Something's Gotta Give

I know I'm probably a little behind the times, but I just discovered who Pioneer Woman is.  Apparently, she's been a big deal for a long time and I'm just catching on, thanks to my friend Lory, who served me a delicious PW pizza recipe several weeks ago when I was in San Antonio.  

So, since then, I've found PW's website, which includes her personal blog, cooking blog, photography blog, gardening blog, and home-schooling page.  I've made a few of her recipes and they are delicious, but the thing that keeps running through my mind after visiting her webpage is SERIOUSLY???  HOW DOES SHE DO IT ALL?  


I know it's extremely un-constructive and even damaging to compare ourselves to other people, and I'm guilty as charged of doing so.  I just wonder how the PW cooks, blogs, gardens, takes photographs, writes books, goes on book tours, and home-schools four children.  Surely, she must have a team of people behind the scenes supporting her blogging empire?    


Anyhow, perhaps this all resonates with me because I'm personally at a place where I've had to recognize my own limitations.  I just dropped the class I was supposed to start today because it was all feeling like too much.  I also had an hour-long phone session with our China case manager, who outlined what will be involved in compiling our massive dossier packet within the next six months, as well as the thick workbook and online education Chris and I need to finish as soon as possible.  I realized I don't have enough space inside of me to continue to immerse myself so deeply in the stories I'm writing, while still being present for my family, friends, and the rest of life...as well as this adoption process.  The past few months have stretched me and challenged me, but now I feel like I need to deflate again...otherwise I'll pop.  I can do it in 8-week stretches, but then I feel I must pull back and regroup a bit.    


For me, it seems that the life of a woman and a mother is a constant yo-yo between expanding and retracting...of giving and receiving...of pouring out and then resting.  Over the past few weeks, I heard myself say "something's gotta give" multiple times, which was a sign that it was time to retract for a bit.  


In my life, I need space to just BE.  I can't live the kind of existence that demands I be somewhere or with someone or doing something every second of the day.  I don't want every minute of my life to be accounted for.  


Most days, it's all I can do to take care of my two girls, cook a healthy meal for my family, keep the house in a somewhat respectable state, stay on top of our adoption paperwork, keep up with phone calls and correspondence, and still have some downtime to be alone with my thoughts and with God.


Clearly, I am not a pioneer woman.  And I'm okay with that.

Hodgepodge

A stream-of-consciousness purge of some of the thoughts coursing through my mind today...

Here in the Bay Area we are literally incapsulated by fog. For most of the day, I could not see further than fifty yards in any direction. It feels eery yet cozy. Not only can I not see very far, but fog like this makes me feel like I can't be seen by others either. It feels a bit isolating, like I'm cut off from life.

Chris is gone on an interview right now in Virginia Beach, one of the potential places for relocation once he's done with his military stint. He'll be back tomorrow, thank God. One would think that his absence of a few days would be a piece of cake after enduring deployment, but actually, it feels awfully hard. I'm starting to think I have a touch of post-traumatic stress in this area. His absence just unleashes all the same emotions I felt while he was deployed; the wound is reopened. It's been hard to sleep at night and hard to take care of things during the day. It's hard to explain.

I'm in the thick of a severe hormone cycle right now and my diet is a reflection of that. Sorry to any dudes who happen to read my blog and don't want to hear about it. Tonight for dinner I popped open a new bottle of Napa Cellars Zinfandel and it was delicious; Chris and I are on a Zin kick these days. It was especially good paired with half a bag of barbecue Kettle Chips, a thick slice of pumpkin bread slathered with butter, and a few bites of lentils and rice thrown in for good measure. I believe that is what we call "chick food"...a decadent blend of carbs and fat (no need for protein!) with perhaps a touch of fiber, washed down with some good grape juice. This is how I roll when there isn't a man around the house to feed.

Everything feels like work right now. I realize that the syndrome mentioned in the above paragraph might be contributing to this somewhat dismal sensation, but I've also been thinking that mostly, this is just reality. When you start out any new quest or journey everything feels exciting and hopeful and promising. Then, you start to plug along and you leave the land of idealism and enter the territory of realism, where living a purposeful life is full of hard labor.

