Do I Really Have To Love Her Parents?

I want to talk about something.  Be warned that if you need someone to make you laugh right now, you should move along.  I'm not feeling funny.  Some other day.

Something is eating my lunch so I thought I would just spill my guts right here for all of you to read.  

Every single day, and I do mean every single day, Ella prays for two people by name.  She starts at least 90% of her meal time prayers with, "Dear God, thank you for _________ and __________." The names that would fill in those blanks happen to be our foster daughter's parents.  She loves L and she loves her parents.

I can be found sitting next to her thinking, "Oh, good grief.  Just thank God for our food and say amen.  Why do you need to pray for them at every meal?  Must we think about them while we eat our chicken casserole???" 

Welcome to my ugly inner thoughts.

The night before we picked L up from the hospital, we huddled up before bed time and prayed for her and her parents.  We asked God to help them overcome their struggles so they could be with their baby again.  We asked God to use us to help her feel loved and safe in our home. There was vigilance in the beginning when it came to loving all three of them and honoring her parents with our words.    We even took the kids with us to L's first visit with her mom.   We wanted them to know her as a real person, not competition.  To help ease the awkwardness and bridge the gap, we had them bring some flowers and a care package to give her when we met. It was hard and emotional but God opened hearts on every side as we extended love in that small tangible way.  She received it and our kids liked her.

How about that?  God answered our prayers.

As time goes on it's hard to keep that kind of fervor.  It's been a roller coaster for my heart.  I have loved her parents deeply along the way, but this case has been long and I have no idea when it will end.  We're not close, that's all I really know.  The ball is totally in her parent's court.  We are moving toward adoption but it guarantees nothing.  It could all change again.  Uncomfortable meetings happen every month and I can't lie, I'm nervous about November.  What is usually the most celebratory month in the entire year for our family, because of our anniversary and numerous birthdays, I face with some amount of dread this year.  We will turn the page of this story and meet her parents once again.  Except this time she has been with us for much longer than she was with them.  

She calls us mommy and daddy now. 

We know her likes and dislikes.  What know what makes her laugh and what makes her scared.  For 16 months we have fed her every meal, gave her every bath, changed every diaper, put her to bed every night, endured every screaming fit, taken a million pictures of her smile that lights up a room, cheered her on when she started to crawl, waited anxiously for her to take her first steps, heard her say her first words, held her in the middle of the night, spent hours at court dates, meetings, and doctor visits.  Not only us, but a whole village of people have loved her like their own.

We are her people.

A lot of time has gone by without them around.  I have worked through bonding issues (that I might talk about someday), I have struggled with whether or not I am really cut out for having so many kids (hahaha...too late!), I've been tired and at my end on more occasions than I can remember, and now find myself rounding a corner where I feel a deeper peace with our family dynamic than I have in a long time.  I get to enjoy it for about 6 weeks and then everything will change again.

When we started down this road I didn't think about all of this when we taught our kids to pray for her mom and dad.  And now every time they pray we get confronted with whether or not that is where our hearts really are anymore.

Do I wish we had never taught them to care about her parents?  Honestly, deep down the answer is NO.  An important truth we want our kids to know is that when they see someone making bad choices it doesn't make them our enemy.  Is there anything more natural, even from childhood, than to vilify people who sin in different ways than us, though?  Every time I walk away from venting sessions with other foster parents I never feel any better.  I gain nothing but conviction.  How can I be honest about my feelings without sinning against them?  I don't know.  I don't know how to love someone who is really selfish and/or has harmed a child.  A fresh reminder of this came last night when some of my friends came across a toddler being loosely supervised by middle schoolers in nothing but a dirty diaper and flea bites all over his body.  One of my friends had to remove a flea from his little head.  THIS IS NOT OKAY.  My justice seeking self wants to investigate the situation, while assuming the worst, and take him home with me on the spot.  It doesn't work that way, in case you're wondering.  This is also why I needed to marry someone like Jeff who would say, "Whoa. Hold the train for just a sec."  Caring about his parents is not my first instinct by a long shot.  Except for those rare moments when God moves in my heart and does what He does.

So, here is part of the rub in foster care.  Can we love a child well and not love their biological parent?  You guys, this is difficult terrain.  Some would argue that our job as foster parents is to love the kids in our care and that is good enough.  That alone can bring us to the the brink of emotional collapse in some cases.  I do not disagree that our main job is to love the kids in our care. 

