I sit down to write and exhale so long I didn’t know I had that much air in my lungs. It’s Monday morning and for weeks I have run significantly over the speed limit of life. Additionally I have intrinsically survived the newly started keto diet/brain fog segment of my nutritional plan to enter summer better than last year (yes, if you want to know it works but I must plan every day around intermittent bathrooms stops because of the amount of water I find I need). Today I have finally connected the keyboard that runs nonstop in my head to the computer. I feel a relief to be here and also that bewildered feeling of being dropped in the middle of a canopied rain forest with no sense of direction. Good grief where do I start? Honestly there are so many places to begin.

This past month has been a long list of battles and achievements. The majority of the battles have occurred on the school front but I have finally succeeded in getting my son, the wingless wonder, placed in a school where professionals are familiar with his antics even when he is not. This school does NOT call mamas to come get their unruly kids of which all of them qualify through diagnosis such as emotionally delayed and OHI (other health issues that remain unnamed. Establishing the no call rule on day one has finally given that boy total responsibility of his own actions. Now if he wants to have a good day at school the obvious goal is no longer to get home to me but to work towards the good day. The other end of his options spectrum offers the opportunity to sit in a solitary confinement area that is probably soundproof and void of any stimulation other than the self. At first I inwardly feared the effects of this option on the clear and ever present problem of his childhood PTSD. But he seems to have enough self preservation that he has so far stayed out of that area and worked through his options of fixing his language and rage by using the other tools they offer. I would love to list those tools here for the sake of other moms but I simply do not have that knowledge as the school guards it with a fierceness that guarantees their sole success in these areas of epic kid fail. My own battles continue at home as we blaze through the difficulties of polar opposite parenting techniques and a family wallowing in the field effects of acquired PTSD. Yes sirree you absolutely can catch this and watching almost helplessly as it eats the family like a soul consuming bacteria is a battle ground of its own. Yes, my entire family needs talk therapy. But for now I am putting on my own armor and oxygen mask first. I need to work through my newly discovered raw issues until I am strong enough to be a help to others and the enemy can no longer stab mercilessly through the exposed weak spots. My ultimate goal is to develop my children’s hearts to hear the words from God that will both affirm their amazing value as human beings and also allow for the grace to get back up when they fall. This is the only place I have ever found true worth for myself. I have failed miserably as a parent on so many days and I have succeeded wildly as well. This is the life journey and ultimately no one can save any child or any parent but God Himself. My responsibility is to give each one of us the information that is tried and true as armor in a terribly harsh world. Really, its absolute that the only thing I can take to heaven are the people I love enough to teach them the truth.

Yet what is my armor and my breath? Where does MY help come from? S- T- O- P and consider that in the battle according to Ephesians 6:10-13 the Word tells me to “Finally, be strong in the Lord and the strength of His might. Put on the WHOLE armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm.”

It is a given that we are in the evil day. Look around and see for yourself. The word FINALLY opens the verse and really catches my attention. Truly I have tried everything else on my own and have FINALLY discovered I don’t even know what I am fighting. What I am fighting is insane when I consider the cosmic powers over this present darkness. I originally think the battle is attitude, distrust and oppositional defiance disorder but through my soul I drink in the truth of the battle being so much more. I immediately feel unqualified to even be in the battle but this is not my choice even though the fight is over me. My heart is what the enemy is after so I have no choice but to fight the good fight. Proverbs 4:23 (NIV) admonishes me to “Above all else, guard your heart for everything you do flows from it.” The enemy knows as well how my beautiful kid has immense potential and the enemy utilizes him for weakening my family through the past stories of hellish failures in his tiny life currently dictating my sons view of the world and the likes of which I don’t even fully know.