I'm in my final week of class at school and about to start another one next week (which I'm tempted to drop). It's revision week, meaning that all week I've been reworking my manuscripts based on the workshop feedback I received from my professor and classmates. Writing is hard work and when I started this degree I had no idea what I was getting myself into. As someone once said, "easy reading is hard writing." Writing is mentally and emotionally demanding, and right now, in the midst of this adoption process and the daily rigors of raising a family, I feel like I'm spread a little bit thin. Sometimes I toy with the idea of throwing the towel in on this degree and just using the blogosphere to satiate my urge to write. I'm left wondering how I entrench myself in the past (in order write), while still actively engaging in the present and working towards the future. Is there room for all of this inside of me? Some days it feels like there is; some days it feels like there isn't. Donald Miller says that people who live good stories don't have time to write about them. I've been chewing on this idea for a while now. I think this is true. I also think that we need to tell our stories. So how do we do both?

I'm a horrible multi-tasker. Through all of this, God is showing me how much more I'm capable of than I thought I was, and I'm also learning that I do need time and space to center myself everyday, otherwise I'm left feeling as though I'm spinning out of control.

good times.

A gargantuan folder of more adoption paperwork came via UPS today. This is turning out to be what most people say it is: an administrative nightmare. For those of you who know me well, you know that administration is not my strong suit. I loathe it. On the spiritual gifts test I took in high school youth group, I failed the gift of administration section. Anyhow, all of this is to say that I'm being challenged in this area and God is showing me that I'm actually better at all of this than I thought I was, as I am primarily overseeing all of the paperwork involved in this process. This is a real-life demonstration that the Holy Spirit has got to be driving this thing--I'm in charge of the paperwork and things are actually getting DONE! Last week we completed our adoption agency contracts. We had to get twenty signatures notarized--yes, twenty--at $10 a pop! It seems that everything worth doing in life has hidden costs, literally and figuratively speaking. In any case, we are official clients of our agency, AGCI. We are officially LOCKED in; no turning back. Our first meeting with our home-study social worker is set to take place next week.

I went to San Antonio a few weeks ago to visit dear friends. During my time with my awesome friend B, she asked me, "Do you feel like you have a lot of thoughts lately?" I think she asked me this because I was talking a lot during the few hours we had together and she probably sensed that I could have carried on for hours more. But, yes, to answer her question, I do have so many thoughts coursing through me all day long. I wonder if my brain is overly active lately. The mental mice are running like they are high on meth-amphetamines.

So, this is probably a good place to stop because I could seriously keep going all...night...long.

Sweet dreams everyone.

Layers

It's Saturday afternoon and the house is quiet. The girls are napping and I'm sitting here at my desk drinking more coffee and putting off my schoolwork that's due tomorrow.

Outside my window the scene is typical of northern California at this time of year. Gray, cold, damp. The hills in the distance are hiding behind a thick fog that still hasn't lifted since this morning. I remember this past summer, when there was scarcely a cloud in the sky for over four months straight. The contrast seems so strange to me now, but I always find myself more partial to the grayness.

Chris and I have finally finished up our adoption home study application, which has been in process for almost three weeks. We each completed our personal questionnaire, which consisted of forty questions asking us to divulge our life story. We sat together on the couch last night and shared our individual answers to each question, curious to see what the other person had written and how similar or different our responses were. My finished questionnaire was 9 pages long, single spaced, and Chris's was 16 pages.

It's funny, after almost six years of marriage, I can start to feel like I know most everything there is to know about my husband, but this adoption process is reminding me that each person is an onion. Layers are gradually pulled back, and just when we think we've reached the center, we find more pieces of skin that have not been exposed yet.

How intricate and deep we all are--is there ever an end to it? Is there ever a limit to the amount of knowledge we gain about one another, or a cap on the level of intimacy we can reach in relationship? It seems infinite, not only with one another, but particularly with God. I hope the journey never ends.

One of the things I love most about this adoption process so far is the exposure. This process is like a microscope, shedding light and magnification upon things that aren't always been visible to the naked eye. As we unveil places of our past to one another, to our social workers, to our adoption agency, it's giving us more perspective, more clarity, about the story that God has written for our lives so far. There are dark places we don't like to revisit, but when we allow these places to be illuminated by a focused lens, there is much beauty to be found as well. We are learning more about ourselves, about one another, and about God. It is scary and freeing all at the same time.