We shouldn't gloss over poor choices, neglect consequences, or tiptoe around sin, especially when it affects the vulnerable.  The problem I am having is that Jesus is super bossy and doesn't bend His words to fit my circumstances.  I can't get around His words to me when it comes to the posture of my heart, even in the face of cruelty and selfishness.  I hear Him tell me to act on behalf of the widow and orphan bravely in a spirit of humility and grace.  Some choices have grave consequences, and they should, but the second we forget the depth of our own need for grace we are in the weeds.  We need grace as much as the next person, even on our best day.  Sometimes, we also need firm consequences and accountability.  Myself included.

Foster care can be a hard place to remember grace, though.  

It's really easy to elevate our own morality.  When I hold myself up to the drug addict, physically abusive, or negligent parent I always seem to come out on top.  I forget where the verse is that says we should find our righteousness by comparing ourselves to someone whose sin is "worse."  Help me out, someone.  {It's non-existent in case you didn't catch my sarcasm.}

Our kids don't know all of the details, so maybe it's easier for them to love.  Jeff and I have joked in moments when we feel convicted by their prayers, "WHATEVER.  They don't know what we know." 

But what we actually know is that God is using them to remind us of the truth.  Kids are just better at forgiveness and loving without caveats, if we're really honest with ourselves.  They forgive me without hesitation when I ask them for it.  If parenting has taught me anything, it's how much I need forgiveness and grace.  Oh my word, I need it.

Sometimes the student becomes the teacher.

On days when her parents haven't even crossed my mind, or I'd rather not try anymore, one of the kids will pray for their good.    Here are some of the prayers that I hear on any given night.

Dear God, please help _________ and __________ to make gooder choices.
Dear God, thank you for ________ and __________. 
Dear God, please teach _________ and ___________ to love you.
Dear God, please help __________ and ___________ to get out of _____ soon so they can see L.
Dear God, I hope __________ and ___________ have a good weekend.
Dear God, please let __________ and ___________ get out of _____ because it will be weally important. 
Dear God, please let ___________ and ___________ get more pictures of L. (I crack one eye open to see if Avery is staring at me while she prays that and think, "Gee, I wonder how will God answer that prayer?)

I cannot get away from it.  God wants me to love her mom and dad.  I don’t know exactly how to do that when it seems that they are not dealing in reality.  I want to throw my hands up when they won't be honest about their choices or take responsibility for them.  We disagree about the permanency plan for L.  HOW DO WE DO THIS?

I see the face of a 15 year old girl in my mind.  I see her sitting next to me on her bed with tears in her eyes.  She struggles with finding redemption in her story.  She feels the animosity we have toward her biological parents that she doesn't even remember.  She wonders how we could love her when we hate where she came from.  Her worth depletes in her heart every time they come up in conversation.  She cannot separate herself from that part of who she is.  She thinks she must be like them in some ways.  Is she not worth loving?

I weep at this thought, and I need to think about it.

Someway, somehow, I have to find my way to a posture of humility before God that acknowledges how holy and beautiful and perfect He is...and that I am nothing without him.  I am bankrupt.  I have nothing in my pockets to offer as even a down payment for the grace I need.  I have as much to offer Him as a broken drug addict.  We all need the same grace.  He levels the playing field.  I want to love her parents and want their good, while also wanting L's good.  These things do not always look like the same thing.  I want to see with God's eyes and love them with His love, always.  I want to see the good, or even the hints of potential that I can tell her about years down the road.  The fiery spirit that may be disastrous in her mom can be such an amazing quality in her life under the leadership of the Holy Spirit.

Would you pray for Jeff and I?  At the end of the day, what we really need is to be filled and led by the Spirit of the One who made us and called us to be His own.  Only He can do in us what He wants to do through us.  It is a wonderful and painful gift to be put in such an obvious place of dependence.  I know that only HE can do what He is asking of us...but HE CAN DO IT.    He is more than able. 

Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.  Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.