I am to position myself through the shield of faith which strategically covers my heart I notice, as also does my breastplate of righteousness (which is knowing and acting in accord with moral law and being free from guilt or sin). Coupled with THE truth (authentic reality or fact) cinched up as the belt to hold it all together, and the gospel of peace (which means “the teachings of Christ”) strapped on as the shoes carrying me everywhere I go, I find I am still only partially ready. If I plan on extinguishing fiery darts from the enemy which I have been given the ability and authority to do–a fact which still amazes me, I must carry the shield of faith (complete trust and confidence in God), believing in the reality that faith is the things hoped for but not yet seen which is promised by God the Creator of the entire Universe. This is not a name it and claim it kind of thing but a slowly learned teaching throughout the bible because drinking in His magnitude takes time-don’t allow God to ever be small because He isn’t. When I need more on the Promises of God this is one of the few times an electronic version of the bible is super helpful. I just type in “promise” in the search field and the verses get lined up from Genesis to Revelation giving me ions of opportunity to get to know the God who now owns me through my commitment. I have done the same thing getting to know the attributes of the Holy Spirit and it is breath-taking.

Next up and never to be left off the morning suiting up is my helmet of salvation. This is how I protect my mind. What am I reading? What sort of stuff am I letting in my head? Does it weaken my faith and my soul or is it strengthening and feeding my resolve to stand in faith? The things I let in through thoughts, visions, kid behaviors and enemy whispers dramatically affect the power of the mental faculties. I must not listen to the “failure chatter” though it is easy to succumb to. No matter how loud I have to turn up a good christian radio station there is power in words of truth and worship so I do it as I sink into the depths of the truth that I have been saved through grace by faith and nothing I have done. Well, I did have to provide the faith and I DO have to put on my own armor but the armor has been battle tested and created by God. It is truly a no fail suit.

I now move down to the verse about utilizing the sword of the Spirit. This one is kind of tricky for me. Remember that helper that showed up at Pentecost 40 days after Jesus departed and then set the disciples’ souls on fire for God? Well, I received that same exact Spirit too, the day I asked for Salvation to rescue me. Many days I do not operate like I have the ABSOLUTE REAL SPIRIT OF GOD IN ME and yes, I was yelling at myself. Half the time I operate as if I do not have a clue as to how to fix my life. And ultimately that is true. I really do not know how to fix many many situations which is maddening for the all-fixing mama who is The Challenger/Enthusiast on the enneagram test- as I digress you can take the free test if you are interested in finding out some stuff about yourself-it was developed through a monk around 1400 BC to contend with spiritual gifts– though it has been hijacked by the new age movement it still has the original value of self revelation. (End of that digression until another day!)

As I do not have the control or wherewithal to fix it all, But God….yes, But God has the authority to rise up through me and operate through me for His intentions which are GOOD if I can and will, just listen and wait on Him. He is never late and I can promise you as someone who operates by flying/free-falling by the seat of my pants, He is NEVER really early either. He either dusts me off or teaches me to fly in an often quite dramatic rescue. This activity has become more fun as I practice past the heart failure of my own anxiety of waiting/falling but I can promise I never get hurt beyond the value of the lesson learned, at least so far.

Moving on to more survival and battle instructions includes praying at all times with all prayer and supplication. I couldn’t just gloss over the supplication word because it has a churchy sound to it…I had to dig in. Supplication is asking or begging for something earnestly or humbly. I may often classify that as whining when my kids do it because of their goals and motives but I am personally instructed to continually converse with God over His will, and I doubt that He considers it whining when I am even semi-conscious of my own motives and humbleness and sincerely asking for His help. I imagine He would even accept my whining on the harder days as He is patient beyond measure and truly understands my shortcomings (areas not yet refined).

Circling back up to verse 13 the end of that sentence creates such a peace in me. “…and having done all, to stand firm.” I can fight wildly and out of control like many of my days when I forget to “supplicate”, or I can stand firm and remember whose I am. Standing firm is so much less exhausting and ultimately standing right behind me is the God of the Universe. He’s got my back. He even encourages me to lean into Him when I am weary as the words tell me to be strong in the Lord and in the strength of His might. Exhaling again, now I feel the strength of letting the sword of that Holy Spirit run the gamut through the evil of my day. I let go and I let God, but the consciousness of my actions starts with me and is the reality of my faith. I have to put on my armor, which is the ultimate oxygen mask, and remember whose I am. Then I can get on the lightening bolt of my life and ride like the wind.

