Someone told me the other day, "boy, you're prolific!"

I said "naw, I just like to write a lot."

Not sure how old they thought I was, but I definitely wasn't from the Prolific era!

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Okay, enough of that...

God is so much bigger than anything we can imagine, yet facing a momentary challenge in our lives can cause so much concern. I'm not allowed to go into details (actually, I guess technically I'm allowed to but...), so let me just say our lives here, in little Independence Missouri, have been far more dramatic than I can remember. Even if I think really hard back to my dating life in high school, I can't remember such passionate battle raging in my little head (my hair makes my head look big, but it’s really pretty normal-sized).

Back to the topic at hand; God is beyond any challenge humanity could comprehend. Likewise, He allows His children to find their own way through the world, sometimes, when we think it’s in our best interest to leave Him out of the picture. Not that He isn’t right there next to us, but He’s also given us the ability to glean from His Word how we should live and how we should pursue Him. It seems to be our nature to find our own way around life, and He seems more than happy to allow us to do that until we are wise/broken enough to recognize the futility of depending on ourselves.

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(Alright, let the author step back for a moment and clarify something; he doesn’t know ANYthing about God; not when compared to how far the east is from the west, the north from the south. He spends his days chasing high school students around a building and acting like he's the mature one, and his evenings chasing elementary-age kiddos around the house, while still pretending to be the mature one. At night, he often ends up doing a load of laundry, watching some TV, and climbing into bed regretting he didn’t spend more time in the Bible. He is by no means attempting to tell someone else how they should live; he's never seen through anyone else’s eyes, nor felt their heart.

He is simply a lowly being. One who knows he’s forgiven without any justification on his part; one who lives every day wondering if he’s made the right decisions for that day. These written words are the reflections of a heart in turmoil and attempting to figure out - on a very limited understanding - why and how things are the way they are.  And right now, he’s pretty frustrated about how things are…)

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Sorry, took a brief bathroom break (heh, that reminds me of a funny little joke about making "deposits" at Bank of Ameri-Flush...). Wait, where was I?

"Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see."

Hebrews 11:1 

 Ever spend a long road trip, traveling through hills and valleys and long rows of trees? There's the occasional gas station, or "pit stop" as we used to call them, but not much else. And, while when you're a little older the scenery is enjoyed, at the ripe young age of whatever, trees and hills just don't cut it. Did you ever have one question (among many, perhaps) that seemed to egg it's way out of you on numerous occasions? I did.

"Are we there, yet?"

Anyone? I did. I know my brothers did. And, now, I hear my kids doing it, too. I think it's a natural progression for humans to want to know the plan. Heck, even from the age of five, my son was asking this question whenever we were on the road for more than an hour!

Hebrews 11:1 (and beyond) tells us to have faith in what we do not understand and cannot see. I had an atheist friend try to use this verse against me once, and he seemed frustrated when I told him I agreed with that quote! Of course, the more he spoke of his non-theist believing, the more I realized he'd agree with it, too, if he were honest. Again, I digress.

My point is the Scriptures are clear we are to trust God to see when the world is pitch-black. In all of the storms, He is the calm waiting for us to call on Him. His is the whisper we hear if we are willing to stand through the tempest and earthquakes and lava. It's still and quiet... and it SUCKS to wait... but if we trust His Word, we can trust the pain is well worth suffering.

Fight or Flight?

Okay, I was ready to write "ALRIGHT! The gloves are coming off!" but realized there wasn't any fight going on. Besides, I like the idea of my knuckles staying somewhat intact in a conflict and don't relish dragging jigsaw-ed hands home after a scuffle. Again, however, there is no scuffle, no minor battle, and no aggression on the eastern shoreline. Everything is "okay" for the moment.

I got to thinking about this a little bit and how I've been reacting to things going on in our lives. Ebola and the toll it's taking on Western Africa, ISIS (and what they are doing to children), our government’s limp-wristed reactions to national security concerns, and obviously two little Sierra Leone-ian children who have become entrenched in our hearts. There are actually more than two over there who have made an impact on us, but we currently are looking at two specifically.

Yesterday came news of a little girl’s death in Sierra Leone. Not the first, and definitely not the last; but she was the first to touch my wife’s heart and leave us here on earth. I never got to meet her, but listening to Kristie tell me, through tears, of this child’s haunted eyes; how she tried to make her smile; how she painted her nails and talked about exquisite eyes too old to be a part of this small child. I don’t know too many details and don’t want to guess, but the impression I’ve gotten is she was mistakenly diagnosed with Ebola and ended up dying for lack of treatment.

I’ve always considered myself rather passive. I mean, my sense of humor can be a bit unexpected at times, or even unintentionally harsh (alright, sometimes it’s intentional), but I’ve never been one to start a fight (unless it was with one of my younger brothers), and certainly never been one to go looking for a fight. In fact, I hate conflict, and would be the first to step away and try to find a resource to resolve any issue I foresee.

With that in mind, however, I can look back on a few occasions where I was willing to stand up to someone or some situation if I felt the cause worthy enough; even if it threatened my physical well-being. I don’t write this with some sense of pride; there’s nothing to be proud of when allowing conflict to enter your world. But I do recognize I’m not quite the coward I always assumed I was. When I feel that someone around me is threatened, or even when I feel cornered, I am willing – indeed likely – to strike back.