Growing Pains

I realized a few months ago that I've been waiting around for someone to turn up and tell me what to do with my life. I don't know who, exactly, this person is. All I know is that whoever this person is, he or she is not coming.

I don't know why I started believing this. Maybe it's because for 18+ years of my life I have been told what to do. The course was set for me. Go to school, go to college. I even chose a profession, nursing, in which people were constantly giving me orders and my job was to carry those orders out. After college I joined the military and was told what to do for another four years. So I suppose it's no wonder that from the age of 27 until the recent past, I've been floundering, waiting around for someone else to step in and tell me how to live my life.

I just had an epiphany a couple of months ago, right around my 30th birthday, that this person is imaginary, and that the only person who is responsible for my life is me. It seems so simple, but it was a really hard concept for me to grasp.

I am responsible for me.

The thing about waiting around for someone to show up and tell you how to live your life, tell you what decisions to make, etc, is that when things aren't going your way, you always have someone to blame, even if you don't actually know who they are. It works for a while, but overtime, I started to get a clue that blaming this imaginary person won't reverse any natural consequences associated with avoiding my life, and that ultimately, I'm the one who is hurting myself.

This phenomenon played out just this past spring. I had waited for over three years to go to see a dentist because I was waiting for someone to show up and tell me I needed to go. Even when I was in the military people told me I had to go and they booked my appointment for me. But last April I finally made my own appointment and went, and I was terrified that I'd be punished for waiting so long. As it turns out, I had three, maybe four cavities, I don't even remember, and one of them was so deep that I was close to needing a root canal--I still might, only time will tell. I cried in the dentist chair that day, cursing myself for waiting so long, and angry that I couldn't curse someone else instead.

I recently told my mom about all of this--about my recent revelation, and she said that I'm quite young to be figuring this out, but I feel like I'm catching onto this nugget of wisdom a little late in the game.

I realize now that if I refuse to open a bill, it won't pay itself, and it also won't magically disappear. My teeth won't become impermeable to decay and plaque just because I refuse to make myself a dentist appointment, and my problems won't go away just because I don't want to deal with them.

Gosh, why is life so hard? Can't I just be a kid again?

So, all of this is to say that I'm thirty years old and I just realized that I am, in fact, an adult now, and my job is to take care of myself and my little chitlin's who still do need someone to tell them what to do. And in all honesty, I don't want to be a kid anymore. There's a lot of responsibility that comes with being a mature adult, and sometimes if feels like a lot to carry, but I would never want to go back, not even if you paid me to. So it's time to turn over a new leaf.

The Slow Death of a Cynic

It's hard to know how far back cynicism started to leak into my heart. There have been millions of opportunities in my lifetime to hold fast to cynicism. Life has provided reasons to believe that people operate out of self-interest and contempt. Parts of my past seem to confirm that there is far more bad than good in the world. Somewhere I started to believe that I couldn't really make any difference in the world and that there was no use trying because my efforts were so small, so miniscule.

In my twenties I started to think it was cool to be cynical. People seemed to enjoy me for my dark humor and wit. I've connected with many people in my past over our mutual cynicism, laughing and clenching our fists together at how jacked-up this life is and how stupid other people are. I've especially enjoyed making fun of Christians--those churchy people who seem totally out-to-lunch when it comes to real life. Cynicism has provided me with millions of excuses to stay out of church and to not engage with other people. Cynicism has made me size people up before I know them, to deem them inauthentic before I've even given them a chance.

And let's face it. Cynicism is fun...for a while. It keeps us protected, insulated. It feels comfy and cozy. It keeps us from feeling things too deeply, especially pain. It makes us look cool and funny. But it also keeps us from feeling good, from feeling joy, from feeling hope. I've heard it said that we aren't punished for the sin, but by the sin, and eventually, cynicism started to feel like a prison cell.

This past summer was a horrible time for me. Chris was gone in a war zone and I was stuck at home with two chitlin's who hardly know how to do anything for themselves. I was exhausted to the bone, sick of taking care of them, wondering how my life had come to this. Then Chris got home from the desert, which was fun for a few weeks, and then he went back to work, and I went back to being miserable. I felt paralyzed by myself and wasn't quite sure what was wrong or how to change. I was sick of myself, sick of my life, sick of trying to do it all on my own, sick of feeling like there was nothing more than this.