Some time ago I started writing this blog. I write for me for the most part. It helps me document my days and see if there is a pattern for chaos. Hello…chaos with pattern is not chaos I tell myself with a proficient eyeroll. Ok, so it is still chaos, and it is my perspective. There is a validation for self in here but the fact that I can NEVER find time to write due to the amount of writing material flying at me should tell you a bit about me. I am strong. I am busy. And I am tired. Much of my life the fight has been against the world. I always did it my way and suffered the consequences. I do not conform is what my tombstone should read. I have no real fear of jumping because I know God will either catch me or teach me to fly. What I hate is hitting the ground. Sometimes God lets me do that for…I cant remember. Posterity? A dose of humble pie? The reality that He is God and I am not? Yes, these things. I also think it is a training exercise but that conversation is for another day. Suffice to say I have been stand up comedy for my cloud of witnesses since I found out there was such a thing.

This past weekend I went to a writers conference. I always show up at these things believing that I have no business being there and I should also go more often if I am serious about writing. The google amount of paperwork I jot on all the time does not count. Near anxiety and self loathing I argue with myself the entire first day. I am alone in a sea of artists. The creators of writers conferences know this about me so they schedule an outrageously good speaker to motivate me and let me know she is like me somehow. I finally buy into this stuff and fall head over heels in love with hanging out with grown ups who are smart and gifted and funny and tolerate my run on yacking-slash-rabbit-trailing. I am also starved for adult conversation and put that on the list of things I would like to improve on. Soaking up the atmosphere of teaching and sharing, my internal fighter puts down her (my) bow and arrows and begins to twirl with elation for the break in the battle. But this is not a play exercise as much as it is a freedom grab. My words have power. All words have power. Spend some time in the book of James and realize the healing power and the damaging power of words forged by the wagging tongue. Wielding them carelessly can deliver such agony, slaying hearts in ways that cannot be undone. Using them to edify and lift up a wounded soul and maybe even become the next motivational speaker at my future writers conference. Words will be how to lose the battle of light and dark or it will be how to win it. As a mom to five, each of these children react differently to their own world, their view formed early as their lives sprouted forth in bad soil laid down by people who could not parent well. My job is to decipher, discipline and disciple communication lessons to them. Choosing carefully, creatively, I pray my words are good. I repent when they are not. I am human. I learned this a few times by hitting the ground while in a flying lesson.

Upon return back to the land of “home” I am met with the reality of spiritual warfare. My wingless wonder has broken my moms computer again, my daughters have left priceless dolls in the mud at the treehouse, my smallest has a fever. By Monday another has a fever, the house is a mess, I cannot find time to connect with the AMAZING grownups I promised I would connect with. I have no less than 4 medical specialist appointments by Wednesday and wonder boy has gotten suspended for not choosing his own words very well. Yes, there is much work to be done. But there is power in word-warfare and I am a word gardener. It is planting time; I am no ordinary farmer of words. I am a superhero mom (spelled wow if turned upside down) and my kid-crop needs so much tending. “Follow the pattern of the sound words that you have heard from me, in the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus” 2Timothy 1:3 (esv) There is pattern in the chaos of our lives together after all.

It’s funny to call this post learning about anger because it feels like it should be called learning about anger management.  But it is not possible to manage what tends to rule us some, if not many, days.  The subjects of this post is both my younger son and myself.  My wingless wonder has the tendency to really come unglued over the most trivial things. Case in point, he could not remember how to make the number 9 last week so that it did not look like a very weird E.  Rather than take a breather and let it go til another time, he decided to rage, throw shoes and climb up on the book case after clearing his classmates desks for them. Oh yes, he was at school.  Time and time again, I tell him he simply cannot act this way. But actually, he can, and he does. And it makes me super angry that he does this.  I’m just telling you the truth here. 