It’s this need to fight, as opposed to flight, which has also gotten me into some trouble. I won’t bore you with stories, but hence to say it isn’t always comfortable doing what you think is right… especially when you realize you might have been wrong. But even when you can look back on a situation and still decide what you did was righteous (not self-righteous, mind you), the outcome sometimes is extremely painful.

This reminds me of a favorite Bible phrase I see tossed around: Jeremiah 29:11.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (NIV)

I’m no Biblical scholar - something about brain development and a lack thereof, but I digress - and I’ve heard many different opinions on what this passage means. Was it just written to the Jews at the time of their trials? Was it meant as a message to all Believers? I really don’t know, but I do find it encouraging to read; I mean, isn’t that beautiful?

“I, GOD, know what plans I have for you!!!”

YES!!! What we tend not to look at, however, is He also knows what’s in store for us. We may be willing to follow Him and do the right thing EVERY SINGLE STINKIN’ TIME, but we will also get burned, have our hearts torn, and feel some of the betrayal He has felt when we sin against Him. Our life on this earth is to serve Him, I slowly understand more fully, and His service requires that we suffer; not because He is unhappy with us, but because to serve a Holy God in a fallen world means we will sacrifice, we will cry out, we will bleed.

As usual, I started out with one point and got off track…

I guess my point is I’m realizing more and more the idea of defending the honor of what is right is not bad, but it hurts like its bad sometimes. Standing up for children in schools who are clearly neglected could cost someone their job; speaking out about the atrocities of certain cultures could get someone labelled and scorned; doing everything for “the least of these…” can get you killed. 

Is it worth it? I think so, but don't know if I'm ready to know for sure...

And... Here We Go

Wow, there have been so many things going on in this whirlwind it’s hard to sort it all out.

First off, I need to apologize to some friends. They know what has happened; indeed, we have made amends; but it’s still important to openly mention that I was wrong. I do have a tendency to under-think what I might say, and that sometimes hurts people I don’t want to hurt. I am sincerely sorry.

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I'm constantly amazed at the blessings I overlook until it's far past time for recognition. As much as I endorse the idea of praying and giving all of our troubles to God, I'm quick to pick up those same dilemmas should any new negative developments arise. Do the trials in our life somehow negate the incredible grace poured on us in just about every circumstance of life? No. But it sure as heck feels like everything positive falls away as soon as the arrows start whistling in.

The adoption process is very much like that, from what we've experienced. There are definitely the "ups and downs" (I hate cliches, but they are such an easy way to express a thought in a few words) as one would imagine, but the ups are relatively infrequent and the downs... well the downs seem to stop just short of Hell.  

What's funny is I know some of the folks reading this are nodding their head; they've been there and may even be eating the bitter grains that come with being a potential adoptive parent. I know one family, in particular who have finally crossed the threshold of adopting their son, but are still waiting on the U.S. (yes, as in UNITED STATES) Government to sign the visa. Strange; we live in such a free country, but are still so often more cautious than might be safe.

I started this post about a week ago, but was too distracted to finish it, and by the time I got back to it today, have had too much stuff happen to remember what (or why) I started writing the first time around. Needless to say, even a few minutes before starting up, again, I was on the phone with one of our senator's offices trying to dig through the mess that seems to be international adoption. I’m amazed at how helpful and compassionate people are willing to be (even if I didn’t vote for their boss).

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So… I took a deep breath and dove in.

Here’s part of the deal, now that I think about it; ANGER. Yeah, I’m an angry little dude, sometimes. Believe it or not, I’m not walking around with a chip on my shoulder waiting for someone to unwittingly knock it off, but I do see the deeper we get into the adoption process and the more willing I am to takes stands against what is obviously wrong in my little world, the easier it is for me to allow anger to control my actions. All told, I’m also coming to more of a realization that anger is not always a bad thing; I cannot let it control me or turn to hatred, but having a sense of justice and believing in that sense of justice is not, in and of itself, wrong.

As far back as I can remember I've second-guessed myself, wondering if I said too much, or, if I spoke, what the repercussions could be. Part of it is because I've been dealt some harsh blows because of my flailing tongue; I speak my “mind at that moment” and it brings down hail.

As my brother used to say, “open mouth, insert foot…”

Unfortunately, the caution I sometimes hid behind was almost as damaging. On a few occasions, if I had spoken when I ought to have spoken, things probably would have gone a little better. So, I’m basically back toward square one, trying to balance out what should be said and what should be bitten back.

Right now I’m too tired not to risk writing something else wrong on here, so I’m done…

Am I? Part II: IS HE?

"God," I said, sorting through some anger, "you're my God."

"AM I?" I heard Him say.

"Yes, you're my God."

"Then why aren't you acting like I'm your God?"

As previously mentioned, and not much elaborated on, this last week was a tough one. It ended on a high note, however, with friends coming together to show us support in our adoption process. We raised quite a bit of money, while at the same time being so INCREDIBLY GRATEFUL!

At the end of the night, exhausted and burnt-out from the week’s drama (some of which I brought on myself), I was fed up with minor attitudes I observed from some of the musicians. That, along with much of the struggle we've been dealing with as we get our emotions entrenched in kiddos in Africa, as well as a few I see on a daily basis right here, in the good ol' US of A.

