When You Don't Want To Go Home

My children are dancing on my last nerve.

I am exhausted.

Ornery.

And, can't find the pocket where I stored the good of summer for when this day struck.

I was supposed to work today. The office day was canceled.

My kids and my sitter all think that I am at work. I didn't have the energy to tell them otherwise.

Since 8:30am, I have been wandering, and I am not a wanderer. I often feel guilt with wandering, wondering if I am spending these few sacred hours away from my children wisely.

The pressure of what to do with the first 5 free hours I have had in the last two months nearly kills me each time.

Not today.

Today, I feel empty.

Tired.

And, I am just going with it and giving myself grace.

My initial morning wandering lead me on the hunt for a cardigan to wear to an unseasonably cold summer wedding this weekend.

I never did find a cardigan, I can't say that I looked that hard.

I did, however, drink Rwandan coffee loaded with half-n-half - while it was still warm, stop at a garage sale, drove with my windows down, and picked myself fresh flowers.

It's okay to wander, to buy polka dot measuring cups that you don't really need at a clothing boutique, to peruse books at a local bookstore and walk away with two you may never read. It's okay to purchase a charming gray and white striped rug just because you like it but don't necessarily love it.

And, it's okay not to want to go home to your kids yet.

Right?

When You Don't Want to Show Up

Day 41: Today started early with screams from Finley's room around 12:30 am. Followed by several visits from Elliott because he was having bad dreams.  At one point there were four of us in our queen size bed, and I somehow ended up with no pillow and only enough room to lay on my side, smooshed between both Finley and Elliott. Everybody was hot and sweaty and my thick cozy blanket was no longer welcome, but it was physically impossible for me to move it. My drab mood from the night before was being intensified instead of renewed with the dawning of a new day. I was tired.  My body was tired. My heart was tired. My mind was tired. Every last part of me was and is tired.  It has been 41 days of trying to show up.  And today, I just didn't want to show up.  Showing up sucks.  I long to open my eyes to a day where Steve is getting ready for work, and I can be thrilled with how much food my healthy kids are eating instead of wondering what we will do in exactly three weeks and six days when Steve's severance is up. Today it would have been easier to just stay in bed and drown my sorrows until Steve left for his upteenth meeting with a connection who may have a lead to a possible connection somewhere.  But although easier, I knew it wasn't part of the deal.  I knew I need to show up.  It wasn't pretty, but my feet did hit the floor, and I was greeted by Finley saying, Moning Mama.   Gibson didn't care that I was a disheveled mess of bed head and night sweats, but only wondered if he could look at Google Earth with me. Elliott was finally finding sleep that was so elusive from the hours before.  I showed up, and it mattered.  And I have to continue to choose to show up today, because today is just one of those days, when showing up is the hardest thing to do.

Fresh Hope and Joy ... Broken

It was two days before we left for our long awaited summer vacation.  Steve and I had spent twenty days of June in Seoul, Korea, but vacation would be the last word we would put to our time there.

We had just completed our four year wait for to bring our daughter home, we were overwhelmed by our new normal, and we could not wait to escape it all, for the first time as a party of five.  There was nothing more to wait for.  We were finally together, and we had been looking forward to this for so long.

I pushed a cart filled to the brim with vacation groceries, a constantly chattering toddler, and had two squirrely boys and their excited energy surrounding me, as my phone dinged with a text from Steve asking me to call him.

Unfazed,  I pushed through the produce section with one hand and dialed Steve's number with the other, expecting nothing more that a grocery request from the other end.

Instead, as I reached for the carrots, Steve told me that he was let go from his job.

THEY LET ME GO. 

THEY LET ME GO.

My world, in an instant, became a blur. The nice, neat lines of structure that Steve and I had traced around the boundaries of our life had disappeared.

All logic, planning, and understanding now overflowed into the isle as I tried to make sense of what I was hearing on the other line.

Innocence was lost as my eight year old looked at me with tears in his eyes and panic in his face as he started connecting the dots.

Innocence was lost as my six year old began to catch on, and his brother confirmed what this moment in the isles of Meijer would forever mean to him.

The rug had been pulled out from us.