This past week I have started a book that is called Beyond logic and consequences and no, I am not past chapter one.  I am paralyzed by the contents of this first chapter and I have set up a tent to camp on the revelations I have discovered.  It turns out that there are two base emotions in the human spirit.  Love and fear.  I know, I know. It didn’t seem possible to me either.  But I can’t seem to prove this wrong.  I was also granted a very clear analogy of this life scenario when I became privy to the information that anger is the body guard of our heart. So logically I can conclude that when I see boy wonder perched up on the book shelves of his classroom, I need to consider that his body guard needs a spanking.  No, I am kidding.  His body guard really needs to be reassured that the threat is not as big as the fight he is choosing to engage in.  So when my 8 year old cannot make the number 9 he is frustrated and he does not want to be seen as stupid and he KNOWS he can make a 9 so why is his brain failing him, and he becomes afraid of ridicule and natural consequences of a difficult situation.  Ultimately he is afraid. So if I complicate things by telling him all sorts of threatening things that will happen if he does not get down, I am complicating his fears.  And here I am a human being who does NOT want to be seen as a failing parent and a human being who loves him TOO MUCH to leave him on the ledge. I am afraid of not being enough, not being worthy to be the vessel that God uses to rescue him.  Suddenly I am feeling the burn of being afraid that I am an epic fail and its my fault he cannot make a 9 or get off the bookshelf.  Here is my life.  But this is not the life we are intended. 

I have thought through the whole scene and I picture Jesus and how he gets to be involved as the example of how to do it right.  Jesus was tempted by the enemy when he was at his almost lowest point on earth.  Out of all the weapons he fought back by using scripture.  Really? I always think a superhero zap could have saved us all some grief but that is why I don’t get to be the savior–I just want an easy button.  So after giving this some hard thought I go get a 3 x 5 card and I search the bible for the verse I need for the two of us right  now.  “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you or forsake you”. It took less than two days for both of us to memorize it.  It is our first battle cry.  My son is not alone because God will never leave him, or me for that matter.   That part about “terrified because of them” does not matter who “them” is. That them can be so many things. It is something that will change often enough that we just know there is a them and an us. The intensity comes by realizing we have to figure out what we think about who God is now.  We must be careful to never see God as too small to be God or too big to care about us.  This is our life lesson on anger and its real purpose.  

My mom has shared a story about the two wolves who live in our heart…one is evil and hellish in nature, the other is good and lovely.  They fight for control all the time.  One will win.  It will be the wolf we feed and pay the most attention to.  This is the part about dying to self that I finally get.  Jesus gave it all so I could have this hope that I KNOW the good wolf wins. And in some crazy happy ending, the wolf will probably turn into a prince or princess of the most amazing new kingdom. I just know that by using the Word to fight my battles and applying these God-promises to my world that God is usually at the helm of, it will all be ok in the end.  And daily battles can be won.  