As these themes continue to spin their shadowy images in my brain, I've found myself feeling a bit paranoid. Trust is something I’ve offered up cheaply for most of my life, and at times it feels like it was taken for granted and/or stolen. I trust quickly, but do not tend to be as open with someone who has betrayed said trust. Likewise, I am apt to “reading” what other people are thinking when they don’t say anything at all. Very recently, I’ve run into this tendency and it’s starting to wear on my nerves.

It has been suggested a few times, in the last week, I don’t know enough about situations I’m in the middle of. When we shared some concerning news with close friends, recently, one of them said “that’s disturbing… if it’s true…”

While I understand the sentiment, it bothers me. Why wouldn't something we say to them be true? I mean, I guess we could be led by the nose by someone else, but we aren't generally ones to jump into the leaf-pile until we know there isn't a cinder block under it. We have had enough burnt finger tips to remember the next time we get too close to the fire.

Then again, we have other mutual friends who are coming from a different tent in the same camp, and we do not bother to share our concerns with them, as they have already made up their minds about the situation and would not appreciate our shedding of light.

Can you tell I’m being a bit vague?

Honestly, I love my friends, but struggle with trusting them sometimes. Not that they’ve ever been dishonest with me (that I know of… heheh), but they also are slow to tell me what they really think.

 

In the same boat, I struggle with “my God.”

I mean, how can the all-knowing, all-powerful Lord of my life also be the God who sees what is going on in Africa and isn’t doing anything about it? Ebola is beginning to attack the small country two of our children are living in. It has almost taken an estimated two thousand lives throughout western Africa. TWO THOUSAND! Fortunately (I hate this word in this context, but…), it has not affected the orphanage that houses our kids, and hopefully it never will. But it is in their country.

And we have our hands tied attempting to get them out…! I am not, nor have I ever been an agnostic. God and I have too deep a relationship for me to honestly wonder if He exists. He has done far too much in my life, and allowed me to see glimpses, for me to walk away and decide I know more than I need to. At the same time, He knows we have our hands tied! If anyone could unbind us, it’s Him! So why doesn't He?!?

Why have we had to watch as other friends who were so determined to adopt, also, finally decided they couldn't continue the struggle... with our own American-run orphanage? Some have moved on because they knew it wasn't the "right fit," but others have begrudgingly walked away because of the people they also thought they could trust and found out otherwise. Where is God in all of this? As a Believer, I know He's right here... and that almost hurts more than wondering where He is. And it's oh-so-easy to be angry at God.

"Who is this that questions my wisdom with such ignorant words? Brace yourself,because I have some questions for you, and you must answer them. Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? Tell me, if you know so much.”

At the back of my mind… way down deep… pushed there, while my anger and frustration continues to heat, I hear Him talking to Job. Job, a man who lost his children, his wealth, his health, and was confronted by fools he believed were friends. He went through so much more than I could imagine; his wife told him to curse God and die! He didn’t do that, but he did complain. Like me…

I have to face facts where they lie. I cannot move them; I cannot rewrite them (God does know I’ve tried!); I have to accept them where they are.

I hate the phrase “you know I’m human, right?” Drives me nuts! But the truth is, I am inflicted with all of the frailties and disease instilled in me as every human being. I have less of an excuse because Jesus has opened my eyes to a Truth I cannot deny, but I still fail.

So when I hear God’s still quiet voice, again, asking…

"Who is this that questions my wisdom with such ignorant words?”

I have to respond…

“Uh, God? Those ignorant words? Yeah, that would be me…”

Am I? Part I

If you don't know me, you'll realize very quickly, from reading my posts, I'm swift on the emotional gun, while not always sure what I'm aiming at.

This last week has been incredibly difficult, though you probably wouldn't know it if you saw me. I tend to keep things in and allow them to simmer for a while. Oh, I let off steam when talking to my wife or friends, and they are usually gracious listening to my frustrations; sometimes they even correct me. Friends who are willing to correct you are dear friends, indeed; even if you feel like smacking them at the time.

The other night, a friend was finally able to produce a show she had been working on for months. The show was selflessly created for Kristie and I and our adoption process. Not only did she work so hard at getting bands to come and perform, dancers to choreograph, and food and goods to sell, but we also had many other friends come to support us and help out! I am so incredibly indebted to them. 

There were some snags along the way, of which I will not elaborate. But let me say I was disappointed in some of the musical guests who came that night. Culminating from the prior week of drama from the adoption process and work-related issues, I was completely worn out by the end of Friday night. While outside the facility, packing our van, I stopped and thought about my frustrations and prayed.

“God,” I said as a worshipful reminder, “you’re my God.”

I pray this often, as it encourages me knowing He is there with me when I’m struggling (He’s there when I’m not, too, but I struggle more often than not). Friday night, however, I heard a response… and it struck me hard.

“God, you’re my God.”

“AM I?” a still small voice spoke. I couldn’t tell you what direction it came from, but I heard it clear as my own voice (but it wasn’t my voice).

“Yes,” I replied with a sense of trepidation and mild encouragement.

“Then why don’t you act like it?”

Triffles of a Tiddle...

I realized, recently, that I have an addiction. It isn't too serious, but it does make me think... that's scary, too.

A few months back, I was flipping through the diverse collection of shows on Netflix. We don't have cable, satellite or DISH (whatever that is), so other than the occasional reference to one of the Kardashian's (whoever they are) or something about a professor who makes meth to "help" his family, I haven't been too aware of the types of things the majority of the American public watch on a daily/nightly basis.