And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.  Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful.  Colossians 3:12-15

Family Secret...Recipes

A while back I wrote a post about my grandma's tortillas.  It was really about her wisdom and influence on my life, but someone asked me about the tortilla recipe.  That would have made sense to include, yes?  I promised to share it and I have been thinking about some other recipes that I would want you to have because I want your life to be more meaningful, happy, and rich with things that matter.  Speaking of rich, mom thinks some desserts are too rich but I cannot comprehend that statement.  I will eat my roasted chicken and broccoli like a good girl...and then I'm going to ask you to pass me the richest dessert on the table.  I am so excited to share some of my favorites with you.  I will have to dedicate more than one post to this because I cannot narrow it down to only a few.  I'll just shoot you straight, there are more desserts than main dishes running through my mind.  Jeff and I both come from a long line of dessert lovers.  We are an American family (Tell me someone read that in Tom Hanks' voice and thought of  You've Got Mail.  If you did, we are meant to be friends forever and ever.)  Generational sin or family traditions...you can call it how you see it.  Either way, I won't waste your time on tasteless recipes when I share one with you.  Pinkie promise.

I was going to kick this off with tortillas but my mom and I decided that you will need a video tutorial to really feel prepared to tackle it.  The ingredient list is short but there is an art form to rolling them out and frying them off.  So, stay tuned for a guest appearance by my mom or grandma.  I'm so excited!

Instead, this recipe post will be brought to you by the letter C.  As Ella and I work our way through the alphabet this year I try to find a recipe to make that begins with each letter. Last week we were on "C" so we had an excuse, as if we needed one, to make Chocolate Chip Cookies (triple C baby) and my family's legendary Caramel Sauce.  Both of these will instantly improve your mood and quality of life.

Caramel Sauce
1 1/4 c. brown sugar
16 large marshmallows
1 c. heavy whipping cream
1/4 c. butter
1 tsp. vanilla
A pinch of salt

Directions: Mix brown sugar, marshmallows, whipping cream, and salt in a medium sized sauce pan.  Bring to a boil stirring frequently.  Boil for 6 minutes and remove from heat.  Add the butter and vanilla.  Store in the refrigerator after it has cooled.

Note: It will become very thick once it has cooled in the fridge.  Warm for a few seconds in the microwave before serving on ice cream, cheesecake, brownies, coffee, a spoon...you get the idea.  It takes whatever you're putting it on from good to great.

This is what I fix myself when I'm having a hard day.  I have a lot of hard days.  I can't figure out why I'm not losing weight right now. 

Ella's Favorite Chocolate Chip Cookies  (Recipe credit: America's Test Kitchen)
1 3/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour (8 3/4 ounces)
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
14 tablespoons unsalted butter (1 3/4 sticks)
1/2 cup granulated sugar (3 1/2 ounces)
3/4 cups packed dark brown sugar (5 1/4 ounces) (see note)
1 teaspoon table salt
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 large egg
1 large egg yolk
1 1/4 cups semisweet chocolate chips or chunks

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Whisk flour and baking soda together in medium bowl; set aside.
2. Heat 10 tablespoons butter in 10-inch skillet over medium-high heat until melted, about 2 minutes.
 Continue cooking, swirling pan constantly until butter is dark golden brown and has nutty aroma, 1 to 3 minutes. Remove skillet from heat and, using heatproof spatula, transfer browned butter to large heatproof bowl. Stir remaining 4 tablespoons butter into hot butter until completely melted.
3. Add both sugars, salt, and vanilla to bowl with butter and whisk until fully incorporated. Add egg and yolk and whisk until mixture is smooth with no sugar lumps remaining, about 30 seconds. Let mixture stand 3 minutes, then whisk for 30 seconds. Repeat process of resting and whisking 2 more times until mixture is thick, smooth, and shiny. Using rubber spatula or wooden spoon, stir in flour mixture until just combined, about 1 minute. Stir in chocolate chips, giving dough final stir to ensure no flour pockets remain.
4. Divide dough into 16 portions, each about 3 tablespoons. Arrange 2 inches apart on prepared baking sheets, 8 dough balls per sheet.
5. Bake cookies 1 tray at a time until cookies are golden brown and still puffy, and edges have begun to set but centers are still soft, 10 to 14 minutes, rotating baking sheet halfway through baking. Transfer baking sheet to wire rack; cool cookies completely before serving (if you have any self control).