Some days I really do have this thing called life. Other days I understand why people stick their noses into their phones, block their face from the whining sound of children and tune out in the name of real/fake news.  It’s 11 am and I am already beat up. I am not whining these are just the facts, just the facts ma’am.  6 am get up dress and feed baby, set out meds for middle kids, wake middle kids, twice. Wake two more kids, scrap breakfast together, sign all forms that were to be signed last night, MAKE COFFEE (sorry, caps got stuck, not.) Run baby out to bus in the dark, sidestepping the skateboard and hopping over the scooter left in the driveway.  Drag up trash cans in the dark. Herd two middle kids out to their bus, scream and wake up neighbors “Did you get your ipad for speech?”. Come back in and meet the responsible kid at the door who has signed up early to sell pencils to less responsible kids at school, so she can tell you its time to go. Run past her and holler at the teenager “For the love of all things good and decent “GET UP”! At least that is what I meant to say. From the look on his face it may have been auto corrected on the way out of my mouth. Blow him a kiss and run out the door to drive one responsible kid to school.  Come back home, brew second cup of COFFEE (#Ilovekeurig) and skeedaddle off to last school with last kid who has had all the time in the world to get ready and is complaining he needs to fix his hair. Smile and blow another kiss where his friends can see me as he gets out of the car. Breathe a sigh of freedom, then go to bank and drive to my store 15 miles away to drop off payroll by 8:30 am.  Get a biscuit at the local drive thru since I need change and they give change (haha). Ponder weight gain as I shove biscuit in and wash down with a thimble size senior sweet tea. Go back home and walk in the front door in synchronicity to phone ringing.  Its the principal at the wingless wonder’s school.  I don’t say Hi, I say “ALREADY???”  Whipping a u-turn I go over to his school 10 miles in the opposite direction from where I just came.  I am mad even upon arrive, having spent ten miles praying for patience and wisdom. I ask for a conference room and give him a spanking because we are NOT allowed to throw things at classmates and teachers at school or anywhere else on this planet (and he has mastered this rule at home). We are also NOT allowed cuss words, which he may or may not have used today, I forgot to ask.  At some point the principal mentions taking my wonder boy down to a half day schedule again but I growl Hell No, remembering I am trying to teach people not to cuss. Either way, she doesn’t finish her thoughts on that but disappears with the closing door.  It is now ten am.  Whether anyone agrees with a spanking or not, I don’t care. It kept me out of prison most likely and I am a responsible-ish adult.  I am willing to give credit where credit is due, thanks mom, for spanking me.  I just keep thinking that someday some judge is going to be looking down on wonder-boy and not caring that he had a rough beginning to life.  This is also the same way Jesus is trying to help us.   We need a start over, a repent point, a stop and ask what are you DOING kind of moment.  Because one day we are going to be standing alone in front of the Creator on judgement day. It will not matter that we had a bad life or a bad day. It is what we do with it. Do I pray? Do I ask for help? Can I learn something here? Jesus can you just come back today??

Our theme as a family is starting to shape up to embrace the word “freedom”.  The more we can hang within the boundaries of the rules, the more time we have to enjoy our life together.  I mean really kids, am I busy bawling you out or are we planning to go play together?  I reiterate this to them the more I learn it, which is daily.  But here is the real kicker.  As much as I want to stick my nose into my phone, if I would just stick my nose into the Word of God this is the absolute total difference in whether I have freedom in my own day or not.  This is a challenge to myself. This is my ARMOR! (like coffee except it is a real armor) Can I do this for ten days and see if I am not stronger and wiser? See if I am calmer and more focused? See if I can handle being thrown off of life’s horse better. Hey with practice I bet I could even land on my feet occasionally.  The reason I know in my heart this works is because of one thing.  The Ruach Hachodesh. Hebrew word for the Holy Spirit.

I have been looking in to that entity lately and a few things have become solid.  Jesus hung out with friends and loved them dearly two thousand years ago.  God hung out with Moses and Abraham and loved them dearly before that.  Its my turn on this planet to hang out with “the Helper”…and I know He loves me dearly.  He is closer to me than my skin, he lives in my heart.  He protects me from the inside out. He is a gift from God.  Remember Him as the Dove that descended from Heaven when God said he was well pleased with Jesus. It is with great faith that I say yes, please! Land on me too!  I can trust this spirit for guidance and wisdom.  Because really, on days like this, what else can I do if I want to succeed?? I do not have the answers on my own.  I need a Helper. I am Real and Messy. I seek the freedom to be free in this world from chaos and attack.  The more I rely on the Spirit to teach me to live, the more free I become.  Its like having a personal refiner built in. And gold is most close to perfection when the refiner can see his reflection after the impurities are burned away. I also know that when being refined that the Refiner most closely keeps watch over the precious metal.   Lesson of the day to self- wake up to armor before coffee.  Maybe with coffee would be a good plan. Yeah that’s it. Either way, I commit to open THE Book before facebook. Will keep myself posted on how this works out.