Anyway, I saw a historical drama that caught my attention, and, being a fan of the historical drama (I've always loved Happy Days and The Man From U.N.C.L.E., etc.), and generally liking cowboys, Hell On Wheels looked like a worthy endeavor. Well, I watched the first episode up until one of the characters got his throat slit by a former slave, and that was the end of that adventure... for a few weeks, anyway.

Long story short, I decided to watch another episode a few weeks later, and... I... finished all three seasons on Netflix last night. It took a few weeks, but not for a lack of trying; carrying my "smart" phone into the bathroom with me; watching it on my tablet while in the waiting room at the doctor's; and even occasionally watching it on a real television set!

Why? You may ask, if you've read this far... It's a brutal show, with maniacal ministers, racial bigotry, former slaves willing to exact their own brand of redemption on former slave-owners, and enough of the N-Word to make some rap fans blush. It's also a bit gory, with the infrequent decapitation, mutilation, scalping and shootings (actually there are a lot of the last two), and if you know me you know I'm not a huge fan of gore.

The honest answer, however, is I don't know. 

Yes, yes, I do. I like the unpredictability of the world these people live in. Characters are on the show for two or three seasons, and then suddenly die; some by bullet, others by accident. The characters, even those now deceased, are also rather interesting in their flawed ways. None of the regulars on the show are "straight and narrow," though a few of them try to be and are constantly on their knees asking for guidance and forgiveness. They also aren't portrayed in a PC fashion; the indians/natives, the Confederate/Union soldiers, and the ex-slaves all have flaws and make bad choices at times. But even the choices, when they come to haunt (and they always come back to haunt!) often lead, again, to a sort of redemptive spirit.

Like the inhabitants of Hell on Wheels (yes, it was a town), the show isn't without it's flaws. Plot-holes, possibly caused by the occasional stray bullet or arrow cause some confusion, and the brutality of the characters makes it a little difficult to like any of the people above the age of 16. And, yes, the sporadic violence makes me a little squeamish. That said, I found myself constantly going back to see what would happen next. 

Fortunately, I guess, season four is just now airing on regular cable channels, so I won't be seeing it for another year...

Thay's Two Thangs Yuh Cain't Hold On To...

Kristie and I were at a meeting the other night for families with "special needs" children the other evening and we were hoping for some thoughts and/or guidance on raising a daughter with Autism. The gentleman running the program got up to introduce himself, the church we were attending, and why he had been a part of starting the ministry. His nickname was "Doc," and he was actually a medical doctor; but the reason he was a part of the class was far more personal, and it struck something in me. 

Doc talked about his five year-old son who had a rare disorder, and what it was like to have a child that couldn't live the way most of us can. I don't remember the details, but they aren't as important as what he said just before stepping down and introducing the guest speaker.

"About three years ago," he said, and I am paraphrasing, "my son was completely cured of his ailments..." 

In the split second between this comment and what was to follow, my brain spun through it's normal ADHD spinning; cured? Completely cured? C'mon... seriously?

I joke that I'm a Christian skeptic; I'm willing to believe some of the most considered far-fetched history of the Bible without a problem, but if you try to convince me the glaciers are melting and the sea is rising because of the Coke bottle I forgot to put in the recycling bin, I'm sorry, but not really. So when this man stood up there and told us his son had been cured, completely healed, I thought well, I guess it's possible, but I'm not buying anything!

In the microsecond after hearing him start, I had already decided what I thought of this guy. Typical of me, I admit (confess, really), I knew all about him in his few short words, until...

"... my son was completely cured of his ailments... when he met his Lord in person..."

Okay, head whirling again, but this time I got what he was saying almost immediately. Yes, I’m slow that way… sheesh…

Even writing it now makes me ache. His youngest boy, at the gentle age of five, currently attending a local preschool… gone. I thought of my kids. I thought of my friends’ kids, many of whom I’ve watched grow as we’ve gotten together. I thought of the text photo Kristie sent me the previous week of our two getting ready for their first day of school. Of course, I thought of all of “our” kids in Sierra Leone (sure, there’s a chance we may never adopt, but they will always be “our kids”), confined to their orphanage compound while Ebola threatens the populace.

I also thought about time; the ever elusive, partly fictional, thing. We seem to think we can measure it, but I’ll be darned if it wasn’t a longer process before we had kids.

I mean, I clearly remember summer days stretching onward the closer we got back to school when I was young. You start the summer out with a bang, going to the beach or up north to see family, but by the time summer is almost over, well… those last few weeks seemed they would wear us away with boredom.

Christmas, too, was tough. We had a grand, if wild, Christmas Eve parties at my grandparents’. All manner of family and friend would imbibe, tell stories and yell (quite literally, depending on how much was imbibed), all while enjoying Granma C’s wonderful spread of lasagna and mac ‘n cheese and ham. But as soon as the last of the guests left, my brothers and I knew we were in for the longest night of the year as we waited for the sun to rise again.

Gosh, my dearly beloved and I were married for near a decade before our first little terror lay her shadow across our doorstep, and those years seemed like an eternity; even the day before we realized we were expecting seemed endless, in a good way.

But… but… but… as soon as we brought our daughter home and began watching her grow… and then her brother came along! It was increasingly similar to the pilots from the Spacing Guild in the ol’ Dune books. Time and space seems to fold in on itself, no longer stretching as each year passes, but shrinking each month, week, day, minute, until you realize you’ve carried your child out of the maternity ward only moments ago and now you are waving as they pull out of your driveway to begin their senior year in high school.