I had a video of Ella making these cookies that Blogger is not letting me upload. Sad face.  It was so cute.  I will upload it to Facebook after I post this.  The magic of these cookies is browning the butter.  DO NOT SKIP.  The depth of flavor this adds is what sets them apart. I also love that you end up with a large coffee shop style cookie that is evenly baked.  I'm am admittedly a cookie snob.  I really do not like any cookie 24 hours after being baked.  I have started wrapping them individually after they cool and putting them in the freezer.  I can pull them out and throw them in lunches for school or work.  They still taste amazing once they thaw out.  If you try either one of these recipes, let me know how it turns out!

Sometimes Love is a Bouquet of Weeds

I came across this picture that I took a few months ago.  I remember the kids had been playing outside and a few minutes later Avery came running inside with a scrawny little bouquet of weeds.  "I picked these for you, Mom!"

We don't have beautiful flower beds or fields of wild flowers for her to frolic through and gather beautiful bouquets of flowers for me.  She was just playing outside in our sad little yard that Jeff has labored in for hours and hours, not once but twice, just begging it to grow grass.  Similarly, my attempt at flowers by our mailbox always starts out very hopeful and ends with me saying, "well, better luck next year."  And don't get me started on the trees that drop walnuts and acorns, pelting the poor struggling grass below every year.  AND THE MOLES.  A reminder of the fall of man.  I have a lot of feelings about this cursed little animal that wreaks havoc to spite us (it's personal) and our efforts to just grow some stinking grass.  It laughs hysterically at us when we walk in the house.  It mocks us while it pushes up the grass and leaves mounds of dirt everywhere.  To make matters worse, Jeff will set a mole trap in the yard where they leave a fresh run and cover it with a gallon ice cream bucket, weighing it down with a brick on top.  Ahhhh...yes.  That adds to the beauty of our yard.  He would argue that it's worth doing since he has caught ONE over the course of three years.  I wish I could use so many emojis to help you understand my emotional state about this.  We want grass in our yard.  Is this too much to ask???  We just want grass instead of dirt.  Excuse my big feelings about the moles..and our yard.  We should just stop talking about it.

Anyway...

Sometimes we don't get beautiful yards or fields of flowers.  We just have our shabby grass and fields of weeds.  It's where we are and what we have.  You know what I love about kids?  They don't notice.  Avery was so proud of her handful of freshly picked weeds flowers.  I told her how beautiful they were.   It was true.  Whenever the kids hand me something they have made I don't care about how well they stayed in the lines or that their stick figure rendition of me has an oddly large head.  It will never make it into an art gallery but I will hang it proudly on my fridge.  I didn't care that this bouquet was already wilting by the time it made it to my hands.  The love that came with those wilted flowers is extraordinarily beautiful.  She wanted to give me something because she thought I would like it, because she wanted to express her love for me.  For the first time, I appreciated the weeds and I saw their beauty.

I feel like I pick a lot of bouquets of weeds. 

Sometimes I want to encourage a friend going through a hard time or give a gift to someone I love and it just feels like I missed the mark.  I said too much.  I said too little.  I gave the wrong gift at the wrong time.  I added to their pain instead of bringing comfort through my words.  I meant to give them roses but I gave them weeds instead.  I am usually one who is not afraid to engage the hard places but sometimes when I get it wrong I think it's not worth it.  Being vulnerable with each other and reaching out when we see someone hurting brings some risk of rejection or unintentionally hurting them.

So, should we just toss our bouquet of weeds in the trash and never let them know we care?

I come across articles that give the "top ten things to never say to a person going through X, Y, or Z."  They are often written from a disgruntled perspective that expects everyone to understand what they are going through and be sensitive to things they know nothing about. Who does that help, really?  Will shaming people make them more sympathetic?  Will it make them want to reach out or help more?  I feel this way about some foster care articles I read.  Can people say things and ask questions that they shouldn't?  You bet. Can people be nosy?  Sure.  You know what I think most of the time?  People are just trying to care.  They don't know what to ask or how to ask it the right way.  Let's give each other a break.  Let's give the benefit of the doubt and just help people understand where we are.

We could use less "never do this or say that," and more "here are ways that you can show you care."  Sometimes people just need a little more perspective.  They need to know that it's okay to reach out.  They need a little encouragement to do SOMETHING instead of playing it safe and doing nothing.  Let's also give some reassurance that they don't have to say it, whatever "it" is, perfectly.  Let's give grace to each other and receive those bouquets of weeds with grateful hearts.  Someone loved us enough to give the best they have.