Today is a refill day.  This past weekend my husband worked overtime and there was no relief from mom-ing for everyone…You know that old rule that has been uttered by several classy looking flight attendants over the years? Put your own oxygen mask on first? Well at some point this past weekend several things went wrong.  The oxygen mask that was to fill my face with clean living seemed to have been snipped free from the source.  My wingless wonder of a boy was in overdrive to mash ever single button in this family to set us all into a competition for who had the most outlandish  nervous breakdown from his antics.  I can hold on to this planet for a little while, maybe five hours or so as their referee, but when everyone is plotting revenge on his RAD symptoms of family destruction, the air gets mighty thin.  My usual go to is hearty prayer under my breath for the holy Spirit to show up and make everybody see clearly that this is not the intended way of life.  I have a subconscious that is praying for a hurricane to take out everything and let me start over with just my family and we will be instant minimalists who love each other deeply for having survived catastrophe and have no messy house to conquer.  While the Holy Spirit is trying to get me to calm down and stop meeting my son in his own mess of hysteria, I repeatedly fail the lesson that I cannot out-yell these delirious trolls who started out as children not five minutes (hours?) ago.  I love them but I want it all to S-T-O-P!!!!! We are supposed to find words to say how we feel and take each other by the hand and look each other in the eyes DIRECTLY and breathe in through our nose and out through our mouth.  No lie, if you can get to this point it is a wonderful tactic.  You are picturing snorting like a bull staring each other down, but that is not the method here.  Just trying to relax and calm down, no snorting or death stares allowed.  I try and think that God loves that kid as much or more than He loves me. He created this boy and He has a plan for his life.  I want to be part of the construction of that plan and do a good job as a mom but sometimes without oxygen I cannot remember these details. I catch myself in the death stare and I think about what would happen if I snorted.  Somewhere deep inside I know I have no fuel in my tank and I am empty.  So today, in the dust of the weekend whirlwind I refill my oxygen levels through my fingertips.  My pen is mightier than my sword, or at least it is supposed to be.  The truth of this life flows out the ends of my fingertips into the keyboard, taking life on the cyberpaper.  In return I am regaining breaths of life, like oxygen from trees.

We have some big options this week to potentially transfer my wingless wonder into a new school with deep game changing behavioral managing tools in place.  I cannot for a minute imagine he will like it because I am not sure I do.  But he is growing bigger and getting harder to manage.  Love changes everything overall, but the details of learning to live in society might need some reinforcement if this child is not to be left behind.  I am a fierce life fighter from the word GO.  I do not take no very well and this kids major crime was being born into a family that never deserved him based on the way they treated him.  I know that this child DOES have a purpose and my family MUST survive.  I am their anchor-mom.  I am anchored in Jesus.  BUT…Sometimes I let go because I am human.  And human beings run out of fuel to carry on, especially mamas who are on the front lines of emotional warfare coming and flowing in all directions.  If I just had to clean the house and wipe noses I would fall gleefully into bed each night with a satisfied smile on my face.  But I am in the battle for their souls and the enemy will not prevail.  I told you earlier. I am a warrior princess. I have a big messy delicate job to do and my battle vantage point is not in the sky but here on the ground.  Today is a new strategy day, and filling back up from pouring out all of me is tactic number one.   Many a good warrior was taken down because they fought too long without clarity and sustenance.  Soon I hope to put the game plan to paper outline. Signing off, breathing in through the nose, and out through the mouth.  Sweet oxygen in. Poison out.