“All people are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field;
the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of the Lord endures forever…”

Kinda’ depressing, in some ways, I guess.

“Shoot, Lord, couldn’t you give us a little more time with our kids while they are kids?”

Likewise, money, the OTHER ever elusive, partly fictional, thing comes immediately to mind. How similar and damaging two things can be! Neither of them exists in any real, substantial, physical form (yes, I’ve seen watches, coins and bills, but they are merely symbolic). And, yet, we hang on to both as if ropes dangling us above a den of lions. If only we had more of each! Man, the things we could do for our kids, those in need… the Lord! How many mission trips could we take to reach the world with God’s love? If we had the time, we could go often and whenever! If we had the money, we could go often and wherever!

I work with students who could use a good pair of shoes, especially as the cool weather starts it’s wary stretch these next few months. Some don’t have pencils or notebooks. A few have even mentioned their living conditions… Not to mention the people of Sierra Leone, and the countries surrounding! We visited people, beautiful people, living in homes made of sticks and leaves, sheet metal and dirt, cinder blocks and off-white paint. Can you imagine the ways things could change there if I had the right amount of cash available?

Then I’m reminded of the Gospel of Mathew, and Jesus’ call for no one to worry. “God knows what you need and He will provide,” He says, “even though NONE of you deserve it!”

I can imagine what I would do with as much money as I could use and time that I could take; but then, I can also think clearly enough to know my so-called righteous efforts would never see the light of day. My time, and money, would somehow be squandered; and no one, including me, would be any better for it.

Even my kids (biological and adopted), as much as I’d like them to stay where they are right now…  or even go back a few years…  would never benefit from such a wish. 

I was heartbroken when I heard Doc speak of the loss of his child, but I got a chance to speak with him after the meeting that night, and he shared how powerful those five short years were, and that got me thinking, too…

Game Over, Man! Game Over!

Yeah, I know this isn't the most original title for a post; especially if you were a teen male growing up in the turbulent sci-fi of the 80s (still one of my favorite movies, though!). That said, it seemed to convey exactly how I've been feeling, lately; at least on some things.

The adoption process continues to go smoothly, but the closer we seem to get to finally realizing what we see as a completion of our family (for now, anyway), the longer the freeway seems to stretch. We get to see the kids online, we get to hear them sing, we are able to write them through email, and even have opportunities to send them birthday gifts (thank you, Adrienne!). And all of this is incredible, but pales in comparison to having the chance to talk to them in person, to hug them and tell them how much they mean to us, to watch them grow.

As time progresses... ever... so... slowly... ebola has taken part of the continent by the throat. Many of the small countries, including our adopted Sierra Leone, are fearful of the unknown. A virus that hasn't visited the Eastern part of Africa (from what I understand) until now currently has taken almost three hundred lives in SL alone. 

Funny, as I was initially going to write this, I was overwhelmed. I was depressed. I was tired. I still am. 

We have two potential children living in a biological hell; we have a daughter who is as unpredictable as she is often predictable. School started today for our two at home, and her's was a day of manipulation, exhaustion, and a stressed-out brand new special-ed teacher. 

Well, our son had a good day!

I am blessed to the seams. Honestly, I am. Hard to believe, reading this, but it's true. And, yet, this desire to scream the classic phrase originally screamed by Bill Paxton still persists. "Game over, man! Game over!"

I am constantly reminded of the Gospel of Matthew 6:25-34. "Do not worry..."; do you think the flowers we mow are worried about their appearance? Do you think the birds are worried about eating, tomorrow? 

No.

Yet, I keep holding on to my fear of the unknown and my dread of the right now. 

I had a friend call me last night, practically in tears.

"Did you hear the news?" he asked.

"No." A myriad of thoughts swarmed through my mind. Was his wife okay? Did he see something about Freetown in the news? Was New York attacked, again?

"Robin Williams killed himself..."

Wow. It was absolutely tragic; especially hearing him share the news with me, as I knew what an icon Mr. Williams was to him. Then, again, it wasn't his wife, our kids, or our country. 

People loved him, he said. Heck, if he was depressed he could have walked down the street and people would have swarmed to him! 

His voice cracked as he spoke. 

As he talked to me, I wanted to use the moment to deepen our discussion about Christ and His sacrifice for us. I wanted to tell him I wasn't worried about where Robin Williams "went" if he knew the Lord (I know there is debate about salvation and suicide, but I believe the Scriptures are clear). 

And I told him I was sorry. That's all I could say. 

I was saddened by the tragedy that is suicide, but I was not sad about who it was, necessarily. My heart breaks for his family and all of his fans; but he is gone, and there is nothing to be done for him.

I also wanted to tell him I could, in some ways, understand why he did what he did. I can understand being surrounded by people who love you, but feeling isolated and alone. I have no desire to die; no! But I can, in some way, perhaps, understand why he may have taken that one moment to give up. Unfortunately, it was one moment too long. 

Sorry for the ramble, if you've read this far. Can't seem to help myself today. I needed to get this out of my system and hope it benefits someone else, as well. Life really is an amazing thing, and I plan on seeing it that way, again soon. I promise.

Thank You, Lord, For the Ball and Chain

I was chatting with a buddy the other day about getting together sometime and jamming. He said he was available and ready to go right then and there (if you don’t know, already, some of us musician-types can be a bit immediate when it comes to jamming), but I told him I had things I needed to finish around the house first.

Actually, what I said was I had a “honey-do list.”

“Isn’t she in Africa?” he asked.

“No, she doesn’t leave until late August.”

“Oh,” he began to laugh, “So you’re still on the leash, huh?”

This struck me as odd for some reason. Not that I haven’t heard such comments before (often with far more colorful, and less flattering characterizations), but I was thrown off guard by his making the statement. He’s a good guy, and I certainly don’t begrudge him (he is, after all, living with his girlfriend and their daughter, so he knows what it is to be in a relationship), but I was tempted to mention being “on the leash” has been the best thing for me the last twenty years, or so.

My beautiful bride and I started dating September 19^th, 1994, and were married October of 1996. Yes, to some it’s a long time, but it has been time well worth living. She is a blessing like none other I have experienced, though at times I think we were both ready to curse…  Our life together has been full of all types of drama and, sometimes, boredom. We’ve laughed as tears streamed down our faces and screamed as we (well I, anyway) threw pots and pans on the floor of our little tiny kitchen in our little tiny apartment.

We have struggled with loss so deep the days seemed to sink into a darkness we never thought we’d see the light out of; heartbreak, betrayal, embarrassment, death.

I have stubbed my toe and shunned her desire to comfort me; she’s always been patient with that side of me, but…

When we were told of our daughter’s diagnosis, we mourned together; she wasn’t dying, mercifully, but knowing the rest of her life would be a struggle most of her peers would never know was devastating, and the guilt we felt was almost unbearable (I know it sounds weird, but we both deal with our daughter being affected by who we are, somehow).

Having a son who’s considered advanced for his age adds a bit to the mix, as well. It’s a strange home dynamic when the younger brother acts older because his sister doesn’t have the maturity to act the age she is. And then, trying to figure out discipline for two completely opposing personalities… well, I guess if you’ve got kids, or been around them, you can understand this.

Not to mention the battle of adoption.

Anyway (there’s that word, again), I just thought I’d share a little bit. If I truly am “wiped” (heh - as someone once wrote me), stuck with the “ol’ ball n’ chain,” or “still on the leash,” I’m okay with that. Frankly, God has blessed me with a woman I could not have chosen without her being willing to say ‘I do.’ And she has… and she has… and she has… the girl deserves a purple heart.

Letting Go and Hanging On

I went back to Virginia a few years back to find work and help my parents as they prepared to move. I had been unemployed for about a year and was taking whatever chances of employment I could find at the time. Part of that was helping my parents sort through the large collection they had amassed through the thirty-plus years living in the area. I can’t completely lay it on them; much of what they had was from my childhood.

Pulling out box after dusty cardboard box, I found old comic books, Transformers,  G.I. Joe and Star Wars figures I had acquired ages ago. There were stuffed animals and trophies, some cobwebbed and dirty, others in their original packaging; probably worth something on Ebay, huh? I even found a few construction paper-made pamphlets, complete with my primitive crayon drawings of my family (I can say my spelling has gotten better, but the artwork is about the same). As I dug through this stuff, I kept thinking of the memories I had. For much of it, I could still remember where and when I got it; birthdays, Christmas’ spent in New England; even have a strong memory of calling every toy store throughout Delaware, looking for the new Dinobot Transformers.

Yes, a lot of fond recollections, but also a lot of baggage.

What does all this stuff do for me? What does it do for anyone? I mean, sure there are some great memories that come with it, but I have those, regardless of whether the trinkets come with them or not. They are all just stuff; some of them could catch me some cash on Ebay, possibly, but I wouldn’t be selling the nostalgia with them. And, otherwise, they simply take up room; too much room.

I had to deal with this thought on a much deeper level, recently. And what I, and my family, ended up “letting go” of was far more painful than anything made of plastic or worth money to some fan boy in east L.A. We had to say goodbye to two beautiful children growing up in one of the poorest countries in the world; and we weren’t allowed to tell them why.

Without going into too many details (yes, you are welcome), Kristie and I found out we were unable to adopt a young man we had fallen in love with over a year ago. We could not tell him he was already being adopted by someone else, and we would no longer be able to keep in contact as we had hoped. It was difficult enough finding out, after six months of pursuing his adoption and visiting with him regularly (via Skype), he was already matched with someone else, but when we were told we would need to write and tell him we would not be seeing him anymore, it was devastating.

Likewise, we have been connecting with a young lady for the last few years. I’m embarrassed to admit we had seriously considered adopting her and have been keeping in contact with her on a weekly basis. After seeing her last year, however, it became increasingly clear we would not be able to take care of her as she was more severely disabled than we had anticipated. We agreed to advocate for her and keep in contact, but after quite a bit of prayer and tears (those do go hand-in-hand more often than we’d care to admit, I think), we knew what steps we had to make.

Writing the letters was one of the most difficult decisions I've chosen in some time. How do you tell two elementary-aged kids, presumably hoping to come to America and become part of our clan, things have changed?

“Sorry kids. We like you and all, but… well, it’s not you, it’s me… uh…”

We are hopeful Pastor Daniel, who would be reading the letters to the children, would be able to explain to the best of his knowledge why. He is a wise man, with a great heart for these orphans, and we trust God will use him.

These are a few instances of us having to let go. We cannot hold to what God has planned for others; we cannot keep to ourselves what He has chosen to share with someone else. His ways are not my ways; and His will is so much deeper than I will ever fathom. Granted, the toys I found in my parent’s attic doesn't compare to the precious lives that have affected us so deeply, but the memories those things are tied to can sometimes complicate my willingness to give them up.

Part of the reason we had to “let go” was we have been matched, officially, with two other kids, and we are in the process, again officially, of bringing them into our family. Like the two we already have living in our home, they are a brother and sister. We have met them on more than one occasion and we are excited about the possibility of making them “ours.” There is always the risk of more broken hearts, but it is a risk we are willing to go through, again, and hope we don’t break any more along the way. Adoption is a very scary two-way street.

Ironically, and it just hit me as I write this - yes, I’m kind of a stream of consciousness blogger -

 the two we have been paired with were actually connected to a dear friend and her family, when they realized God’s plan was not for them to adopt them. Strange how that works! She had the heartbreak of telling these two beautiful children her family would not be theirs, while a year later we are matched with these same kids!

This is the part where I talk about “hanging on,” but only briefly (again, you are welcome). We believe God has placed this young brother and sister in our lives so that they will have two more siblings and we will have two more children to call our own. We have made it through some extremely painful obstacles; honestly, if someone told me we would go through all that we've gone through when we started, I probably wouldn't have believed them or would have stopped before we got started. These trials and tribulations do not compare to some of what we've seen friends going through, and I am hopeful they know we see this and pray for them. But it’s been hard, terrifying even, but we are in this for the long haul (I think I’m done with the clichés for now, unless you've got one you’d like to add), and will be hanging on.

If you are interested in supporting our endeavor, please pray for us, first and foremost. Please also see our other links for more information and for other opportunities to give, if you so choose.

Autistic, Average and African

Make Adoption an Option 

Gotcha' Gift Registry

The Reason We Do This

Wanna' Buy a Dead Cat?

(I need to stipulate that this would have been “put out there” about a week ago, except our router has stopped working properly. That, or I have continued to not work properly, and the router is fine… either way, this is later than planned)…

I am probably the world’s worst sales person anyone could ever meet. When I was in bands… WAY back in the day, I would pay for people to come to our shows. I was that determined to have people see what we were capable of. Heck, I even gave rides to buddies who lived an hour away from our shows. I’ve had people offer to buy collectibles (y’know, comic books, action figures, etc.) and I would give them out, instead.

So, you get the idea… I couldn’t sell a bottle of water to a marathon runner in the Mojave Desert; of course, that would be cruel to not just give them the water, so I’m not sure it’s a good example. But, hopefully you still get the idea.

Anyway… so have I mentioned we are working on an adoption process? We are, and it’s been a challenge and a blessed lesson. We are surrounded by people who love us, in spite of our many flaws, and many of them also support us in various ways; ways far more generous than financial. They watch our kids while we are in meetings or even in another country; some have even paid to have them flown across the country so we could travel abroad. I think this is partly what makes it so hard to ask for help with the adoption.

How do you ask people you know and love for money? I mean, we’ve done that with our parents; and we do know and love our parents. How do you ask friends, though?

Ironically, this past week a few things came up that were a surprise and a bit of a shock. Two local news channels contacted us, asking about our adoption plans and the fundraising site we are using. Never been contacted by the news before…

The other is a good friend who has offered to set up a fundraiser performance, including dancers (she’s a dance teacher) and musicians, including myself. I’m excited and a little baffled… the support from friends and family is awesome, why would anyone want to interview us about our adoption? I mean, it’s definitely important to us, but we have numerous friends who have adopted, or are also in the process, arduous as it has been. Not to say that we aren’t thrilled with the possibilities; we are. Just a little surprised…

And grateful.

The Selfish Mongrel Speaks, again...

Adoption, in some ways, is a very selfish thing.

Wait, let me rethink that.

I think, for me, adoption is a very selfish thing (yeah, that’s better). I don’t want to speak for anyone else on this issue, as I only know my own thoughts for sure. I have read quite a few blogs, spoken with friends who have adopted, and visited an orphanage in Sierra Leone with others who were also hoping to adopt; some were in the process at that point.

Adoption is immensely personal. I've had to struggle with why I wanted to adopt, and will probably continue to struggle with it, but I've

been able to come to a few conclusions. One, I’m not pursuing this option for our family because I want to be unique.

“Chocolate and vanilla, so to speak; how cool!”

“What great people for wanting to “rescue” these poor children from their awful homes!”

NO!

I really have quarreled, internally, about these thoughts. I've had people tell us how ‘special’ and ‘amazing’ we are; and I often tell them that this is what I’m about! It’s all selfish on my part! I've fallen in love with these children that I met overseas and now have an even deeper yearning desire to bring them into our family! There’s nothing grand or heroic or even merciful about what I’m trying to do! It really is quite self-centered.