We now had no full time job, would shortly have no income, no insurance.  We had just brought home our daughter from Korea. We have two boys who were getting ready to start a new school year, and, here we were...Jobless...Stunned...Devastated...Hurting.

We were unsure of what tomorrow would look like, let alone our future.

It was only by the grace of God that I made it through the checkout lane and back home in one piece that day.

And it was only by the grace of God that we made it through the minutes and hours remaining in that dreary Thursday.

We had no words, no solutions and were just being introduce to the grief we would be working through for the days and weeks to come.

The fresh hope and joy we had felt when bringing Finley home had been broken.

Steve and I decided that night that our only choice was to show up. We would show up each morning, show up each afternoon, and show up each evening.  We would show up for God.  We would show up for each other.  We would show up for our three beautiful children.

We would sit in our brokenness, look for beauty in the brutal, and stay in the arena with our faces marred by dust, sweat, and blood. We would dare greatly, seek truth and fight each day against the lies.

Today, as I type, it has been forty days since our fresh hope and joy was shattered. We are still uncertain of our future.  Steve is still looking for a job.  But we are still showing up, broken, hopeful and waiting once again.

Gotcha Day Eve

When I was pregnant with Gibson I measured time by the expiration date on the milk jug.

Each week, as I would do my grocery shopping, I would check the gallon of milk I was buying relieved that the expiration date was well before my January 8th due date.

Then, as life always does, time marched on and one day the milk jug read, Jan 08 '05.

I remember looking around the store that day, saying to myself,

 It's okay Theresa.  Look around, everyone here has a mother, they were all born.  It is going to be okay.  You can do this.  You have to do this.

I was terrified.

I had never given birth before.  I had no idea how to be a mom.

And, before January 8th ever made it's appearance, I had done it.

I had given birth.

I was a mom.

It was not how I had planned it, but it happened, and my life had more depth and meaning than it had ever had before.

Now, eight and a half years later, on the eve of Finley's gotcha day, I sit with those same feelings I felt in the grocery store so many years ago.

My heart is heavy. I am scared, nervous about what tomorrow is going to bring.

I spent most of dinner crying, unable to eat.

You see, tomorrow isn't like the childbirth I experienced for the first time so many years ago.

Tomorrow won't just be about me and Steve and our new baby.

Tomorrow is about me and Steve and Gibson and Elliott.  It's about Finley.  It's about her foster mom and her foster dad and her entire foster family.  It's about her birth mother.  It's about life and loss, brokenness and redemption.

It is about a room full of people who have loved Finley with their whole hearts and will all have experienced great loss.

Tomorrow, instead of being a day of pure joy and celebration, will be a day of immense grief.

Tonight, Finley's foster mom is tucking her in for the last time.

I would rather endure seventeen hours of labor with pitocin and no epidural, than have her experience that heartache.

But, the thing about living in this broken world is that I can't.  I can't take away the pain, the hurt.

The only thing I can do is step into it.

And, that is exactly what I will do.  I will step into the grief and the heartache of tomorrow knowing that in order for healing to begin, the deep sadness must be felt, wrestled with and sat in.

I will hold my daughter tightly, praying that one day when I tell her this part of her story, she will know she was chosen and loved.... by each and every person in that room.

ep...

ep: emigration permit

In the world of Korean adoptions, an EP is the coveted document that means the final leg of your journey has finally come.

Previously, after a family had an EP, their child was then scheduled for their visa/medical appointment and they were finally eligible for a travel call.

Now, since the passing of the new law, {stating that international adoptions will now be finalized in Korea} after a family receives an EP, their child will be scheduled for a visa/medical appointment and the rest is still a mystery.

It has now been over 14 months since we first laid eyes on our beautiful Finley girl.  It was love at first sight, we were filled with optimism and hope, and we were told the estimated travel time would be in 4-6 months.

After waiting 28 months to meet her, 4-6 months seemed like a cake walk.  She would be just over a year old, it would be spring/summer, and the boys would have their new little sister to follow them around on all of their adventures.

With great anticipation, Steve and I dreamed about the day we would get the call that we had an EP.