Thanks for joining me!  I have looked at this blog for 6 months and have done nothing with it.  Not for the lack of ideas, but something else.  I simply could not put my first foot forward.  Many excuses are available for this–I have five kids, a business on life support, a broken washing machine (see five kid issue mentioned above), a dead brand new lawn mower (though the push mower works the three acres makes start to finish look like the 40 year desert journey).  As I sit here pretend-tuning out the EXTREME CHAOS two feet behind me, it still feels good to type.  This is giving me a voice that belongs to the girl that exists deep down.  THAT girl is a valiant warrior princess.  You don’t see that when you look at me, probably because I look like a frazzled mess who doesn’t parent with any grace worth mentioning.  I am the only mom I know who can park in the senior parking lot, the “babies” parking lot and the handicap parking lot on a Sunday morning. I don’t fit into a small group because at 55 I am the mom of a 4 year old who doesn’t walk yet.  Three out of five of my kids are special needs though I am suspicious for two reasons. One being that ALL kids are special needs.  The other is that my eight year old son came through my front door four years ago disguised as an angel that drooled.  When the drug store refused to fill his prescriptions because the combination was illegal for his size and age.  As the drool disappeared, the rage made its way to the forefront.  His wings fell right off his back in midflight one afternoon.  And so begins HIS story.  He was so medicated for trauma and anxiety but “they” called it ADHD.  One day THEY will stand in judgement for hiding his broken heart in a medley of ill conceived black pharma bandaids.  One day I will write all about the journey to set him free because his story is important and it might be just the encouragement you are looking for.  Or maybe this whole endless sea of my life will simply entertain you and make you feel better about your own mild mess.  I assure you it will seem mild or at least conquerable and probably more enjoyable than you had first imagined.

My oldest son is thirteen.  He is amazing.  He tolerates my faith flights which so far have taken us to Belize, Ukraine, the mountains of Colorado, and many places in between. We have buried his older sister at the age of six from the grab of leukemia.  I  (we) have escorted an alcoholic (now ex) husband to the door and he did not come back.  I (we)have adopted four children and a husband who had been a bachelor for fifty years before he was sucked in to the vortex of US. My thirteen year old actually got a congressional award for tenacity when he was in the 4th grade.  I was proud of his ability to do life without hitting the ground hard but it made me keenly aware that they picked him out of the entire school and for five minutes I almost took it personally in a bad way.  The most amazing part is how gentle his soul is and how easy it is to talk life with him because he has been on the front line from such an early age, and remains there to this day even though I work hard to make sure he gets to be a kid.

My other thirteen year old is an amazing young lady who has also endured real life.  She has Down syndrome and has more confidence in her pinky than I have in my entire blood stream.  Her first language was russian and she is the one whose face I fell in love with on an international adoption sight.  When I asked God to break my heart for what broke his, I didn’t expect him to do that quite as literally as he did.  I saw her face and my heart exploded in my chest followed by hot tears burning down my face. I knew she was coming home to me but I did have to look up Ukraine on a map.  It only took eighteen months and $24,000, of which I had none.  And yet, here we are! Seven years later.

The pair in the middle are now ages 8 and 9.  Three hundred and sixty days apart.  Amazing to have gotten them from halfway across America.  My blond haired beauty and her brown haired brother (the one who dropped his wings).  Since I have mentioned him already I will speak about her. She is an over-comer whose glass is always more than half full.  She storms occasionally and drama is her high note but she is rock solid and has found refuge in the hope of Jesus.  I cannot wait for her to discover the things she is going to love even more about him.  She is a sponge for knowledge and companionship and her most uttered sentence is “can I help?”  Her telltale sign that alerted me to her underlying street smarts was how she always called out random questions from the other room when her brother was getting in hot water.  She had learned early on to run interference to deflect his incoming bullets.  No greater love than to lay down your life or at least your best questions for your brother.  That’s her heart and she probably does not see this about herself just yet.

Last but never least is the baby.  She also has Down syndrome and her last foster family was more interested in keeping her still than minimizing the handicap…that poor kid showed up on oxygen she did not need with a head that was flat as the crib she laid in for hours and hours.  I remember getting the email from the social worker.  Do I know of anyone who would be interested in this little girl? I read over her report and thought NO because it looks like she won’t live through the next six months!! She was so medically complex.  I had the experience to manage her but I did not have the heart to let another child ever die.  And yet, who gets that guarantee? We are not promised tomorrow, but thank the Lord we are promised eternity if we ask.  That is probably why I said yes.  Also I did not EVER want to stand in front of God and try to explain to him that I thought she looked too messy when I had personally inched the world closer to the end of days by my own messy behavior.  I went to Texas to pick her up and flew her and a ton of equipment back to South Carolina.  She has been an absolute blessing and joy…

 

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton