.

I adjusted my rose colored glasses. A few months later I stood in my own classroom. Although I made more than my share of mistakes that year, I'm grateful a public penal discipline system wasn't among them.

Although my filter is now secure, my convictions are not any less than they were all those years ago in undergrad. I like to think we've evolved as educators. Sixteen years later I shouldn't be fighting the battle of public discipline systems. (And just because they're on a SmartBoard doesn't make them any better.)

I have four children. Collectively, they have been subjected to 18 public penal discipline systems. They have fallen off of apple trees, moved down stoplights, pulled sticks, flipped cards, dropped stars, and lost maps. They have dealt with collecting cones and avoiding alligators.

I think it is also safe to say in our house we deal with behaviors that are a tad more drastic than other families. This is part of life when you have children who have hard histories without you. The thing is we've never asked our children to chart their choices or pull a stick.

Yet, they've unlearned severe behaviors and have relearned appropriate and courteous behaviors. They've maintained (and even regained) their dignity. We made a choice to help our kids find intrinsic motivation for doing the right thing rather than being manipulated into compliance.

That's not to say there aren't consequences. There are. Just ask any of them. They'll tell you: "All choices have consequences. When you make a pleasant choice, pleasant things come your way. If you don't, then it's not fun."

Controlling behavior wasn't the most important thing we did when we adopted our older children. Loving them was. We didn't want them to behave out of fear or shame. We wanted them to behave because it was worth it, because they made the choice to do the right thing. They learned to behave because they learned we loved them.

They tested our love. You don't need to know the gory details of the tests. Let's just suffice it to say that I know hard behaviors. I also know behavior can be relearned. New habits can form.

Our kids learned to control their own behavior because they were respected and trusted.

They are still learning. (Aren't we all?)

I just wish they were given the dignity in their classrooms that they've been given at home. I can't help to think of all of the kids who aren't given dignity at home. Shouldn't school be a place every child is treated with dignity? This will happen when all teachers trust and respect kids to do the right thing, rather than humiliating them into compliance.

I wish all children were loved more the controlled. This is how we change the world.

Celebrations: Accidents, Mishaps, Stumbles, & Falls

I'm celebrating accidents and mishaps and stumbles and falls.

One.
Hannah broke her arm at cross country practice. I spent several hours in the ER with her on Friday night. I saw, firsthand, how she is growing a strong spirit. I loved that she asked me to be the parent to take her to the ER. I loved how she made the nurse pause and smile. I loved that she said, "Thanks for taking care of me, Mom. I like that I know you and Dad will always take care of me."

Two.
Andy's Aunt Pat gives our family Kings Island tickets each year for Christmas. We stay with her since she lives within an hour of the park. I adore Aunt Pat. She's eclectic. Never married. Retired Dean of Students for Cedarville University. Hysterical. Cancer survivor.

Only there are more tumors. And she just learned she has Parkinson's Disease. She makes no bones about the fact that her body is failing. In fact, she usually makes a joke.

But there is this uncommon spirit about her.

Everything about her body is failing and yet there is unmistakable joy in her soul.

As she becomes weaker, the Spirit becomes bolder. Although I would never wish for what she is bearing, I do hope I can learn to become less so the Spirit can be bigger in me.

Three.

Jay is still learning how to allow love to overcome fear. He is still learning that love is more powerful than anything. He is still learning to let us love him.

And I'm holding on to threads of hope that Love is enough to suffocate his fear.

I choose to celebrate because Stephanie walked this road before him. She is learning to trust us. She is learning she doesn't have to fear. She is proof that love restores hurt hearts. She hugs me hard tonight and asks me to pray. She leans against me and I rock back, smiling because this reward is much sweeter than I deserve.

Yes, I celebrate the mishaps in life. I celebrate the times things go wrong. I celebrate the things that make me scream.

After all, this is what life is made of. The accidents and mishaps, stumbles and falls are simply opportunities to see great big Love.

How to Find Peace and Healing {Story 7 of 40}

Click here for the backstory.

When you adopt older kids, there are a lot of people who are quick to point out that the early years of a child's life have significant impact on them. Although not their intent, it sometimes sends the message that they think my children are damaged goods and incapable of overcoming a rocky start to life.

As an eternal optimist, I tend to downplay the impact of early experiences in life. I like to think that the present matters much more than the past. I believe there is nothing too big, too horrible, too damaging that love cannot overcome. I will concede that human love is not enough. It takes the divine love of a Savior to fully overcome and heal from hard histories.

There is also a very good reason why toddlers are small. It is a natural tendency to want to exert independence, test boundaries, and make our own choices. When this happens, sometimes just asking a toddler to obey isn't enough. Free will is powerful and many times parents have to physically help a toddler obey -- hence the reason for their size. When toddlers are disciplined, they learn to control their free will. They learn to trust their parents to have their best interests in mind. They learn to love others more than themselves. Discipline provides boundaries and security.

When children don't learn to obey, their free will often runs wild and becomes self-serving. This doesn't make them incapable of learning to obey or learning self-control. As a realist, I understand that this might make it a little more difficult. Instead of simply learning to obey, they first must unlearn misconceptions about discipline and love and boundaries. Then they can learn to obey.

It takes time and tenacity and the learning to obey looks ugly. Very ugly. It might add a lot of stress to parents (and to this momma in particular).

Hebrews 12:11 says, "No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it."

Kids who are adopted as older children are not the only ones who have a hard time with discipline.  It is a painful process -- painful, but purposeful and productive. It is through discipline that we gain peace. It is also a means to healing. Without discipline, it is impossible to learn to obey.

When we learn to obey, we learn to trust more. This growing of trust is the reason why discipline leads to righteousness, peace, and healing.

Discipline isn't easy. In fact, throughout Hebrews 12, the word endure is repeated. Discipline is hard and there is an endurance that is needed for obedience and righteousness, peace, and healing to happen. I need this reminder today.

I need it as I continue to insist on obedience from our children. And I need it as God continues to insist on obedience from me. It makes it a little easier when I remember that parents only discipline children they love. It is this love that builds trust and claims a child. I'm hoping these words stick with me today:

How blessed the man you train, God, the woman you instruct in your Word, 

Providing a circle of quiet within the clamor of evil...

-- Psalm 24:12-13 (MSG)