We planned to call all of our closest family and friends and have an impromptu EP party.  We had been saving a bottle of our favorite Cab from 45 North, and planned to uncork it on this much anticipated day.  There would be singing and dancing and smiles all around, all while Christina Perri's A Thousand Miles would be playing in the background {I often imagine my life as a Hallmark movie......}

Two weeks ago, the much anticipated day had finally arrived.  As I laid in bed checking my morning emails, I saw that we had an update and that we had finally been granted our EP.

I immediately called Steve, only to get his voicemail, several times in a row.

I then texted my soulsister.

She immediately called me and I, immediately began sobbing....and could not stop.  The feeling of elation I had anticipated was instead a feeling of immense grief.

A grief that I could not explain, but only felt in the depth of my soul.

We were now one step closer, yet still so far away.

Instead of crying tears of joy, I was crying tear of agony, pain and longing.

Our baby girl is no longer a baby but soon to be a toddler.

The dreams of holding her as an infant were only a dream and will never be a reality.

We celebrated here first birthday without her in our arms, and now as her second birthday approaches, my heart aches to think of one more birthday without her.

The bottle of cab still sits in the cupboard.

There was no impromptu party.

No dancing or smiles all around.

Instead, we are weary to our bones,

Our hearts ache ever more.

And, the true celebration seems still so far away.

Finley girl,

Darling, don't be afraid

I have loved you for a thousand years

and I will love you for a thousand more!

One step closer.....

                             ~A Thousand Miles

Project52: Self-Portrait

My friend Autumn is hosting Project52, a once a week photo challenge for 52 weeks.  One year of pushing the limits behind the lens.

Autumn and I first met at a Yoga retreat and quickly bonded over our strong desire for a glass of wine and a cookie.

Since meeting Autumn I have learned that she has an unmatched creative energy, she roots for the underdog, and she always has her hands in something outside the box.

So, when she asked if I wanted to join her for this photo challenge, I had no other choice but to say Yes!

The first assignment, however, almost made me run for the door...

A self-portrait?

Oh dear.

That's when I knew this project was exactly what I needed.

To be a bit uncomfortable.

To be a lot vulnerable {insert little known fact that I took a camera class once and left more confused than ever}. 

To take a chance.

To push my thinking.

After a brief self pep talk, I started to ponder how exactly it was that I wanted to take my self portrait.

What part of me tells a story?  My crow's feet? My gray hair? My usual uniform of yoga pants and a comfy t? What story do I  want to tell?

And that is when I knew that I had to somehow get this shot...

... a shot of my forty-one month pregnant self.

 Although I do not have the belly to prove it, my arms have longed to hold my baby girl since God placed her on my heart four years ago.

I did not feel her first kick.

I have not heard her heartbeat.

Yet still I have carried her and have always known she was mine.


Thirsty for more? Head on over to The Terpblog to see Katie's self-portrait, I promise you'll be inspired.

When Your Too Busy Living Life

Tonight, my living room was filled with genuine laughter and deep conversation, as Katie and I crossed off #2 & #33 off our Year 33 lists, respectively.

It was the first time that most of us had met outside of the social media world, yet we all seemed to have been connected for years.

We questioned.

We shared.

We joined each other in much more than a discussion about a book.

We joined each other in authentic living.

As I turn in tonight, I have yet another eucharisto to add to my list.

182. Six authentic women choosing gratitude.

Ugly Beautiful

There are times when I struggle to pick up the book I am reading.

I don't have enough time. I am tired, or I am just not in the mood.

One Thousand Gifts seems to be one of these books. I am in love with this book. I have been blessed by this book, but have been struggling to finish this book.

Yesterday, in my weariness, I found myself in a hot bath, surrounded by the smell of lavender, at 3 o'clock in the afternoon.

For some reason, I brought my book in with me.

Six dog-eared pages later, I knew why had been resisting this chapter for so long.  God had wanted me to read it, in the bathtub, at 3 o'clock on a Monday afternoon, weary and worn out.

I was humbled.

I had been worn down by the ugly and was missing out on the beautiful.

As Ann writes,
I look for the ugly beautiful, count it as grace, transfigure the mess into joy with thanks...

With ten minutes to spare, before the bus came to deliver my boys, I decided to look for the ugly beautiful. To transfigure the mess into joy and my weariness into thanksgiving.