About two months after Chris got home, we decided to start attending our growth group at church again. I won't lie. We weren't very excited about it. But we were starting a new study and I was trying have a positive outlook about it.

The book we studied was Francis Chan's "Remembering the Forgotten God." A few weeks into the study we looked at a chapter called "What Are You Afraid Of?" I started looking at very hard questions, questions that exposed a lot of fear in my heart and a lot of what I really believed about God. I started to realize a few things.

I started to realize that maybe God wasn't showing up because I wasn't asking Him to. I mean, REALLY asking Him to. What was I so afraid of? Sure, I was afraid to ask and then be disappointed when He didn't come through in the way I expected. But I wasn't truly afraid of that. What terrified me even more was the probability that He would show up, and what would that would mean for my life?

I knew deep down that if I started to truly invite God inside of me then a lot of crap would have to go--stuff that I wasn't ready to give up until recently. If I let Him in and asked Him to fill me up then I'd have to surrender a lot. I'd have to let go of my obsession with what other people think of me. I'd have to stop trying to control people's opinions of me. I might, God forbid, become a joyful, happy, church-going person that recited cheesy Christian cliches left and right. I might turn into the kind of person I used to make fun of! And, of course, I knew that if I let Him in, the cynicism and contempt would have to go. Hope and cynicism are mutually exclusive.

So I started praying. I started to really want to change. I wanted Him to change me, no matter what people thought about it. I started to believe that if I really let Him in and asked Him to do miraculous things through me, then He would. Mostly, I started to take Him at His Word. I said, "Okay, Lord...bring it on."

And the CRAZIEST thing happened. I started to feel Him inside of me and it felt good. I started believing that He could do anything inside of me, anything for His glory. My life started to feel interesting and exciting again, not just a monotonous blob of laundry, dishes, cooking, and wiping poopy bottoms. And now, a few months later, Chris and I are on an adventure to get a little boy who needs a home and I'm realizing that good things happen in this sick, dark world all the time. I'm realizing that God can do impossible things through me--that it's not just some cheesy Christian slogan. But I have to keep letting Him in, and the more I do, the more the cynic seems to keep disappearing.

I've always been a compassionate person, but it hurts to be compassionate. Compassion makes your heart extra-vulnerable to the darkness and sadness of life--it causes your heart to break. Cynicism smothered my heart--it smothered the tender compassionate side of it that broke easily--it made life seem more bearable, less painful. But it also smothered the joyful things that compassion brings. Compassion has caused my heart to break, but the brokenness leads to beautiful things--it moves us to make a difference, to be a ray of light in this destitute, dying world.

For me, it all came down to a choice. I had to get so sick of myself, so sick of living life on my own and for my own purposes. I guess like anything else, I had to just wear cynicism out before I was ready for something new.

Francis Chan ends his chapter with the following words:

"We shouldn't fear other people, the possibility that God won't show up, or the possibility that He will show up. But we should be afraid of quenching the Spirit. What hope does the church have if we actively suppress the power of God?"

So, the cynic in me is dying a slow death. She's slowly dripping out of me as I make more room for God's Spirit. She's simply not welcome anymore. Good Bye and Good Riddance. And I know I might sound like one of the big Christian dorks I used to make fun of, but so be it.

Are you a cynic? What are you afraid of?

Expecting

So...we are expecting!

About a week and a half ago I mailed our official adoption application to our agency. We got a call this past week saying that it's been approved for the China Waiting Child Program and we got the green light to start our adoption home study.

Herein begins the paper pregnancy!

I've since found a local agency to complete our home study, which is a 2-3 month progress that will consist of A LOT of paperwork, some home visits, background checks, education, and more. I've been chipping away at our home study application, which is a formidable task. There's an autobiographical questionnaire that Chris and I each have to fill out with at least 40 questions on it. Some of the questions leave me wondering, what, exactly, they are asking. For instance,

"Describe the characteristics of the family in which you grew up."

"Describe your adolescence."

"If you could change anything about your partner, what would you change?"

"Have you ever been treated for emotional problems?"

They are all open-ended, open for interpretation, and leave me a bit confused on how detailed I really need to be here. Obviously, with 40 questions like this, I can't afford to be too detailed unless I want to write an actual autobiography. And, by the way, what on earth do they mean by "emotional problems?" Is there a human on the face of this earth who doesn't have emotional problems? I'm thinking that if I don't have emotional problems now, then I will by the end of this home study!;)

In any case, last night Chris and I were discussing this process. It's got me thinking how similar and yet how different this pregnancy is to an actual biological pregnancy.

When you carry your own child no one digs deep into your life story and your past to try and judge whether or not you are capable of raising your child. You don't have to prove yourself to anyone ahead of time. You don't choose the gender or age or nationality of your child. You don't meet your child after months or years of their life have already passed and wonder what their life was like before they were yours.

On the flip side, there are just as many similarities as there are differences between these pregnancies...

Historically, the first trimester has always been a tenuous time for me. After experiencing two miscarriages, the first trimester with Lucy was terrifying, nerve-racking, and anxiety-inducing. I was hyper-vigilant over my body, carefully tracking how I was feeling at any given second of the day. Was I sick enough? Was I tired enough? Were those cramps a bad sign or a good sign? There was no way for me to know whether or not I'd carry her to term. I had physical symptoms that could reassure me, but overall, I had no idea and no control over the outcome.

And here again, I feel a bit paranoid about the process ahead, about the interrogations to come, and about whether or not I will carry my son to term. I'm faced with the reality that only God is in control and He will carry this to fruition if it's His plan. I'm already hoping for my son, anxious to meet him, planning his room in my head, wondering what he will look like and act like. But there is still so much ahead of us and it sometimes feels scary to have so much hope.

As I lay in bed last night, I thought about how everything in me resists the reality that I don't have control. It feels like every fiber of my being thinks that I have it and wants it, but I don't have it and ultimately, I don't truly want it, even if I think I do. God has proved Himself a better author than me, but I still find myself trying to pull the pen away from Him. I'm finding out how much of a control-freak I really am.

My friend Karen and her husband Curtis adopted a boy from Ethiopia a couple years ago. I've been dialoging with her--she's been a great source of encouragement for Chris and I as we venture down this path. She said that their adoption brought them to their knees in faith, anticipation, anxiety, fear, and confidence. And that's where I feel I am, on my knees, which is good and incredibly frightening.

I feel so full of emotions I might explode! I am pregnant indeed.

the final wrap

2011 is officially here, but 2010 is not a distant memory yet, and I wanted to post some holiday highlights of this season before they seem irrelevant...

--Yesterday Chris took Tess on an outing to the snow, just south of Tahoe. Lu and I held down the fort at home, as four hours in the car for Lu felt a bit too costly for someone who doesn't yet understand what snow is. You know your daughter is leaving on an excursion with her dad when part of her outfit consists of pajamas, she leaves the house with her hair unbrushed, she eats donuts for breakfast, cheese-puffs for snack, and chicken nuggets for lunch, and when she comes home completely shattered from all the FUN she had. They had a good time sledding and playing in the fresh powder.

--Over the past week our vacuum cleaner has proved that it is worth its weight in gold! Not only has it sucked up hundreds of pine needles from our Christmas tree...it has also taken on remnants of what Chris and I call "The Wig," which is a heinous idea by the marketers of Disney's latest movie, "Tangled." I saw the fake, blond, two-feet of hair about a month ago at Target, and even though I knew it would transform into a bird's nest within an hour of being opened, I couldn't resist. I knew Tess would love her Rapunzel hair, and her delight was worth the cost (though now I'm second-guessing myself). Large clumps of the manufactured hair are turning up everywhere...in our bed, in the bathroom, in our food, and in the deepest crevices of our home. The vacuum has taken it on fearlessly.

Here is a photo shoot of the infamous wig...

--Another gift that Tess received this year was a beautiful new Ariel-Mermaid dress, compliments of her Aunt MaryLou, which is adorned with green glitter...a lot of green glitter. This glitter has also turned up in our bed, our food, and every crevice of our house. It also seems to adhere to every surface it lands on, making clean up a bit tricky. I've officially surrendered to the green glitter, which Chris assures me is just "pixie dust," to try to defuse my frustration.

--Last but not least is the MASSIVE box of chocolates that Chris's brother, Sean, brought us on Christmas Eve...

Seriously?

Looks like we'll be well-stocked for quite a while...

And last but not least is a video that Chris put together in honor of Lulu on her first birthday...

What were some of the highlights of your holiday season? What were some of your favorite gifts this year?