And when we look around because we want to pick the best flowers we can find for a friend and all we see are weeds, let's give them the best ones we can find.  Let's stop letting the enemy rob us of giving the gifts that we have at our disposal.  You know what it communicates to the one who receives them?  We care.  We see them.  We love them enough to give our best.  Let's pick the best bouquet we can find and give it to them with a smile, or a hug, or note, or even eyes full of tears.  Let's get over our fears of it not being good enough, or the right time, or the right words, and let's start loving each other with a little more abandon.

Now that you have purified yourselves by obeying the truth so that you have sincere love for each other, love one another deeply, from the heart.  -1Peter 1:22

When Your Soul Unravels

Let me tell you a story.  Once upon a time I wanted to quit…everything.  I wanted to run away from my life. 

Defeated.

Overwhelmed.

Insecure.

Trapped.

That adequately sums up what I was feeling.  What a nice tidy little list. 

I was unraveling.

 

Regardless of how it started, when you enter a season of "unraveling" it is hard to make it stop.  It’s happening, it's real, and it doesn’t just go away after a good night’s sleep. Oh, how I wanted it to. Emotions jumped in the driver’s seat and stepped on the gas.  What was true and what I felt were at complete odds with each other.  

I entered a dark night of the soul.   Life kept moving no matter how much I wanted to find a stop button and I was desperate to find a way out.  Every day the heaviness hit me when I woke up.  Joy felt so far away.  I wanted to choose it but the lies and darkness pressed in on me.  Anxiety was so thick that it literally felt hard to breathe sometimes.

How did this happen?  How could I find myself in such a dark place when I have hope in Christ?  I thought I was so much more mature in my faith.  I thought I should be further down the road than this.   The “I should be” statements were so loud in my head.  I had a list of expectations for myself that was a mile long and I wasn’t living up to any of them. 

Spiritual dryness, stress, exhaustion, difficult relationships, lack of communication between Jeff and I, carrying more responsibility for others than was good or necessary, and unrealistic expectations of myself after bringing our third baby home in under four years finally ate away at my emotional margin.  One day a small statement seemed to break the dam.  This fragile dam had been keeping all of the stress, lies, and expectations inside the boundaries of my mind where I thought I could control them.  I thought maybe none of it was really affecting me as long as I could “keep it together.”  In reality, the dam wasn’t serving me well.  It wasn’t helping me work through any of it.  It didn't bring freedom.  It just kept everything trapped inside and held me captive.  As it turned out, the dam was weaker than I thought. 

So, what was the answer?  Memorize more verses?  Try to keep pushing through and risk growing bitter?  Take a vacation?  Just quit?  I wasn’t really sure, but I knew I couldn’t live like this.

I was desperate for God and for His Word to come alive in me.  His words were literally light in my darkness.  I yearned for Him in a different way than I ever had before.  When everything else in life, even good things, leave you feeling defeated where can you go?  I was so desperate I couldn’t even watch t.v.  Everything felt so trivial and empty.  I needed Him to speak life into my soul when the kids went to bed at night, or I didn’t know if I could face the next day.  He felt so far away but I sought Him with an intensity that I had not experienced in years. 

I reached out to some friends who spoke truth and prayed for me to hold onto what I KNEW was true even when I didn't feel it.  They stood with me and fought with me.  They sent me text messages with scripture, songs, and let me know how they were specifically praying.  They held my arms up in the battle.  This is the necessity and beauty of the body of Christ.  They were His hands and feet to me.

I also had a husband who was even more determined than I was to get through this together and find joy again.  He didn’t give up on me.  There was no “I didn’t sign up for this, so peace out.”  He stayed.  We felt distant and confused for a while.  We didn’t know how to walk this out together.   He took the brunt of it more than anyone else.  He let me say how I felt and didn’t get defensive.  He forgave me when I said hurtful things.   He showed me the grace and love of Jesus in a deeper way than I had ever known or embraced before.  He saw me at my worst and loved me still. 

He showed me the sort of faithfulness that made his words at the altar worth their weight.  He meant what he said that day. 

With the encouragement of a few friends we knew that we were in too deep to swim through all of this alone.  We needed some outside perspective.  So, one hot July day we walked into a counselor’s office.  To be honest (I mean, why stop now?), I felt scared and awkward about being there.  I hate that I felt that way.  Somehow I had adopted a double standard.  I wholeheartedly supported friends when they sought counseling.  I thought it was awesome, brave, and the healthy thing to do.  When it was my turn?  I thought it was because I was weak and not mature enough to handle my problems like a normal adult. 