Ugly Beautiful
I have a daughter in Korea. I have a daughter.
She is in a foster home. She has a family loving her.
We missed her first roll over, crawl, and step. She is thriving.
I don't know what her first word was. She has words.
I cannot do anything to bring her home faster. There is nothing I long for more.
I long for her to call me Mama. She has someone to call Mama.
I cry on most days. First the ripping to see God face-to-face.

Suddenly, my weary wasn't so weary anymore.  My hope was restored, and I was thankful for the ugly beautiful.

The moon will rise and those who limp know how to see. -Ann Voskamp

Weary

I am weary.

My heart.

My body.

My spirit.

All weary.

I have a daughter on the other side of the world.

Each day she is getting older.

Each day I wait.

I am weary.

31 Days of Writing:

Day 1: I used to think... now I think...

I used to think that 33 was too old to have a baby,
now I think God knew exactly what He was doing with this 33 year old Mama.

I used to think I would teach for 30 years,
now I think there may be something else waiting for me to discover.

I used to think I was shy,
now I think I am lovely, pleasant company and quite well adjusted.

I used to think I had to have it all together,
now I think authentic living is where it's at and celebrate this messy life.

I used to think I didn't have much to share,
now I think I have bits of wisdom and wit waiting in the wings.

I used to think safe was the way to go,
now I think safe gets you right where you have always been.

I used think it was my job to please people,
now I think saying no is freeing and leaves space for me to be me.

I used to think perfect was where it was at,
now I think perfect is a wasted story.

I used to think I wasn't strong,
now I think my quite strength has stood the test of time.

I used to think that there was no way God could love me,
now I think He lavishes and delights in me, chuckling each time I let go.

I used to think I wanted to be on the inside,
now I think the inside is too crowded for my taste, and the outside is where I belong.

I Will Wait

photo credit

Time and time again, I begin to write hoping to describe how my heart aches to meet Finley, and time and time again, I simply cannot find a way.

The grief is too great and the pain is too real.

There are simply no words to describe how hard it is,

and I am simply too sad and too tired to craft any.

Today, I still don't have the words, but this song spoke to my aching heart.

{Thank you, Matt for sending this our way tonight!}

I came home

 Like a stone

 And I fell heavy into your arms

 These days of dust

 Which we've known

 Will blow away with this new sun

And I'll kneel down

 Wait for now

 And I'll kneel down

 Wait for now

And I will wait, I will wait for you. (2x)

So break my step

 And relent

 You forgave and I won't forget

 Know what we've seen

 And him with less

 Now in some way

 Shake the excess

And I'll kneel down

 Wait for now

 And I'll kneel down

 Know my ground

And I will wait, I will wait for you. (4x)

Now I'll be bold

 As well as strong

 Use my head alongside my heart

 So take my flesh

 And fix my eyes

 That tethered mind free from the lies

And I'll kneel down

 Wait for now

 And I'll kneel down

 Know my ground

 And I'll kneel down

 Wait for now

Raise my hands

 Paint my spirit gold

 And bow my head

 Keep my heart slow

And raise my hands

 Paint my spirit gold

 And bow my head

 Keep my heart slow

The road has been long.

I still don't see the end.

But, I will wait.

"Comparison is the thief of joy."

A dear friend found this on Pinterest and it finally made sense.

Women often have a hard time celebrating each other and their success' because we are all too often comparing ourselves. 

And, with each comparisson we are slowly taking away the joy in life.

"Comparison is the thief of joy."

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Bad habits are hard to break, trust me, I know!

 But, in attempt to lead a more authentic and fullfilling life I thought I would show  my "behind-the-scenes" just so you know that everyone has them.

I know that through blogs and facebook I can appear to have it all together {my highlight reel}, but please know that the following this the true story.

I am a far cry from having it all together.

Yes, this is my living room cluttered to boot.

And, my table, also cluttered to boot.

Ah, the laundry room.

*note: the basket on the left is actually clean clothes I have yet to put away.

And, as all of my best friends know, I can't put a shoe away to save my life.

There you have it, a small snippet of  my behind-the-scenes.

Women are far too valuable to compare. 

 Let's stop comparing and celebrate each other's highlight reels.

What do you say?