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.