Read: Prideful.

One of my best friends helped me fight back that lie with her famous phrase, “It hurts so good.”   She kept telling me that it was going to be hard, but so good in the end.  It’s the right thing…the hard thing…the healthy thing.  I wasn’t totally sure but I really had nothing to lose.  The other option was to suffer through it for who knows how long and hope for the best.

We walked into our counselor's office that day, sat down, and began to tell him why we were there.  I wanted to stay in that room until everything was better, but for some reason he had to see other people and go home at some point so we had to leave when our hour was up.  I had to learn patience in the process.  I’m a fixer by nature, so I like to get to the bottom of it and deal with it as quickly as possible. 

It took time to get to the place of real progress, but progress did come.  Freedom and joy made their way back into my life.  

Our counselor asked me questions that helped me identify why I felt so overwhelmed and defeated.  I finally realized that I was really the only one who had unrealistic expectations for myself. 

  

Here were some of my biggest realizations. 

1) The child rearing years are some of the most difficult years in life...but they are wonderful if you can appreciate them for what they are.  This is so hard to embrace in the middle of the crying, fighting, whining, sleeplessness of parenthood.  There are only so many hours in the day and so many years that I will have with my kids before they leave though.  There are some things that I prefer, like lots of peace and quiet and a clean house for instance, but have to lay these aside for a season.  I can have a clean and quiet home someday.  Chances are pretty good that I will miss the noise and the mess when that day comes.  For now, I have to let it go.  I don't have to become a slob but I have to let our kids be kids and prioritize relationship over tasks.  I have to crucify the thoughts that nag me about the dust on the end table, the dirty dishes, and the laundry piled up on my dresser.  This is intentional work for me because of how I'm wired.

2) Life is a process.  Laundry and dishes are just part of the process.   What has always bothered me most about those things is that they are NEVER DONE.  This is torturous  for a check list lover.  It was adding to my stress and defeat constantly.  This is the statement that I held on to from our counselor.  It doesn't need to be finished because we are always in the process of living.  The laundry will be finished when we are done living.  So, I started to look at it as part of the process of living.  Such a slight difference in the way I looked at it relieved the pressure.  I still don't like when I get behind and it's piled up in our room, but it doesn't have the power to make me feel defeated anymore. 

3) We can eat cereal for dinner and no one will die.  Jeff was okay with cereal for dinner some nights and the house being a mess when he got home.  I had a June Cleaver in yoga pants complex.  Since I'm home all day with the kids just doing nothing (wink wink) "I should be able to" make a decent meal every night for dinner.  Add to that my internal pressure/guilt over feeding my family all healthy things.  Organic.  Fair Trade.  Unprocessed.  Whole food.  TIGHT BUDGET.  TIME CONSUMING.  CAN'T DO IT.  I think you should do whatever you want to do with all of that.  Just obey what God asks of you.  I am going to do the best I can with the resources God gives us to steward.  We are going to eat our whole foods and we are going to eat corn dogs too.  That’s just where we are and it’s okay.  I’d rather have my sanity on a crazy day while I dip my corn dog in some ketchup.  I really like to cook, and while sometimes I would rather do that, there are too many little people that need me on some days.  

4) My kids are not a direct reflection of me.  I realized that when the kids were having a bad day and I could see it stressing Jeff out, I felt like it was my fault.  I had to stop.  Every person in this family is their own entity.  Everyone will have their own bad days and make their own choices and it is not always a direct reflection of how I am doing as a mom or wife.  I have my own bad days and make my own choices, and I am responsible for those as well.

5) Jesus is enough.  I cannot be every woman.  I have limitations.  I blow it sometimes frequently and have to ask my kids for forgiveness.  I wish I could accomplish more.  It seems like some people get more done in a day than I can in a week, but comparison doesn't help me one iota.  I can only be me and keep my eyes on Jesus.  And you know what?  I am aging like all humans do.  There are no exceptions to this process, only different rates of progression.  I cannot have my pre-baby 25 year old body back.  There is so much more to life.  I am loved beyond all of that by the God of the universe.  Jeff demonstrates that sort of love to me, but when and if he doesn't...I am wholly loved by an infinite, eternal, never failing, perfect God.  Jesus is enough in my weakness and He is sufficient for me.  He is sufficient for Jeff too.  