On the other hand, because of how I've been touched by the children in Sierra Leone, as well as my desire to help and care for others that have not been given the same opportunities as I have, I honestly do believe that God has called us to pursue adoption (note I did NOT say “called to adopt.” That is our desire and hope, but we have no guarantee of success in this regard). We have friends and family who are outwardly very supportive and even excited for us. We also have family who have made it clear that they do not support us; some, even though they seem supportive, have questioned our motives and ability to adopt. We don’t make much money; we have a child with “special needs;” my hair looks really bad if it isn't Whiffled at least once a month, you get the idea…

The point is, I think (here comes the ADHD excuse, again!), we are going to pursue what we feel led to pursue whether anyone else agrees with it or not. I don’t know what the outcome will be. Does anyone? What I do know, however, is that I love my wife immensely, I love my children so much it pains me sometimes, and I love some beautiful kids that come from a completely different world than our own, and I hope to bring them to the U.S. to live as Jeanes’.

Here Goes...

Holy Farmhands, Batman!
The Dynamic Duo, Olivia and Eli!

 It's taken me a while to figure out what, or how, to do a blog. I've written about my favorite monster movies, I've complained that I'm not that good at blogging, wondered what I should write about, and even thought I would write a whole editorial on the merits of Iron Maiden and their thirty-plus years of serving the community with amazing music. This blog was originally titled something much darker, but I'm happy to say I'm not interested in presenting "darkness," even in a fictional sense. 

At least, not on this blog; I'll leave that to my fiction.

For those that don't know me, or my family for that matter, I'm Dan and my wife is Kristie, and we have two beautiful, challenging, and smart children, Olivia and Elisha. 

Without going into too many dramatics, our daughter was diagnosed, at the age of four, with autism. We knew from day one (honestly) that there was something amiss about her, but it took four years before someone was able or willing to test her. She's our little unpredictable bundle of sunshine, though sometimes cloudy. 

Elisha arrived two years later, to some concern, after what we'd been through with his older sister, and has proven to be a firecracker in his own right. He's advanced in school, and assumes he is advanced at home, though he's years younger than the rest of the family. He's a smart kid, but not quite mature enough to be humble about the abilities God has granted him.

That brings me to the next topic of conversation. Kristie & I are devout (as best we can possibly be in this world) Evangelical Christian Believers. Unfortunately, to some that is a mysterious and dangerous thing; I've had many discussions with people about what our beliefs mean and find it ironic how often the thought of pious, self-righteous, and bigoted features come into play. Then again, I've been all three of those, and could be accused of much more. Fortunately, I believe in a forgiving and loving God who is willing to point out the errors in my own life and gracious enough to help me overcome them with time.

Before meeting Kristie, my life was a mish-mash of occurrences, fronting small-town rock bands, bouncing from home to home while pretending to be a college student (I still had a dorm room). After meeting Kristie, and eventually convincing her to marry me, our lives became a mish-mash of events, though she was definitely the stable one in the storm.

We have lived in three different states since "tying the knot," attended numerous churches, and shifted jobs more times than I care to admit. That has all changed in the last few years, but to say things have settled would be a gross misstatement. We finally found a church (and a church family) that we have, for lack of a better term, "fallen in love with"; I am heading into my fourth year as an employee of the local public school district, doing a job that is challenging in all the right ways; and we both have found a passion that we are in agreement about and driven to follow.

With all of these great accomplishments (tongue somewhat in cheek), each of these has contributed to making our lives a bit more insane than I ever could have imagined... and I couldn't be happier. 

It all started, to some degree, with a friend's trip to Africa; Sierra Leone, to be exact. Jeremy, the friend in question, had decided to visit an orphanage in one of the poorest countries in the world that year. I remember he and his wife telling us about him going overseas and thinking that would never be us. Kristie and I had made it abundantly clear – to each other – that we would never be interested in leaving the States unless it was to see where our ancestors came from, and to try out the food. Africa was scary; if the warfare didn’t take you out, a giant spider would take a stab at ya’. If that wasn’t the problem, then the thought of becoming someone’s dinner really caused chills. Anyway, to my thinking (I can’t speak to Kristie’s thoughts on this, as I don’t think she was nearly as ignorant), Africa had a number of problems and they were their problems.

I can remember vividly Jeremy’s return to the States and his giving a presentation to our small Sunday School class at church one morning. He had clearly been moved by the experiences of going to Sierra Leone. He spoke of the trash heaps that people lived on, surviving off whatever they could scrounge. He talked about the beautiful children that lived on the streets, some attempting to earn a meager income to bring back home; others simply trying to survive. He also mentioned the orphanage he visited and how powerful it was to see God’s hand in the lives of these children who had no other place to call home.

I also recall, with some trepidation, the feeling of jealousy, inadequacy, and non-committal attitude I had toward his excitement. It was fine for him to want to go; in fact, I thought it a little bleeding-heart of him to want to go. But that wasn’t for me. I was an American and a punk-rocker (in my mind, anyway), and didn’t “need” to go anywhere else in the world to prove myself. He knows all of this by now, but he also knows the rest of the story… so far, anyway.

Still reading this? If not, well… I’ll bite my tongue. 

But if you still are, I’ll abbreviate by saying that I have had a change of heart regarding Africa, an orphanage, and God’s desire for our lives. We are in the process of adoption, and by “process” I mean a heart-wrenching black hole ache. I’ve heard the horror stories of adoption, but never realized the same things could happen to us.

This blog is a record of our “process” and the struggles that come with it. I will be on my face, asking God for a whisper. I will write of our struggles through the rending winds, the earthquakes and the fires. I will also faithfully recount the immense grace and healing. Please stay with me on this, but be patient… I’m a slow learner, and this is going to be a bumpy ride.