So, how do I feel about counseling now?  It was hands down one of the best things I ever did for myself and we ever did for our marriage.  I could have gone to those sessions alone and it would have been good for me, but the value in processing things together made every penny twice as worth it.  Sometimes we need to hear someone else ask our spouse a question and hear their heart.  It’s good to have someone ask the questions that we may be afraid to ask or just haven’t thought to ask. He gave us some great ideas on how to invest in our marriage (another post perhaps).  He helped me think through where some of my lies were coming from.  He encouraged our love for Jesus. 

I am so so glad we did the hard thing and walked through that door…and kept coming back.  We are better and healthier for it.  We still go see him from time to time for a "check up."  He is like a mentor in our lives.

I’m grateful that there are people who are trained and passionate about helping us get to the truth, deal with it, and work toward being in a healthier place.  Some people are so good at this.  Are there some counselors that I wouldn’t go to?  Absolutely.  There are some counselors that have different values or just aren’t good at their profession.  It's worth doing some homework before you make an appointment.  It would also be ludicrous to write off a whole profession aimed at helping others because of some who we do not agree with.  We have a tendency to paint large groups of people with a broad stroke of the brush because…it’s just easier.  It’s not better. 

Maybe someone reading this is in a hard place and struggling with anxiety, depression, or just feeling overwhelmed in this season of life.  You don’t know how to overcome it no matter how many verses you can quote or how many times you tell yourself you shouldn’t feel this way.  It’s not going away.  I can’t encourage you enough to do the hard and healthy thing.  Get a recommendation from someone you trust.  Make that phone call.  Walk through that door.   

What do you have to lose?

My Grandma's Tortillas

I love Mexican food.  I love it all.  I love chips, salsa (don't you dare leave out the cilantro), guacamole, black beans, rice, enchiladas, fajitas, pollo loco, queso, all manner of soups, tortillas...all of it.  GET IN MY MOUTH.  I could eat this genre of food more than any other.  I realize I am eating a totally altered version of it's true heritage, but it's just what I know.  I come from a long line of Mexican food lovers.  I grew up eating it often, even on some holidays.  This deep love for Mexican food has now been passed down through 4 generations.  The real reason?  Back in the 1960s when my mom's family was living out in Arizona my grandma learned to make homemade tortillas from a friend.  I'm not kidding you, they are so unbelievably good.  If you ever have the pleasure of tasting one that is hot off the skillet you will be ruined for all other tortillas forever.  Over the last 50 years she has made thousands.  She texted me earlier and said that she made 40 this morning.  She keeps her kids, grandkids, and friends supplied with this manna from heaven.  So, the bottom line is, she has to live forever.  She has to.  We won't know what to do with ourselves for many more important reasons, but who will make us tortillas???  I can't dwell on it.

Last Christmas Jeff and I decided we would at least try to learn the skill of making tortillas to make her proud, and to at least possess the knowledge should it become necessary to make our own someday.  If we are going to learn, we want to learn from the best.  She graciously and patiently instructed us.

First try at rolling them out and frying them for Jeff and I.  I'm not saying which one of us made the nice round one and which one of us made the wonky shaped one.  I'm just simply posting a picture. :)

Truth be told, Jeff and I tried to make these once by reading the recipe but it quickly became obvious that we needed a hands on lesson.  There is no substitute for being taught by the expert.  It was fun and I at least feel like I COULD get the hang of it…someday.  For now, we will still be happily receiving shipments from Iowa.

While I am on the topic of my grandma I wanted to elaborate on the picture that some of you probably saw on Facebook the other day.  I took the kids up to my parents’ house to spend the afternoon with both of my grandmas.  I cannot tell you how lucky I feel to still have them both in my life.  My grandma Helen (pictured on the left) is now 91 and my grandma Marianne (pictured on the right) will be 85 in a few weeks.  I know some of you don’t have your grandparents around anymore.  I feel that gap and loss with my grandpas.  One of them died when I was only a year old and I lost my other grandpa just a couple of weeks before Micah was born.  It’s hard to not know your grandparents and it’s hard to lose them.  So, please believe me, I know what a gift I have every time I get to spend time with them. 

 After dinner (I’ll give you exactly one guess as to what we ate) I sat at the table with my grandmas and talked.  We talked about everything from giving birth to nursing homes.  They can both remember how long they labored and how much their children weighed.  My grandma Helen's initial response to how long she labored was, "LONG ENOUGH."  Ha!  I can’t come up with my kids’ exact birth weight anymore.  How in the world can they remember that?  I was amazed at the details they could recount7.  I don’t know exactly how we got there, but somehow we arrived at the topic of growing old.  

 The floodgates of wisdom were opened to me.  

The first thing that I remember my grandma Marianne saying was that her mom (who lived to be 102) used to tell her, “It takes so little to make an old person happy.  It just takes a post card, a phone call, or a visit to make your day.”  She said she knows that to be true now.  So many elderly people are lonely.  Friends and family pass away before them and others move away, leaving them alone during some of the most vulnerable years in life.  My great grandma Mary lived with her and my grandpa Bill for nine years before she went into a nursing home.  She said it was so hard to walk away on the day they moved her in.  Both of their moms (my great grandmas) lived in the same town, and eventually the same nursing home before they passed away.  My grandma and grandpa were faithful to spend time with them there after they were no longer able to care for them at home.  

 I already observed this in my childhood, but my grandma described in more detail about the decidedly different outlook each of them had on life and the situation of finding themselves in a nursing home.  My grandma Mary never once complained about the food, her roommate, or the care she received.  She was content.  My grandma Agnes struggled with contentment throughout her life and it continued during her time in the nursing home.  It’s a cautionary tale to me.  Discontentment in our hearts never just magically goes away.  Even if you set your life up to serve your own happiness, and others do the same, no one will win.  The heart is never quite satisfied, or never for long.  The craving to make our world always happy and comfortable is such a chasing after the wind.  Those who pursue it the hardest are usually the most sad and discontent in the end.  She told me that my grandma Mary confessed to her one day that she would often lay her head down and pretend to be asleep when my grandma Agnes would stop by her room to chat.  She just couldn't take the complaining!  Not long after that my grandma Agnes said, “Why, I can NEVER find your mother awake when I stop by!”  It was so hard for her to not laugh because she knew what was happening.  I DIED.  These stories are priceless! 

When I asked my grandmas how they felt about the possibility of moving into a nursing home at some point, my grandma Marianne said, “Well, I’ve decided that the best thing you can do is just to accept it.”  I assume she learned this by watching the different ways her own mother and mother in-law handled that transition.  Accepting unwanted changes always takes time but I hope I always move in the direction of acceptance in things that I cannot change.  We struggle with growing old in our culture.  We fight it with every skin cream and surgery known to man.  “Never ask a lady her age,” they say.  We can be so insecure about growing old.  We do not honor the aged and revere their wisdom.  We foolishly disdain the blessing of being able to grow old and rich in wisdom.  Nothing can be gained by trying to turn back the hands of time.  IT CANNOT BE DONE.  We should take care of our health, but we cannot make time stand still.  If wisdom and eternity is our aim, why would we want it to anyway?

As we were in the middle of our conversation, her phone started ringing.  She pulled it out and said, “Oh, that’s just my reminder to stop and pray.  It goes off every day at 7:14.”  She immediately quoted 2 Chronicles 7:14, which is the verse that prompts her and some others from her church to pray every day at that time.  I’m sorry if your grandma is not this amazing.  I asked her what she prays for every day.  She said, “Oh, it just depends.  I pray for our military and their families.  I pray for our country’s leaders, my family, friends, and others I know who need prayer.  There are so many people that need prayer.  And I pray for people that are lonely.  I think one of the worst things in life is to end up being lonely.” I swallowed hard and should have removed myself from the table right then to go repent of my own prayerlessness, but I didn't want to be awkward.  She was teaching me so much without even meaning to…because she is just wise.  She can’t help it.  It’s just who she has become after 84 years of living life with a teachable heart. 

I drove home with a full heart that night.  I had been loved deeply, listened to, and taught in those few short hours.  I am so blessed.  If you have a grandparent that is still living and loves you, please go sit with them when you can.  Or, maybe we could go sit with someone in a nursing home near us.  Ask them to tell us stories.  Ask about the people they love that are living or have passed away.  Ask about the changes they have seen during the course of their life.  Ask them what is most important in life. Listen and learn.  We may observe a cautionary tale, and we may strike gold in wisdom.

It will probably make their day, and it will probably end up making ours too.